Page 4 of What Change Entails

Kitty groaned aloud. “Mary, must you always speak as though you swallowed a sermon book?”

Mary drew herself upright with offended dignity.

Mrs. Bennet pressed her fingers dramatically to her temples. “I shall have one of my headaches directly. My nerves cannot survive such constant opposition.”

Elizabeth rose before irritation tempted her into saying something sharper still.

“I did not mean to distress anyone,” she said, though that had plainly become unavoidable. “I believe Lydia ought not to be encouraged in every inclination merely because she possesses one.”

Mrs. Bennet made a sound of outrage.

Kitty hurried after Lydia.

Mary resumed reading with the expression of a martyr denied proper appreciation.

Elizabeth escaped outside before another argument could begin.

The cooler air beyond the morning room brought little relief. She crossed toward the back gardens instead, passing open windows through which the remnants of conversation continued to drift.

Brighton by the sea. Officers and redcoats everywhere. New bonnets and fashionable dinners. The entirety of the matter appeared to have bewitched the household.

She descended the terrace steps and walked through the garden toward the orchard, where the grass remained damp from the previous evening’s rain. Bees moved lazily among the late summer flowers. Somewhere beyond the hedgerow came the distant sound of laughter—Kitty and Lydia already reconciled perhaps, or at least loudly quarreling.

Elizabeth slowed near the old stone wall bordering the orchard and rested one hand against its sun-warmed surface.

Perhaps she had spoken too strongly.

Lydia possessed no malice. That was part of the difficulty. She acted first, joked about it afterward, and never paused long enough to imagine how quickly foolishness could become genuine harm. Until now, her indiscretions had remained merely embarrassing. Meryton tolerated flirtation. Officers encouraged it. Brighton would make that worse.

She closed her eyes. A memory rose unbidden—Mr. Darcy standing rigid in the parsonage at Hunsford, every line of his face strained by emotion and pride and mortification all at once.

You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you.

Elizabeth opened her eyes. Of all moments for such recollections to intrude. She began walking again with rather more determination than direction.

The path curved toward the side lawn, where Mr. Bennet sat beneath one of the elms with a book open against his knee. He appeared perfectly at peace, which Elizabeth suspected meant he had not yet heard the full extent of Lydia’s dramatic suffering.

He acknowledged her as she approached. “Well,” he remarked, “someone has either died or been prevented from dancing. I cannot yet determine which.”

Elizabeth could not help smiling faintly. “At present, it is just Lydia’s happiness that lies injured.”

“Ah. Then the household may survive after all.”

“You joke because you have not witnessed the morning room.”

“I heard shouting through the library wall. That was sufficient warning.”

He flipped a page lazily.

Elizabeth hesitated beside him. “Papa…”

Mr. Bennet peered up at her again, one eyebrow lifting.

She rarely pressed serious matters with him. Their understanding had long rested upon shared amusement rather than confrontation, and perhaps because of that, uncertainty crept in now.

Still, she had begun this argument already. “I truly do not think Lydia ought to go.”

“Mm.”