“That is probably the most honest answer anyone has ever given to that question,” Elizabeth said.
“I have been practising at being honest.” A little dry. “It is harder than it looks.” She looked down at her hands in her lap. “He said he would come back. Richard.” She did not ask for reassurance; she stated it, as though she had spent every moment since he had said it convincing herself it was the truth. “He said it without hesitating.”
“He does not say things he does not mean,” Elizabeth said. “I am quite certain of that.”
Jane reached across and took Lydia’s hand without speaking. Elizabeth took the other. The candle burned.
“Tell me about Pemberley,” Lydia said, after a while. “What is it like?”
Elizabeth considered. “Vast,” she said simply. “The park is enormous, and the library would take a year to properly explore, and there is a housekeeper named Mrs Reynolds who takes a proprietorial interest in everyone who comes to stay, and considers it her personal mission to see that they eat enough and are impressed by the correct things.”
Lydia’s mouth curved. “And Miss Darcy? I hope she will like me.”
“Georgiana,” Elizabeth said, “will have very little patience for your composure, I suspect, and a great deal for everything else. She is quiet and she notices everything and she is considerably funnier than anyone expects.”
“That sounds,” Lydia said, with a sidelong look, “like someone else I know.”
Elizabeth laughed, and Jane laughed, and for a little while it was easy; the three of them together in the candlelight, sisters, on the last night Lydia would still be one of the Bennet girls.
