5. Chapter Five #3
“I am capable of responsibility when properly motivated.”
“That remains to be proven.”
Lydia smiled.
A few minutes later, the party separated in the most useful manner imaginable.
Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner remained behind with Mrs. Reynolds to discuss practicalities.
Fitzwilliam and Miss Elizabeth walked ahead toward the stream, not quite side by side at first, then closer when the path narrowed.
Georgiana followed with Lydia, far enough behind that they could not overhear, close enough to observe.
Lydia leaned near without releasing her arm. “You see it, do you not?”
Georgiana watched her brother bend slightly to hear something Miss Elizabeth said. “Yes.”
“He looks at her as though she is the only person in Derbyshire.”
Georgiana’s throat closed painfully. “He has been changed since Kent.”
Lydia stopped so abruptly a bee drifted past them undisturbed.
“Kent?” she demanded. “Was he in Kent in April?”
“Yes.” Georgiana faced her. “At Rosings Park, with our aunt.”
Lydia’s face lit with scandalized delight. “Ha! I knew it.”
Georgiana frowned. “Knew what?”
“Something happened between them in Kent. No wonder Lizzy acts uncomfortable whenever anyone mentions Pemberley. Do you think they are engaged?”
“She refused him,” Georgiana admitted. “My brother told me earlier.”
Lydia stared at her, then burst into laughter so sudden that Miss Elizabeth turned in surprise.
Georgiana’s face burned.
Lydia lowered her voice, though her mirth remained. “She did? Of course she did! Oh, if Mama knew…”
Georgiana nearly stopped walking. “That she refused my brother is remarkable, I must admit.”
Lydia gave her a look both sympathetic and practical. “I know he has ten thousand a year or more.”
“Yes. Ladies do not casually reject his attentions.”
“Those things do not matter to Lizzy when she is determined to be difficult.” Lydia tilted her head, watching the couple ahead. “She already refused our father’s heir.”
“Mr. Collins,” Georgiana said, remembering something Fitzwilliam had once mentioned with distaste.
“Yes, though no sensible woman should be expected to accept him merely because of an entail. He speaks in a manner that makes me think every sentence has dressed itself in Sunday clothes.” Lydia wrinkled her nose. “Still, Lizzy refused him quite firmly. Mama nearly died of it for a week.”
Georgiana gave her attention to her brother once more. “Why would your sister refuse Fitzwilliam?”
Lydia did not answer. Her expression, so lively a moment ago, became less certain.
“He insulted her,” she said at last.
Georgiana’s steps faltered. “My brother?”
“At the assembly. The first one. Mr. Bingley wished him to dance, and your brother said Lizzy was tolerable, but not handsome enough to tempt him.”
Georgiana’s face fell. She could picture it too easily. Not because Fitzwilliam was cruel. Because he could be proud, and because he spoke carelessly when he believed himself among people whose opinions would not matter to him. Or whom he had decided should not matter.
“That was badly done,” she whispered. And likely her fault. His mood when he left for Hertfordshire had been very black.
“Yes,” Lydia said with satisfaction. “Very badly. Though Lizzy laughed about it afterward, mostly. But she did dislike him exceedingly from that moment.”
Georgiana regarded Miss Elizabeth with new respect and fresh worry. “Then we must certainly help them become engaged.”
Lydia jerked her head back. “I am having second thoughts. Why should I help Lizzy? She made my summer miserable.”
“But if my brother loves her—”
“That is his misfortune.”
“Lydia.” The name came out before Georgiana could think better of using such familiarity.
Lydia beamed, unbothered by the familiar use of her Christian name.
Georgiana drew her arm a little closer, both embarrassed and determined. “We can dispense with formalities. I nearly killed you, after all.” She paused. “I think he does love her. And he has been unhappy.”
Lydia looked speculative. For several steps she said nothing. “Well,” she muttered, “Lizzy has been peculiar too.”
“That may mean she cares for him.”
“It may mean she is annoyed by rocks. People become strange in Derbyshire.”
Georgiana gave a startled laugh.
Lydia’s expression said she was pleased by it, but she sobered again. “If I do my sister a good turn, perhaps she will be more welcoming in the future.”
“At Pemberley?”
Lydia took in the sweep of grounds, the great house rising behind them, the stream flashing through the trees. “It would be very useful to have a sister here.”
Georgiana’s courage almost failed, but Lydia’s arm was warm through the fabric of her sleeve, and the words came more easily than many she had spoken in Miss Bingley’s company.
“I should like that,” she said. “I like you very much.”
Lydia stopped in the path and stared. “You like me?”
“Yes.”
“You do not think me too improper?”
Georgiana considered the girl before her: grass still caught in one curl, bonnet crooked despite repeated adjustment, eyes bright with mischief and hurt and energy. Improper? Perhaps. A little. Sometimes. But no one had ever made Georgiana feel so abruptly included in anything before.
“You are very different from anyone I usually know,” Georgiana admitted. “I think I should like to know you better.”
Lydia gaped for one more second. Then she looped their arms together more firmly and began walking again. “Miss Darcy, I believe we shall become excellent friends.”
She secured her hold on Lydia’s arm.
“I hope so. And call me Georgiana.”
Lydia giggled, soft but irrepressible. “The next few weeks will be quite an adventure indeed.”