16. Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Sixteen
Asecond week at Pemberley had settled the household into habits none of them would have anticipated upon their arrival.
Lydia Bennet had not meant to enjoy Derbyshire so much.
Indeed, she had not intended to take any delight at all in her holiday with the Gardiners and Elizabeth.
Her enjoyment was rather inconvenient, for she had set out prepared to leave no one in doubt of her suffering.
She had intended to endure mountains, old stones, elderly conversations, and scenery with enough tragic dignity to make Lizzy repent every word ever spoken against Brighton.
Instead, she had found Georgiana Darcy, Horace, streams, archery, fishing disasters, excellent cakes, a house with enough rooms to lose a whole regiment in, and Mr. Darcy proving himself much less disagreeable than any sensible girl had a right to expect.
Furthermore, she adored Georgiana. There was no use in pretending otherwise.
Georgiana was not at all what Lydia had expected from a young lady with thirty thousand pounds and a brother who might have been carved from very stern marble.
She was shy, yes, and sometimes so hesitant that Lydia wanted to seize her by both shoulders and shake courage into her.
But she was also funny in the most unexpected little bursts, and observant, and loyal, and so grateful for friendship that Lydia sometimes felt a peculiar tightness beneath her ribs and had to say something outrageous merely to rid herself of it.
It was too bad she had not known Georgiana before.
Kitty was a good sister for nonsense, but Georgiana listened in a different way.
She remembered things. She asked questions and gave every sign that the answer mattered.
When Lydia spoke, Georgiana did not directly correct her, laugh at her, or tell her to moderate her spirits.
She startled easily sometimes. Often. But never was she cruel or unfeeling.
As for Mr. Darcy, Lydia had decided she liked him too.
Not excessively. She was not going to be absurd about it.
He still possessed too many serious expressions, and he had a dreadful habit of making one feel one ought to stand straighter merely by entering a room.
He had sense enough to fall in love with Lizzy after insulting her, which proved that even proud men might improve if properly humbled.
Also, he had laughed when she fell in the mud, and though she had intended to be offended by it, she had found afterward that his laughing made him seem almost human.
Besides, he cared for Georgiana. That counted for a great deal.
Lydia sat upon the edge of her bed that morning with one stocking half on, thinking these thoughts while her maid attempted to locate a missing ribbon that Horace had almost certainly stolen.
Beyond the open window, Pemberley stirred already.
A gardener called to another near the rose beds.
Somewhere below, a door opened and shut.
Wheels rolled faintly over gravel, and from the stable yard came the voice of one of the grooms laughing at something Lydia could not hear.
She had been at Pemberley long enough to know the sounds now.
That was strange too. She had expected to feel like a visitor in some grand, chilly temple of wealth.
Instead, Pemberley had begun to feel like a place where one might run down a corridor if no one important observed it, where Mrs. Reynolds knew everything, where Horace stole gloves with shameless regularity, and where Georgiana belonged so deeply that Lydia wished Miss Bingley would stop trying to make her smaller inside her own house.
Miss Bingley. There was a creature designed to sour perfectly good mornings.
Lydia thrust her foot into the other stocking with more force than necessary.
Miss Bingley fancied herself mistress of Pemberley already.
She moved through rooms as though she had commissioned the plasterwork.
She corrected servants with the delicate air of a lady practicing future authority.
With confidence, she rearranged flowers.
She praised Georgiana’s gowns as if Miss Darcy were a doll dressed for her approval.
She spoke to Mr. Darcy in tones meant to remind everyone that she had known him longest, admired him most, and intended to continue doing so until he surrendered from exhaustion.
Unfortunately for Miss Bingley, Mr. Darcy had excellent taste in sisters and an improved taste in ladies.
Lydia smiled at that.
Lizzy did not deserve a good turn after her interference.
That remained Lydia’s firm opinion whenever she remembered Brighton.
Lizzy had ruined the whole scheme, and there was no denying it.
Still, Lydia was becoming mature, somewhat—in certain intervals.
And a mature young lady could surely assist a sister into a very grand marriage, even while retaining the right to mention, later and often, that the sister owed her everything.
“There,” Lydia said aloud, though no one had asked. “I shall be generous.”
Her maid, crouched near the washstand, glanced up. “Did you speak to me, Miss?”
