That was probably a dumb question to ask about Lydia. I had never given it much thought until recently. What's to be expected coming from one of P&P most unreliable narrators? When I've reread the novel, bookmarking and pinpointing, all the parts involving the three girls, I'm picking up on new things.
Well today, we are under threat of a storm in the area. Lots of rain and wind, power outages, and such. Hopefully nothing too crazy that involves flooding or road closures. No orders to evacuate, just stay in place. But in the meantime, just enjoying my morning coffee with my little purr machine in lap.
Chapter 24
"Oh Mary! I wish you had gone with us, for we had such fun! As we went along, Kitty and I drew up the blinds, and pretended there was nobody in the coach; and I should have gone so all the way, if Kitty had not been sick; and when we got to the George, I do think we behaved very handsomely, for we treated the other three with the nicest cold luncheon in the world, and if you would have gone, we would have treated you too. And then when we came away it was such fun! I thought we never should have got into the coach. I was ready to die of laughter. And then we were so merry all the way home! We talked and laughed so loud, that anybody might have heard us ten miles off!"
Lydia made quite a fuss over nothing. To say she and Kitty had treated them to luncheon, was putting it loosely. A merry time indeed! Kitty still looked a bit pale and nauseated by the rough road. Jane and Lizzy, though looking well, were certainly not so merry and boisterous the whole ride home. Any laughter and noise that could be heard 'ten miles off' did not come from the three travelers. Maria had already been dispatched at her home, no better or worse for wear. To top off the insult was the wish that Mary had come with them and been apart of it.
To this Mary very gravely replied, "Far be it from me, my dear sister, to depreciate such pleasures! They would doubtless be congenial with the generality of female minds. But I confess they would have no charms for me—I should infinitely prefer a book."
Lydia did not hear a word of it. She seldom listened to anybody for more than half a minute anyway, but lately, her span of attention grew shorter. There was too much activity about the unloading of trunks and packages.
To Jane and Lizzy, Lydia asked them on the stairs: "Where are you both going?"
"Up to unpack. We thank you for giving us your company on the ride home," began Jane, "but we'd like to settle down and be comfortable, Lydia. I think I'd like some tea after the journey."
"Why not let it wait, Jane? Let's all walk to Meryton. The trunks will wait just fine. What do you say, Kitty? Let's all walk to Meryton and see how everybody gets on. We can take tea with Aunt Phillips and have all the fine gentlemen about us-"
Lizzy opposed the scheme, thoroughly exhausted of patience. "This is absolutely ridiculous! We're both tired, and we're not going. It should not be said that the Miss Bennets could not be at home half a day before they were off in pursuit of the officers."
"We've only a fortnight remaining before they depart forever," complained Kitty. "Besides, I need a walk after the road. It will do me good."
Mr. and Mrs. Bennet appeared before an argument could brew in the foyer. The formerly absent daughters were received with great affection and tenderness, especially Jane, having been gone longer. Mr. Bennet, though aloof and expressionless as ever, was not unmoved by their return; indeed, he even embraced and held Jane and Lizzy at the same time. It was perhaps the most demonstrative anybody had ever seen him.
Apparently, as was seen at dinner, Mr. Bennet had been quite desolate in the absence of his eldest daughters. For in them, he could rely on their advocacy. The Brighton scheme, taking lodgings at the seaside, was actively discussed between both parents. Despite all the good that could be said for it, their father showed not the smallest intention of yielding. Much to Mrs. Bennet's disappointment was his attitude, yet his answers were at the same time so vague and equivocal. Lydia took a new tactic at dinner to aid the scheme.
"Why don't you tell Papa what you think of going to Brighton, Lizzy. You can reason with him. You know he listens to your advice."
"You flatter me, Lydia, but if you wish me to say what I think about going to Brighton, I'll gladly give my opinion. I think it's a very good thing that the regiment should be removed from Meryton, and that the regiment should be removed from us."
A triangle of outcry arose between Lydia, Kitty, and their mother. Her sentiments were imputed to be unfeeling and most extraordinary.
