Page 1 of What Change Entails

Chapter One

The morning room at Longbourn had rarely contained so much noise before breakfast.

Mrs. Bennet sat near the open window with her workbasket beside her, though she had not taken a single stitch in nearly half an hour. Excitement rendered her incapable of industry. Every few moments she set aside her handkerchief, took it up again, adjusted the ribbons at her sleeve, then turned toward Lydia with renewed animation, as if the subject of Brighton grew more delightful each time it was repeated aloud.

“And Mrs. Forster has such connections,” she declared for perhaps the sixth time. “Such an agreeable young woman! Quite attentive. I always thought her remarkably sensible for her age.”

Elizabeth, who distinctly remembered her mother calling Mrs. Forster frivolous scarcely a fortnight earlier, kept her attention upon the letter in her lap and attempted not to sigh.

Kitty hovered beside Lydia’s chair in visible misery. “You must write every day,” she pleaded. “Every single day, Lydia, or I shall expire from curiosity.” Kitty had settled somewhat after crying for days and complaining of unfairness.

Lydia tossed back her head with a laugh. “I shall have no time for writing. We shall be forever walking upon the Steine or attending dinners and assemblies. Mrs. Forster says officers are constantly calling in Brighton. Colonels, captains, men from every regiment imaginable.” She favored her sisters with a triumphant smile. “You may enjoy sitting at home with Mary’s sermons, but I mean to enjoy myself.”

Mary raised her eyes from the book resting against her knee. “The pursuit of amusement without proper restraint often leads young women into difficulties from which reputation cannot easily recover.”

No one answered her.

Mrs. Bennet waved one hand impatiently. “Mary, pray do not begin moralizing before breakfast. You always make the room oppressive.”

“I merely observed—”

“Yes, yes, you observed. You always observe.” Mrs. Bennet attempted to cajole Lydia. “My dear child, you must have a new bonnet before you go. The blue one is already too faded for a fashionable watering place.”

“It was faded because Kitty borrowed it and left it in the garden,” Lydia replied promptly.

Kitty gasped. “I did no such thing!”

“You certainly did. Hill found it near the rose bushes.” Lydia stuck out her tongue.

“I set it down for a moment.”

Elizabeth lowered the letter into her lap entirely. The room had become stifling despite the open windows. Outside, sunlight spilled across the lawns in broad gold bands, and somewhere near the shrubbery a gardener called instructions to one of the younger boys. The ordinary sounds of Longbourn continued as they always had, but within the morning room every conversation returned to Brighton. Brighton, Brighton, Brighton. Officers and dinners and flirtation and freedom.

Lydia was happier with every mention of Brighton, which just made Elizabeth more uneasy. That, more than anything else, unsettled Elizabeth. There had always been something heedless in Lydia’s spirits. At fourteen it had been merely noisy. At fifteen it had become exhausting. Now, at nearly sixteen, her recklessness possessed a confidence that no longer appeared harmless. She flirted openly with every officer willing to encourage her. She spoke too loudly and too freely and treated every assembly as though propriety existed solely to inconvenience her.

And Brighton—

Elizabeth folded the letter more sharply than intended.

Mrs. Forster herself was scarcely older than Lydia and enjoyed admiration nearly as much. There would be dinners, card parties, excursions, late evenings, officers with little occupation beyond amusement, and very little supervision from anyone inclined to deny Lydia what she wished.

The thought made her stomach churn.

“You are very silent this morning, Lizzy,” Lydia observed. “Do you envy me so excessively?”

“I do not envy you at all.”

“Oh, but you must.” Lydia grinned broadly. “I would envy myself excessively.”

Kitty dissolved into helpless laughter.

Mrs. Bennet shook her head with fond indulgence. “Such spirits! Lydia always brings life into a room.”

Elizabeth’s eyes darted toward Jane’s empty seat at the breakfast table and wished, not for the first time, that her sister had delayed her walk. Jane possessed an ability to soften these conversations merely by being present.

Instead, Elizabeth found herself alone among them.

“Have you considered,” she began, “whether Brighton may perhaps offer too much freedom?”