And here, in a yellow dress, was the ultimate challenge.
"I shall teach you," Lady Catherine announced.
Lydia looked confused. "Teach me what?"
"Everything. How to walk. How to sit. How to speak without screeching. How to catch a man who isn't looking for a lightskirt."
From the corner of the room, where Anne was reading on a chaise, a quiet voice spoke up.
"You should listen to her," Anne said, turning a page. "She is scary, but she knows everyone in England."
Lydia looked at Anne. Then at Lady Catherine. Then at the letter from Elizabeth, describing the grandeur of Pemberley.
"Will it work?" Lydia asked. "Will I get a rich husband?"
"If you listen to me," Lady Catherine said, drawing herself up to her full height, "you will have your pick of them. I shall not fail, Miss Lydia. Now, stand up. We begin with the walk."
Lydia stood and started walking.
"Shoulders back!" Lady Catherine barked. "Chin up! You are walking into a ballroom, not stalking a badger in the undergrowth!"
Lydia groaned, but she pulled hershoulders back.
They went at this for an hour. The grand drawing room of Rosings had been transformed into a training ground.
"My feet hurt," Lydia complained.
"Pain is instructive. Now, again. From the fireplace to the window. Imagine the Prince Regent is standing by the curtains. Do not look at your feet. Look at the Prince."
Lydia sighed, but she walked. She tripped slightly on the rug, corrected herself, and tried to glide. It was less of a glide and more of a strut, but it was an improvement.
"Better," Lady Catherine conceded. "But you are swinging your arms like a windmill. Keep them still. A lady glides. She does not propel herself."
Anne was watching over the top of her book. Lady Catherine noticed her daughter's attention.
"Anne," Lady Catherine said. "Come here."
"Mother, I am reading."
"You can read later. Come show Miss Lydia how to sit without exposing her ankles to the entire county."
To Lady Catherine's surprise—and slight shock—Anne did not argue. She sighed, marked her page, and stood up. She walked to the settee. She didn't glide, exactly—Anne had always been a bit wispy—but she sat with a fluid grace, arranging her skirts in a single, practiced motion.
"You see?" Lady Catherine pointed. "Effortless. Anne has many faults—she is too quiet, and she has no constitution—but she knows how to sit."
"It's just sitting," Lydia muttered.
"It is advertising," Anne said quietly.
Lydia looked at her. "What?"
"It is advertising," Anne repeated, looking Lydia in the eye. "When you sit like that, composed and quiet, people wonder what you are thinking. They think you are mysterious. Men like mysterious. If you sprawl, they know exactly what you are: bored and boring."
Lady Catherine stared at her daughter. "Precisely," she managed to say. "Well said, Anne."
Lydia looked at the settee. She sat down. She tried to mimic the motion. She smoothed her skirts. She crossed her ankles. She placed her hands in her lap.
"Like this?" Lydia asked.
