Page 133 of Twice Chosen

Lydia did not marry at sixteen.

Or seventeen.

Mrs. Bennet worried about this loudly enough to suggest her youngest daughter had already entered spinsterhood.

"She is nearly nineteen," Mrs. Bennet told Elizabeth during one visit to Pemberley, as though announcing an incurable condition. "Jane was married younger. You were married younger. Even Kitty is being courted, and Lydia does nothing but laugh at gentlemen who come to Longbourn."

Elizabeth looked across the morning room, where Lydia sat on the carpet with Clara and had apparently decided a wooden horse ought to be taught how to curtsey. "Perhaps she does not wish to marry the gentlemen who come to Longbourn."

Mrs. Bennet stared. "That has never stopped anyone sensible from considering the matter."

Elizabeth laughed.

"Lizzy, this is not amusing."

"Mama, Lydia is eighteen."

"Nearly nineteen."

"A terrible age."

Mrs. Bennet narrowed her eyes. "You have become very difficult since marrying Mr. Darcy."

"I was difficult before."

"Not this expensively."

Elizabeth laughed harder.

Lydia looked up from the floor. "What is Mama complaining about?"

"You," Elizabeth said.

"Again?"

"Marriage."

Lydia groaned and turned to Clara. "You see what awaits you?"

Clara, now nearly three, held up the wooden horse. "He bow."

"Better than most men," Lydia said solemnly.

Darcy, entering with Bingley, heard and stopped. "I refuse to take offense on behalf of an entire sex."

Lydia grinned. "You bow very well, Mr. Darcy."

"Thank you."

"You used to look terrifying while doing it."

Darcy glanced at Elizabeth. "Used to?"

Elizabeth bit her lip.

Lydia had no idea how true the word was.

By twenty, Lydia had become no quieter. She remained lively, vain about new gowns, fond of dancing, and entirely capable of talking over three people if the subject interested her. But she had also learned to pause when attention arrived and ask whether the man offering it interested her in return.