1. Chapter One #5
Kitty frowned. “Would that not make her think she had done you a favor by sending you there?”
Lydia stared at her.
The problem was infuriating.
“You are becoming as troublesome as Mary.”
Kitty scowled. “I am helping.”
“Well, help less sensibly.”
Kitty folded her hands in her lap and attempted to look chastened, though her mouth twitched.
Lydia leaned closer to the mirror, inspecting the damage done by tears. Her nose was indeed red. That was Lizzy’s fault too. She dabbed beneath her eyes with a handkerchief and adjusted one loose curl.
A new idea arrived.
“I shall make her feel guilty.”
Kitty blinked. “How?”
“By being melancholy.”
“You?”
“Yes, me.”
Kitty’s skepticism became insulting.
“I can be melancholy,” Lydia insisted.
“For how long?”
Lydia hesitated. “Long enough.”
“Until breakfast?”
“Perhaps until after breakfast, if no one serves ham.”
Kitty began laughing again.
Lydia tried not to join her, failed, and ended by throwing the handkerchief at her sister.
“You are no help at all.”
“I am a great help,” Kitty said, wiping her eyes. “I am helping you not die.”
“I may yet die.”
“Not before ham.”
This was so reasonable that Lydia had no answer.
They remained laughing for a minute, breathless and foolish, the kind of laughter that made anger retreat without permission. Lydia hated that too, a little. She wanted to remain magnificently wronged. It was difficult to maintain grandeur while giggling over breakfast meats.
Then she stared toward the bonnet again.
The laughter faded more slowly this time.
“I did want to go,” she said, no longer performing quite so much. “Very much.”
Kitty’s expression softened. “I know.”
“Mrs. Forster chose me.” Lydia picked at a loose thread on her sleeve. “Not Jane. Not Lizzy. Me.”
Kitty moved nearer on the bed. “Of course she did. You are more fun.”
Lydia swallowed, annoyed by the sudden thickness in her throat. “And now everyone will think I was not allowed because I cannot be trusted.”
Kitty did not answer quickly.
That was answer enough.
Lydia raised her head sharply. “Do you think that too?”
“No!” Kitty said. “Only… Lizzy made it sound that way.”
“Lizzy makes everything sound worse.” Lydia stood again because sitting still had become unbearable.
“Well, I shall show them all. I shall go to Derbyshire, and I shall be admired, and I shall not sketch ruins unless I am forced at gunpoint. I shall write to Mrs. Forster, and she shall pity me exceedingly. I shall return improved enough that Papa cannot complain and lively enough that Lizzy cannot claim victory.”
Kitty appeared uncertain. “Can one be both?”
“I can.”
Lydia said it with such conviction that the possibility almost became real.
She crossed to the bed and began gathering the gowns she had thrown there. The blue muslin, the sprigged one, the pink, the white if Mama could be persuaded. If she was to be banished, she would at least be banished attractively.
“And I shall be very cold to Lizzy tomorrow,” she added.
“How cold?”
“Freezing.”
Kitty nodded. “Will you speak to her?”
“If necessary.”
“What if she asks for the butter?”
“I shall pass it to Jane, and Jane may pass it to her.”
This arrangement pleased them both.
“And if Lizzy apologizes?” Kitty asked.
Lydia lifted her chin. “I shall say, ‘I hope you are satisfied.’”
“Very good.”
“And then I shall look wounded.”
“You do that well.”
“I know.”
Lydia folded the blue muslin very badly and placed it on the chair.
The act of packing, even pretend packing, improved her spirits.
Derbyshire remained a punishment, but gowns made punishment less intolerable.
Besides, Aunt Gardiner was fond of her in a sensible sort of way.
Uncle Gardiner might take them to shops.
There could be handsome gentlemen. Perhaps even officers.
Men could not all vanish merely because one left Hertfordshire.
Still, Lizzy would not be forgiven quickly.
Lydia returned to the bed and dropped beside Kitty with a dramatic sigh.
“If I do meet a handsome gentleman in Derbyshire,” she said, “I shall not tell Lizzy first.”
“No?”
“No. I shall tell you. Then Mama. Then perhaps Jane. Lizzy may hear of it accidentally and suffer.”
Kitty sighed with satisfaction. “That is very just.”
The door opened, and Hill appeared with a look of long-suffering patience. “Miss Lydia, Miss Kitty, Mrs. Bennet says there is to be less noise overhead.”
“We are grieving,” Lydia said.
Hill studied at the scattered gowns, the bonnet on the floor, the pillow near the washstand, and Kitty’s flushed face.
“Very loudly, miss.”
Kitty snorted.
Hill withdrew before either girl could answer.
Lydia waited until the door closed, then seized the nearest pillow and struck Kitty squarely in the shoulder.
Kitty shrieked and retaliated.
By the time Mrs. Bennet called up the stairs ten minutes later to demand whether Lydia required hartshorn, Lydia had decided three things with perfect certainty.
She was still the most wronged girl in Hertfordshire.
Lizzy would be made to regret everything.
And if Derbyshire must be endured, Lydia Bennet would not endure it dully.