Page 108 of What Change Entails

The instant the inn door shut behind them, Georgiana seized Lydia’s arm.

“You are dreadful.”

“You are welcome.”

“That was wicked.”

“Yes.” Lydia grinned. “Did you admire it?”

Georgiana tried very hard not to smile.

Failed.

Utterly.

“Oh dear,” she murmured. “We are becoming terrible people.”

“Just strategically.”

Mr. Bingley wandered toward Darcy shaking his head helplessly. “I do not know whether to scold or applaud.”

“Do neither,” Darcy advised.

Elizabeth stood slightly apart near the carriages, one hand pressed against her lips. The expression in her eyes promised she understood exactly who had orchestrated the disaster.

Lydia gave her a tiny triumphant nod.

Elizabeth diverted her gaze before laughter escaped publicly.

Success. Complete success.

“Well,” Lydia declared, hooking her arm through Georgiana’s, “Mr. Darcy and Lizzy are temporarily free of interruption. We have performed a public service. Now you must show me every shop in Lambton before Miss Bingley returns from battle.”

Georgiana laughed outright this time.

Together they disappeared into the village crowd before anyone could assign them further responsibilities.

As they went, Lydia mused at just how much fun Derbyshire had proven to be. She found she did not resent her sister so much anymore.

Elizabeth had not expected to find a bookshop in Lambton capable of alarming her self-command.

A milliner, certainly. Lydia had already darted toward that establishment with Georgiana upon her arm, chattering about ribbons, feathers, and whether a bonnet might be both fashionable and dangerous. A pastry shop, perhaps, for Mr. Bingley had mentioned one with great feeling. A respectable inn, a few tradesmen, a circulating library of modest ambition, and several windows displaying goods arranged to tempt passing travelers—these belonged naturally to the village.

But Mr. Darcy led her past the more obvious shops, beyond the main bustle, and down a narrower lane where the buildings leaned companionably toward one another and the stones underfoot still held rain in their uneven places.

“You are taking me somewhere secret, Mr. Darcy,” Elizabeth said, gathering her skirts away from a patch of damp straw near the curb.

He peered down at her with amusement barely kept in check. “I had thought to show you something in Lambton I particularly value.”

“How ominous. Is it a better view of drainage?”

“No. Though I hesitate to disappoint you.”

“You wound me. I had prepared myself for culverts.”

His laughter, genuine and subdued, arose promptly, prompting Elizabeth to avert her gaze lest her evident delight become apparent.

That was becoming a difficulty.