Thank you once again to my beta reader Lucy who has improved this chapter immensely and has made the process of editing it hilarious and enjoyable. And, thank you to all the readers who have reviewed and favorited this. It is amazing to me that so many people read my work. I especially want to thank all those who have truly picked up on the subtle things I have tried to do. I have put a lot of thought and time in to this project, and I think about dialogue as I go to sleep and research the minutia of the period in between Zoom calls at work. It makes me happy when I can see that someone recognized and appreciated that time I invested. 3
Anyway, on with the show...
Chapter V
My dearest Lizzy,
I find myself very unwell this morning, which, I suppose, is to be imputed to my getting wet through yesterday. My kind friends will not hear of my returning till I am better. They insist also on my seeing Mr. Jones—therefore do not be alarmed if you should hear of his having been to me—and, excepting a sore throat and headache, there is not much the matter with me.
Yours, etc.
When Lizzy had read the note at the table over breakfast the following morning, her mother praised Providence for her good fortune. Jane's illness had, to her mother, become evidence that her machinations had indeed been right and just.
"Oh, my dear Mr. Bennet! How very good God has been to us!"
He made eye contact with Lizzy, who had to suppress her laughter at the sight of her father's expression. "Well, my dear," said her father wryly, "if she should die, it would be a comfort to know that it was all in pursuit of Mr. Bingley, and under your orders."
Her mother glared at him. "Oh, pish! I am not afraid of her dying. People do not die of little trifling colds. She will be taken good care of. As long as she stays there, it is all very well. I would go and see her if I could have the carriage."
Lizzy, however, thought that such a plan would be the worst option to ensure that Jane and Mr. Bingley had a smooth path to courtship.
"Mama, why do I not go? I could walk, seeing as the horse cannot be spared."
"How can you be so silly," cried her mother, "as to think of such a thing, in all this dirt! You will not be fit to be seen when you get there."
"I shall be very fit to see Jane—which is all I want," she said firmly.
"Is this a hint to me, Lizzy, to send for the horses?" her father asked with the tilt of his head.
"No, indeed, I do not wish to avoid the walk. The distance is nothing when one has a motive—only three miles. I shall be back by dinner."
"Yes, fine, Lizzy, but you must promise me to make yourself presentable before you see Mr. Darcy. It would not do for him to think of us as unkempt."
"Yes, Mama," though she took great amusement in the fact that only the day before Mr. Darcy had concurred with her assessment that she had appeared disheveled.
Her father winked at her, and she winked in response before standing up to prepare for her journey to Netherfield Park.
When she arrived, she was, in fact, quite dirty and smiled to imagine her mother's horror at being escorted to the beautifully decorated receiving room with her soiled petticoats and hair loosened from its simple coiffure.
In spite of her obviously unkempt appearance, she was relieved to see Mr. Darcy in the receiving room with Miss Bingley, Mr. Bingley, their older sister, and her husband Mr. Hurst. Although she often felt uncertain in his presence, she considered him her sole friend in the room. She was hopeful, however, that Mr. Bingley would be as amiable an acquaintance as Jane had suggested.
She had felt quite wary of the sisters when she had been introduced to them at the assembly. They had seemed rather above their company and disdainful of her; however, their greeting was very polite.
"Miss Elizabeth," Miss Bingley cooed. "You must be here to see dear Jane. We were horrified when she became very pale last evening."
"It will be such a comfort for her to have you attend her," added Mrs. Hurst. "I looked in on her just an hour ago, and she had just had a cup of tea which managed to put some color back into her cheeks. She still has been rather restless, however."
"I am grateful for you both for your solicitude. My sister is rarely ill, so I was naturally very concerned when I received her note this morning," Lizzy said before turning to Mr. Bingley. "And, thank you, Mr. Bingley, for offering my sister your hospitality at this time."
Bingley smiled brightly, and Lizzy liked him for the earnestness with which he did so. "Think nothing of it, Miss Elizabeth. Even in ill-health, your sister is the consummate houseguest," he said before adding hastily, "We would much prefer, however, that she recover quickly so that we can enjoy her presence and good-spirits."
Lizzy nodded in understanding at Mr. Bingley. He seemed indeed to be very amiable, and there was something about his awkwardness which inspired trust. He was not quite so debonair to feel threatening, yet he was no oaf. He held himself with a casual confidence which gave him an air of approachability.
