8. Chapter Eight #4
Lydia whirled to face Georgiana. “What a villain.” How could Mr. Wickham be so despicable?
Georgiana gaped.
Lydia crossed the room, wheeled sharply, and crossed back again. “That absolute nefarious creature. Mama invited him to dinner repeatedly. Kitty cried for two days after the regiment—after he—left Meryton. He danced with everyone. He flirted with—”
She stopped herself. He had flirted with her, talked of an engagement and marriage. He was the one who had urged Mrs. Forster to invite Lydia to Brighton.
Georgiana watched her warily now.
Lydia faced the windows. “I thought him very handsome,” she admitted finally, furious with herself. “And amusing. Lizzy defended him constantly after hearing him speak against your brother. And then she thought his presence distasteful.”
He would have been in Brighton with the regiment, free to flatter her without Lizzy or her family nearby.
For the first time, Lydia understood that recklessness was not just a thing other people accused her of; it was a door through which men like Wickham entered.
Had Papa not intervened, Brighton might have become her own Ramsgate.
“She had reason then.”
“Yes, but still—” Lydia broke off again.
Georgiana bent to gather fallen music sheets from the carpet. Lydia crouched beside her to help. Their heads nearly collided.
“Sorry.”
“No, I—”
They stopped together awkwardly. Then, unexpectedly, Georgiana laughed first. It was unpolished and unembarrassed; tired and real.
Lydia sat back on her heels holding several crumpled pages in one hand. “I cannot bear the thought of him now,” she declared.
“You need not on my account.”
“I do on my own account. Imagine trying to trick a girl our age into eloping. I ought to box his ears.” She frowned, realizing she would have agreed if only to be the first of her sisters to marry.
Georgiana’s expression wavered somewhere between shock and amusement. “You cannot mean that literally.”
“I absolutely do.”
That startled another laugh from Georgiana.
Lydia watched her closely then. Miss Bingley spoke of Georgiana’s beauty and accomplishments. But there was more. There was softness whenever Georgiana forgot to guard herself. Lydia disliked how often that caution appeared elsewhere.
A knock interrupted them both. Miss Bingley’s voice followed afterward. “Georgiana? Are you within?”
Georgiana stiffened.
Lydia saw it happen this time without needing to think about it. “Do not answer,” she whispered.
“That would be rude.”
“Yes.” Miss Bingley deserved it.
Another knock. “Georgiana?”
Lydia marched toward the door before Georgiana could rise and opened it halfway.
Miss Bingley stood outside in pale lavender silk looking mildly displeased already. “Oh. Miss Lydia.”
“Yes,” Lydia replied cheerfully. “A terrible shock, I know.”
“I had hoped to practice with Georgiana.” Her smile was sickly sweet. It made Lydia want to gag.
“She is occupied.”
Miss Bingley’s peered past Lydia into the room. “Surely not so occupied she cannot receive a friend.”
Lydia leaned one shoulder deliberately against the doorway. “She can if she wishes.”
Miss Bingley’s smile sharpened faintly. “You grow remarkably protective.”
“Someone ought to.”
Georgiana made a distressed sound behind her.
Miss Bingley addressed Georgiana directly then. “My dear, are you truly content hiding away upstairs all afternoon?”
Lydia went instinctively toward Georgiana.
And there it was again. That hesitation, the shrinking uncertainty. It was not fear exactly.
Habit. Her thoughts named it.
Lydia disliked watching her friend retreat into herself.
Georgiana rose slowly from the pianoforte bench. “I think perhaps I shall remain here a little longer.”
Miss Bingley’s expression cooled. “Very well,” she answered. “Though your brother wished for music earlier.”
“We have music here,” Lydia replied before Georgiana could speak again.
Miss Bingley studied her for one long second. Then she walked away.
Lydia shut the door firmly.
Behind her Georgiana exhaled slowly.
“Well,” Lydia declared, “I dislike her more every hour.”
“You should not quarrel with guests.”
“She quarrels first. She simply does it politely.”
Georgiana was amused despite herself and went back to the pianoforte.
Lydia remained near the door a moment longer watching her. Then she crossed the room and dropped into the seat beside her. “You need not let her manage you,” she said insistently.
Georgiana traced one finger over the keys without playing. “It is difficult to stop behaving as people expect.”
“Then disappoint them.”
“That advice sounds very natural from you.”
“It is.” She disappointed everyone and cared not a jot.
Georgiana tilted her head toward her.
Lydia reached over impulsively and squeezed her hand once. “Well,” she muttered, suddenly awkward herself, “I shall not allow Miss Bingley to bully you anymore. Someone must preserve order in this house.”
That startled Georgiana badly enough she struck the wrong key outright. The ugly note echoed through the room. Then both girls dissolved into helpless laughter while Horace barked indignantly beneath the window at the noise.