Chapter Text

Part I

Pemberley, April 1820

⭒ Elizabeth 

Mrs Lydia Wickham arrived at Pemberley the Thursday after Easter, in the middle of a thunderstorm. 

They were having a quiet night in, as most nights had been recently. Elizabeth did not see the point of wasting their time together on social gatherings: her husband had spent most of the month in London, and she wanted him there with her. So they'd gone to the required religious events that week, made a few courtesy visits, and had spent the rest of the week at Pemberley with the children. 

William, of course, had been all too happy to oblige. 

He was making a show of finishing up his work for the day now, hinting that they should retire, when their housekeeper appeared.

“Excuse me, Mr and Mrs Darcy,” Mrs Reynolds said, “I have Mrs Wickham for you.”

It took Elizabeth a moment to process that her sister, who lived in Manchester last time she checked, seemed to have found her way to Derbyshire. After 9 on a Thursday. 

Elizabeth glanced at her husband, but he looked as confused as she was. “Did she state her business?”

Mrs Reynolds wrung her hands awkwardly. “Only that she had come to visit, Mrs Darcy. I did not think it right to turn her away at this hour.”

“No, you were right, of course.”

She raised her eyebrows inquisitively at William. 

“Let her in,” he grumbled.

Lydia was led in and Elizabeth experienced another shock. 

The woman standing before her looked like Lydia. She had Lydia’s dark curls (wet though they were), her big, brown eyes. The same freckles that Lydia, ever the vain girl, had hated. But this woman was not her Lydia. Her posture, the hard look in her eyes, the muddy clothes without much fashion sense behind them, the bonnet that was falling apart… Her Lydia would not have dared to present herself like that.

“Good evening Lizzie, Mr Darcy…”  Lydia made an awkward curtsy. 

Elizabeth exchanged a quick look with her husband. It seemed that he’d let her take the lead, so she opened her mouth to say something, anything, when Lydia jumped in with faked cheerfulness: “I am so sorry, dear sister. I know I was not invited. I was going to visit Jane, you see, but…”

“The Bingleys are in Bath,” William provided, curtly.

“Yes! Which I found out once I arrived. I could not stay there, and the coach for London does not leave until Monday, so I made my way here. I hope you will let me stay. It is just for a few days…”

Elizabeth sighed. “Is Wickham with you?”

Lydia shook her head. She looked ready to excuse her husband, but closed her mouth. She shook her head again.

“What can we do for you?” William asked, breaking an awkward silence. It was only too transparent he expected a request for money, and Elizabeth gave her husband a reproachful look. But it was not an unfounded question: God knew the only communications they had received these years from the Wickhams had been in the form of money requests. 

Lydia gritted her teeth. “I am only requesting a short stay.”

Elizabeth went over the options quickly, and then gave a decisive nod. “You may stay here till Saturday, we will arrange for a room in town for the other days,” she said.

Lydia looked like she was making an effort not to roll her eyes, but that was good: exasperation looked much better on her than the grovelling had. 

“You have something planned, then?”

Only a luncheon after church on Sunday. But it was a better explanation than the one Elizabeth had: Georgiana would be home on Saturday. How to explain to her sister she was not to interact with her sister-in-law, at all costs?

“Of some sort,” she conceded. “Come, I will show you to your room. William,” she addressed her husband, “please have them take her stuff up to the yellow room, and send Beth to draw a bath.”

William, happy to have a reason to leave,  nodded and disappeared, leaving the two sisters alone. 

Lydia had always had the brazenness to feel at home wherever she was, but now she seemed drawn back. Elizabeth was unsure on how to handle this version of her sister. They had never gotten along particularly well; the difference in age and temperament always too great for that. But this, Elizabeth realised, was the first time they had been alone since their respective marriages. The few shared christmases in the eight years in between hardly counted, but all the events of the past ten years did add up to an awkward history.

“It will take some time for the bath to be ready.” 

Lydia looked around, clearly unsure of where to sit with her wet skirts.

“Let me show you the portrait gallery while we wait,” Elizabeth said, finding her footing. This she could do: hosting. The portrait gallery with its warm hearth and stone floors was not only a good place to warm up, but also provided ample topics of conversation.

“We have so much to catch up on. How have you been? Are you two still in Manchester?” She took her sister's arm, and for a moment she was thrown back to her youth: stumbling around Hertfordshire, arm in arm with her sisters. How far away those days seemed now.

Lydia evaded the question and inquired after Elizabeth’s children instead. “How old are they now?” 

“Lewis is six, Richie is almost four,” Elizabeth replied. She felt her face soften with fondness. “You will see them tomorrow.”

“And you’re reading them A Midsummer Night’s Dream, are you?” Lydia gestured towards a table filled with open books and colourful prints. It had clearly been used by children.

Elizabeth smiled. “They love that book, it has beautiful etchings. As for the story, I do not claim they understand everything, but Lewis does love Puck.”

