Page 67 of What Change Entails

“We walked farther than intended,” she said.

Miss Bingley’s eyes traveled over the disordered curls, muddy slippers, and flushed faces. “I observe that.”

Lydia expected correction next. Or polished disapproval disguised as concern.

Instead, Miss Bingley addressed Georgiana directly.

“My dear, you must change before luncheon. You will catch cold wandering about in such condition.”

“I am perfectly well.”

Miss Bingley shook her head disapprovingly. “You never think of consequences until afterward.”

Georgiana shrank inward again. Lydia disliked it instantly.

“We were enjoying ourselves,” she interrupted.

Miss Bingley kept her attention fixed upon Georgiana. “Enjoyment rarely excuses imprudence.”

Lydia opened her mouth.

Georgiana touched her sleeve lightly before she could speak. Not warning exactly. More plea than warning. Lydia shut her mouth with difficulty.

Miss Bingley continued speaking about dry stockings and proper care of one’s health all the way inside while Lydia walked behind them grinding her teeth. They ignored Miss Bingley’s lecture but changed as soon as they reached their rooms, agreeing that obedience counted for very little when one refused to appear chastened by it.

At luncheon Darcy asked why their skirts were damp earlier.

Lydia answered cheerfully. “Horace attempted murder.”

Darcy gave his attention to his sister.

Georgiana lowered her gaze to her plate before answering. “We walked by the stream.”

“That explains the condition of the dog,” Darcy replied.

Horace, sprawled beneath the table after stealing cold ham from somewhere, wagged his tail against Lydia’s ankle. He was clean and nearly dry after a servant rubbed him down.

Miss Bingley sighed. “I warned Georgiana she would regret venturing out without proper caution.”

Darcy’s fork paused. “She has walked those grounds since childhood,” he said evenly. “I think she may manage a stream.”

Miss Bingley colored slightly.

Lydia pretended deep fascination with her potatoes.

After luncheon, she and Georgiana escaped again. This time they hid in the music room. Not the formal one downstairs where Miss Bingley preferred elegant suffering and Italian pieces no one genuinely enjoyed. The smaller room above the library where sunlight fell unevenly across the pianoforte and shelves overflowed with music in cheerful disorder.

Lydia sprawled sideways upon the window seat turning pages randomly while Georgiana sorted through loose sheets near the instrument.

“You truly dislike large parties?” Lydia asked.

Georgiana’s brow furrowed. “Why do you sound astonished every time?”

“Because you are beautiful and rich and elegant.”

She laughed. “That sounds exhausting when listed together.”

“Well yes, but fashionable ladies generally enjoy admiration.”