Page 76 of Near Pemberley

A discreet knock interrupted the thought. “Come in.”

Mrs. Reynolds entered. “I beg your pardon, sir, but Miss Darcy wished me to inform you that a modiste has arrived.”

Darcy looked up with slight surprise.

“A modiste?”

“Yes, sir. Miss Lydia possesses very few suitable things at present, and Miss Darcy thought…” Mrs. Reynolds hesitated delicately. “Under the circumstances, it seemed best.”

“Yes. Quite right.”

The housekeeper relaxed almost imperceptibly.

“She has brought materials, and a shoemaker’s assistant is expected later this afternoon. Mrs. Annesley thought perhaps…” Again, she paused diplomatically. “It might restore Miss Lydia’s spirits a little.”

Darcy glanced once towards the ceiling, as though he might somehow picture the scene above: ribbons, fabrics, female consultation, Georgiana attempting kindness where no one quite knew how kindness ought to proceed.

“Yes,” he said quietly after a moment. “Whatever is required.”

Mrs. Reynolds inclined her head. “And sir, Miss Lydia appears considerably calmer today.”

Something in the information eased him more than he expected. “I am glad of it.”

When she withdrew, silence returned once more.

Yet it no longer felt quite so oppressive.

The sound of female voices drifted intermittently from the morning room upstairs for the greater part of an hour.

At first, Lydia had scarcely spoken above a murmur. Georgiana, equally uncertain, had attempted conversation in fragments so cautious that Mrs. Annesley more than once intervened gently to rescue both girls from embarrassment.

But ribbons, colours, lace, and sleeves succeeded where polite sympathy had failed.

“No, no, the blue is much prettier,” Lydia declared suddenly, leaning forward with unexpected animation. “The other looks fit for an old aunt in Bath.”

The modiste laughed obligingly.

Miss Darcy smiled faintly from beside the window.

“And this trimming?” the woman suggested.

“Oh! That is beautiful.”

Lydia touched the fabric almost reverently before stopping abruptly, as though startled by her own eagerness.

A short silence followed.

Then, with visible effort, she attempted a laugh. “I daresay I ought not care about gowns at all after behaving so abominably.”

Georgiana answered before anyone else could. “I think,” she said softly, “it is very natural to care.”

Lydia looked at her quickly. For a moment, her expression seemed painfully young. “Well,” she said after a pause, attempting brightness again, “Mama always says new gowns improve every situation.”

Even Mrs. Annesley smiled at that.

By dinner, Lydia appeared less frightened than the day before, though still easily unsettled whenever silence lasted too long. She spoke rapidly at times, then stopped altogether, as though suddenly remembering herself.

Darcy observed rather more than he contributed.