Page 22 of What Change Entails

Her aunt and uncle had spoken of it more than once in planning their tour. Lambton remained dear to Mrs. Gardiner, and Pemberley was among the sights every traveler of sense desired to see. When the scheme had involved herself and the Gardiners, Elizabeth had told herself she could view the place with perfect detachment. Mr. Darcy would not be there. The house could not accuse her. Its woods and waters could say nothing of Hunsford.

Now Lydia would be with them, which ought to have made the prospect less precarious. Lydia could render any scene ridiculous if given time enough. No memory could remain solemn while Lydia complained of the absence of officers.

Still, Elizabeth’s pen hovered uselessly over the list.

Pemberley.

She imagined stone and trees and water, though she had no real notion of the place beyond what travelers said of it. Mr. Darcy’s letter had spoken of Wickham, Georgiana, and his own conduct. Never the house itself. Still, the name lingered in her mind more than it ought.

“Lizzy?”

Jane stood beside the trunk with one folded shawl in her hands. “Mama asked whether Lydia needs the green shawl.”

Elizabeth considered the shawl with a blank look on her face. “Oh. Yes, I think so. Our aunt says Derbyshire is cooler than Hertfordshire.”

Lydia groaned. “Cooler. There, you see? Even the weather means to persecute me.”

Mrs. Gardiner tucked the shawl into the trunk. “Then you will be persecuted warmly.”

Elizabeth bent back over the list, cheeks warmer than the room warranted. Jane’s eyes lingered upon her for a moment, too kind and too perceptive. Thankfully, Lydia demanded an opinion on slippers before Jane could ask anything.

The afternoon passed in that manner: half activity, half foolishness, with Lydia repeatedly declaring that she would take nothing, then objecting whenever something was removed. Mrs. Bennet joined them twice, each time adding garments Mrs. Gardiner had already rejected. Mary came once to offer a book of sermons for Lydia’s moral improvement during the journey. Lydia accepted it with alarming sweetness, waited until Mary left, and attempted to hide it beneath a stack of discarded stockings.

Mrs. Gardiner found it.

“Lydia.”

Lydia froze with one hand still on the stockings. “It fell.”

“Into concealment?”

“It is a very slippery book.”

Elizabeth chuckled before she could prevent it.

Lydia shot her a glare, but it lacked force. “You are not forgiven.”

“I had not supposed I was.”

“Good.”

Mrs. Gardiner placed the book on the small table rather than in the trunk. “Mary may improve herself with it at home. We shall not carry sermons through Derbyshire unless someone falls ill and requires them medicinally.”

Lydia stared at her aunt in admiration.

That, Elizabeth thought, may have done more to secure Mrs. Gardiner’s authority than every command issued before it.

When the trunk was at last closed, though not yet locked, Lydia stood over it with a mournful expression. “It looks too small to contain my happiness.”

Mr. Gardiner, who had come to the doorway to ask whether the ladies had survived, peered inside the room. “Most trunks are.”

Lydia appealed to him. “Uncle, you will take me to any assembly we encounter, will you not?”

“If your aunt approves.”

Lydia appeared to be affronted by such evasion. “But you are the gentleman.”

“And therefore wise enough to defer to the lady who knows what is proper.”