Page 25 of What Change Entails

Lydia glared harder. Her sister had become altogether too serene during the journey. At Longbourn there had at least been some visible guilt attached to ruining Lydia’s life. On the road, Elizabeth was almost happy. She liked talking to Aunt Gardiner about views and towns and books no one sensible wished to read. She walked whenever the weather permitted and returned with color in her cheeks and bits of leaves caught against her hem. Twice already she had laughed so freely with Mr. Gardiner over some ridiculous story that Lydia had nearly forgotten herself enough to join in.

Nearly. She would not forgive so easily. The carriage rocked again.

Mrs. Gardiner set aside her reticule and regarded Lydia thoughtfully. “You have sighed no fewer than six times within the last quarter hour.”

“I suffer.” How could they not understand her pain?

“You suffer comfortably.” Mrs. Gardiner smiled blandly.

“That does not improve matters.”

“It improves them a great deal,” Elizabeth murmured.

Lydia kicked lightly at her sister’s boot.

Elizabeth looked up at last. “Lydia.”

“You deserved it.”

Mr. Gardiner unfolded the newspaper again. “I foresee a very long road to Derbyshire.”

“You chose to bring us,” Elizabeth reminded him.

“That is true. A grave tactical error.”

Lydia smiled despite herself, then quickly suppressed it before anyone could take encouragement.

The rain eased by the time they reached the next posting inn, though the yard remained muddy enough to threaten Lydia’s slippers.

“This place smells of horses,” she complained while Mr. Gardiner handed her down from the carriage.

“It is a coaching inn,” Elizabeth replied, gathering up her skirts behind her. “What precisely did you expect it to smell of?”

“Pastries,” she replied saucily.

Mrs. Gardiner emerged next, accepting the ostler’s assistance with practical ease before surveying the inn yard. “We shall stop long enough for luncheon and fresh horses.”

Lydia brightened faintly. “Will there be pastry at luncheon?”

“If there is not, I shall consider the north entirely barbaric,” Mr. Gardiner assured her.

The inn parlor proved low-ceilinged but warm, with rain-darkened beams overhead and a fire crackling despite the season’s lingering warmth. Lydia took possession of the chair nearest the hearth before Elizabeth could reach it.

“That was deliberate,” Elizabeth observed.

“Yes.”

Elizabeth took a different seat without complaint. “You are extraordinarily vindictive for a person denied one seaside excursion.”

Lydia accepted the cup of tea the maid placed before her. “Brighton was not merely a seaside excursion. It was my future.”

Mrs. Gardiner removed her gloves and seated herself between them before another argument could properly begin. “Your future is remarkably resilient for something destroyed three times daily.”

Lydia leaned back dramatically. “Aunt, you do not comprehend the extent of my suffering.”

“I comprehend that you have complained from Hertfordshire to Nottinghamshire without exhausting yourself.”

Mr. Gardiner took the chair opposite them and unfolded his napkin. “That requires admirable stamina.”