Page 211 of What Change Entails

Elizabeth stared.

“I do,” Lydia said defensively. “I know it is absurd. I used to think him horrid. I still think him horrid in some ways. He always looks like he is about to scold someone, and often he is. But I miss him.”

Elizabeth lowered herself into the opposite chair, partly because her knees had become unreliable. “I miss him too.”

Lydia nodded fiercely, relieved by the confession. “Of course you do. You are in love with him.”

“Lydia.”

“Well, you are.”

Elizabeth reached for the poker and adjusted a piece of coal that required no adjustment. “That is not a subject for an inn parlor.”

“It is precisely a subject for an inn parlor. No one important is here.”

“The servants are important.”

“They are busy. Also, they likely know more about people in love than we do.”

Elizabeth should have rebuked her. Instead, she pressed her lips together and let the fire answer for her.

Lydia leaned forward, elbows upon her knees. “I am sorry.”

The words came abruptly.

Elizabeth turned from the grate.

“For what?”

“Oh, many things. You will have to choose one if you want order.”

“Lydia.”

Her sister picked at the edge of the handkerchief. “For being dreadful. Before. At home. In Meryton. About officers. About Brighton. About everything, I suppose. I did not mean to be dreadful all the time. Just some of the time.”

A laugh escaped Elizabeth, too unsteady to be very merry.

Lydia’s eyes filled. “Do not laugh.”

“I am not laughing at you.”

“You are a little.”

“A little,” Elizabeth admitted. “But kindly.”

“That is acceptable.”

Elizabeth reached across the narrow space between their chairs and took Lydia’s hand. Her sister’s fingers were cold.

“I am sorry too.”

Lydia frowned. “You?”

“Yes. I judged you harshly.”

“I was often ridiculous.”

“You were,” Elizabeth said, and Lydia’s mouth twitched despite herself. “But I dismissed you too easily. I thought you incapable of change because change would have required more patience from me than scolding.”