Chapter Twenty-Two
Lydia
Preventing Wickham did not solve Lydia.
Elizabeth knew that.
Darcy knew it too.
Lydia did not become prudent merely because one dangerous man was kept at a distance. She still wanted Brighton. Still loved officers. Still believed admiration was proof of importance.
When Mrs. Forster's invitation arrived in the spring, Lydia exploded with joy.
Elizabeth felt sick.
The old road opened beneath her feet.
That evening she met Darcy near Longbourn's back garden. "We cannot forbid her."
"No."
"Papa might."
"Would he?"
Elizabeth looked away.
Mr. Bennet had improved slightly since their conversation. Not transformed. People did not transform because of one speech.
Darcy rested a hand on the low stone wall. "Forster already knows Wickham."
"Wickham may not be the only danger."
"No."
Elizabeth paced twice across the path.
Darcy watched. "Stop."
She glared. "You hate when I pace."
"You are wearing a path."
"I am thinking."
"You are panicking."
She stopped.
He was right.
Infuriating.
Darcy held out his hand. Elizabeth took it.
"We cannot make Lydia wise in six months," he said. "We can make the circumstances safer."
"How?"
"Mrs. Forster is barely older than Jane. Colonel Forster knows it too. His widowed sister lives near Brighton. She is sensible, respectable, and apparently likes young people."
Elizabeth frowned. "You have investigated?"
"Of course."
"Of course you have."
Darcy's mouth twitched. "If Mrs. Bell spends much of the summer with Mrs. Forster, there will be another adult in the household."
Elizabeth considered. "That is not controlling Lydia."
"No."
"It is also not leaving a fifteen-year-old to the supervision of a woman scarcely out herself."
"Precisely."
The arrangement was made through Colonel Forster, who admitted with some embarrassment that his wife had perhaps underestimated the demands of supervising a young guest during an encampment season.
Elizabeth spoke to Lydia privately before the departure.
No sermon.
No prediction.
"Lydia, if a man ever asks you to keep a secret from everyone who loves you, come to me."
Lydia frowned. "Why?"
"Because good affection rarely requires isolation."
"That's very serious."
"I know."
"Are you talking about Mr. Wickham?"
Elizabeth froze.
Lydia rolled her eyes. "I'm not stupid."
"No."
"You all think I am."
Elizabeth's heart hurt. "I have behaved as though I did."
Lydia stared.
"I'm sorry."
Her younger sister looked suspicious. "Why are you always apologizing now?"
"Age."
"You're twenty."
Elizabeth laughed. "Terrible age."
Lydia smiled despite herself.
Then she said, "I liked Mr. Wickham."
"I know."
"He likes everyone."
"Yes."
"That's not the same as liking me."
Elizabeth's throat tightened. "No."
Lydia looked down and worried at the edge of a ribbon. "Miss Harcourt says attention is not intention."
Elizabeth blinked. "Miss Harcourt?"
Mrs. Bennet, after much argument with Mr. Bennet and one surprisingly sensible conversation with Lady Lucas, had engaged a governess to work primarily with Kitty and Lydia. Miss Harcourt was not severe, but she was difficult to fool.
"She says if a gentleman admires me, I may enjoy it without owing him anything," Lydia continued. "And that I ought to know whether I actually like him or merely like being liked."
Elizabeth smiled. "Miss Harcourt is right."
Lydia rolled her eyes. "Everyone is becoming very wise."
"Annoying, isn't it?"
"Terribly."
Lydia went to Brighton.
Elizabeth still cried after the carriage disappeared.
Darcy held her in a quiet grove where no one could see.
But Wickham did not go to Brighton.
Colonel Forster had confronted him over gambling debts and conduct unbecoming an officer. Wickham resigned rather than submit to closer scrutiny.
By the time Lydia arrived, he was gone.
Elizabeth breathed again.
Brighton changed Lydia in smaller ways than Elizabeth expected. She returned with stories, but also with a new awareness that being the youngest and loudest person in a room could make one easy to dismiss.
Miss Harcourt noticed first.
During a lesson on household accounts, Lydia actually checked a column twice.
Kitty stared. "Are you ill?"
Lydia threw a pencil at her. "Mrs. Bell says people cheat girls who do not read figures."
Miss Harcourt lifted one brow. "Mrs. Bell is correct."
Lydia looked toward Elizabeth, who had stopped at the doorway. "Did you know that?"
Elizabeth smiled. "Yes."
"Why did no one tell me?"
The question was so sincere that Elizabeth did not tease.
"We should have."
Lydia returned to the page. "Then I shall know them now."
Mr. Bennet heard of this new enthusiasm and, after recovering from surprise, began allowing Lydia to sit with him when he reviewed certain estate expenses.
The first session lasted twelve minutes before Lydia became bored.
The second lasted twenty. By winter she could calculate feed costs for the stable faster than Kitty.
"I thought arithmetic was hateful," Elizabeth said one afternoon.
Lydia shrugged. "It is hateful when numbers belong to someone else."
Elizabeth laughed. "That may be the wisest thing you have ever said."
"Do not tell Mary."
The change did not make Lydia solemn. She still spent too much on ribbons. She still laughed at serious men. She still believed a ball without dancing was evidence of failed civilization.
But she began to understand that competence was another form of freedom.
Elizabeth thought of the Lydia who had once depended upon Wickham for every shilling and felt gratitude so sharp it hurt.