14. Chapter Fourteen #3
“Certainly not. She likes him now. She tries to hide it, but Lizzy is much worse at hiding things than she thinks. Jane hides feeling. Lizzy hides feeling and then makes a speech about why she has none.”
Georgiana considered this and found, to her surprise, that it sounded plausible. “Is Miss Bennet truly so reserved?”
“Jane? Oh yes. Sweetly reserved. Too reserved. It caused all sorts of misery last autumn with Mr. Bingley.”
Georgiana straightened slightly. “Mr. Bingley?”
Lydia’s foot stopped swinging. “You do not know?”
“I know he leased Netherfield. I know he invited my brother. And from what he says, I am aware that he admired your neighborhood.”
“Admired it! Mr. Bingley admired Jane. He danced with her first, spoke with her constantly, and could scarcely keep his attention from her. He became foolish whenever she entered a room, and called at Longbourn so often Mama nearly expired from expectation?”
Georgiana’s brows drew together. “Then what happened?”
Lydia shrugged. “He went to London and never came back.”
“That seems unlike him.”
“It was unlike him. Jane said nothing against him, of course, because Jane would excuse a person who stepped on her foot and then blame her shoe.” Lydia picked at a loose thread upon her sleeve. “But she was heartbroken.”
Georgiana’s stomach clenched uncomfortably. “I am very sorry.”
Lydia shrugged, then appeared cross with herself for doing it. “I did not pay much attention at the time. I thought Jane too mild to be interesting, and I cared more about officers than sorrow. But she was. Heartbroken, I mean. Lizzy was furious.”
“Did Mr. Bingley know?”
“How should he? He was in London being managed by sisters.”
Georgiana did not answer.
Miss Bingley’s voice lingered in her memory: soft corrections, affectionate claims, delicate warnings about proper society.
Mrs. Hurst too, with languid certainty and elegant dismissal.
If they had wished Mr. Bingley to forget Miss Bennet, they would not have needed cruelty.
Their methods were made of smaller things.
“I would not be surprised,” Georgiana said slowly, “if Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst encouraged him to leave.”
Lydia slapped one hand against the arm of the chair. “I knew it.”
“You cannot prove it from what I said.”
“I do not require proof. I have instincts.” She examined her fingers in the candlelight.
“Your instincts once involved paying a boy to splash Miss Bingley with mud.” Georgiana had found guilty delight in witnessing the ensuing chaos.
“And they were excellent.”
Georgiana tried to look reproving and failed.
Lydia stood and began pacing before the fire, gathering energy with every step. “Then it is decided. After Mr. Darcy marries Lizzy, they will return to Hertfordshire, and Mr. Bingley must come with them. He is Mr. Darcy’s dearest friend, is he not?”
“Yes.”
“Then naturally he will go where Mr. Darcy goes.”
“Perhaps.” Maybe Mr. Bingley would remain in town. Georgiana doubted it.
“No perhaps. Men are very simple when properly arranged. Mr. Bingley needs to see Jane, Jane needs to smile at Mr. Bingley with more force than usual, and Miss Bingley needs to be somewhere else. Preferably Scotland.”
Georgiana snickered. “Scotland is rather severe.”
“Wales, then.”
“That seems unfair to Wales.”
“Very well, she may remain in London and criticize curtains.”
Georgiana rose and crossed toward her dressing table, partly to hide her amusement and partly because Lydia pacing too near the fire made her nervous. “It may not be so easily repaired.”
“Why not?”
“People are often hurt by silence. Even if explanations come later.”
Lydia stopped. For once, she did not have a ready answer.
Georgiana stared at her in the mirror.
Lydia’s expression had altered, the laughter fading into something more uncertain. “Jane would forgive him,” she said at last. “She forgives everyone.”
“That does not mean she was not hurt.”
“No.” Lydia picked at the thread on her sleeve again. “I suppose it does not.”
The pause between them was not awkward exactly, but it was new. Lydia seldom sat with uncomfortable thoughts if she could outrun them.
Georgiana moved away from the glass. “We can help, perhaps. But cautiously.”
Lydia brightened at the word, though perhaps less carelessly than before. “Yes. Precisely… or as cautiously as I can manage.”
“Lydia.”
“I shall try,” she insisted.
“That is more reassuring than I expected.”
Lydia huffed playfully. “Do not grow accustomed to it.”
Georgiana smiled and opened a small drawer, retrieving a ribbon Lydia had admired earlier from the milliner’s shop. It was green, not soft green, but not quite as alarming as Lydia preferred. She crossed the room and held it out.
“For your next campaign.”
Lydia stared at the ribbon, then at her. “You bought it?”
“You admired it three times.”
“I admire many things.”
Georgiana agreed. “Yes. Loudly.”
Lydia took the ribbon with both hands, and for a rare moment her expression held no jest ready to leap out.
“Thank you,” she said. The words came smaller than usual.
Georgiana sat on the bed and beckoned Lydia to join her. “You are welcome.”
Lydia recovered quickly, or pretended to. She lifted the ribbon and draped it across her hair. “Now, if I wear this while assisting Jane and Mr. Bingley, it shall become my matchmaking ribbon.”
“Does matchmaking require special costume?”
“Everything important requires special costume.”
“I was not aware.” She struggled to suppress her amusement.
“That is because you have lived a sheltered life.”
Georgiana could not disagree.
Lydia flopped back across the bed with the ribbon still across her hair.
“It is settled. First Lizzy and Mr. Darcy. Then Jane and Mr. Bingley. After that, perhaps Kitty may marry someone rich enough to buy feathers without taste, and Mary may marry a clergyman who owns many sermons and never asks anyone to sing.”
“Lydia!”
“What? I am thinking of everyone.”
“You are impossible.”
“I know.” Lydia folded the ribbon over her nose, then removed it when it made speech difficult. “Do you know something, Georgiana?”
“What?”
“Matchmaking is ever so much more fun than husband hunting.”
Georgiana stared at her for half a second.
Then laughter overtook them both. Lydia snorted loudly and without restraint, and Georgiana followed until she had to press a hand against her side.
The sound filled the room, escaped under the door, and very likely disturbed anyone passing in the corridor.
For once, Georgiana did not care. She dropped back beside Lydia upon the coverlet, still laughing, while the green ribbon lay between them like a banner for all future mischief.