Page 212 of What Change Entails

Lydia’s eyes widened. “That is a very Lizzy apology.”

“It is sincere.”

“I know. That is what makes it worse. You always make sincerity sound like it has read three books.”

This time Elizabeth laughed properly, and Lydia did too, though hers wobbled near tears.

After a moment, Lydia sniffed and pressed the handkerchief beneath her nose. “Derbyshire was infinitely better than Brighton would have been.”

Elizabeth’s hand stiffened around hers.

“I never thought I would say it,” Lydia continued. “Brighton had officers, and sea bathing, and Mrs. Forster, and probably dances, though Mrs. Forster’s taste in feathers remains suspect. But Derbyshire had Miss Darcy. And Horace. And Mr. Darcy being moon-eyed over you, which was surprisingly entertaining.”

“Moon-eyed?”

“Yes. Do not pretend otherwise. He looked at you as if you were a lone book in the library and he had been deprived of reading for a year.”

Elizabeth’s cheeks warmed. “That is a very strange comparison.”

“It is an accurate one. He is the sort of man who would suffer over a book.”

“He will come,” Lydia said after a moment, more softly.

Elizabeth let go of her hand and turned back to the fire.

“I believe he will.”

“Then say it with more conviction.”

“I believe he will,” Elizabeth repeated, with a little more force.

Lydia sighed. “Lizzy, I worked far too hard for everything to fail because of unforeseen circumstances.”

“You worked?”

“Yes. Georgiana and I arranged matters constantly. Do you think people simply fell into place?”

“I had begun to suspect invisible hands.”

“Mine. And Miss Darcy’s, though hers are more elegant and less likely to knock things over.”

Elizabeth shook her head. “He may be delayed.”

“Then he will come after delay.”

“He may think—”

“No.” Lydia sat up straighter. “No thinking. Thinking is how sensible people ruin simple things. You wrote him the letter, did you not?”

“Yes.”

“Then he knows. And he will come.”

Elizabeth stared into the low flame. The coal had finally caught properly, sending a thin wavering light across the hearth.

Privately, she did believe it.

Not with childish certainty. Not with the easy confidence Lydia seemed able to summon at will. But beneath the discomfort, beneath Miss Bingley’s warnings and Elizabeth’s old fear of misjudgment, one truth remained firm enough to touch.