"Well, far be it from me to cause a rift in the family," retorted Mr. Bennet. "What do you say, Jane? What about you, Mary?"
"I'm ready for the peace and quiet of home," declared Jane. "While I do enjoy my time with the Gardiners, and the children, we had little time to ourselves in the house."
"My poor child, you came back to the wrong house, I'm afraid." Jane laughed. "And what about you, Mary?"
"I shall not break my heart, Papa," assured Mary. Taking in the petulant faces of her younger sisters, she continued: "If anyone has the power to break my heart, I have no one but myself to blame for it. But that is not so. I'm perfectly capable of controlling myself. My happiness is not dependent on the close proximity of my friends. There's no good reason to go—"
"Thank you for the speech, my little philosopher," added Mr. Bennet. "So you see, Mrs. Bennet. You wish to go to Brighton and argue that the whole family should like to go, but that does not seem to be the case. You've two daughters in your favour, and I've three daughters who show no inclination. We are the majority, I'm afraid."
"Would you really break my heart, Papa?" accused Lydia. "And Kitty's?"
"There, there, my dears. My poor girls, to suffer a father so determined to be cruel."
Kitty joined in. "It's not merely for society that we wish to go, Papa. The sea air is so wonderful and beneficial. Aunt Phillips says so. Mrs. Forster says she intends to go sea-bathing." Such caused Lydia to sigh for it, longingly.
"A little sea-bathing would set me up forever. Oh Mr. Bennet, just think of it! We've not had such a leisurely outing in many years."
"I'm sorry to be breaking hearts, crushing your spirits, and depriving you of good health by the seaside, Kitty. Take Mary's advice. If you cannot have your friends in close proximity, it's time to write a letter to them."
"That is hardly fair!" whined Kitty.
"It is not fair at all!" Lydia even stamped her foot under the table. "Why should Mama submit to it? If we want to go, and the rest of you don't, fine!"
Lizzy and Jane reprimanded this, but she was not to see and be shown the error of her speech. Mary even wondered, in the face of such childish behaviour and arrogant talk, that Mrs. Bennet's eyes were not opened by her youngest daughter. Mr. Bennet declined entertaining any thoughts of his wife and daughters going to Brighton independently. It was a worse scheme than the first. The longer that their mother contended with their father, the more Lydia contended with him as well. Finally, all conversation deteriorated to the point of Lydia, instead of speaking her insult, screamed it.
"Why don't you just lock us all in a dungeon and be done with it!"
"I'll lock you upstairs if you say one more word, Lydia!" he threatened.
Before her mother could intervene, a muted, peevish scream hissed through her lips. The napkin was thrown down on the table, and Lydia disappeared from the dining room. Such a sorry display had never occurred in their whole family history at a meal. Jane, Lizzy, and Mary alike blushed upon what transpired. For good reason, nobody in the family should be going to Brighton. Yet, Mr. Bennet, once settled and cooled down after his daughter's hissy fit, gave no more thought of it. He was content to slice his meet and red potato and savour his wine; appetite had not been diminished, despite his wife's nonverbal displeasure and Kitty's sorrowful eyes.
How was she to tell dear Denny that she loved him with all her heart, through a letter? Seeing his face, hearing the words from his own lips, held greater worth than a thousand letters in the post. Would they write to each other? For how long must they be apart? In this part of the world, men and women without family relation did not write letters to one another. Perhaps elsewhere, it was not so uncommon. But in their home, in their little Meryton of Hertfordshire, it was not done unless the gentleman and lady were known to have an understanding. Though it did not indicate an engagement, it certainly indicated serious attachment. For even Mr. Bingley, for all his ardency and devotion, did not write to Jane at all. It was more prudent, in Jane's position, to communicate through Miss Bingley. The only female correspondent that might possibly exist in this case, for Kitty, would be Mrs. Forster.
And was it be possible, dare she even think, that Mr. Denny might forget her? Again, Mr. Bingley came to mind. Circumstances could not have been more promising. All that remained was for him to declare his intentions, to propose, and of course, seek Mr. Bennet's approval. How close to fruition they had come, then Mr. Bingley left for London. He was supposed to be gone only a few days. What would become of them, when she and Denny were separated by orders of the war office? No doubt, there were plenty of girls in Brighton, waiting ecstatically for the arrival of the regiment. There may be a dozen others just like her younger sister, lying in ambush. Might another prettier face come along to wipe away his memory of her?
