"Chin higher," Anne corrected. "Look bored, but elegant. Like you are waiting for something better than this room."
Lydia lifted her chin. She narrowed her eyes.
"Good," Lady Catherine said, feeling a surge of triumph. "Now, hold that. For ten minutes. Do not speak. Do not fidget. Just exist."
"Ten minutes?" Lydia squeaked.
"Silence!"
The room fell quiet. The clock ticked. Lydia sat there, vibrating with suppressed energy, but she didn't move. She looked almost ladylike.
Lady Catherine walked around her, inspecting her work. It was rough. It was unpolished. But there was something there. The girl was pretty, in a bold, common way. If she could learn to harness that boldness, to turn it into confidence rather than noise...
"You have Elizabeth's eyes," Lady Catherine noted, stopping in front of her. "Use them. Shecaught my nephew because she looked him in the eye and dared him to find her wanting. You just giggle."
"I can dare people," Lydia whispered, not moving her head.
"Then do it. But do it with silence. Silence is powerful, Miss Bennet. It makes people nervous. It makes them want to fill the void. And usually, they fill it by giving you what you want."
Anne let out a small snort of laughter. "That is the truest thing you have ever said, Mother."
Lady Catherine was relentless. By Tuesday, the lessons had moved from physical to verbal.
"Scenario," Lady Catherine announced, pacing the floor while Lydia sat (correctly) on the sofa. "You are at a dinner party. The gentleman to your right is an Admiral. He is old, he is deaf, and he wants to talk about the blockade. What do you do?"
"Ignore him and talk to the handsome officer on my left?" Lydia suggested.
"Wrong! If you ignore the Admiral, you look rude. And the handsome officer will think you are vapid. You engage the Admiral."
"But I don't know anything about blockades!"
"You don't have to. You ask questions. Men love to explain things. You say,'Admiral, surely the French fleet cannot compare to our own?'And then you nod for twenty minutes while he tells you how brilliant he is. He will leave the table thinking you are the most intelligent woman in England."
Lydia frowned, processing this. "Just nod?"
"Nod. Look impressed. And occasionally say,'How fascinating.'It works on Admirals, Bishops, and especially Viscounts. Though Lord Keathley is a special case. He likes women who talk back. But you are not looking for a Robert. You are looking for stability."
"I want a red coat," Lydia insisted.
"Officers are poor," Lady Catherine sneered. "But if you must have one, get a Colonel. Or a General. Someone with a pension."
Anne looked up from her embroidery. "Mother, you are teaching her to be a mercenary."
"I am teaching her to survive, Anne! The world is not kind to silly girls. Look at what happened to..." She stopped. She didn't want to mention the near-disaster with Wickham that Darcy had vaguely alluded to. "Look at what almost happens to girls who are careless. Lydia needs armour. Charm is armour. Silence is armour. A rich husband is the best armour of all."
Lydia looked at Lady Catherine. For the first time, there was no mockery in the girl's eyes. There was a dawning respect.
"Lizzy said you were mean," Lydia said. "She said you were a tyrant."
"Your sister Elizabeth has strong opinions. She is usually right, but she lacks nuance."
"Youarea tyrant," Lydia decided. "But you're right. About the Admiral. I tried talking about bonnets to a Captain once, and he walked away. Maybe if I'd asked about his ship..."
"Exactly," Lady Catherine beamed. "Now. Scenario two. A lady insults your dress. She says yellow makes you look like a canary.What do you say?"
"I say her dress looks like a curtain!" Lydia shouted.
"No! No, no, no. You never insult back directly. It is vulgar. You smile. You smile sweetly and you say,'Oh, do you think so? I suppose not everyone has the complexion to carry off such a bold colour. How fortunate that you stick to beige, it is so... safe.'"