Lydia laughed. “Oh, he would. You did too, I remember.” 

Elizabeth smiled. Maybe this would be alright, after all. Maybe this Lydia and she could go back to the way things were, but better. 

And then her eyes caught on a bruise creeping out under Lydia’s sleeve. She froze, unable to process what she was seeing. Lydia did not notice: she was distracted by a bust of William’s father. 

“How…” Elizabeth swallowed. “How was the journey? How did you travel?” 

Lydia studied the bust with feigned interest. She seemed to be considering a lie, but there was little use: no reputable carriages found their way to Pemberley at this hour. “Various post carriages from Manchester, but by the time I reached Jane there was little available. A farmer gave me a ride.”

Elizabeth felt sick to her stomach. “Lydia! All alone?” Why had Wickham let her go like that? Where was the cursed man? What had happened to her?

Lydia huffed and wrenched herself free. “I am a grown woman, Lizzie. I know how to handle myself.”

She was getting agitated, and Elizabeth knew it would only get worse if she matched her energy. So Elizabeth remained calm and folded her hands.. “Of course. I apologize.” 

Lydia stared at her. For a moment it looked like she was about to start a fight, but then she deflated. “Who is that man?” she asked instead, pointing at the painting behind her without turning. 

“That is…”, Elizabeth peered over Lydia’s shoulder, “that is Lord Fitzwilliam. Mr Darcy’s uncle on his mother’s side.” 

Lydia turned to look at the stern man and raised her eyebrows. “Ah, of course, ‘The Lord’! Mother said Darcy had some noble blood in there.” 

Lydia giggled and Elizabeth almost let out a sigh of relief. It was not until that careless giggle, bordering on mean, that the Lydia she remembered broke through the mask of the woman in front of her. This, finally, was her Lydia. She smiled back. “We’re taking the boys out to pick flowers,” she told her, switching gears. “Tomorrow, if the weather lets up. We used to do that as girls, remember?” 

“Oh, yes! I always made flower crowns out of just buttercups. God, they were beautiful. None of you had my vision.” 

“Only because Jane would let you have them all,” Elizabeth laughed. They continued walking, and Elizabeth began stirring them in the direction of Lydia’s room. “The bath must be almost ready.” 

Elizabeth forgot, sometimes, how impressive her home was. She had grown used to the wide corridors, the baroque stairs, the marble floors. But as they walked in the direction of the East Wing Lydia slowly turned into herself again, eyes wide and distrustful. 

“Have you eaten?”

Lydia nodded, but did not elaborate. They were quiet again, until they reached the corridor that Lydia's room was on.

“Will you allow me to participate?” Lydia asked suddenly, eyeing the pastoral tapestries that decorated the wall of the corridor. “With the flower picking, I mean.” She wrung her hands. “It is only, I know you’d rather not have me here. I can hide in my room, if needed.”

Elizabeth stopped in front of the magnificent, oak door to the yellow room. “Lydia,” she sighed. “Sister. You must have realised it is not you we want to keep away from our family.” 

Lydia’s shoulders fell. She opened her mouth, closed it again, and turned away. Elizabeth did not know what more to say. The sudden appearance of Beth and two footmen carrying buckets of water came as a relief. 

“Ah, there you are, Mrs Darcy!” Beth laughed. “I was about to go looking for you, the bath is ready.” 

Elizabeth bowed her head in thanks. “Beth, this is Mrs Wickham. She will be staying with us for a few days.” She squeezed her sister’s arm affectionately. “I will see you tomorrow.”

𖤓 Lydia 

Lydia took her time to study the room she was to stay in. It had taken them quite long to get here, and Lydia was not sure whether Pemberley was that big or Lizzie just wanted to hide her away somewhere. At least the room looked the part of a guest room in an estate like Pemberley, if more in the obvious quality of the furniture than any real luxury. In the light of the small hearth and two candles she caught a glimpse of two trunks and a wardrobe, a copper bathtub behind a beautiful oriental screen, and a wall decorated with elegant yellow swirls (if a bit faded.) 

The canopy might be the most luxurious thing there, she considered, as her eyes caught on the bed. Sheets, soft linen. The bed seemed unimaginably soft and comfortable. 

The maid (Beth, Lizzie had called her), sent the footmen away and Lydia snapped out of her musings. 

“Do my other sisters stay here as well, when they visit?” she asked Beth, while she started unbuttoning her wet traveling cape. Beth made a move as if to help her, but Lydia shook her off and moved behind the screen. “Thank you, but I’d prefer some privacy.” 

It was not as if she needed help: it’d been some time since she’d had dresses that required outside assistance. And besides, she was in no state to be seen by others.

“Your sisters, Mrs. Wickham?” Beth inquired, uncertain. 

