Page 6 of What Change Entails

“She certainly will.” His face filled with momentary dread. A corner of his mouth curved upward. “Perhaps we should send Kitty instead. She would spend the entire journey coughing apologetically.”

Elizabeth chuckled again, though unease still lingered beneath it. Neither of her two youngest sisters ought to go.

Mr. Bennet studied her for another moment. “You are truly anxious.”

“Yes.”

He shifted. “Well,” he said at last, “perhaps there are alternatives besides Brighton or despair.”

“What alternatives?”

“I shall think on it. Though I warn you now, any solution will certainly produce domestic uproar.” He rubbed a hand along the cover of his book.

“That seems unavoidable.”

“Indeed.” He rose with a groan thoroughly theatrical. “Come along. I have made my decision. Let us return and inform them so your mother might pronounce Lydia dead from heartbreak.” The prediction proved slightly exaggerated. By dinner the entire household existed in active disorder.

Lydia had confined herself to her room for nearly two hours, emerging at last with reddened eyes and a level of tragic dignity more suited to the stage than Longbourn. Kitty attended her faithfully, carrying handkerchiefs, offering sympathy, and glaring reproachfully at Elizabeth whenever possible.

Mrs. Bennet alternated between comforting Lydia and lamenting loudly over maternal suffering. “She has been robbed of all happiness,” she informed Jane as they gathered in the dining room. “Absolutely robbed.”

Jane cast Elizabeth a questioning look. Elizabeth merely shook her head slightly.

Mr. Bennet entered moments later with suspiciously calm expression.

Lydia fixed him with mournful accusation. “I suppose Lizzy has convinced everyone I am ruined already.”

“Not ruined,” Mr. Bennet replied while taking his seat. “Exhausting, certainly. Ruin remains uncertain.”

Kitty gave a gasp of sympathy.

Mary observed, “An unchecked inclination toward vanity often precedes moral decline.”

“No one asked you, Mary,” Lydia muttered.

Dinner commenced under strained conditions. Mrs. Bennet complained of nerves. Kitty sighed repeatedly. Lydia barely touched her food, though Elizabeth noticed this martyrdom did not prevent her accepting a tart afterward. Jane attempted several times to redirect the conversation toward safer topics. Gardening failed. Weather failed. Even discussion of Aunt Philips’s new curtains failed.

Everything always came full circle to Brighton.

“I cannot imagine why I should be singled out so cruelly,” Lydia declared while attacking her tart with unnecessary force. “Many girls go to Brighton.”

“Many girls also possess more discretion,” Elizabeth replied before she could stop herself.

The table fell silent. Jane appeared pained. Mr. Bennet rubbed one hand over his face.

Lydia pushed back her chair abruptly. “You despise me.”

“Oh, Lydia.” Elizabeth sighed heavily.

“You do! You think me vulgar and foolish and incapable of behaving correctly.”

Mrs. Bennet cried, “There now! You see what your sister has done.”

Elizabeth set down her fork. “I do not despise you.”

“Then why should you begrudge me every enjoyment?”

“Because enjoyment is not always harmless.” Certainly not in Lydia’s case. Elizabeth had little doubt that her sister would cause havoc within a fortnight.