Page 28 of Mr. Darcy and the Mysterious "Miss B"
“Lydia—”
“Do not try to comfort me,” Lydia said, backing away from Elizabeth’s outstretched arms. I do not want to be comforted. I want to rage and weep and curse the unfairness of it all.”
They stood facing each other across the drawing room, both breathing hard from the emotional storm. Elizabethwanted to comfort her sister, to offer reassurance and hope, but Lydia’s words carried too much truth to be easily dismissed.
“I hate feeling this way,” Lydia whispered finally. “I hate being angry with him when he cannot defend himself. But I cannot help it, Lizzy. I cannot pretend that love is enough when it has left us with nothing.”
Elizabeth sank back into her chair. “You do not have to pretend anything. Your anger is justified.”
“Is it? Sometimes I think I am being ungrateful and horrible.”
“You are being honest. And perhaps that is what we need more of in this family.”
Lydia stared at her for a long moment, then sank into the chair opposite. “What are we going to do, Lizzy? How can we save Jane from this fate?”
“I do not know,” Elizabeth admitted. “But we must find a way. We must.”
Lydia wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. “There must be another solution. There has to be.”
“Then we shall find it,” Elizabeth said with more confidence than she felt. “Even if we have to turn over every stone in Hertfordshire to do so.”
For the first time since reading James’s letter, Lydia smiled. “Now you sound like the sister I know. The one who never accepts defeat.”
“I have not accepted it yet,” Elizabeth replied. “And I do not intend to start now.”
Chapter 10
Elizabeth
The drawing room at Netherfield felt oppressively quiet that evening. With Mrs Hurst, Miss Bingley, and Georgiana having departed for Meryton, and Jane finally resting peacefully in her chamber, Elizabeth found herself at loose ends. She had taken up some needlework near the fire, but her attention kept drifting to the corner where Lydia sat hunched in a chair, staring out the darkened window.
Only yesterday, Lydia had seemed so much improved. The arrival at Netherfield to help tend Jane had given her purpose, and she had been almost animated in her attentions to their sick sister. But this afternoon, when Georgiana had invited her to join the shopping expedition into Meryton, Lydia had declined with such vehemence that even kind Miss Darcy had been taken aback.
Elizabeth knew why. The conversation they had shared the night before—about Papa, about blame, about the weight of guilt and grief—had opened wounds that perhaps should have remained closed a little longer. Lydia had spoken with such raw honesty about her anger at their father, her desperate wish that things could be different, her fear that she was fundamentally changed by what had happened to her. Elizabeth had thought it might help, but instead it seemed to have sent her sister descending back into the darkness she had briefly emerged from.
Setting aside her embroidery, Elizabeth approached her youngest sister with careful steps. “Lydia? Are you quite well?”
Lydia’s shoulders hunched further. “I’m fine,” she mumbled, though her voice carried no conviction.
Elizabeth settled into the chair beside her. “Dear Lydia. How can I help?”
“I thought… I thought I was getting better. But I’m not. I’m just pretending, and eventually everyone will see through it.”
Elizabeth’s heart clenched. “That’s not true, Lydia. You are getting better. These obstacles—”
“Are they obstacles, or is this just who I am now?” Lydia turned her face towards the window, her reflection ghostly in the dark glass. “When Georgiana asked me to go with them today, I couldn’t bear it. The thought of being cheerful, of pretending to care about ribbons and lace when I feel so empty inside. She must think me terribly ungrateful.”
“I’m certain she understands—”
“Does she? Or does she think I’m just being difficult? Maybe I am.” Lydia’s voice cracked.
Elizabeth reached out and squeezed her sister’s hand. “That conversation we had last night—I know it was difficult, but—”
“It made everything worse,” Lydia interrupted. “I thought if I could just say it all out loud, the anger would go away. But it hasn’t. If anything, I’m angrier than before. At him, at myself, at… at everything.” Her voice broke on the last word.
Elizabeth was still searching for words of comfort when she footsteps in the corridor. Mr Darcy appeared in the doorway, pausing when he saw them both.
“Miss Elizabeth. I hope I am not intruding. I was looking for a book I had left here earlier.”
