Page 66 of What Change Entails

Horace leaned heavily against her skirts in agreement.

They wandered farther afterward where the gardens transformed into less ordered grounds. Pemberley possessed endless paths. Lydia had already decided one might live there ten years and still discover hidden corners unexpectedly.

Outdoors, Georgiana spoke more quickly. Indoors, particularly near Miss Bingley, she weighed every sentence first. Lydia noticed it in a trice. Inside the house, she often paused before speaking, particularly when Miss Bingley lingered nearby. Outside she forgot to hesitate.

“Do you ride every day?” Lydia asked while balancing along the low stone edging beside the path.

“When weather permits.”

“I should like to ride better. Kitty bounces alarmingly and Jane refuses to race. There is not much opportunity to ride at home anyway. We have just Nellie for our use. She is dreadfully slow.”

“You race?”

“Of course. Maria Lucas lets me borrow her mare.”

Georgiana appeared pleased. “I love racing across the fields. My brother worries I shall be thrown, however.”

Lydia grinned. “Miss Darcy, your life has been tragically deficient in recklessness.”

“I believe my brother would call that a blessing.”

“Your brother concerns himself far too much.” Lydia had once considered the man stiff and overbearing. These days, she regarded his protectiveness with considerably more generosity.

Something softened in Georgiana then, affection and exasperation mingling together. “He does indeed.”

Lydia hopped down from the stone edging and caught at a long blade of grass, winding it absently around one finger. “Lizzy claims I possess no judgment whatsoever.”

“You possess enthusiasm.”

“That is merely judgment moving at a dangerous speed.”

The reply drew another bright peal of amusement from Georgiana.

She liked seeing that ease appear.

They reached the small stream beyond the formal gardens where they had walked on their first day. Willow branches trailed low across the water. Horace plunged directly into the shallows without invitation.

“Horace!” Georgiana called.

The dog ignored her entirely and began splashing with criminal joy.

Lydia unlaced and removed her half-boots before Georgiana could protest and stepped into the stream after him.

“You cannot possibly intend—”

“It is only water.” Lydia lifted her skirts carelessly higher. “Come along.”

“I have no wish to soak my stockings.”

“Coward.”

Georgiana stood upon the bank looking scandalized for perhaps ten seconds before removing her own shoes with reluctant dignity.

The dignity lasted until Horace shook water across both their skirts. Lydia shrieked. Georgiana burst into helpless laughter. By the time they reached the house nearly an hour later, Georgiana’s curls had escaped their pins and Lydia carried her boots in one hand.

Miss Bingley waited upon the terrace. “Oh,” she said after a visible pause. “There you are.”

Lydia instantly understood two things. First, Miss Bingley disapproved of damp hems. Second, Georgiana had spent years reacting to that tone. Her friend slowed beside her.