The comment, expected though it was, contained less petulance than Susan expected from a girl who often seemed an endless well of sulky recriminations. That morning had seen an outburst from the girl at her continued exclusion as she saw it, though it was muted, Susan thought, because of her continued awe in her surroundings. Much of the girl’s comments and behavior centered on her wish to be at balls and parties and every other pleasurable activity. Susan had also detected ahealthy measure of interest in those wearing scarlet that was not at all seemly for a girl of fifteen.
As the girl rambled on about her troubles, a circumstance brought about, Susan thought, because she had not yet received a reprimand, she considered what might be done to assist her. Lydia was not a bad girl, but her lively character and tendency to leap without looking were problems. Time with Georgiana and the altered Kitty Bennet would assist, she thought, but in the end, she suspected the remedy for Miss Lydia would be to ensure she entered society at eighteen, intending to find a husband that season. The man would need to be a strong-willed, nurturing sort, and it would not hurt if they found some retired colonel or other such officer that Lydia would respect. Of paramount importance, however, was that she marry early, for that would keep her out of trouble.
That thought engendered the amusing notion that Anthony would do for a husband, for he was all those things. Anthony did not possess untold riches as his father or even Darcy did, but his future was secure, though he was not aware of the extent of it. Susan also knew that Anthony admired Elizabeth, and as Lydia was like her in looks, though far livelier, she wondered if he might come to appreciate the girl when she attained a little more maturity.
However that came about, Susan did not mean to focus on it for the moment. As Lydia had already made noise about how bored she was and her wish for company more to her liking, Susan did not think she would remain at her house for long. Thus, she needed to take what opportunity she had to mold the girl into a proper young lady—or perhaps whatever facsimile of it the girl could attain.
“You consider it a burden to be the youngest child?” asked Susan when the girl fell into moody silence.
Lydia Bennet regarded her, perhaps prevented from an outburst because of the memory of with whom she was speaking. “Is it not?” complained the girl. “While all my sisters are out dancing the night away, I must wait at home with lessons and other tedious activities.”
The girl paused, and her lip curled. “Then again, I suppose Mary does not dance, for she considers it a sin, no doubt.”
It was another part of the girl’s character that Susan thought needed correcting. Mary was not the belle of the ball like most of her sisters could be, but she was not deficient either. When Lydia’s irritation overcame her good sense, the target of her ill humor was most often Mary, though the girl attempted to ignore her. It would benefit Lydia to refrain from such ill-judged attacks, but Susan knew there were other things to attend to before advising her on the subject.
“Tell me, Lydia, at what age did your sisters come out?”
From the girl’s reaction, Susan knew others had made the point to her before, though she did not appreciate it. “Seventeen,” was the girl’s surly reply. “Buttheydid not need to wait and watch while others had fun.”
“Oh?” asked Susan. “Was Elizabeth not fifteen when her sister came out? What of your sisters, Mary and Kitty?”
Lydia opened her mouth, no doubt to offer some further opinion about Mary, but Susan fixed her with a pointed glare, and the girl subsided. While she did, it was not without irritability.
“Perhaps they did. But none of them waited whilealltheir sisters entered society, leaving them alone.”
“What of Kitty?” asked Susan. “Has she come out into society yet?”
“Kitty started attending last year when she turned seventeen.”
“Which you shall do when you turn seventeen, at least in the society in which your parents live. As you know, girls in London do not come out until they are eighteen, which means Kitty will not come out until next year.”
The girl scowled at the notion, but she did not speak, allowing Susan to further educate her.
“Were I to guess, I suspect Kitty will not come out next year either, though when she is at home, she will attend.”
To Lydia, it appeared the thought of any delay at all was incomprehensible. “Not come out next year? Why would Kitty wish to wait?”
“Because, Lydia, Georgiana will only be seventeen next year. Beyond their growing friendship, I suspect Kitty will be far more comfortable coming out into society with a friend than attempting to move in society herself.”
Lydia had never considered this possibility, though Susan saw a hint of longing in the girl, confirming her suspicion that Lydia would be happier in the company of the girls her age. While Susan recalled the initial decision that had led to Kitty and Georgiana making each other’s acquaintance and the decision to move them to her house together, it was, she thought in hindsight, a little misguided. Had Lydia come to Matlock house with the elder girls, she would not have felt left out, and her comportment would already be improved.
“Kitty will still come out a year before I do,” muttered Lydia.
“Yes, I suppose she will,” agreed Susan. “That does not mean you need to look on that time as a prison sentence.”
Lydia regarded Susan with suspicion, as if she already expected that she would not like what she would say next. In the end, her curiosity led her to ask after Susan’s meaning, which she was not hesitant to give.
“First, let me ask you a question. Would you prefer to be in Kitty and Georgiana’s company? Do not concern yourself with offending me—tell me the truth.”
By the girl’s reaction, Susan knew she had understood her well. “Itwouldbe agreeable to be with those my age.”
It was a careful response despite Susan’s admonition, one that brought her much amusement. “That is understandable. Mary is the only member of the party at my house who is close to your age, and you are very different people.”
“That we are,” was all Lydia said on the subject. Perhaps the girl was not incapable of some measure of discretion.
“It is not impossible,” said Lady Susan. “I am certain the girls would welcome your society should you move to Darcy’s house. Before that, however, let us speak of your situation and agree on certain matters.”
As Susan might have expected, Lydia’s face fell in anticipation of hearing what she would not like. It was not an unwarranted supposition, though Susan meant to take a different tack than she thought others had used in the past.
