Page 19 of What Change Entails

“And a smaller box.”

“For a whole journey?”

“Yes.”

Lydia fixed Elizabeth with a fresh look of accusation. “This is also your fault.”

Elizabeth, who had been taking her tea near Jane, lowered her cup. “I had not realized I possessed influence over the size of trunks.”

“You have influence over everything dreadful.”

“That is a formidable power. I shall try to wield it sparingly.”

Jane looked away, but not before Elizabeth caught the edge of her smile.

Mrs. Gardiner observed Elizabeth with an expression that steadied her more than praise would have done. “Lizzy, perhaps you and Jane might help Lydia consider what is necessary.”

“I will not be helped by Lizzy,” Lydia declared.

Mrs. Gardiner did not raise her voice. “Then you may be helped by Jane, and Elizabeth may help me with my lists.”

Lydia considered whether this counted as victory. Apparently it did, for she flounced back against the sofa and said, “Very well. Jane may help me. Jane does not enjoy ruining people.”

Jane’s expression softened. “I promise to be very respectful of your suffering.”

“That is all I ask.”

Mr. Bennet closed his book with a snap. “Excellent. We have arrived at diplomacy. I shall withdraw before peace collapses.”

“Do not abandon us,” Elizabeth murmured as he passed her chair.

“My dear Lizzy,” he replied under his breath, “a man must know his limits.”

And with that he escaped.

The remainder of the morning became a campaign of trunks, gowns, opinions, and contradiction.

Elizabeth had thought Lydia would refuse to pack at all. Instead, she refused to pack sensibly, which proved far worse. By midday, her bedroom resembled a chaotic scene from a milliner’s establishment disrupted by an armed invasion. Gowns lay across chairs. Gloves spilled from a drawer. Ribbons trailed along the carpet. Kitty sat amid the wreckage with a bonnet in her lap, alternately admiring and mourning it.

“This one must go,” Lydia declared, holding up a gown trimmed with pink. “It is my most becoming.”

Jane, kneeling beside the open trunk, folded a chemise with patient care. “You have already said that of four gowns.”

“They are becoming in different ways.”

Mrs. Gardiner stood near the wardrobe, sleeves neatly pinned back, surveying the disorder like a general unwilling to be defeated by muslin. “Then choose which way you most wish to be becoming.”

Lydia frowned at the gown in her hands. “That is cruel.”

“It is practical.”

“Practicality is always cruel.”

Kitty sighed over the bonnet. “I wish I were going. I should be practical if I were going.”

Lydia snatched a ribbon from the dressing table. “You would not. You would take every bonnet you own and borrow two of mine.”

“I would ask first.”