She chanced a glance at Mr. Darcy, but he was not looking at her. He was standing in profile, looking out the window of the room, and his perfect posture seemed—at that moment—too rigid.
"Allow me to introduce you to my other guests," Mr. Bingley continued. "This is my brother Mr. Hurst."
The man in question gave perhaps the quickest and laziest bow Lizzy had ever seen, and the annoyed glance his wife shot him amused Lizzy greatly.
"And this is my old friend, Mr. Darcy," Mr. Bingley said with an almost nervous glance toward Mr. Darcy.
Mr. Darcy finally turned fully toward her and bowed. Before he could speak, Miss Bingley spoke up. "Charles, such an introduction is unnecessary. Surely, you cannot forget that they were introduced at the ball last week. Their dance was the object of much…observation."
Thus, Lizzy recalled why she had been so wary of Miss Bingley when she had met her. Miss Bingley was the type of woman who naturally saw every person as an opportunity or a threat. Despite the innocence in Miss Bingley's tone, her gaze fixed calculatingly on Mr. Darcy. Mr. Bingley, in contrast, appeared surprised by the realization that Mr. Darcy had known Lizzy previously. Lizzy also realized the cause of his earlier discomfort in introducing his friend to her.
Not one to be vexed by the antics of those of Miss Bingley's ilk, she smiled at Mr. Bingley and spoke assuredly. "Yes, Mr. Bingley, there is no need for an introduction, as Mr. Darcy and I have previously been introduced."
This seemed to put Mr. Bingley at ease, and he looked to Mr. Darcy for confirmation. Mr. Darcy looked at Miss Bingley and then to Lizzy, saying, "Miss Elizabeth is correct. We have been introduced, but long before the assembly. We met by happenstance in Kent this summer and were introduced by my sister Georgiana."
This was, of course, a prevarication of some kind; however, Lizzy found she never liked Mr. Darcy more than at that moment. For a moment he appeared completely stoic before she recognized the subtle changes on his face that indicated he was diverted by subverting Miss Bingley's veiled attempt at incivility.
She met his eyes and one corner of her mouth tugged upward in response to his disguised support.
She then looked to Miss Bingley, who was clearly perturbed by this news, and Mr. Bingley, who was looking at Mr. Darcy strangely.
Deciding that the present moment was the best one to make her escape, she inquired, "Excuse me, but I am anxious to see my sister. Where might I find her?"
Mrs. Hurst stepped forward. "Come with me, Miss Elizabeth. I shall show you to her room."
They exited, and by the time Lizzy arrived at Jane's room, her strange introduction to the Bingley party had been forgotten.
Darcy looked over to see what was taking Hurst so long to stoke the fire, but he found Hurst had fallen asleep in the armchair next to the fireplace with the poker in his hand.
He sighed. Since Miss Elizabeth's arrival, it seemed that Hurst had become his only suitable option for company. Miss Bingley had been irascible since the evening before when he had asked whether Miss Elizabeth was still in residence over dinner.
"No, she is still here, unfortunately, as is her sister," Caroline said, gripping her wine glass with an excess of force. "Charles has decided to use his house as a convalescent home for country chits."
"Caroline, how can you be so inhospitable? Miss Bennet and Miss Elizabeth are not demanding guests. Miss Elizabeth is happy to dine with a tray in her sister's room, and I daresay it saves you the responsibility of nursing Miss Bennet," Bingley admonished.
"Mayhap, yet you cannot deny the impropriety of it all. To walk three miles, or four miles, or five miles, or whatever it is, above her ankles in dirt, and alone, quite alone! What could she mean by it? It seems to me to show an abominable sort of conceited independence, a most country-town indifference to decorum. I hope I do not overstep my bounds, Mr. Darcy, to tell you that you should seriously consider the prudence in allowing your sister to associate with such a lady—if she can even be called so."
Darcy dabbed his mouth on his napkin and set it down forcefully before speaking in an even tone. "I do say you overstep your bounds, Miss Bingley. Miss Elizabeth is one of my sister's dearest and most valued friends, and I have seen nothing in their discourse to indicate that she is a poor influence on my sister. I would beg you refrain from your disparagement, for what you call improper, I call pleasing, for it shows an affection for her sister which is admirable."
Though his tone never escalated into anger, Miss Bingley was silent in shock. Darcy, to his own dismay, had often allowed Miss Bingley's unjust tirades to run unrestrained. Thus, he expected her consternation. Bingley's response, however, was surprising and unwelcome.
