5. Chapter Five #2
“Do they all know what to do without being told?”
“Usually.”
“How convenient.” Lydia shook a bit of grass from her sleeve. “At Longbourn, everyone must be told everything several times, and then Mama forgets what she wanted done in the first place.”
Georgiana found herself smiling before she could decide whether she ought to.
Lydia noticed. “You laugh more than your brother.”
“Most people do.”
“Lizzy says he is proud.” There it was again. Lizzy. Said so easily. As if Miss Elizabeth Bennet belonged beside them on the path and might appear at any moment with opinions.
Georgiana took a small breath. “I think perhaps he is not always understood.”
Lydia wrinkled her nose. “That sounds like Lizzy when she is trying not to admit she has changed her mind.”
Georgiana’s interest grew despite herself. “Has she changed her mind?”
“Oh, I do not know.” Lydia began walking toward the house, apparently assuming Georgiana would follow. “She grows very odd whenever Pemberley is mentioned. At first, I thought it was because she felt guilty for ruining my summer, but now I am not so sure.”
Georgiana fell into step beside her, her ankle protesting with each uneven place in the path. “Ruining your summer?”
Lydia appeared astonished that she had to ask. “I was to go to Brighton. Mrs. Forster invited me particularly. There would have been officers everywhere, and dinners, and walks, and all the amusement imaginable. Then Lizzy told Papa I could not be trusted, and now I am here looking at views.”
“That is why you are in Derbyshire?” The north was infinitely preferable to the seaside in Georgiana’s opinion.
“Because my father decided I must go north instead of south.” Lydia kicked at a pebble on the path. “Aunt Gardiner says Derbyshire is beautiful. It is tolerable, I suppose, if one ignores the complete absence of officers.”
Georgiana did not know what answer such a statement required.
Lydia did not appear to need one. “We are staying in Lambton,” she continued.
“Aunt Gardiner lived there as a girl, and Uncle wished to tour the neighborhood. Lizzy wanted to see Pemberley because the family was supposed to be absent, which of course is very funny now, though I do not yet know why.”
Georgiana’s attention settled upon the bend in the path.
Fitzwilliam would be arriving soon. “Your sister is here?”
“Yes. Somewhere with my aunt and uncle.” Lydia rose onto her toes to peer beyond a stand of shrubs. “I walked ahead because they were speaking of prospects and improvements, and I cannot endure prospects unless they include people. I thought they were directly behind me.”
They rounded the house, the path narrowing where an old stone wall met a cluster of yews.
Lydia stopped so suddenly Georgiana nearly collided with her.
“Oh!” Lydia gasped, catching Georgiana’s sleeve and pulling her back behind the shelter of the wall.
Georgiana stumbled, caught herself, and whispered, “What is it?”
Lydia pressed one finger dramatically to her lips. “Look.”
Georgiana leaned just enough to see around the corner.
Her brother stood near the lower terrace with a lady in a handsome walking gown.
A man and woman who must have been the Gardiners stood some distance away, speaking with Mrs. Reynolds.
The lady—Miss Elizabeth Bennet, surely—faced the stream.
Fitzwilliam stood beside her, hat in hand, saying something Georgiana could not hear.
That alone would not have surprised her. His face did. All the tension he had carried since Kent had not vanished. It had changed direction. He seemed wary, hopeful, and so intent upon the lady beside him that the whole broad sweep of Pemberley might have disappeared without his notice.
Lydia sucked in a breath. “I cannot believe it.”
Georgiana’s hand rested against the wall. “What?”
“Your brother likes my sister.”
Heat rushed into Georgiana’s face. “Miss Lydia—”
“Oh, this is delightful.” Lydia peered around the corner again, then drew back with narrowed eyes. “No, wait. Lizzy’s appearance makes me think someone has asked her to admire a sermon. That cannot be good.”
Georgiana risked another glance.
Miss Elizabeth’s posture was not unkind. She listened. She even smiled faintly at something Fitzwilliam said. But there was hesitation in the line of her shoulders, a restraint that did not belong to indifference.
Lydia faced Georgiana in triumph. “Can you not see it?”
Georgiana swallowed. “I can see it.”
“What shall we do?”
The question came so promptly that Georgiana blinked. “Do?”
“Yes. Obviously, something must be done.” Lydia seized Georgiana’s arm with fresh enthusiasm. “We contrive to push them together.”
“Push them?”
“Not literally. Probably.”
Georgiana found her brother again. If Miss Bingley arrived tomorrow, she would see the same thing Lydia had seen.
Perhaps more, because Miss Bingley watched Fitzwilliam with a skill sharpened by years of hope.
She would interfere. She would arrange, interrupt, speak, imply, smile.
She would place herself beside him and treat Georgiana as a useful possession in a campaign.
