Chapter 7
SEVEN
The day of Lydia’s wedding to Mr Stone was upon them before she could quite fathom it, taking place only a week after his proposal.
He had visited Lydia daily, and she found herself more charmed by his shy, clumsy ways after each interaction.
She could not quite say that she loved him, but she liked him very much, and that was enough.
More than she deserved, according to the letter from Mr Bennet.
Mr Stone might not be tall and striking with a red coat, but his kindness and compassion more than made up for these shallow qualities.
She had, under advisement from Mrs Gardiner and Elizabeth, told Mr Stone the whole sorry tale involving Wickham and he had not judged her harshly.
He even excused her, to some extent, proclaiming that ‘this fellow, for one could hardly call him a gentleman,’ had taken advantage of Lydia and tricked her into the scheme.
That she took a certain measure of responsibility upon her own shoulders was admirable, but he did not wish for her to punish herself endlessly about it.
She was sorry and had learnt her lesson, which was as much as anyone could ask for.
For Lydia, a girl who had been cast out by her intransigent father mere weeks ago, this declaration of grace was everything. Her throat had thickened, and she had barely been able to thank him for it.
This show of mercy, amongst his other endearing qualities, left Lydia with no regrets about meeting him at the altar.
“Here we are,” Elizabeth declared as she entered Lydia’s bedchamber, a blue silk ribbon laying across her palm. “This will do nicely.”
Lydia smiled at her sister and turned back to the mirror to watch Elizabeth work on her hair, threading the blue ribbon—nearly the colour of Harold’s eyes—through her dark locks.
Thinking of Mr Stone made Lydia wish for Elizabeth’s forgiveness, something her sister had previously declared she would withhold. She bit her lip, wondering if she dared ask for it now.
As Lydia Bennet had never met a dare she did not embrace, she boldly stepped into the breach. “I know you said you could never forgive me for my selfishness, but I hope…I hope you might change your mind someday.”
Elizabeth’s fingers stilled in Lydia’s curls and their gazes met in the looking glass. Elizabeth visibly swallowed before saying, “I said that in a moment of pique, Lydia. Of course I forgive you.”
“I would not, if I were you,” Lydia replied, never one to mince her words. “If you had prevented me from marrying the man I loved above all others, I should hate you forever.”
Startled, Elizabeth stumbled over her denial. “I am sure I do not know what you are talking about. You…I…”
“Do not bother, Lizzy, for I know all about you and Mr Darcy. Even if Aunt and Uncle Gardiner had not explained it to me, I would have eventually noticed the way you are around one another.”
“No, you must be mistaken.” Elizabeth shook her head, her expression pained. “Mr Darcy can hardly be in the same room with me, he surely does not…cannot…”
Lydia shushed her. “Of course he loves you still. If he did not, surely I would still be with Wickham—or worse—instead of marrying Mr Stone. Mr Darcy did not do that for me, he did it for you.”
Elizabeth appeared struck by this argument, so Lydia carried on.
“Given all that, I will understand if your resentment is implacable, but I still want you to know how sorry I am for what I have done. I did not think…well, that is no excuse, is it?” She huffed.
“I did not mean to, but you were hurt by my actions nonetheless, and even if you do not forgive me, I am ashamed of myself for it. I would never wish to cause you any harm.”
Elizabeth grasped hold of Lydia’s shoulder and squeezed, her countenance warming. “I know that. And, for what it is worth, I truly do forgive you, Lyddie. I admit to bearing a grudge ere now, but your sincere apology was what I needed to discharge it. Let us begin anew.”
Lydia leapt up and threw her arms about Elizabeth, hugging her so tightly that they swayed side to side. Her sister laughed at her enthusiasm, but returned the embrace with equal fervour.
When they drew apart, Elizabeth stroked Lydia’s cheek, the same one she had struck before. “I hope you live happily ever after. You deserve to.”
Lydia felt a bashful smile creep across her lips. “What about you? Will you live happily ever after at Pemberley with Mr Darcy?”
Elizabeth’s countenance fell, though she seemed to rally quickly. “I rather doubt it at this juncture, but I suppose one never knows. If not Mr Darcy, perhaps another Mr Collins shall have me someday.”
Lydia brayed in laughter at that.