"I say, Darcy, if you have so much respect for Miss Elizabeth and were previously acquainted with her, why did you say such ghastly things about her at the assembly? 'Tis a rather ungentlemanly thing to say."
"What did he say?" Miss Bingley asked with great interest.
"It does not signify," Darcy replied, not looking away from Bingley. "I did not recognize her nor expect her to be there. I did not even look at her when I spoke to you. I merely wanted you to leave me in peace. I assured Miss Elizabeth later that I held her in high regard as my sister's friend."
"She heard you?" Bingley asked with mortified surprise.
Darcy almost lost his temper at Bingley's foolish questions. "It is not the time for this discussion, Bingley. Let us speak of it at a later moment."
"Yes, yes, you are right, of course," Bingley said before turning the conversation to the upcoming hunt.
Later in the evening after everyone else retired, Bingley cornered him in the billiard room to explain what he had said to Miss Elizabeth. To Darcy's chagrin, Bingley seemed to fixate on a passing phrase he used and began to taunt him. "Yes, dear Miss Bennet's fine eyes!" he cried, his cue missing the ball repeatedly.
Upon hearing Darcy's objections, Bingley laughed even more. "No, I shall not have it, Darcy! You who are always so perfectly mannered managed to insult the one woman in the room who was known to you, and now you admit you find her pretty!"
His cue finally hit the ball, and he made a perfect shot. "Ha!" he cried, "I wish Fitzwilliam was here to witness this auspicious occasion."
Darcy had felt rather discomfited by Bingley's humor. "Auspicious? Good God, Bingley, I only said the lady was pretty—which was no more than you said yourself! It is not as if I have declared myself."
"Declared yourself?" Bingley became serious, and Darcy realized his mistake. "Do you mean to declare yourself to Miss Elizabeth?" Bingley asked with wide eyes.
"Certainly not!" Darcy had responded more emphatically than he had intended to and continued heatedly, "I was merely stating that you had no reason to suggest my comments to be propitious. Describing a woman as well-favored does not suggest anything more than that she possess a particular characteristic."
Bingley eyed him suspiciously. "Perhaps, but you do not sound like yourself, Darcy."
Darcy had somehow managed to get out of Bingley's questioning the previous night, but this morning he feared he might have no such luck. Deciding to hide from Bingley in the library, he had come across Hurst and invited him to a game of chess. After three consecutive losses, Hurst evidently had decided to escape through his best means of doing so—slumber.
Darcy occupied himself by playing several matches with himself when he was distracted by someone entering from the far door of the library. Fearing Miss Bingley's presence, he ducked below the table. He admonished himself for his childish behavior almost at once and sat back up at the chessboard.
To his conflicted delight, it was not Miss Bingley, but Miss Elizabeth Bennet exchanging a book. She turned around and jumped slightly upon noticing him. "Excuse me, Mr. Darcy. I had not seen you there." She paused and looked at his game before her lips curled into a sly smile. "Are you playing chess with yourself, Mr. Darcy? Pray tell me which side of your intellect is winning."
He could not suppress his smile. "I had been playing with Mr. Hurst; however, if you will look behind that armchair, I am certain you shall see that he is now quite asleep."
"Yet, you wait here at the chessboard for what reason? For Mr. Hurst to awaken?"
The mischief in her eyes was evident, and he grinned quite against his will.
He composed himself and changed the subject. "May I ask how your sister is, Miss Bennet?"
"She is better today. Her fever broker earlier this morning, and she is sleeping now." She looked at the book in her hands and smiled to herself. "I confess I find myself growing restless with inoccupation now that she has gone to sleep, so I decided to sneak another volume from Mr. Bingley's library."
"And what volume have you selected? This library is regrettably poor."
She handed him the volume in her hand, The Female Quixote, and one corner of his lips tugged upward. "How do you find the adventures of Arabella?"
Her face lost its mischief, and he wondered at her change in attitude. "I read it once two or three years ago, and I found it very diverting. I found much humor in Arabella's naïveté…"
"And, now?"
She looked directly at him and found it disarming to be watched in such away. He felt utterly transparent at that moment and shivered slightly. "I believe that books are much like people—there is something new to be observed in them forever. I find that I am more changed that I previously thought for I picked up the first volume of this book yesterday hoping to find a happy diversion for my sister and me. Upon a second reading, the book holds less humor and more melancholy than I had remembered."
