What Change Entails (Darcy and Elizabeth Variations)

1. Chapter One

Chapter One

The morning room at Longbourn had rarely contained so much noise before breakfast.

Mrs. Bennet sat near the open window with her workbasket beside her, though she had not taken a single stitch in nearly half an hour.

Excitement rendered her incapable of industry.

Every few moments she set aside her handkerchief, took it up again, adjusted the ribbons at her sleeve, then turned toward Lydia with renewed animation, as if the subject of Brighton grew more delightful each time it was repeated aloud.

“And Mrs. Forster has such connections,” she declared for perhaps the sixth time. “Such an agreeable young woman! Quite attentive. I always thought her remarkably sensible for her age.”

Elizabeth, who distinctly remembered her mother calling Mrs. Forster frivolous scarcely a fortnight earlier, kept her attention upon the letter in her lap and attempted not to sigh.

Kitty hovered beside Lydia’s chair in visible misery. “You must write every day,” she pleaded. “Every single day, Lydia, or I shall expire from curiosity.” Kitty had settled somewhat after crying for days and complaining of unfairness.

Lydia tossed back her head with a laugh.

“I shall have no time for writing. We shall be forever walking upon the Steine or attending dinners and assemblies. Mrs. Forster says officers are constantly calling in Brighton. Colonels, captains, men from every regiment imaginable.” She favored her sisters with a triumphant smile.

“You may enjoy sitting at home with Mary’s sermons, but I mean to enjoy myself. ”

Mary raised her eyes from the book resting against her knee. “The pursuit of amusement without proper restraint often leads young women into difficulties from which reputation cannot easily recover.”

No one answered her.

Mrs. Bennet waved one hand impatiently. “Mary, pray do not begin moralizing before breakfast. You always make the room oppressive.”

“I merely observed—”

“Yes, yes, you observed. You always observe.” Mrs. Bennet attempted to cajole Lydia. “My dear child, you must have a new bonnet before you go. The blue one is already too faded for a fashionable watering place.”

“It was faded because Kitty borrowed it and left it in the garden,” Lydia replied promptly.

Kitty gasped. “I did no such thing!”

“You certainly did. Hill found it near the rose bushes.” Lydia stuck out her tongue.

“I set it down for a moment.”

Elizabeth lowered the letter into her lap entirely.

The room had become stifling despite the open windows.

Outside, sunlight spilled across the lawns in broad gold bands, and somewhere near the shrubbery a gardener called instructions to one of the younger boys.

The ordinary sounds of Longbourn continued as they always had, but within the morning room every conversation returned to Brighton.

Brighton, Brighton, Brighton. Officers and dinners and flirtation and freedom.

Lydia was happier with every mention of Brighton, which just made Elizabeth more uneasy.

That, more than anything else, unsettled Elizabeth.

There had always been something heedless in Lydia’s spirits.

At fourteen it had been merely noisy. At fifteen it had become exhausting.

Now, at nearly sixteen, her recklessness possessed a confidence that no longer appeared harmless.

She flirted openly with every officer willing to encourage her.

She spoke too loudly and too freely and treated every assembly as though propriety existed solely to inconvenience her.

And Brighton—

Elizabeth folded the letter more sharply than intended.

Mrs. Forster herself was scarcely older than Lydia and enjoyed admiration nearly as much. There would be dinners, card parties, excursions, late evenings, officers with little occupation beyond amusement, and very little supervision from anyone inclined to deny Lydia what she wished.

The thought made her stomach churn.

“You are very silent this morning, Lizzy,” Lydia observed. “Do you envy me so excessively?”

“I do not envy you at all.”

“Oh, but you must.” Lydia grinned broadly. “I would envy myself excessively.”

Kitty dissolved into helpless laughter.

Mrs. Bennet shook her head with fond indulgence. “Such spirits! Lydia always brings life into a room.”

Elizabeth’s eyes darted toward Jane’s empty seat at the breakfast table and wished, not for the first time, that her sister had delayed her walk. Jane possessed an ability to soften these conversations merely by being present.

Instead, Elizabeth found herself alone among them.

“Have you considered,” she began, “whether Brighton may perhaps offer too much freedom?”

Lydia groaned theatrically and flung herself back against the sofa cushions. “There! I knew she would begin.”

Mrs. Bennet’s expression stiffened. “What can you mean by that, Lizzy?”

Elizabeth set the letter aside altogether. “Simply that Lydia is very young.”

“I am not a child.”

“You are not quite sixteen,” Elizabeth reminded her.

Lydia scowled. “Almost.”

“Even so.”

Her sister crossed her arms. “You are determined to make me ancient before my time.”