Everyone at the table might've supposed any tears shed were the denial of pleasure. The thought of a prettier girl caused such lamentation. He might walk by some milliner's shop, spying blond curls in the window. The wind likes to play with long, smooth manes, so charming and teasingly over dark eyes and long lashes. What had she? A mother's praise only goes so far. It did not change her mousy colouring and wavy, coarse texture. The mirror did not make her taller, or add greater curves to the figure. It couldn't make white cream out of a pink complexion. How could she compete with beauty in its natural form? All she could do was find and dress a pretty bonnet and thread her braids with dainty ribbon.
Kitty ate very little at dinner. Jane was the only one with good humour left to attempt to raise her from such gloomy spirits. Such an effort was thanked by a reproach from Kitty.
"How will we endure this? How can you all three eat and drink like it's nothing? Our dearest friends are being torn away from us. Me and Lydia are miserable, and everyone else is insensible and so hard-hearted to make light of it."
" 'Dearest friends', your dearest friends, my dear Kitty," Mary sniffed, "are here in Meryton. Those who have known you your whole life and care for your welfare, not officers, not acquaintances formed within four months."
"It will be six months soon!"
"They arrived in later November, if I'm not mistaken."
"The definition of dearest friend is determined by emotion, not time."
With a groan of exasperation, Mary resorted to her father's method of detachment. "Heavens, if you want to be miserable, why don't you go join Lydia upstairs?" Little thought given to the fact that soon enough, she'd be forced to join them and try to fall asleep in the same room. Her sister took the advice, and dismissed herself in much the same manner.
"This is getting worrisome," admitted Jane, in the light of the hearth. "I've never seen them behave this way, to both our parents."
Mrs. Bennet had already lulled back in her chair, and drifted into a light doze for a good ten minutes. Her remaining three daughters were left to contemplation in the parlour. Window was slightly ajar for air. Lizzy and Jane had been attempting new needlework, while Mary sat reading under a close-by candle. The clock struck eleven. It was hoped that both her sisters had cried themselves to sleep, and she might slip in and settle to bed shortly.
"If it were my household and my own children, I wouldn't tolerate this," replied Lizzy. "All this insolence and the tantrums because the war office thought it was a good idea to deploy the –shire regiment to Hertfordshire."
"Well, there's nothing to be done about it." Jane's tone of resignation indicated less her thoughts about the regiment itself. "I think the best cure to be worked on our sisters is both time and separation. They're only seventeen and fifteen—no, sixteen. I forgot that Lydia just turned sixteen."
"I've thought about some small measures, such as going through our circulating library. We might remove some of the novels from our collection."
"I think that is a good first step," agreed Mary, speaking softly for their mother's repose. "But it will not be enough. Knowing them, they'll seek out their own employments and diversions if they cannot get them here."
"Why don't we all make a concerted effort," began Jane, "to encourage new pursuits for the both of them. It would be wonderful to get them outside and in the gardens with us. And perhaps, we can get some new books and take turns reading in the evenings."
"This will not be easy," sighed Lizzy. "But we must do something. If not one thing, we can try another. They need to understand that flirtation and the pursuit of romance is not to be the business of their lives… Well, perhaps we may all sleep on those thoughts. Since we are all three together, Jane, let's tell Mary about Aunt Gardiner."
She sat up alert. "What is it?"
"You've read my last letter, I assume? Jane and I have spoken with our aunt, in strict confidence. She has agreed that something must be done, and soon. To that end, once we return from our trip to the Lakes, our aunt and uncle will take you back with them to London."
"Really?" she gasped.
"Yes, and as soon as it can be arranged," added Jane, "she will take you to see a doctor, for an initial examination. Be prepared though, to have to stay with them for a few weeks. After all, you are there for the sake of society. You may have to join them for some formal evenings, perhaps a dance or two. Still, staying in Gracechurch Street for a few weeks will give you time to follow up with the doctor on any recommendations needed."
