Page 89 of A Question of Character

“It is simple folding,” she complained.

“It is presentation,” he insisted.

Lydia snorted. “It is paper.”

“It is paper that must not suggest disorder before the first line is read.”

Lydia took the page from him, folded it incorrectly, and then glared when one corner betrayed her. “You are enjoying this.”

“I am instructing you.”

“You are enjoying instructing me.”

“A little,” he admitted.

She laughed, unfolded the page, and tried again.

Mr. Bennet lowered his book to watch them. Elizabeth caught his eye, expecting amusement. Instead, she saw something closer to approval, though he buried it quickly beneath indolence.

That night, when the household had scattered and Elizabeth went upstairs, she found Lydia in the passage outside their rooms, holding a candle that sent little waves of light across the walls.

“Lizzy,” Lydia whispered. “Are you very tired?”

“Moderately. Why?”

Lydia hesitated, an unfamiliar proceeding that caught Elizabeth’s attention. “Did you hear what he said in the lane? About the letter?”

“Yes.”

“You do not think it is a lady, do you?”

Elizabeth smothered a laugh, then saw that Lydia was genuinely anxious. “No. I did not receive that impression.”

“He said an old friend.”

“So, he did.”

“Old friends may be ladies.”

“They may. But he did not speak like a man hiding a lady.”

Lydia leaned one shoulder against the wall. Her hair, released from its pins, tumbled around her face and made her look younger than she tried so hard to be. “I do not wish to be foolish.”

Elizabeth sought to reassure her. “My dear, jealousy is not always foolish. It becomes so when one feeds it without evidence.”

“I am not jealous.”

“No?” She raised a skeptical brow.

“I am curious in a very injured way.”

“That is much more dignified.”

Lydia gave a reluctant smile. “Do you think he will tell me?”

“If it matters, yes.”

“And if it does not?”