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One of Mr Darcy’s more vivid curses came to mind; Lizzy had to force herself to speak evenly. “Well. That would certainly ruin her new hems.”
Kitty giggled, but her laughter quickly turned again to tears. “I knew it was wrong. But somehow, when Lydia confides in me, I envy her! How can I blame her for wanting his love? I wish he loved me instead. I do! I wish he loved me!”
It was maddening to hear, and Lizzy’s first instinct was to describe just how low was the rat upon whom she bestowed her affection, to snap at Kitty for being vain and foolish and imprudent. But Kitty’s—and Lydia’s, for that matter—blatant desperation to be loved by someone handsome and desirable, however reckless, was also pathetic. And had she not felt the same anguish? For a better man, of course, and she’d had enough sense of self-preservation to finally remove herself from the situation. Even so, the wrenching feelings of loss beset her still, aligning perfectly with her sister’s weeping.
And because she had longed for a mother’s affection and concern, yearned for a father’s care and counsel, because she had been so alone with her own grief in a way no young girl ought ever to be, she withheld her words of frustration and criticism. Instead, she gathered her sister into her arms, smoothing her hair, taking her tears into her own bosom. “There, now,” she murmured, holding Kitty close as if she were a young child, murmuring the words she used to comfort herself against despair. “All will be well. You cannot see it yet, but all will be well.”
* * *
After Kitty departed at last, Lizzy pondered her options. How to stop him? Confronting Lydia only meant that she—and Wickham—would henceforth better conceal any intrigues.
Obviously, Lydia would only submit to her father’s authority; equally obvious, informing Mr Bennet of the trouble was fraught with difficulty. Her mother would be an unlikely mouthpiece, making a hash of the telling—and there was no guarantee she would believe in Lydia’s guilt in the first place, her instinct to spoil and protect her youngest.
There was only one man whom Mr Bennet would likely receive with respect—his son by marriage. As little as Lizzy wished to burden him, doing so was her only recourse. With a sigh, she went looking for her sister and Mr Bingley and the succour she now so urgently needed.