“No. I was speaking to my character.”
The maid blinked.
“It is improving,” Lydia explained.
“Yes, miss.” The tone was too respectful to be believed.
Lydia grinned and held out her hand for the ribbon once it was found tucked behind the screen. “If Horace did not take it, he intended to. That is practically the same thing.”
By the time Lydia descended, breakfast had nearly ended. She found Georgiana sitting beside Elizabeth, Bingley talking animatedly to Mr. Gardiner, and Miss Bingley presiding over the far end of the table with the air of a woman tolerating an invasion.
Mr. Darcy stood near the sideboard speaking with a footman about some delivery from Lambton.
He watched Elizabeth as soon as she spoke, though his answer to the servant continued without delay.
Lydia noticed. She noticed everything now.
It was astonishing how much more amusing the world became when one attended to other people’s looks instead of merely one’s own ribbons.
Miss Bingley noticed too. Her spoon touched the side of her cup with a tiny sharp sound.
Lydia slid into the chair beside Georgiana. “Good morning. I have decided to be virtuous today.”
Georgiana’s eyes widened. “Have you?”
“Do not sound so alarmed. It may not last until luncheon.”
Elizabeth lowered her napkin. “That is longer than I expected.”
“Lizzy, when I am mistress of a great estate, I shall remember every slight you have ever offered me.”
Mr. Darcy faced the sideboard.
Bingley raised his cup of tea in a salute. “Miss Lydia, I pity your future household.”
“You need not. I shall be beloved by every servant because I shall never scold them for bringing too much cake.”
Mrs. Gardiner regarded her over the rim of her cup. “A dangerous administrative principle.”
“Very popular, I expect,” her husband said.
Miss Bingley smiled without amusement. “It is fortunate, then, that managing a great household requires rather more than a fondness for cake.”
Lydia brightened. “Does it? How disappointing. I had supposed cake a principal qualification.” Did Miss Bingley think her completely devoid of sense?
The lady sniffed delicately. “It is not among the accomplishments generally valued in a mistress of consequence.”
“Then society has been poorly arranged.” Not even a few minutes and her virtuousness was gone.
Georgiana bent over her plate. Mr. Darcy devoted remarkable attention to the footman’s note.
Miss Bingley’s color rose just enough to please Lydia.
The morning passed in a confusion of ordinary amusements.
Georgiana practiced for half an hour, though she chose her own music and shut the pianoforte before Miss Bingley could recommend another piece.
Lydia counted this as a victory. Mrs. Gardiner wrote letters.
Mr. Gardiner and Mr. Darcy disappeared to discuss something involving timber, drainage, or tenants, all of which sounded very improving and therefore not to be sought.
Bingley wandered in and out of rooms with cheerful restlessness, speaking to everyone and asking after Jane twice in a manner so clumsy even Lydia pitied him.
By noon, Miss Bingley had corrected Lydia’s posture—or rather, tried to—Georgiana’s choice of ribbon, and the placement of a vase in the small drawing room. The vase had been perfectly content where it was.
Lydia grew tired of her. “Come,” she whispered to Georgiana when Miss Bingley went to speak with Mrs. Hurst. “If we remain here, I shall be improved to death.”
Georgiana’s gaze flickered toward the window. “Where shall we go?”
“Anywhere Miss Bingley is not.”
“That is not a place.” Georgiana was as ready to flee as Lydia.
“It is the best place.”
They escaped by way of the music room, then the back corridor, then a passage Lydia had not used before and therefore approved. Georgiana, who had lived in the house all her life, allowed herself to be led through it with the guilty pleasure of a girl committing rebellion under supervision.
They ended in the older part of the house near a narrow sitting room overlooking the west lawn. The door stood half open. Voices came from within.
Lydia stopped.
Miss Bingley. How had the lady come to be in this part of the house so quickly? There was most certainly a more direct route than Lydia had taken.
Mrs. Hurst answered her sister, lower and more indolent, but quite unmistakable.
Georgiana would have drawn back. Lydia raised one finger to her lips and leaned nearer.
Eavesdropping was not virtuous. Lydia knew that. She also knew Miss Bingley rarely said anything worth hearing in public, which suggested private speech might be more informative.
Mrs. Hurst sighed. “Caroline, you make yourself miserable for no purpose.”