Mrs. Bennet gave an impatient sniff. “I declare I cannot imagine why you must always speak so severely to your sisters. Lydia is invited because she is lively and agreeable.”

Elizabeth stared directly at her mother. “That is not always protection against imprudence.”

The room quieted for half a beat.

Kitty stopped fidgeting with the ribbons at her sleeve.

Mary lowered her book again, alert now in the manner of a person sensing approaching conflict and hoping to contribute unnecessarily.

Mrs. Bennet stared. “Imprudence?”

“Yes. Lydia has already encouraged enough gossip in Meryton.”

“I have done no such thing,” Lydia protested. “If officers choose to admire me, I cannot prevent it.”

“That is just the difficulty. You never attempt to.”

Lydia’s mouth fell open.

Mrs. Bennet straightened in her chair. “Really, Lizzy, your jealousy grows intolerable.”

Elizabeth blinked. “Jealousy?”

“You cannot endure Lydia receiving attention.”

“That is absurd.” She shook her head.

“Is it?” Lydia demanded. “You were very cross after Colonel Carter danced with me three times.”

“I was cross because you spent half the evening shouting across the assembly rooms.”

Kitty muffled a laugh behind one hand.

Lydia rounded upon her instantly. “Do not laugh at me!”

“You sounded as if you stood on opposite sides of Hertfordshire.”

“I was merely lively,” Lydia said defensively.

Mrs. Bennet nodded emphatically. “Exactly so. Young men admire spirits. Nobody wishes to dance with a girl who resembles a funeral procession.”

Mary cleared her throat. “A modest and retiring disposition has long been considered among the chief ornaments of the female character.”

Lydia rolled her eyes so dramatically Elizabeth almost laughed despite herself. “Good heavens, Mary,” she muttered, “if modesty were truly admired, no one would ever marry.”

“Lydia!” Mrs. Bennet cried, scandalized and delighted simultaneously.

Elizabeth pressed one hand against her forehead. This was impossible. She dropped her hand again before anyone noticed the gesture.

“Mother,” she said more firmly, “Brighton is not Meryton. Lydia already behaves with too little caution among people who know our family. Surrounded by strangers, with officers encouraging every impulse—”

“Your words imply that I intend to publicly disgrace myself,” Lydia interjected.

Elizabeth wished to reply in the affirmative but did not speak.

Lydia’s face changed in an instant. “Oh! You do think so.”

“I think you are often careless.”

“I am just cheerful.”

“You never consider consequences.”

“What consequences?” Lydia demanded. “Dancing too often? Laughing too loudly? Speaking to officers? I cannot imagine why everyone behaves as if I intend murder.”

Mrs. Bennet reached for Lydia’s hand. “Pay her no attention, my love. Lizzy has become very grand since visiting Kent.”

Elizabeth pinched the bridge of her nose.

That was unfair and utterly beside the point but arguing with her mother once she adopted this tone rarely improved matters.

Still, she could not remain silent.

“Mrs. Forster cannot supervise Lydia constantly.”

“She need not supervise me at all.”

“That,” Elizabeth replied, “is exactly the concern.”

Lydia sprang to her feet. “I will not endure this lecture any longer.”

She crossed the room in a flurry of ribbons and indignation, nearly colliding with Hill as the housekeeper entered carrying fresh tea things.

Hill stopped short. “Miss Lydia.”

Lydia swept past her dramatically. “I am persecuted in my own home.”

The door slammed hard enough to rattle the porcelain.

Kitty appeared stricken. “Now she will be miserable all day.”

Mrs. Bennet rounded upon Elizabeth. “I hope you are satisfied. Truly, Lizzy, your behavior astonishes me. You cannot bear anyone enjoying themselves.”

Elizabeth stared at her mother in disbelief. “Because I do not think Lydia should be given free rein in Brighton?”

“Given free rein! She is going with respectable people.”

“With very little guidance.”

“You always imagine the worst.”

Mary inserted solemnly, “The youthful mind is particularly vulnerable to temptation when removed from established structures of discipline.”

Kitty groaned aloud. “Mary, must you always speak as though you swallowed a sermon book?”

Mary drew herself upright with offended dignity.

Mrs. Bennet pressed her fingers dramatically to her temples. “I shall have one of my headaches directly. My nerves cannot survive such constant opposition.”

Elizabeth rose before irritation tempted her into saying something sharper still.

“I did not mean to distress anyone,” she said, though that had plainly become unavoidable. “I believe Lydia ought not to be encouraged in every inclination merely because she possesses one.”

Mrs. Bennet made a sound of outrage.

Kitty hurried after Lydia.

Mary resumed reading with the expression of a martyr denied proper appreciation.

Elizabeth escaped outside before another argument could begin.