Page 64 of What Change Entails

Lydia stirred her tea violently. “How tragic.”

Miss Bingley accepted fresh tea from a servant. “Exposure to polished company improves everyone eventually.”

“Oh, certainly.” Lydia fixed Miss Bingley with a direct look. “Myself, I hope to become very polished after another week at Pemberley. Perhaps by then I shall stop speaking entirely and merely stare at people until they feel inferior.”

Mr. Bingley burst into laughter so suddenly tea splashed onto his cuff. Darcy redirected his attention toward the gardens much too quickly. Georgiana made a sound halfway between a gasp and a laugh. And, as Lydia had intended, Miss Bingley’s color rose.

Elizabeth pressed fingers against her forehead. Mrs. Gardiner rescued the conversation before actual disaster occurred, but Lydia scarcely listened afterward.

Her attention remained fixed elsewhere—on Georgiana. Every time Miss Bingley addressed her directly, Georgiana shifted slightly. Her shoulders hunched. Her answers shortened.

Lydia found herself watching Georgiana constantly by then.

That evening, after cards had ended and Mrs. Hurst retired complaining of a headache, Lydia escaped into the gallery with Horace lumbering behind her.

The house had grown dim and warm. Candlelight flickered along the portraits. Somewhere below stairs servants still moved about settling the evening.

Footsteps approached behind her.

Georgiana.

“There you are,” Lydia said. “I thought Miss Bingley had finally locked you inside a cabinet for safekeeping.”

Georgiana chuckled despite visible fatigue. “She does not mean harm.”

“Then I dislike her naturally.”

Horace collapsed heavily across the carpet between them.

Georgiana rested one hand against the back of a chair. “You should not quarrel with her on my account.”

“I quarrel with her on my own account as well. She behaves as though she owns the house.”

Georgiana’s mouth twitched despite herself.

Lydia stepped closer, lowering her voice instinctively though nobody else remained nearby. “Why do you let her order you about?”

Georgiana furrowed her brows. “She does not order me.”

“She does. Constantly.” Lydia crossed her arms over her chest. “She tells you what to play, where to sit, whom to speak to, what to wear, when to rest, and apparently how to think besides.”

“That is not fair.”

“It is perfectly fair,” Lydia insisted. “I have listened to her for too long already.”

Georgiana bent to scratch Horace behind the ears rather than answer. The dog thumped his tail once against the carpet.

Lydia waited.

At last Georgiana spoke very softly. “She has always been attached to my brother.”

“Yes. Blind people could perceive that.”

Georgiana laughed before catching herself and glancing toward the hallway.

Encouraged, Lydia continued. “And she dislikes Lizzy.”

Georgiana hesitated longer this time. “I think… she is troubled.”