Page 101 of Near Pemberley

Tomorrow she would visit Lydia. The arrangement was sensible. More than sensible. It was probably the best thing that could be done for the girl. Nevertheless, he found himself absurdly aware of the fact that he would see Elizabeth again within twenty-four hours.

For nearly two months, he had become accustomed to her absence. He had grown used to the idea that their paths might never cross again except by chance. Now chance – or rather Lydia’s extraordinary talent for creating chaos wherever she went – had brought Elizabeth to London.

The reflection ought not to have pleased him. The circumstances that had brought her there were unhappy enough. Yet honesty compelled him to admit that the prospect of seeing her again was more than welcome.

Darcy opened his eyes briefly. There was something deeply improper in finding comfort amidst another family’s distress. And yet, despite every effort of reason, some stubborn part of him remained grateful that she was near.

By the time Darcy reached the house, the lamps in the hall had already been lit. He handed his hat and gloves to a servant and had scarcely crossed the entrance before he noticed Georgiana and Lydia seated together upon the lower staircase.

The sight surprised him. Neither young lady appeared to be engaged in any particular occupation. Georgiana had a book resting unopened upon her lap, while Lydia’s hands were clasped so tightly together that her knuckles had turned pale.

Georgiana looked up first and immediately rose. “Brother, you have taken your time.”

There was a note of forced lightness in her voice that told him she had been waiting for his return. Darcy’s gaze shifted to Lydia.

She stood more slowly. Lydia seemed uncertain whether she ought to speak at all. Then, gathering her courage, she lifted her eyes to his.

“Did you see my father?”

“I did.”

She nodded once.

The silence that followed lasted only a few seconds, yet it was plain that she was struggling towards something more important.

At last, the words escaped her. “Is he taking me home?”

The question was so quiet that, had the hall been any larger, he might not have heard it.

For the first time, Darcy realised that she had probably spent the entire afternoon imagining what might be decided in her absence.

“No,” he said.

The answer came so promptly that Lydia blinked. “No?”

“No. You are not returning to Hertfordshire.”

The tension seemed to leave her all at once. She sat down rather suddenly upon the stair behind her, as though her legs had ceased to perform their office. Georgiana resumed her place beside her and, after a brief hesitation, slipped her hand into Lydia’s.

Lydia did not pull away. For a few moments, she merely stared at the floor. “Not ever?” she asked quietly.

Darcy crossed the hall and stopped near the foot of the staircase. “I did not say that. But it was agreed that returning home immediately would not be best.”

Lydia looked up. A shadow crossed her face. “Because everybody knows.”

Nobody answered. The silence itself was answer enough.

Darcy found himself remembering the girl he had first encountered in Hertfordshire. That Lydia would have protested the injustice of it, declared that people ought to mind their own business, and laughed at the very idea of shame.

This Lydia merely looked down at her hands.

“I swear, if I had known…” She broke off and shook her head. “If I had known he did not mean it. If I had known I was not going to marry him, I would never have gone.”

“We know,” said Georgiana softly.

“No, you do not.” Lydia’s voice trembled. “I thought I was being clever. I thought everybody would envy me. I thought Mother would be pleased.” She gave a short, miserable laugh. “I liked the idea that I should be married before all my sisters.”

The confession hung in the air.