He was her father, after all.If he did not take an interest in her development, who would?
“What are you about today, Lydia?”he asked her one May morning at the table.Kitty had left for a ride with Jane, and Mary and Elizabeth had just scampered off to the music room to practice duets.
Lydia looked at her father in surprise.“I do not know.I had thought I might visit Maria Lucas.”
“Does your mother have nothing for you to do?”
Lydia looked down.“Jane has taken over the accounts and Elizabeth the still room.There is nothing for me to do.”
“Nonsense.Your mother is hosting a dinner party next week if I remember correctly.You should help with the arrangements.Are you any good with flowers?”
Lydia was so surprised by the question—and the fact that her father was having a prolonged conversation with her—that she stumbled through her answer.“Only moderately, sir.”
Mr.Bennet nodded.“I shall speak to your mother.She has always had a knack for arranging flowers.She could show you.”
Lydia did not know how to respond and merely nodded her head.
Mr.Bennet clasped his hands together on the table.“What are you reading currently?”
“Reading?”
“Yes.What book?”
“I, uh, well, I am not.Reading anything.Currently.”She swallowed nervously.
Mr.Bennet’s eyes grew large.“Well, that is something we shall have to remedy.Come along, Little Lyddie.”
He rose from the table and moved to the door, and Lydia jumped up to follow him.He had not called her Little Lyddie in ages.Not since she had her marking ceremony almost two years ago, and certainly not since she began growing.She followed her father into his bookroom and stood in the middle of the carpet, unsure what she should do.
“Ah ha!Here it is!”cried Mr.Bennet.He turned and triumphantly waved a book above his head.“You shall read this one next.Get through the first three chapters today and tomorrow we shall discuss your impressions.”
“We shall?”
“Yes.Now hurry along and find your mother.I look forward to seeing your flower arrangements about the house.”
Lydia smiled at him awkwardly and left the room, the book clutched to her chest.Whatever had gotten into her father?
To something of his own surprise, Mr.Bennet continued his interest in his youngest daughter.Lydia turned out to be brighter than he had thought.Perhaps she was less like her mother than he had imagined?Regardless, he enjoyed discussing books with her.
He spoke with his wife and she agreed to teach Lydia to arrange flowers.The first few vases Lydia made up were so hideous Mrs.Bennet refused to display them in the house, so they adorned various tables and windowsills in Mr.Bennet’s bookroom.He found an odd pleasure in seeing the ugly little creations splashed about his sanctuary.Lydia had made a purple arrangement just for him, as she knew it was a color he favored, and though the results were not visually pleasing, his heart was warmed by the notion that his daughter was aware of his favorite color and gratified that she wished to please him by making something just for him.
He placed the vase proudly on his desk and smiled each time he saw it until the flowers wilted away.
Eventually, Lydia’s efforts improved and her creations went from abysmal to middling, and finally to attractive and occasionally pretty.Her mind was sharpening as well.She was not as quick as Lizzy nor as ponderous as Mary, but she was smart enough, occasionally insightful, and always entertaining.
One August morning at breakfast, a few months after he had begun to focus his attention on his youngest daughter, Mr.Bennet looked at Lydia and said, “Your birthday will soon be upon us.Have you a wish for anything in particular?”
Lydia dropped the scone she had been buttering.She was surprised he remembered her birthday—he had forgotten it more than once in the past—and looked at her father with wide eyes.
“Well?Does anything spring to mind?”he asked, a twinkle in his eyes.
There was something she wanted, but she did not think he would do it.She looked at him with hope in her eyes and he smiled at her, giving her the courage to ask.“I would like to go to London, sir, with you,” she added the last in a whisper and looked at her lap.
Mr.Bennet sat back at her request, surprised and a little flattered.“What do you wish to do in London?”
“I want to go the theater!”she cried, excitement seeping through her discomfort.
Mr.Bennet laughed at her enthusiasm.
