Lydia giggled and nodded; all harmony restored.
“You mistakemannersforcharacter, a common error. My cousin’s character is sterling. He is fair in his dealings, and charitable to those in need. That is his character. That is fixed and immutable.”
Lydia stared at him, seemingly weighing the truth. Anne allowed her a moment to absorb the notion before continuing.
“What he presents to the world is hismanners, and I must admit that for most of his life, they have beenatrocious.”
Lydia giggled, while Darcy laughed but said nothing. Far be it from him to correct his cousin’s narrative.
“Not only are his manners the exact opposite of the unlamented Mr Wickham, but he has been hunted by every fortune-hunting debutante in England since he came of age. Imagine if every unpleasant man you ever met vied for your attention every day of your life, until you could not distinguish the good from the bad. Then imagine that continuingfor a decade. He has been avoiding entanglements since you were five years old. Perhaps you might show him some clemency.”
To Darcy’s surprise, Lydia sat preternaturally still for at least a minute, staring at him. Her face twisted in confusion, and she finally said, “Five years old, you say. A decade. Have there been a lot of Miss Bingleys?”
“More than I can count.”
“Well, I understand half of it now.”
He raised his eyebrows and nodded for her to continue.
“I now understand youroldmanners, but yourcurrentones—”
Her face contracted again, but then dawning comprehension appeared, and he had to admit that Miss Lydia looked quite pretty when she did not giggle. He saw the echo of her sistersin her countenance and wondered what she would be like with more age and experience. Perhaps a few months under Mrs Annesley’s guidance would not go amiss.
Miss Lydia smiled and laughed lightly. “I see it now; it is all so obvious!”
“Pray, enlighten us.”
She giggled again. “You have right here in this parlour three women who not only do not fawn over you, but all seem ready to rap your knuckles with a ruler if you step out of line. I imagine there is only one other woman who treats you like that. Were you ever going to tell us that you are here pretending to protect your cousin, who obviously does not need it, merely so you could wait for Lizzy to return?”
Darcy laughed uneasily, regarding her with consternation.
“I shall answer your question, Miss Lydia, but I mustdemandyou keep our confidence. Your sister’s reputation, and in turnyours,could be harmed by what I tell you.”
“I swear on my honour. I will not even tell Kitty.”
“I proposed to your sister, and I await an answer.”
Lydia’s mouth hung open in surprise for a moment, and then her face turned into a smile that lit up the room. “What did she say to you?”
With a sinking feeling of familiar dread, Darcy replied, “She did not say a single word. She just left the room, got on the first outbound coach, and has been hiding from me for a month.”
Lydia laughed gaily. “That is for the best. She would have set the room ablaze if she started talking. I assume my father told you by now that she does not esteem you.”
“I have been made aware. I have work to do.”
“I take back everything I ever said about you. You are not the least bit disagreeable, once you get past that thick skin. You will make a good brother… if you survive… eventually.”
With another laugh, Lydia jumped from the sofa and dragged Ellen off to trim bonnets, or learn about dressing Anne, or some such matter, while Jane, Anne, and Darcy breathed a sigh of relief.
Courtyard
George Wythe felt every one of his forty-five years as he stepped down from the carriage after a long and unpleasant ride through the rain. The journey had proved longer and more arduous than expected, though a reasonable man assumed most things would be.
As he helped his even older companion down, Elizabeth Bennet ran out of a large side door in the manor house, followed by his Margaret and another girl of about her age. Close behind that trio came a man of five-and-twenty with a look of authority—perhaps the stablemaster or head gardener. He was followed by a half-dozen stable hands or gardeners, and a similar number of footmen carrying umbrellas.
The two groups quickly converged, and the unknown young lady stepped forward, speaking animatedly.
“Mr Selkirk, welcome to Pemberley, though I could wish for better circumstances for your visit.”
