3. Chapter Three #2
Mr. Gardiner peered over the top of his newspaper, eyes twinkling with mischief. “One of the ‘men’ appears approximately twelve years of age.” He nodded to a young man—likely a drummer boy—trailing after the redcoats.
“He does not.”
Aunt Gardiner raised an appraising brow at her niece. “He appears younger than you.”
Lydia squinted through the window. “Perhaps a little.”
Mrs. Gardiner hid amusement behind her glove.
By the fourth evening of the journey, Lydia had accumulated several private revenges against Elizabeth.
She borrowed Elizabeth’s shawl without asking and returned it folded incorrectly and with mud on a corner.
Then she occupied the best chair in two separate inn parlors.
She repeatedly chose conversation topics involving officers whenever Elizabeth attempted to discuss landscapes with Aunt Gardiner.
Most satisfying of all, she began praising every eligible gentleman they encountered with extravagant enthusiasm.
“That gentleman near Sheffield possessed remarkably fine eyes,” she announced one evening over supper.
Elizabeth buttered her bread. “Did he?”
Lydia noted a slight twitch near Elizabeth’s eye. “Yes, indeed. And excellent shoulders.”
“You observed all this while he ordered soup?”
She huffed. “A girl may observe a great many things in less time than you suppose.”
Mr. Gardiner nearly inhaled his wine.
Mrs. Gardiner looked toward Lydia. “You may admire shoulders discreetly.”
“I am perfectly discreet.”
Elizabeth reached for Jane’s latest letter resting beside her plate. “You announced his shoulders to the entire supper room.”
“That is merely enthusiasm.”
“And what would impropriety resemble?”
Lydia considered. “Louder enthusiasm.”
Mr. Gardiner surrendered entirely to laughter.
Even Elizabeth smiled then, helplessly, and Lydia experienced the deeply inconvenient sensation of enjoying herself.
Lydia had not expected traveling itself to be so entertaining.
Every inn differed from the last. Some possessed crooked staircases and terrible tea; others offered enormous breakfasts and servants who stared openly at Lydia whenever she entered a room.
Villages gave way to larger towns. Hills rose gradually around them.
Once, while crossing a long stretch of countryside near evening, Lydia pressed close to the carriage window and watched sunlight spill across distant slopes in bands of gold and shadow.
“It looks almost theatrical,” she murmured before thinking.
Elizabeth followed her attention to the window. Lydia straightened abruptly. “Though there are still very few officers.”
Mr. Gardiner buried himself in his newspaper.
On the sixth morning, Mrs. Gardiner announced they would reach Lambton by evening.
“Lambton?” Lydia repeated from across the breakfast table. “Is that where the great house is?”
“The great house?” Mr. Gardiner echoed.
“You know perfectly well which one I mean.” Her aunt had professed a desire to see Pemberley since the first day of their journey. Pemberley was Mr. Darcy’s estate. And Elizabeth hated him.
Elizabeth lowered her spoon into her teacup.
Mrs. Gardiner dabbed one corner of her mouth with her napkin. “Pemberley is near Lambton, yes.”
Lydia brightened instantly. “Then we shall see it.”
“If the family permits tours,” Mrs. Gardiner replied.
“They must,” Lydia said confidently. “All the other great houses were open.” Chatsworth and Blenheim had been lovely. Lydia was filled with envy at the thought of possessing such fortune.
Elizabeth reached for her tea.
Lydia watched her over the rim of her own cup.
Something peculiar had happened every time Pemberley was mentioned during the journey.
Not dramatic. Lizzy merely grew still for a moment or spoke too quickly afterward.
Once she had angled herself entirely toward the carriage window and remained there so long Lydia nearly asked whether she had become ill.
Very suspicious behavior. Lydia narrowed her eyes thoughtfully. “Is Pemberley truly very grand?” she asked. She would make her sister as miserable as she could.
Mr. Gardiner nodded. “Exceptionally so, by all accounts.”
“It is a shame that Mr. Darcy is excessively proud,” Lydia added.
Elizabeth’s teacup paused midway toward her mouth.
Mrs. Gardiner’s gaze flickered between the sisters. “Great men possess as many faults as the poorest of individuals.”
Lydia rolled her eyes.
A faint color rose into Elizabeth’s cheeks.
Interesting. Very interesting indeed.
Mr. Gardiner rescued the moment before Lydia could say anything more to vex Lizzy. “You may interrogate your sister another time. Finish your breakfast before the eggs grow cold.”
Lydia obeyed, though reluctantly.
Kent had transformed Lizzy somehow. Lydia did not yet know why, but she meant to discover it eventually. Preferably in the most irritating manner possible.
The final stretch toward Lambton proved far prettier than Lydia had anticipated.
She would never admit this aloud while Elizabeth remained within hearing, but Derbyshire had improved steadily the farther north they traveled.
The hills no longer appeared merely inconvenient.
Rivers flashed silver beside the roads. Trees crowded thick along rising slopes, and the villages were cleaner somehow than many they had passed farther south.
Lydia leaned against the carriage window as they descended a winding road late that afternoon.
“There are too many sheep,” she declared after several moments.
Mrs. Gardiner smiled without looking up from her sewing. “Just yesterday you claimed the scenery was improving.”
She sighed heavily. “It is improving despite the sheep.”
“That is generous of it.”
Lydia pretended not to find her aunt’s words amusing.
Elizabeth sat opposite her with a book open once more, though Lydia suspected she had not changed the page in nearly ten minutes. Every few miles she glanced outside with increasing frequency.
Nervous. Lizzy kept looking out the window every few minutes. Lydia noticed things like that. She folded her arms and settled back into the squabs with satisfaction. Perhaps Derbyshire would prove more entertaining than she had first imagined after all.