"Does that sound agreeable?"
Mary almost couldn't speak in her excitement and gratitude. Now, all that was left was to seek their mother's approval, who began to startle herself out of slumber. Exhausted by the day, she had little energy for much conversation. She addressed Jane for the fourth time about all she did and should have done while in London. Did she attend any assemblies? Did she receive any invitations? Did her kind brother introduce her to any new acquaintances? There was a desperate wish to hear of Mr. Bingley, or a new young man. Sadly, Jane could not satisfy this curiosity.
Not wishing to be importuned and forced to speak on a sore subject, her daughter excused herself from the room, tired after their travels and a long day.
"Well Lizzy, what do you make of this sad business of Jane's?" moaned Mrs. Bennet. "For my part, I am determined never to speak of it again to anybody. I can just see the heartbreak in her eyes, can't you? I told my sister Phillips the other day, that her letters are not so cheerful. I cannot find out that Jane saw anything of him in London. Well, he is a very undeserving young man—and I do not suppose there's the least chance in the world of her ever getting him now. There is no talk of his coming to Netherfield again in the summer; and I have inquired of everybody, too, who is likely to know."
"I do not believe he will ever live at Netherfield anymore," Lizzy answered.
"Oh well! Just as he chooses! No one wants him to come. Though I shall always say that he used my daughter extremely ill; and if I was her, I'd not have put up with it. Well, my comfort is, I am sure she will die of a broken heart; and then he will be sorry for what he has done."
Certainly no small surprise that Lydia and Kitty fancied themselves heartbroken. It was the prevailing theme of the household at this time. Of course, Jane did deserve some pity for disappointment. Mary listened and observed her sister's countenance. There was no pity to be seen. There was something there, but Mary's perception could not penetrate Lizzy's disguised emotions.
"Well Lizzy, you've gone to visit your cousin. Had a pleasant visit, have you? So the Collinses live very comfortable, do they? Well, I only hope it will last. And what sort of table do they keep? Charlotte is an excellent manager, I dare say. If she is half as sharp as her mother, she is saving enough. There is nothing extravagant in their housekeeping, I dare say."
Ever evasive, she merely replied: "No, nothing at all."
"A great deal of management, depend upon it. Yes. They will will take care not to outrun their income. They will never be distressed for money. Well, much good may it do them! And so, I suppose, they often talk of having Longbourn when your father is dead. They look upon it as quite their own, I dare say."
"It was a subject which they could not mention before me."
"No. It would have been strange if they had, but I make no doubt they talk of it constantly when they're alone. Well, if they can be easy with an estate that is not lawfully their own, so much the better. I should be ashamed of having one that was only entailed on me."
Highly doubtful, her children wondered. If she had inherited a property that displaced its current residents, would she really have felt guilty for it? Mary saw high pretensions to moral principles, yet when it came to the immediate effect, the things that touched her mother's life personally, emotions supplanted principles. That much was clear also in the case of her younger sisters. It also caught Mary's attention that since coming home, not once had Lizzy made a mention or inquiry about Mr. Wickham. Lizzy was quite the opposite of their mother. Deep-seated and strong emotions could be contained. No doubt, she'd been told about the dissolved engagement. What was the response to it? What were her feelings? Perhaps Jane could answer that, but not Mary. In the past, Lizzy's understated reaction to the sound of Wickham's name led to the assumption that Wickham was held in much higher regard and affection than even she herself had realized. She purposefully and carefully did not mention him too often, just as much the same way that Mary did not voluntarily speak of Captain Carter.
Surely, her elder sister was not so foolish to be seriously in love with him. Elizabeth could not be so without dignity, to happily receive a man who had passed her over and resign herself to being his second choice.
Mrs. Bennet's campaign against her husband's disinclination for Brighton resumed in private, but she despaired in passing days. At the height of her disappointment, and despite her taxed nerves, she set out with her two mistreated girls for some solace with Aunt Phillips. How often over the last twenty years had the two sisters provided each other consolation during matrimonial disputes. Perhaps she had some reason for complaint, but that reason was lost amongst the dramatic narrative. Mrs. Bennet unburdened herself in her sister's upstairs parlour, with tea in one hand and the other coddled in Mrs. Phillips' grasp.
