“Lizzy?”
She shook herself back to the present. “Oh, um…perhaps.”
“I only ask because, while you are there, you might call on Lady Preston. And while you are with her, you might see Mr Hartham…?” She allowed the remark to hang in the air for a moment before adding, “You must talk to him soon, Lizzy. Before he has time to form any ideas.”
If Elizabeth thought her heart had stuttered before,it positively thundered in her chest now. For Mr Harthamhadformed ideas, had he not? And those ideas had already found their way out of his head and into the officers’ quarters. Who else had heard the report? Panic curdled in her belly. Was this why Mr Darcy had not called? Had he heard that she had accepted a proposal from someone else?
“Lizzy, my dear, are you quite sure you are not still suffering from your cold?”
“I…I just need some air and exercise, and I shall be perfectly well.” With dread roiling in her guts, Elizabeth fled the house.
It was only a little over a mile to the Forsters’ house; Elizabeth had walked far more in less time on many occasions, but this was Brighton, not the countryside. It was important to be demure and ladylike and thus she undertook her journey at a gentle stroll. Which was painfully at odds with her desire to run and run until the unease filling her veins was banished.
She did her best to put aside her concerns when she was admitted into Mrs Forster’s snug cottage, waved in by a slatternly maid of all work who pointed towards the drawing room and disappeared off in a huff.
Even if the girl had not directed her on the way, she would have been able to find the lady of the house. Mrs Forster’s establishment was a lively place, and the rooms veritably rang with the chatter of young women. Entering the room, Elizabeth found an array of young ladies flirting with two officers in their regimentals whom Elizabeth did not know. Mrs Forster was notablyabsent, however, and thus did Elizabeth merely nod and ask the nearest one where she might find Lydia.
“She is in her bedchamber, trying a new style for her hair,” one of the young ladies offered. Elizabeth smiled her thanks and set off in what she hoped was the direction of Lydia’s bedchamber.
Happily a room with a door ajar was right at the top of the stairs; Elizabeth could see her sister within.
“Lizzy!” Lydia whirled round on the dressing table stool as Elizabeth entered, though her tone held more accusation than welcome. Lydia was always in possession of the dramatic flair of youth, and she had clearly been nursing her grievances since receiving whatever gossip had reached her ears. She rose with a little flounce. “So you have finally come to see your poor, neglected sister. I suppose you think you are quite grand now, keeping secrets from your own family.”
“Indeed I do not,” Elizabeth said. Gesturing to the single chair in the room, she said, “Do you mind if I sit?”
Lydia nodded but herself remained standing, glowering down at her sister.
“There is no engagement to conceal from you or anyone else. Whatever you have heard is merely speculation.”
Lydia’s eyes narrowed. “Is it untrue?”
“That I am engaged? Decidedly so.”
“But did Mr Hartham propose to you?”
Reluctantly, Elizabeth admitted, “Yes, he did, and I tried to say no, but we were interrupted. I fear when I do manage to speak to him properly, the answer will not best please him.”
“Oh but why not?” Lydia said with a theatrical flingof her hands. “He is a handsome man, and by every report, the pair of you have been inseparable!”
Elizabeth winced, hoping her friendship with Mr Hartham had not backed her into a corner it would be difficult to come out of.What must Mr Darcy think, if that is how it has appeared to the casual observer? No wonder he has been hesitant in his affections!“Yes, well…I am not sure we are well suited for one another.”
“Lizzy,” said Lydia very sternly. “You are twenty-one now. How long shall you continue refusing suitors? If I was your age?—”
“Yes, yes, I know, if you are not married by twenty, you will die. I have heard it oft.” Elizabeth smiled fondly at her sister. “In any case, tell me what you have been doing. I understand Mrs Forster is unwell? Who is taking you to all the parties?”
With that, Lydia was off and running. By her telling, there was not an officer she had flirted with who was not in love with her and on the verge of proposing. She had a new friend called Miss George who was very rich and always in for some fun, and she had grown to despise Mrs Forster’s sister who had arrived the week prior and appeared to be constitutionally unable to have a laugh.
Elizabeth heard it all with half an ear, her attention caught by a folded piece of paper lying carelessly upon Lydia’s dressing table; it appeared to be a note written in a man’s hand.
Rising under the pretence of examining herself in the looking glass, Elizabeth positioned herself where she could glimpse the contents of the note. What she saw made her stomach tighten with familiar concern.
…naughty puss! You might think you can fool Col Blake but…
…gambling debts! You are fortunate Miss G does not seem…
…try it again on Tuesday next, there is a high-stakes…
“Lizzy, are you even listening to me?”
