Lydia turned on her. “Mary, you would not understand the concept of levity if it hit you in the shin!”
Mr Bennet gave a soft cough which might, in a less disciplined man, have become laughter.
“Oh, my dear, wonderful Lydia!” Mrs Bennet beamed at her youngest daughter. “Brighton! You will be the belle of the seaside. You will dance every dance. You will have all the young men at your feet.”
Mr Bennet’s eyebrows rose to his hairline as he surveyed the madness.
“I have no doubt our Lydia will exhaust the entire town.” Mr Bennet folded a crease in his paper. “The local merchants will need to worry about their stock. Brighton will be depleted of ribbons within the week.”
Lydia missed the sarcasm.
“Exactly, Papa!” She clapped her hands together.
Elizabeth’s eyes landed on Jane, who was oblivious to the noise and wore a soft, dreamy smile that had only returned to her face in the last fortnight.
Mr Bingley had reopened Netherfield, and had called three times in the last week. Jane was existing in a realm composed of romance and hope, deaf to the noise of her younger sisters.
Lydia was now attempting to demonstrate a new dance step while Kitty wept louder. Mrs Bennet was compiling a listof lace required for a seaside wardrobe. Mary was reading a passage about vanity aloud to the wall.
Elizabeth turned her thoughts back to the letter still clutched in Lydia’s hand.Brighton. A town overflowing with idle young men, and seaside attractions.
And Mr Wickham would be there.
The memory of Mr Darcy’s letter burned in her mind. The stark, undeniable truth about Wickham’s true character, his gambling debts, his attempted elopement with a fifteen-year-old girl.
Lydia was sixteen. Not only that, but she was lacking in judgment, and utterly fascinated by red coats.
Elizabeth felt a cold prickle of alarm at the base of her neck. She could not let Lydia go to Brighton alone. It was a recipe for disaster.
She stood and stepped forward, placing herself directly in the centre of the room.
“I believe I should like to see the sea.” Elizabeth smoothed her skirts.
Everyone fell silent. Even Kitty stopped sobbing and coughing.
Mr Bennet lowered his newspaper.
“I beg your pardon, Lizzy?”
“The sea, Papa.” Elizabeth clasped her hands together, presenting a picture of rational desire. “Since my tour to the Lakes is cancelled, I find myself longing for the restorative properties of the coast. I shall accompany Lydia to Brighton.”
Mrs Bennet dropped her toast.
“You?” Mrs Bennet sounded befuddled. “But you do not even care for officers! You will only sit in a corner and judge everyone, and ruin Lydia’s fun with your sensible remarks.”
“I shall be the very soul of discretion, Mamma.” Elizabeth offered a tight smile.
Lydia looked horrified.
“You cannot come!” She stomped her foot. “Mrs Forster invitedme. You are too serious for Brighton, Lizzy. You will make us read books.”
“I promise to leave philosophy in Meryton.” Elizabeth met her father’s gaze. “Papa, surely you agree that a chaperone from her own family would be a wise addition to the party, do you not?”
Mr Bennet studied his second eldest daughter. He saw the tension in her jaw, the sharpness in her eyes. He did not know her exact reasons, but he recognised her determination.
“You are not qualified for chaperoning, Lizzy. You are young and unmarried, but I find it a capital idea.” Mr Bennet raised his paper again. “Lydia shall have her entertainment, and you shall have your sea air. Perhaps it will improve everyone’s disposition. You may go as her companion.”
Lydia groaned loudly.