"I don't know how to reason with him, dear sister. He's not always been this way. He's become so contrary in his middle age."
"I'm not the least bit surprised, Fanny." She was about to convey more, but unable to get a word more out. Mrs. Bennet's fretful monologue scarcely allowed herself, the speaker, to draw breath. It offered little room for others to comfort. Her daughters sat on the sofa opposite of them, without much to contribute in consolation or sympathy. They were in much need of their own. The tea served to them seemed bland and tasteless.
"While I do so love our aunt, I never realized," whispered Lydia, who stared blankly at the peach-coloured wallpaper, "what an ugly room this is. It should've been redone with new wallpaper ages ago."
"To think, we've had so many happy times and great parties here," pined Kitty. "We'll probably never see anything like it ever again."
Still in a listless langour, Lydia turned her attention to: "Mama? Do you think we might have one last party at Longbourn? A little tea in the afternoon before the officers must depart Herfordshire?"
"Why, I think that is only right and just so, my dear," agreed Mrs. Bennet. "My poor girls, dear sister, they're quite desolated the regiment is leaving. It so reminds me when Colonel Miller and his regiment went away some twenty-so years ago. I thought I should've broke my heart."
Reminiscences, departing from the current realities that involved the girls, failed to interest them longer than two minutes. They were about to resume their abuse of the faded wallpaper and old furniture when the maid announced more visitors for Mrs. Phillips. Mrs. Forster, accompanied by Denny, Pratt, and a Mr. Saunders. Many thanks were bestowed, for the hundredth time, for having shared the duties of hostess on the night of Mrs. Forsters' little dance at the inn. Mrs. Bennet paid many compliments upon the young wife's success, in delegation and as a credit to her husband and his subordinates. The present officers were all praises for her.
It cheered Kitty in the moment, to catch that little twinkle in Denny's eye as he spied her in the corner. While he might have treated Lydia handsomely once, Kitty had at last come to supersede her. His eyes, his smiles were exclusively hers. Wickham's dark features might be very handsome, but she found her preference gravitate more towards sandy colouring and soft eyes. He was a beam of sunlight in the fog when he inquired after herself and her family.
"We're all very well, Denny," replied Kitty. "Though perhaps we could be in better spirits."
"I'll say. I don't like seeing you so downcast. What is this all about?"
"My mother would like to convince our father to take us all on holiday to Brighton, but he refuses to consider it."
"What a shame! Shall I go to Longbourn, try and talk sense into him?" he offered humorously. "What has a gentleman like him got against Brighton?"
"He hates to travel," shrugged Kitty. "He gives plenty of reasons, but I think it's as simple as that. I've heard so many wonderful things about the place from Mrs. Forster. Lydia and I are just in utter despair to spend the whole summer, miserable and without our friends, without your society."
"We will certainly not meet with society superior to what we've enjoyed here in Hertfordshire," assured Denny. "It is a shame I'll not be able to escort you for walks on the beach, or to the public assemblies down in the town hall."
"Will you really miss me, Mr. Denny?"
Lydia burst out laughing over something between Pratt and Saunders. She asked Denny for his opinion on the matter, diverting the waters for several minutes. When Mrs. Bennet and Mrs. Phillips involved Kitty in a discussion about Jane's time spent in town, and what news had come from there, the poor girl felt the whole world wished to tear her heart to shreds. How many times had she been denied the simplest pleasures!
"…Yes, Kitty. I'll miss you." When there was a chance, five seconds free of everyone else's conversation, he finally replied, leaning over to whisper in her ear.
"Will you write to me while you're there?" she whispered back.
"I would like that. It's a small compensation for the loss of your company, but yes, I will write if you write."