Her frankness had ceased to surprise him, yet her gaze seemed to communicate something more to him. Thinking back on the plot of the book, he felt his face fall at the realization that she was speaking about Georgiana. She could no longer enjoy the story of a woman's ignorance of the real world when such ignorance nearly leads to her demise. The tale was no longer fictitious to either of them.
He looked to Hurst to ensure he was sleeping before responding. "I suppose for those of us who have younger sisters the story of the dangers of youth and idealism can prove more frightening than those involving highwaymen or kidnappers."
She nodded and looked away. "Yet, I take heart in knowing that Arabella has another chance in the ending. She is cured of her ignorance by someone older and more educated, and once she knows the dangers of trusting libertines, she finds happiness and security."
"I often fear, though," he said quietly, "that the endings of novels are happier than they are in life. I must ask you, Miss Bennet, do you find this particular resolution to be authentic?"
"I daresay it could be. If young women were taken seriously and taught by those older and wiser than them, like Arabella is, I could envision a favorable ending."
"And, what if those who are older and wiser do not know what to do?" He regretted the question as soon as it came out of his mouth. He felt vulnerable and weak, and he began to stand up.
"Excuse me, Miss Bennet. I believe I should—"
He stopped when she placed her hand on his arm. "I apologize, Mr. Darcy. I do not mean to make you uncomfortable. I often find myself reminded of that occasion I suspect both of us do not like to dwell on, and it often puts me in a rather pensive state."
She was so sincere, and all at once, he remembered why he was so envious of her that night. She did not flee from discomfort like he did, and she carried it all off with such éclat. He trusted her and wanted to confess everything—his fear and anxiety and confusion.
Before he could stop himself, he gestured to the table he had been sitting at. "Miss Bennet, would you care to play a game of chess?'
She looked taken aback by the request, so he revised his invitation. "Your father and uncle are formidable opponents, and I believe your father told me on my call to Longbourn that you are quite the player yourself."
She looked reluctant, and he assumed it was because of their solitude. "The door is open, and—officially—Mr. Hurst is here. It is all very proper."
She looked at him with that slyly mischievous expression that always left him confused. "Oh, yes, very proper," she intoned with an edge of teasing in her voice. "I accept your challenge, Mr. Darcy—but only because you flattered me. How can I ignore such an opportunity to foster my vanity?"
"I doubt you have even a modicum of vanity in you, Miss Bennet." He looked down to conceal his smile, and when he looked at her again, she was looking away.
For a moment, he admired her unpretentious beauty. The simple charm of a bright complexion, curious eyes, unadorned hair that was natural to the point of being wild. She turned her head back to him, and he was distracted by a curl which fell from her hair to gently caress her collarbone.
"Mr. Darcy, I insist you do something about your habit of glaring at me," she said in mock vexation.
He felt his face heat slightly at the direction his attention was wandering. "Is it my fault that you ascribe animosity to my face when I am merely thinking?"
"Touché," she said, putting the board back to its starting place.
They began to play, and he immediately understood the skill to which her father and uncle had referred. "Your relations did not exaggerate your skill, Miss Bennet."
"Tell me," she said without looking up, "did you spend much time with my relations in London?"
He was confused at her question. "No more time that what is appropriate among friends."
She made her move and finally regarded him. "And you consider yourself a friend to my aunt and uncle?"
"Yes," he said as if stating something obvious. "Have they not told you of Georgiana and my calls?"
"No, they did not. My aunt has been very discreet with mentions of Georgiana's well-being in our letters, so one might imagine my surprise when I read your sister mention how much she enjoys the company of my aunt and young cousins."
He could not suppress a smile at the memory of the Gardiner children, recalling a day they spent in the park. He and Georgiana had accompanied Mrs. Gardiner to the park, and Darcy had been left to entertain them while his sister and Mrs. Gardiner spoke. He had felt ill-at-ease for only the first moments before little Amelia and John had caught him up in their games. His worries and fears had given him a respite for the afternoon, and by the time he and Georgiana were in the carriage home, they were tired yet relaxed and spoke the entire way home—the only time they had done so since the events in Canterbury.
"I, for one, am not surprised that my sister mentioned it. Your cousins are delightful children, and your aunt is a very kind and sensible woman—and as I said, your uncle is a rather engaging opponent."
"Mr. Darcy, you should have mentioned your visits sooner! I would have dearly loved to hear news of my favorite relations."