Georgiana felt her earlier relief begin slipping away.
Then Lydia, still grass-stained and bright-eyed from nearly being run down, grinned at her; their conspiracy the most natural form of friendship.
Georgiana nodded. “Yes.”
Lydia blinked. “Yes?”
“Yes,” Georgiana repeated, the word gaining strength. “We should help them.”
Lydia’s grin widened. “Excellent.”
Georgiana smoothed her gloves, peeked once more at her brother, and gathered every bit of social courage she possessed. “How do we begin?”
“With an entrance,” Lydia declared. “A very good one.”
Before Georgiana could protest, Lydia looped her arm through hers and stepped out from behind the wall.
Georgiana nearly tripped, partly from her ankle and partly from terror.
Fitzwilliam turned. His expression moved from surprise to alarm as he took in Georgiana’s disordered habit, Lydia’s crooked bonnet, and the improper intimacy of their linked arms.
Georgiana pasted on the brightest smile she could manage. “Brother, I nearly ran down this poor lady with my horse. It was most impolite of me.”
Miss Elizabeth Bennet looked from Georgiana to Lydia, her eyes widening. “Lydia?”
Lydia beamed. “Lizzy! You will be glad to know I am not dead.”
Elizabeth crossed the grass, concern overcoming any other feelings she might have experienced. “What happened?”
“Miss Darcy nearly killed me,” Lydia said cheerfully. “But she apologized so handsomely that I forgive her for the present.”
Fitzwilliam reached Georgiana in three strides. “Are you hurt?”
“No,” Georgiana answered quickly.
Lydia pointed toward Georgiana’s boot. “She landed awkwardly.”
Fitzwilliam’s attention fell to the offending appendage.
Georgiana shot Lydia a betrayed expression. “It is a mild twist, and I shall be right in no time.”
Lydia shrugged.
“Georgiana,” her brother said, his voice low enough that she heard the strain in it.
“It is merely a twist,” she replied. “I dismounted too quickly. Miss Lydia bore the greater danger.”
“I bore it nobly,” Lydia added.
Elizabeth took her sister by the shoulders and examined her with exasperated affection. “You have grass in your hair.”
“I was nearly murdered. Grass is to be expected.”
Mrs. Gardiner and Mr. Gardiner approached then, Mrs. Reynolds following at a more discreet distance.
Introductions became necessary, awkward, and strangely exhilarating.
Lydia watched everything with the concentration of a general reviewing troops. Georgiana could hardly blame her.
Fitzwilliam executed a bow to Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner with a sincerity that surpassed Georgiana’s anticipations, and he extended greetings to Miss Elizabeth with a noticeable, albeit strained, reserve.
Miss Elizabeth curtsied. Color rose in her cheeks.
She gave him the briefest acknowledgment before directing her attention elsewhere.
When the first explanations were complete and Mrs. Gardiner had expressed proper concern over both young ladies, Georgiana surprised herself by speaking before her brother could.
“If you are to remain in Lambton for several weeks,” she said, clasping her hands to prevent them from fidgeting, “I hope my brother will allow me to persuade you to stay at Pemberley rather than the inn. It would give me great pleasure.”
Fitzwilliam stared at her in astonishment. There. The smallest break in his reserve. For an instant, Georgiana saw unmistakable hope in his face before he concealed it again.
Mr. Gardiner shared a look with his wife. “That is a most generous invitation, Miss Darcy. We should not wish to impose upon your hospitality.”
“You would not impose,” Fitzwilliam said, perhaps too quickly. He corrected his tone with visible effort. “Pemberley is always glad to welcome friends.”
Mrs. Gardiner studied him, then Elizabeth. “You are very kind, Mr. Darcy. We had intended to tour the house, believing the family away.”
“I am glad you were mistaken,” Georgiana said.
Lydia stiffened her arm slightly, as if to say, Very good.
Fitzwilliam added, “Mr. Bingley and his sister, with Mr. and Mrs. Hurst, are expected tomorrow. We shall have a fuller party than usual. I hope that will not deter you.”
Miss Elizabeth’s expression changed at the mention of Mr. Bingley. Georgiana caught the flicker before it disappeared.
Mrs. Gardiner’s attention shifted to her niece as well. “Perhaps my husband and I may speak together before accepting so generous an invitation.”
“Of course,” Fitzwilliam replied.
Georgiana beckoned to Lydia, then toward the path leading to the stream. “Might we walk while they consider it? I should be glad to show Miss Lydia a little of the grounds.”
Fitzwilliam noticed her ankle.
“I can walk,” she said before he asked.
“Only as far as the bridge,” Darcy said. “After that, you will allow Mrs. Reynolds to look at it.”
Lydia nodded vigorously. “She can. I shall make certain she does not run anywhere.”
Elizabeth gave her sister a doubtful look. “You?”