Page 70 of What Change Entails

“No, I—”

They stopped together awkwardly. Then, unexpectedly, Georgiana laughed first. It was unpolished and unembarrassed; tired and real.

Lydia sat back on her heels holding several crumpled pages in one hand. “I cannot bear the thought of him now,” she declared.

“You need not on my account.”

“I do on my own account. Imagine trying to trick a girl our age into eloping. I ought to box his ears.” She frowned, realizing she would have agreed if only to be the first of her sisters to marry.

Georgiana’s expression wavered somewhere between shock and amusement. “You cannot mean that literally.”

“I absolutely do.”

That startled another laugh from Georgiana.

Lydia watched her closely then. Miss Bingley spoke of Georgiana’s beauty and accomplishments. But there was more. There was softness whenever Georgiana forgot to guard herself. Lydia disliked how often that caution appeared elsewhere.

A knock interrupted them both. Miss Bingley’s voice followed afterward. “Georgiana? Are you within?”

Georgiana stiffened.

Lydia saw it happen this time without needing to think about it. “Do not answer,” she whispered.

“That would be rude.”

“Yes.” Miss Bingley deserved it.

Another knock. “Georgiana?”

Lydia marched toward the door before Georgiana could rise and opened it halfway.

Miss Bingley stood outside in pale lavender silk looking mildly displeased already. “Oh. Miss Lydia.”

“Yes,” Lydia replied cheerfully. “A terrible shock, I know.”

“I had hoped to practice with Georgiana.” Her smile was sickly sweet. It made Lydia want to gag.

“She is occupied.”

Miss Bingley’s peered past Lydia into the room. “Surely not so occupied she cannot receive a friend.”

Lydia leaned one shoulder deliberately against the doorway. “She can if she wishes.”

Miss Bingley’s smile sharpened faintly. “You grow remarkably protective.”

“Someone ought to.”

Georgiana made a distressed sound behind her.

Miss Bingley addressed Georgiana directly then. “My dear, are you truly content hiding away upstairs all afternoon?”

Lydia went instinctively toward Georgiana.

And there it was again. That hesitation, the shrinking uncertainty. It was not fear exactly.

Habit. Her thoughts named it.

Lydia disliked watching her friend retreat into herself.