Page 10 of What Change Entails

“She thinks me foolish,” Lydia muttered. “I know she does. They all do.”

“Mama does not,” Kitty offered unhelpfully.

“Mama thinks me delightful.”

“Because you are.”

For a moment Lydia softened. Mama understood. Mama had always understood that admiration mattered, that officers were interesting, that dullness was a kind of death, and that a new bonnet could restore a person from almost any affliction. If Mama had commanded the household, Lydia would already be packing for Brighton and Kitty would be begging for a place in the trunk.

Then Lydia remembered that Papa commanded the household whenever he could be bothered, and Lizzy had somehow convinced him to be bothered.

Her temper came back with vigor.

“I ought to have known Lizzy would interfere,” she said. “She has always liked spoiling things.”

“She does not spoil everything.” Trust Kitty to support both sides of the argument.

“She spoiled Mr. Collins.”

Kitty frowned. “How?”

“By refusing him. If she had married him, she would be mistress of that horrid parsonage in Kent and too far away to ruin Brighton.”

Kitty’s mouth dropped open, then she began to giggle. “Lydia!”

“It is true. And then Charlotte Lucas might still be here, though I do not suppose that would improve matters much.”

“Charlotte would never go to Brighton.”

“No, but she would not prevent me from going either. Charlotte minds her own business. Lizzy minds everyone’s.” Lydia huffed and swiped at her eyes again.

Kitty drifted back to the bed and sat cross-legged upon it, a habit Mrs. Bennet detested whenever she caught them at it. “Perhaps Lizzy is unhappy because she was never asked by anyone interesting.”

This notion delighted Lydia so much she removed the bonnet and set it in her lap. “Oh!” she cried. “Perhaps she is.”

“Mr. Collins proposed to Lizzy.”

“Yes, but no one truly counts Mr. Collins. Being proposed to by Mr. Collins is more punishment than compliment.” Lydia bent over with sudden laughter, then caught sight of her red eyes in the mirror and stopped, because tragedy ought not become unbecoming. “Still, she may be cross from disappointment generally. People grow very disagreeable when disappointed.”

Kitty’s eyes shone with the importance of their discovery. “And she could not endure that you should go to Brighton and be admired while she remained here.”

“That must be it.” Lydia rose, clasping the bonnet to her chest. “She is jealous.”

The word pleased her immensely. It gave shape to the injustice. It made Lizzy smaller and Lydia injured in a grander fashion. Jealousy explained lectures. Jealousy explained warnings. Jealousy explained why Lizzy had been so grave at dinner—perhaps she thought Lydia was already halfway to infamy merely by wishing to visit the seaside.

“She will be sorry,” Lydia announced.

Kitty looked eager. “What shall you do?”

Lydia walked to the wardrobe and opened both doors with a flourish. “I shall never forgive her.”

“Never?”

“Never.” She began pulling out gowns one by one and tossing them over her arm. “When I marry a colonel, she will not even be invited to visit me.”

Kitty giggled. “That will punish her very much.”

“It ought to.”