He was pleased at the discovery of a topic of conversation that would delight her. They always seemed to be meandering between witty exchanges and veiled confessions. It was fascinating to be so intellectually challenged by one woman and simultaneously terrifying to feel the urge to tell her everything. He was fascinated by her expressive face, yet he wanted to see her emotion when it did not have to be concealed by the fragile barrier of propriety that still remained between them. They could speak about something completely without prevarication, and they might be able to laugh freely and openly with one another. He had never had such a relationship with anyone since the death of his mother.
"Well, then I shall indulge you," he said, allowing himself an open, broad smile. "I suppose I can tell you of your cousins who recently taught me the game they invented. It was called…"
"Spinning Sally!" Miss Bennet cried in delight and took her turn on the chessboard.
"Yes, that is the one. They spent a quarter of an hour trying to teach me the rules. When we finally began to play, they kept informing me of new rules to keep me from getting ahead in the game. The rules became increasingly convoluted, and I asked them if they were inventing new rules as we went along. They denied any such allegation, and their faces were so cherubic that I found myself unable to press the point."
Miss Bennet laughed, and he forced himself to look away and focus on his next move. "Ah, those children are too intelligent for their own good—they wield their winsome charms indiscriminately."
"I wonder where they could have possibly learned that from." He looked her directly in the eye as he spoke, and she colored. God in heaven, he chided himself, you sound like a cad! He cleared his throat and realized he had not paid attention to her move.
There was silence for a moment as their attention was focused on his next move, and he was relieved when she spoke, "Pardon me, but I would not have imagined you to be such an enthusiastic participant in children's games."
He might have been embarrassed had it not been for her playful smile that mesmerize him. He was only able to breathe when she took her move. "You forget, Miss Bennet. That I only have one sibling who is twelve years my junior. I am very much accustomed to seeking entertainment in nursery games."
She laughed merrily, and he was delighted he had provoked it. "It takes a man truly confident of himself to admit to such a thing," she said with a matter-of-fact nod.
A corner of his mouth turned upward. "Or perhaps I am not confident at all, and you—as I have previously observed—often have the ability to make me admit more than what is proper."
She looked rather abashed at this comment and changed the subject. "Your turn, Sir."
He regarded the board for a moment before seeing the clear path to victory before him. He made his move and looked at the soft, triumphant look on her face. He looked back at the board, unsure why she seemed so victorious.
With the elegant swipe of her hand, she put her knight within perfect striking distance of his king. "Checkmate," she said simply.
He looked at the board and back at her. The cunning woman! There was no doubt she was skilled. He was certain, however, he would have stood a better chance at winning if he had not been so distracted by her… arts and allurements he might have called them if she had done them purposefully. For all her pert comments and sharp intellect, she was completely artless.
She attracted him powerfully, yet his head told him to be rational. Yes, it was true he admired sense, sincerity, and wit more than most things. Yet, it did not mean that he had to admire Miss Bennet more than other women merely because she embodied these qualities, he held so dear. He valued propriety and order as well, and she had the tendency to make him act in ways he would have never deemed proper. Furthermore, her entire life was disordered—granted, not of her own making, yet it could not be helped. Her family was generally without propriety or direction; their estate was in disarray, and the daughters were dowerless.
"Mr. Darcy, I believe the best display of sportsmanship would be to congratulate the victor on her win, for if you remain silent any longer, I shall assume that you are a poor sport. A fact which, I daresay, I would be obliged pass on to your sister."
"Indeed, I pride myself on good sportsmanship, Miss Bennet. Congratulations, you are a most formidable opponent." He looked over toward Hurst who was still softly snoring. "Needless to say, I preferred your company to Hurst's."
"Yes, well…" She looked toward the door.
"Could I tempt you to a rematch? It may be a more diverting pastime to your novel."
She looked reluctant for a moment. He was determined not to say anything more to her for he seemed unable to be aught but a fool in her presence, yet he was not ready to relinquish the comfort her presence provided. After a long minute, she nodded, and they began to set up the chessboard in silence again.
After a few minutes of silent play, she spoke. "So, what shall our conversation entail this round, Sir? Will we speak of the things that burden our minds and spirits or shall was speak of the inane and absurd?"
He hid his grin by holding his hand against his mouth. "For the moment, I believe we should both remain silent. I would not be surprised had you wielded your superior talent for conversation to your advantage for I confess I was distracted."
