Page 167 of What Change Entails

“You must play after tea,” she said. “I have had so much headache today that nothing save your music could restore me.”

Georgiana placed her cup upon the table.

Another string.

Another pull.

Her throat closed a little, but anger came this time with the discomfort. A little. Enough to help.

“I do not care to perform this afternoon.”

Miss Bingley’s fan opened.

“Perform? My dear girl, you know we do not consider it performance among friends.”

Georgiana’s fingers pressed into the folds of her gown. Lydia had stopped stroking Horace altogether. Mrs. Gardiner sat very still near the tea tray. Fitzwilliam’s attention remained on the book in his hand, though Georgiana knew he was listening to every word.

“I prefer not to play,” Georgiana said.

Miss Bingley gave a soft, indulgent sound. “You are shy today. I shall choose something easy. Perhaps the Mozart air your brother favors.”

There were moments in which Georgiana could still feel the old habit rise first. Agree. Move. Please everyone. Avoid notice. Let the discomfort pass.

Then she remembered Miss Bingley in the corridor the day before. Too young to judge properly. Brought back to proper influence. Georgiana had heard the words from Lydia’s mouth afterward, but Lydia’s voice had carried too much anger to soften them. Miss Bingley did not think her shy. She thought her manageable.

Georgiana set her hands upon the arms of her chair and stood.

The motion startled her almost as much as anyone else.

“I prefer to answer for myself, Miss Bingley.”

The words were not loud.

They did not need to be.

Mr. Hurst, who had been selecting a cake, paused with the tongs suspended above the plate.

Mr. Bingley stared into his cup.

Miss Elizabeth’s embroidery needle halted midair.

Fitzwilliam faced fully toward Georgiana.

Miss Bingley’s fan remained open, but it no longer moved.

“I beg your pardon?” she said.

Georgiana’s knees wanted very much to tremble. She locked them beneath her skirt and hoped no one would notice.

“I know whether I wish to play,” she said. “I do not wish it presently.”

Lydia made a tiny strangled sound.

It might have been pride. It might have been distress from having to remain silent. With Lydia, both were possible.

Miss Bingley recovered enough to laugh lightly. “Of course, dear Georgiana. No one wished to compel you.”

“No,” Georgiana said, because once the first no had emerged, the second came more readily. “But you often decide before I have answered.”