“Why do you not take a rest upstairs? Or you could use that marvelous machine again,” Mrs. Bennet suggested.
Pounding her fist against her leg, Lydia said, “I do not get to have any fun. I could not even attend my own funeral!” She poked out her bottom lip so far a bird could have perched on it and crossed her arms. “Tell me again how well-attended my funeral was and how many ladies mourned with Mama in the parlor.”
Elizabeth sighed. “You would have thought the king had passed.” She tilted her chin and winked at Darcy.
He stifled a laugh. It was true that Lydia’s death had been received with a great deal of exhibition, but her “mourners” were more curious than grievous, their explanation of her grotesque disfigurement from so many bee stings arousing more interest among their macabre neighbors than they had hoped to placate.
It had been quite a show despite their sincerest efforts to minimize attention. But too many wishes to see the lively beauty who had thoughtlessly tormented the less fortunate in looks, her indulgent parents brought low. Lydia had paid for her sins in their minds, but their forgiveness was half-hearted. They certainly would not forget.
Darcy hated disguise — even when it was necessary — but seeing how her neighbors sympathized for her family’s benefit more than out of respectful remembrance for the departed stirred his pity.
Mr. Bennet chuckled. “It was a respectable attendance, but you will have many more when word of your resurrection spreads. I daresay you will have devotees calling from several counties.”
Mrs. Bennet cheered. “We shall have to invite our neighbors to dine with us. A banquet to celebrate Lydia’s return.”
“I will not disagree, my love,” said Mr. Bennet with a resigned sigh. “Perhaps they will more readily forgive us this deception once they hear the rest of the story … and are fed from our table.”
Lydia clasped her hands under her chin and giggled. “Oh, how delightful! I do wish Wickham would hurry up!”
Darcy wondered if she understood what she said.
Mrs. Bingley looked at her with concern. “Youdounderstand what will happen when he does finally arrive, do you not, dearest?”
Popping a grape into her mouth, one of the many condolence offerings left by a nearby family, she replied, “He will be escorted to his regiment to face trial.”
It was apparent that Lydia’s inability to foresee consequences was not limited to her own decisions.
Her father pressed. “Lydia, do you understand what will happen beyond his trial? He has attempted murder on at least three occasions, callously lashing out against the woman he married as well as his unborn child.”
“Oh, but I am not pregnant.”
“But he did not know that.”
“I do not know why I should spare him when he tried to rid himself of me … and our child. Had his aim not run so contrary to mine, I could endure it, but I very much wish to continue alive. Therefore, I have no option. He will face his trial, and I will accept the judge’s decision … whatever it may be.” Lydia’s chin quivered, but her voice was sharp.
“Eye for eye,” Mary commented. Piety could be harsh.
“What will you do … after?” Kitty asked.
Lydia sighed. “Since I have had so much time at my disposal, I have given the matter a great deal of thought.”
Mr. Bennet’s eyebrows shot up. “Really?”
She looked at their faces, giggling. “Do not look so shocked! I am capable of thought. Besides, I think you will approve of my conclusions. I am too flighty and fun-loving to be trusted with important decisions, and I am much too lively and handsome not to attract the wrong kind of attention.”
Such a mixture of vanity and sense Darcy had never heard. He paid rapt attention as she continued, “I did not choose wisely with Wickham, but I could not bear to live alone too long. I should very much like to remarry, but I will rely on Jane, Lizzy, and Papa to help me select my next husband. I want what they have secured, so I will trust their judgment to help me.”
Such a mixture of selfishness and praise. Darcy shook his head.
The conversation wavered between the profound and ridiculous until Hill barged into the room, chest heaving and hands fidgeting. “Mr. Wickham is riding up the drive!”
Elizabeth lunged at Lydia,grabbing her hands as Kitty and Mary pushed her forward.
“All this sitting around, and I am to be denied witnessing Wickham’s comeuppance?” Lydia squealed.
“Hush!” echoed through the room.
“Now is not the time, Lydia!” chastised Mama.