She tutted teasingly. "And I thought you claimed to be a good sport, Sir! Now you accuse me of intentionally distracting you. For shame!"
"Let us not forget who accused whom first. Are you not the lady who once accused me of being avaricious?"
She laughed. "I concede your point, Sir. My intention, however, was in sketching your character."
He could not help but ask, "And what was your conclusion?"
"That you are very sly, Mr. Darcy! You managed to reproach my accusation and state your own values with such éclat to put me to shame."
"Then by your very description, you must admit that you yourself are sly, Miss Bennet!"
She laughed again, and he wondered briefly if he was, in fact, flirting as his cousin Fitzwilliam had often encouraged him to do. No woman ever laughed so freely or openly in his presence. He had wit, but it simply never seemed to come to him in a ballroom.
"I do not deny it. I will happily admit to my flaws. I have a tendency to flaunt propriety and like to taunt people with my wit. I am too bold, and I rarely take others as seriously as they should want me to."
"You are—"
"Mr. Darcy," cried Miss Bingley from the doorway. "Charles and I have been looking everywhere for you this morning."
His face grew ashen. Miss Bingley looked suspiciously at where he and Miss Bennet had been sitting, and he worried that she had overheard some of their previous conversation.
"I have not been hiding, Miss Bingley. I breakfasted before you and Bingley and came across Hurst here in the library." He gestured to Hurst nonchalantly. "He fell asleep before we could finish."
"And so, you decided to play with Miss Elizabeth?" Her words were more accusation than question. He had not the time to respond before she turned her narrowed gaze on to Miss Bennet. "I had thought you would be with your sister."
"My sister has been asleep for some time now, Miss Bingley. I came to the library to divert myself with a novel. I thank you, though, for asking after my sister's health. I do believe she is improved somewhat, and I will tell her you asked after her."
Again, Darcy was impressed with how she turned an impertinent accusation around to make a fool of her accuser. Miss Bingley had the sense to look reasonably mortified by her lack of hospitality, but her penance did not remain for long.
"Well, I hope to visit with her today when she awakens. Then, I might give you more time to visit with dear Mr. Darcy and entertain him with your charming forays into gentlemen's pursuits."
"I am sure Jane will be grateful for the company. However, there is little need for me to continue here. Mr. Darcy could certainly win whenever he wants," she said with an irony lost on Miss Bingley, "and he has discharged his duty by informing me of a message from my uncle in London."
"Mr. Darcy, you did not mention that you were acquainted with other members of the Bennet family."
"Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner were present when my sister and I were first acquainted with Miss Elizabeth." His tone allowed no room for further inquiry, and Miss Bingley desisted.
"Well, thank you again for your kind wishes, Miss Bingley, but I should return to my sister's chamber now." She took her leave, and the moment she had absented, Miss Bingley took her place across from him at the chessboard.
"How nice this is! We rarely have the opportunity to speak, just the two of us, Mr. Darcy. Do tell me how is my dear friend Georgiana?"
She had asked him the question no fewer than a dozen times since he had been in residence at Netherfield, and as always, he replied with a disingenuous, "She is well."
Miss Bingley began to prattle on about Georgiana's accomplishment and good prospects, but he could not attend to her words. They were painful to him. Georgiana's future seemed more uncertain now than ever before, and the worries often tormented him at night and buried themselves in his neck and shoulders during the day.
He looked at the chessboard which Miss Bingley was tracing the edge of with a long, pale finger. Distracting himself from his concerns about Georgiana, he starred at the board, realizing that Miss Bennet had a clear path to victory against him in only three moves. The irony of her comment that he could win whenever he pleased felt more laughable now than ever. She could beat him whenever she wanted, yet it had been commonplace for anyone to assume he would be the victor. The thought made him admire her and despise himself in equal measure.
A/N: I also noticed a lot of ~really intense~ Lydia hate in the reviews this past week. I was surprised how much people hated her and wished ill upon her. Honestly, I have always felt that Lydia, although a brat, is rather mistreated by life. I think that Lydia is the often unfair foil for Georgiana. Georgiana has had all the privileges and education that a devoted and concerned older brother could give her whereas Lydia has not had the same opportunities and is neglected by her father. Furthermore, Lydia and Mrs. Bennet are trapped in a cycle of inadequate women's education which prevents them from having the abilities (politically and practically) that might allow them to make better choices. Interpret my writings as you will, but those are my quick thoughts on the matter! :)
