Page 133 of What Change Entails

Georgiana tried to look reproving and failed.

Lydia stood and began pacing before the fire, gathering energy with every step. “Then it is decided. After Mr. Darcy marries Lizzy, they will return to Hertfordshire, and Mr. Bingley must come with them. He is Mr. Darcy’s dearest friend, is he not?”

“Yes.”

“Then naturally he will go where Mr. Darcy goes.”

“Perhaps.” Maybe Mr. Bingley would remain in town. Georgiana doubted it.

“No perhaps. Men are very simple when properly arranged. Mr. Bingley needs to see Jane, Jane needs to smile at Mr. Bingley with more force than usual, and Miss Bingley needs to be somewhere else. Preferably Scotland.”

Georgiana snickered. “Scotland is rather severe.”

“Wales, then.”

“That seems unfair to Wales.”

“Very well, she may remain in London and criticize curtains.”

Georgiana rose and crossed toward her dressing table, partly to hide her amusement and partly because Lydia pacing too near the fire made her nervous. “It may not be so easily repaired.”

“Why not?”

“People are often hurt by silence. Even if explanations come later.”

Lydia stopped. For once, she did not have a ready answer.

Georgiana stared at her in the mirror.

Lydia’s expression had altered, the laughter fading into something more uncertain. “Jane would forgive him,” she said at last. “She forgives everyone.”

“That does not mean she was not hurt.”

“No.” Lydia picked at the thread on her sleeve again. “I suppose it does not.”

The pause between them was not awkward exactly, but it was new. Lydia seldom sat with uncomfortable thoughts if she could outrun them.

Georgiana moved away from the glass. “We can help, perhaps. But cautiously.”

Lydia brightened at the word, though perhaps less carelessly than before. “Yes. Precisely… or as cautiously as I can manage.”

“Lydia.”

“I shall try,” she insisted.

“That is more reassuring than I expected.”

Lydia huffed playfully. “Do not grow accustomed to it.”

Georgiana smiled and opened a small drawer, retrieving a ribbon Lydia had admired earlier from the milliner’s shop. It was green, not soft green, but not quite as alarming as Lydia preferred. She crossed the room and held it out.

“For your next campaign.”

Lydia stared at the ribbon, then at her. “You bought it?”

“You admired it three times.”

“I admire many things.”