Page 72 of Resilience

“Mrs Darcy begs your pardon, but she is not at home this week.” The footman bowed and returned her card. “If you will take a seat in the hall, I will call her carriage for you. She instructed that you were to be offered transport back to Lambton, if you walked all this way.”

“You must extend our thanks to Mrs Darcy for her thoughtfulness.” Miss Jenks and the other two ladies followed him into the hall and took a seat on a bench near the door. “I hope Mrs Darcy is not unwell.”

“Not at all, Miss Jenks,” the footman assured her as he sent a hall boy running to the stables. “Her sister Mrs Wickham has come to stay, that is all. Mrs Darcy is getting her settled, for I believe the woman’s husband is to go to the continent with the next regiment. We are meant to look after her here as Mrs Darcy’s guest.”

There was a hint of resentment in the footman’s tone, and Miss Jenks raised a worried brow at her sister as Miss Poole, who had only just now learned the name of Mrs Darcy’s sister, nearly expired from the shock of such news.

The breeze from the open window in Elizabeth’s private parlour was delicious as her youngest sister sat curled into the corner of the sofa, hands folded so tightly that Elizabeth wondered how they did not ache. Lydia had been at Pemberley for five days.

In that time, she had spoken little, eaten less–though Elizabeth could not believe that she was not hungry, given that she had lost nearly a stone–and she behaved as though the very walls might raise their voices against her. When Darcy or Richard entered a room, she very nearly panicked.

Elizabeth had ordered that no one was to press her with conversation. Georgiana, who had only ever spoken to Lydia about fashion, sensed that this would not be an appropriate subject now, and merely sat near her often with her embroidery, offering silent comfort. Mrs Annesley ordered tea and ensured that Lydia was comfortable whenever she entered a room. Darcy and Richard bowed with careful and gentle kindness each time they encountered her, and regarded Lydia as if she were made of something easily broken.

Priscilla merely provided company, though Elizabeth could see that observing Lydia’s state was a torment for her, a reminder of what could have become of her but for the grace of God. Elizabeth’s new cousin quietly grieved with their new guest, though the girl did not know it. It was Elizabeth who stayed with Lydia each day, who sat beside her, reading aloud from books of poetry and novels, who filled the silences with effortless everyday thoughts.

Today the two of them were alone and speaking little as Elizabeth mended one of her husband’s shirts. Lydia finally broke her silence when she cleared her throat.

“Have you heard from Kitty?”

Elizabeth’s hands stilled, and she paused as she considered how to answer. “Not since you sent a letter to inform her that you were here.”

Lydia nodded, staring out the window. “She used to tell me everything. What ribbons she planned to wear. Who spoke to her or looked at her twice. Who did not. I suppose she has other things to think of now.”

“She does,” Elizabeth agreed.

“But so do you and Mary. You barely leave me alone, and Mary has been here almost every day, at least for a little while.”

Elizabeth did not know how to reply to this, so she said nothing.

After a long silence, Lydia spoke again. “She does not wish to see me.”

“How did you–” Elizabeth gasped before Lydia answered.

“Mrs Reynolds thought I was asleep in the parlour.” There was a faint tremor in Lydia’s voice. “She was speaking to Mr Darcy in the hall, when she gave him the post. She warned him that you did not wish me to know that Kitty returned my letter.”

Elizabeth closed her eyes and prayed for the strength to help Lydia understand how Kitty was feeling without hurting her.

“She is afraid, Lyddie. Not of you as you are now, but of what she once was beside you. She is afraid of disappearing again.”

Lydia looked startled. “I never meant,--”

“I know,” Elizabeth said quickly. “But Kitty recalls a time when she did not know how to refuse you.”

“I thought she was glad of my company,” Lydia’s face crumpled with shame.

“She was,” Elizabeth comforted her. “But not always glad of all the choices and consequences that came with it.”

“She never told me!” Lydia objected, tears streaming down her cheeks.

“She did not know how,” Elizabeth explained. “You would not have heard her, even if she had. Or Mama would have shouted her down in your favour.”

Lydia drew her feet up under her skirts, pulling her knees close to her. “I am a dreadful person,” she whispered. “That is why I ended up with that awful Wickham.”

“You are not a dreadful person!” Elizabeth reached out for her sister’s hand. “You were young and unguarded. Our mother taught you to value admiration above judgement. And then you were betrayed by a man who exploited every weakness you possessed. You believed that Wickham loved you. He allowed you to believe that. He is mercenary. You are nothing like him.”

“What if it is a boy?” Lydia whispered.

“Your child?” Elizabeth asked as Lydia nodded.