For a time, Kitty was in better spirits than Lydia for the next few days. The promise of correspondence had been obtained. Aside from being married, or being engaged, letters between lovers often led them to these states of bliss. What pride to receive, from Brighton, paper and seal addressed to her. When their servant came to bring the post in the late morning, Lydia would assume it would be for her, and she'd have to be told she was mistaken. True, yes, the letter came from Mr. Denny, but addressed to K. Bennet. It would turn her an envious, apple green. After all the games she played and all the officers jilted, Kitty could hardly wait to watch her sister's delusions sift like sand through her hands.
All such hopes for revenge and happiness of that kind met a swift end days later, when the servant came into the drawing room after dinner. The note had been delivered by hand, addressed to Lydia from Mrs. Forster. It did not contain many lines; by the conclusion of it, a squeal of delight pierced the tranquility. For though they had not been of long acquaintance, Mrs. Forster expressed a keen desire and begged her dearest friend in all the world to accompany her and her husband to Brighton for the summer.
"Oh Mama! May I, please?"
"Why of course, you must go!" cried her mother eagerly. "What an honour to have singled you out. Mrs. Forster is as good a lady as all the belles of court. Oh Lydia!"
"Her dearest friend in all the world?" Kitty repeated, dumb-struck. "Are we not both her dearest friends? After all," turning to her older sisters, "we've all been acquainted with Mrs. Forster an equal amount of time. What makes you her dearest friend?"
"Because we are lively and such kindred spirits," Lydia answered naturally. "I was just telling her the other day what a pity we could not all go to Brighton. How sweet of her to think of me! She even says Colonel Forster is to take a house for us!"
"That is a luxury," declared Mrs. Bennet. "Much better than staying in camp or taking a room at a hotel. I must write Mrs. Forster and thank her, first thing in the morning."
At the sight of Kitty's gape, Lydia giggled. "I must beg your congratulations, dear sister. From all of you! I'm to go away to Brighton, the whole summer! Oh, how heavenly! A whole camp full of soliders," she sighed, sinking into the divan. "Balls and parties every night. Hundreds of handsome redcoats flooding the streets and the sands—"
"Mama! This is most unjust!" Kitty protested. "If you're going to write Mrs. Forster, you ought to ask her that I be included."
"Wh-Why—Why ever should I do such an impolite thing, Kitty? And do not presume to command me. It's unbecoming of me to ask a dear friend of the family to include you for the sake of your own feelings. Why, how is that fair to all the rest of my daughters? If Mrs. Forster must include you, why not Jane? Why not Lizzy and Mary too?"
"Lydia and I have been her constant companions, ever since her marriage. Poor thanks for my friendship on her part."
"I'm sure she does not mean to slight you, Kitty," Jane asserted. "It could be that Colonel and Mrs. Forster cannot afford a journey and lodgings for more than three people. Please, don't cry now."
"It's all so provoking, Jane! I may not be Mrs. Forster's particular friend, but I've just as much right to be asked as Lydia."
"Sour grapes!" laughed her rival.
"And more so, too, for I am two years older!"
"Don't worry, Kitty. I'll be thinking of you and missing you the whole time, and will buy you a present before I leave. If you like, you may send me any letters to Denny through me, if you wish."
Jane and Lizzy attempted to curtail this arrogance. Mrs. Bennet began to wail over the noise and her weakening nerves. This small detail caused some surprise amongst those in possession of decorum; for Kitty was it especially a surprise, not suspecting Lydia would be privy to it. Having the tables turned and pinned underneath, yet again, and have her affections mocked, Kitty rose to her feet.
"You're always such an ingrate! A two-faced little ingrate! So sweet and dear to Mrs. Forster, to the Harringtons, and every officer in the regiment. Yet you steal, you lie, behave like a child, and still, get your way!"
"Katherine Bennet, sit down at once!" snapped their mother.
"I will not, Mama! She's a conniving, devious little coquette, who cares for no one but herself. You do not deserve an invitation to Brighton!" Off and upstairs did Kitty run, sobbing pathetically the whole way.
"Hhhmmph, two years older?" haughtily retorted Lydia. "She says I'm a child, while she behaves as one ten years younger."
"Lydia, before you crow too loud over your sister," warned Lizzy, "remember that Papa has not given his permission yet, nor is he likely to do so."
