My sisters said I was frivolous. I was my mother's favorite. She never had a mind to correct me. My father never had a mind to do anything with me. My sisters thought that I never saw the shame in their eyes. They were blind to my vision, selfish in their own ways. They saw the loud, brash girl all confidence and never the girl who had to create confidence as a way to get noticed among beauty, brains and the bible.
The only one who truly saw me was my mother. She saw my liveliness as a gift, a gift that she treasured. I was the light in a dreary day. No one really saw her either. The older girls and my father were as ashamed of her as they were of me. The younger girls were too busy with their own interests. I was the one who saw my mother as the loving and devoted woman, she was.
I tried to be what they wanted, tried to excel at something other than bonnets. I did want to be good, but I was never good at obeying. Something in my very soul begged to challenge at every turn. Though I didn't have the education to be witty, I could be bold. I could be brave. I could get introduced to anyone, make friends with everyone. I was fearless. It was some time before I realized fear can be a good thing.
When I met my husband I saw the glory. Being picked over my sister was the ultimate prize. I just had to make the right moves. I got close to Mrs. Foster, insuring my usefulness to her. I knew the regiment would not stay in Meryton forever. If I had a connection to Mrs. Foster I could convince Mama to let me travel with her. Papa would give in as he always did and I could wait for my moment.
When that moment came I was thankful. I was excited to finally be going on an adventure. That is what every teenager wants autonomy, fun, and excitement. I think that's what most people didn't see. My age was my downfall. I looked at the small picture centered on me, but what fifteen year old doesn't. It was when the adventure became life that I crumbled.
After we left my family home, I could have exploded with the pride I felt. Finally it wasn't Jane or Lizzy's day. The day I left home with husband was all about me. I finally had something that none of my sister had. The day I received my first fat lip from my husband, I knew I had something my sisters would never have. I was thankful for the first time that my sisters were smarter than me. I would never tell them how lucky they were.
We moved from port to port. I was thankful more and more that no children came. What could we feed them when my dear husband drank all the money? I think my dignity died a little every time my husband made me write to Jane or Lizzy for money. A little more when they sent it.
Christmases spent at home were rare but treasured by me. My mother would take us visiting to the Lucases and Phillips. She might pull out a letter from Jane detailing the new business ventures Charles had taken up in America or perhaps the latest birth announcement from the Darcys, but she always made me the shining star of the family. I was still her baby.
It came when I was on the eve of my 25th birthday. We were in London after Wickham had been fired yet again. I thought it was some pocket money. I opened it happily, only to find a quickly written note from Jane.
Lydia,
Mama is not well. She has taken to her bed with a cold and is begging your company. I am unsure how long she will last. I had thought to send a carriage but was unsure where to send it. I have sent this letter to several of your last known addresses. Please hurry.
Love Jane Bingley
I went downstairs to the bar to find my husband. Sadly he was passed out in the alley, after an unlucky game of cards. I checked to see if he had any money on him. He must have been cleaned out by whoever put him in the alley. I dragged him back to our room and gathered the things for my journey, one tear fell while I packed. There was nothing left to sell for the journey. I caught a glimpse at my wedding band. The one thing my husband ever gave me, bought by Mr. Darcy. It was the one thing I swore I would never sell. I walked the two miles to the pawn shop.
It was lucky that the hired coach was a short distance from there and I had enough money to get home. I paid the fare and sat quietly the whole journey. It was something I had learned from my marriage silence was golden. It was safe.
When I walked into to the only home I had ever known, it too was quiet. I was not greeted at the door but let myself in. I was not greeted at the stairs but continued to my mother's room. There I found my family all seven of us together in for the first time in I don't know how long. Tears stained the cheeks of everyone in attendance. I looked to my mother, she appeared to be asleep, but it was not to be. She was gone. I had missed my chance to say goodbye. I made my way to her side, and pressed one last kiss to her cheek.
We all stood vigil for a while. Then Mary had to head home to take care of her little one in Meryton. Kitty followed shortly making a similar excuse. Lizzy went to fix some tea for Papa and Jane went to see if dinner was in order. Papa sat the longest but I think self loathing finally sent him to his library.
I was there when they came to take her away. I stayed in her room long after her funeral. Papa never asked me my plans. I waited for my husband to reclaim me. He never came. I stayed until I died at the ripe old age of 27. Some said it was a broken heart fueled by abandonment. What they didn't know was it wasn't my husband I missed, but the one person who ever really saw me.