“I shall dance until my shoes disintegrate, Lizzy,” Lydia continued dreamily. “I shall acquire at least three proposals before August. Perhaps I will accept them all and force them to fight a duel over me.”
Elizabeth did not dignify this with an answer, but that did not stop Lydia.
“You are ignoring me, Lizzy.” She snatched a meat pie from the basket next to her, and took a loud, aggressive bite. “You have been ignoring me since London. It is very disagreeable of you.”
“And I shall ignore you for all the five changes of horses and the stop we are about to have in approximately one hour.”
Lydia huffed, and crossed her arms, returning her attention to the window and the passing scenery.
Elizabeth shifted her gaze to the opposite seat. Winslow had not moved a single muscle since they departed Hertfordshire. The carriage hit a particularly deep pothole, sending Elizabeth and Lydia sliding across the leather bench. Winslow merely bounced an inch into the air and landed squarely back in place. She offered a single, gummy nod to the empty space in front of her.
Elizabeth felt a sudden stab of jealousy of the deaf woman. Winslow was living in a state of blissful, silent ignorance, immune to the endless chatter regarding gowns and officers.
The carriage finally began its descent into Brighton as the late afternoon sun cast long, golden shadows across the chalk hills. The smell of salt and seaweed permeated the carriage, cutting through the road dust.
They moved through the crowded, narrow streets. The town was overflowing with people. Carriages clogged the thoroughfares, fashionable ladies strolled along the pavements in brightly coloured pelisses, and everywhere one looked, there was the flash of a red coat.
Lydia hung halfway out of the carriage window, waving frantically at a group of bewildered soldiers standing outside a tavern.
“Lydia, do sit down.” Elizabeth seized her sister by the sash of her gown and hauled her backward. “You will fall into the street, and I refuse to explain to Papa how I lost you before we even reached our lodgings.”
“They were waving at me!” Lydia straightened her bonnet, unrepentant.
“They were shielding their eyes from the sun.”
The carriage lurched to a halt before a respectable, though slightly cramped house on a busy street near the seafront and Lydia tumbled out.
The front door flew open before the footman could even lower the carriage steps.
Mrs Forster rushed out. A truly staggering quantity of feathers adorned her hat—which she was strangely wearing inside her house—threatened to take flight with every sudden movement.
“Lydia! You are here at last!” Mrs Forster threw her arms around the youngest Bennet. The collision nearly knocked them both into the gutter. “I thought you would never arrive! Colonel Forster says I have no patience, but how can one have patience in Brighton? We have been desolate without you!”
Mrs Harriet Forster was twenty years of age. She was technically a married woman, the wife of the regiment’s commanding officer, and the nominal chaperone for their seaside adventure.
She had the emotional maturity of a gnat.
The two young women had their hands clasped, and they were jumping up and down in a circle, shouting and laughing.
Elizabeth descended from the carriage carefully. She turned to assist Winslow, who was attempting to offer the remains of her apple to the footman who came to unload their trunks.
Colonel Forster appeared in the doorway behind his wife. He was a man of thirty, with a kind face and an expression of permanent, affectionate exhaustion. He watched his young wife jump around with an indulgent smile which revealed he had surrendered his authority entirely.
“Miss Elizabeth.” Colonel Forster executed a proper bow as Elizabeth approached. “We are delighted to welcome you to Brighton. My Harriet has spoken of little else for weeks.”
“You are very kind, Colonel.” Elizabeth curtsied. “I thank you for receiving us.”
Mrs Forster abandoned Lydia, rushed to Elizabeth, and linked their arms with startling familiarity.
“Oh, we shall have the most famous time! There is a ball tomorrow evening, and a review of the troops on Thursday, and we must go to the library immediately tomorrow to see who has signed the subscription book.” Mrs Forster leaned close, lowering her voice to a theatrical whisper. “The town is full of eligible men. I have already selected three for Lydia, and I shall find someone suitably serious for you.”
“I require no selection, I assure you.” Elizabeth gently untangled her arm.
“Nonsense! Everyone needs a flirtation at the seaside.” Mrs Forster waved her hand dismissively. “Come inside, you mustbe exhausted. I shall have the servants show you to your rooms.”
The interior of the house was charming but undeniably small. Space in Brighton during the summer season was at a premium.
“Your maid will be accommodated below stairs, of course,” Mrs Forster announced as she led them up the staircase. “My own maid will assist you with dressing. I hope you do not mind close quarters.”