"Oh, Papa shall not stop me. Not when I've been specially invited by the colonel of the regiment to be his wife's particular companion. What do you say, Mama?"
"You've already had my say. You must go! Do not mind your sister Kitty. She's quite jealous of you, my dear. Jealous of your beauty and popularity. She'd just love to be in your place."
"Mama, really!" gasped Jane.
Lizzy seconded the protest. "Mama, her beauty or popularity is so moot a point it's ridiculous to defend it. Lydia has just treated her sister most cruelly. There was no need for such triumphant airs and insolence. Kitty deserves better than that."
"Well, what do you expect me to do about it? I cannot beg Mrs. Forster to include Kitty as well."
"I'd say it's only fair," added Mary, "that if both of them cannot go, neither of them should be allowed to go."
Poorly received by her mother, she also turned: "Hold your tongue, child! Who asked you? That would be unreasonable. Better at least that one of you have joy in society than none of you at all!"
"You three are making a fuss over nothing," shrugged Lydia. "I've done nothing so cruel. Kitty can be just as bad and coquettish as everything she claims me to be."
"Liar and thief... She is not wrong, Lydia," said Mary. Instead of a scowl, or fire or daggers, Lydia met Mary's hard glare with syrupy toxicity.
"It's a shame we cannot all go. Perhaps in addition to Denny, I may pass along any of your correspondence to Captain Carter as well."
At nineteen and far beyond her years mentally, Mary was above something so undignified, but even she was not immune to the hot blush and the trembling anger beating with the equal pulse of her heart. She hardly wished to comfort Kitty, like Jane would do. Yet, she felt sympathy for what her sister implied in so few words. I'm 'sorry' that you cannot go. So, I will take your place in your absence, and be glad to convey any tender messages you have for Mr. Denny, or Captain Carter. Contempt and threat expressed all at once. A heroine from one of their silly novels would have had no pang of conscience lifting a hand to slap her.
Mr. Bennet came from the library at that moment, surveying the room, bewildered by the screams to have come from this room. Mrs. Bennet relayed the event to her husband, combined with the news of Mrs. Forster's invitation.
"Oh please, please Papa! I so wish to go! Since the colonel and his wife have invited me, it will be no expense to you at all. You'll have no inconvenience about conveyance, or lodgings, nothing," exclaimed Lydia. "They have arranged everything, and will take a house for the whole summer."
Jane quietly excused herself to see to Kitty, try and offer some solace, whether it be wanted or not. Lizzy and Mary would've gladly withdrawn as well, but for one thing, their father's reaction. His expression was that of exasperation and disgust, especially as Lydia described the balls, the sea-bathing, the public plays, and shops. Every slighting behaviour, every impertinence, every rude word Lydia had ever committed in all her life came down to weigh on his shoulders. After some little pleading and flattering, exhausted of patience, he gave his consent. With indifference, he gave his permission and numbly wished her a pleasant journey.
Huge shout out to my reviewers these last few days. That was probably the most reviews of a chapter recently. One special thanks to an unnamed Guest, who supposedly expresses an unpopular opinion. I thought your synopsis was really interesting about Lydia and Lizzy being the more dominant personalities, while Jane and Kitty are followers. Lydia, yes, I can see as a mean girl and abuse her power. Lizzy, though not a mean girl, yes, can make judgment calls that affects the opinions of all Meryton. Mr. Darcy's unpopularity was shaped a lot in part because Mrs. Bennet took offense to how her daughter was treated at the Meryton assembly. I'd say, if this were modern days, Lizzy would probably be a successful YouTube influencer. She has that power, even if she thinks she doesn't.
Also a huge thank you to Amodixe, for your book report of a review. Made me smile, not expecting that, and I appreciated your thoughts. So glad you are enjoying the ride, and don't mind long chapter updates. I can't say they'll always fly out every other day but for right now, that's my momentum.
And a shout out to all faithful reviewers and followers. Hope you have a fun weekend, with your brew of choice and a purr machine of your own. Mine, his name is Tony. He looks like cinnamon toast. He's very cuddly, talkative, and can't be left alone in the kitchen.