“My sisters, yes. Liz… Mrs Darcy’s sisters: Mrs Bingley, Mrs Henry and Miss Kitty Bennett.”

“You are Mrs Darcy’s sister?” Beth exclaimed. “Oh but of course, I forgot! My my, what a coincidence! Her marrying Mr Darcy, and you marrying young Wickham!” Beth was clearly trying to remember what she knew of Mr Wickham; Lydia prayed she would not remember too much. “I knew your husband, you know,” Beth continued, worryingly. “I was just a child when he left the estate, but he was terribly charming.”

Lydia sighed. “That he is.” She draped her clothes over the screen and stepped into the bath without thinking. Immediately the heat burned her feet and calves to the point of excruciating pain. For a moment, Lydia did not know whether to scream or cry. Then she bit her lip, and sank into the water. 

"But you asked where your sisters stayed!” Beth prattled on from behind the screen. “In the West Wing, mostly. Mr and Mrs Bingley have their own room by now. Mrs Mary has not been by since her marriage, so I don't know where she’d stay now. And Miss Katherine Bennett, she stays in the room next to Miss Darcy.”

“Kitty? Kitty stays with Miss Darcy?”

“That she does! Close as sisters, those two are!”

As the heat of the water became bearable, Lydia felt the tension in her body slowly ease. “I have not met Miss Darcy yet.”

“Oh! Do you and Mr Wickham live very far away, then? Miss Georgiana is Mr Darcy’s sister, such a sweet girl.”

“She’s not here?”

“Visiting her aunt, Lady Catherine De Bourgh.” The clothes disappeared from over the screen and Lydia could hear her moving around in the room. 

“Could you leave the stays here?” Lydia mumbled. She was glad to be out of sight, so her reddening cheeks were not visible. 

The movement in the room stilled. “I’m afraid it is rather dirty, Mrs Wickham. I could have it cleaned and ready by tomorrow afternoon, if you want.”

Lydia thought, rather unkindly, that Beth would not have dared object had Lydia looked the part of Mrs Darcy's sister. But there was simply no way her unsupported bosom would go undetected if her only corset was taken to be cleaned, so she forced herself to provide an excuse.

“I was going to visit the Bingleys but they were gone,” she said cheerfully. “I have some clothes stored there, you see, so I am afraid I brought only a few pieces of clothing.”

Beth went quiet again. Lydia wondered what she thought: it was a ridiculous lie. Very few women owned just one pair of stays, especially in her supposed social class, and especially not one falling apart at the seams like hers. But she had not been in a practical state of mind while packing: she’d been screaming while throwing items into the travelling bag at random. Lydia was not even sure what she had brought, unwilling to check during the long journey here. But there were two things she did know: there were no stays in there, and chances were there was no petticoat either. 

“I will arrange for stays to be brought in the morning,” Beth said, after a long silence. 

“Thank you so kindly!” Lydia chirped awkwardly, and let herself sink back into the bath water.

When the water had cooled, Lydia used her last remaining strength to drag herself to the bed and dive under the sheets. The long journey and emotional turmoil had caught up with her: she was utterly exhausted. And yet, despite her exhaustion, it took Lydia a long time to fall asleep that night. The bed was too soft, too big, the room too empty. She could not remember the last time it had been so quiet: she felt as if in a dream. Was she truly the same Lydia that escaped her groggy lodgings in Manchester two days ago? 

Two days ago a bath, let alone a warm one, had seemed like an unnecessary luxury. Today she was given one without even asking for it. She felt angry and frustrated, and more than a little bit jealous, but as she grew accustomed to the fine linen, her tired mind decided to enjoy it while it lasted. 

In a few days time, she’d be back in the real world.

Chapter Text

𖤓 Lydia

Lydia woke without remembering ever falling asleep. She sat up, completely disoriented, and tried to make sense of her surroundings.

Lydia did not belong in this room. 

She blinked once, twice, and then finally the knot in her stomach reminded her of the situation she found herself in. The light creeping through the curtains had transformed the space, yellow accents appearing almost as gold in the daylight. The room would have been stately, untouchable, if not for the haphazardly opened travel bag on the ottoman and the wet floor around the bathtub. 

No, Lydia did not belong here. 

Someone was knocking on her door. "Come on in!” Lydia shouted, voice hoarse.

She expected Beth, but it was Lizzie who was standing in her doorway. Lydia let herself fall back on the bed and groaned. 

Lizzie smiled with an alarming cheerfulness. She was still undressed, her dark curls falling over her dressing gown in an unruly braid, and she was carrying a stack of clothes. 

“Good morning sister!” she chirped. 

Lydia squeezed her eyes shut and hid behind her arms. 

“The weather has cleared up! We are going to pick flowers in an hour or so, and I figured you hadn’t packed for a day outside.”

Lydia opened one eye and spotted a pair of stays in the bundle of clothes. She groaned again: apparently Beth had told Lizzie about their talk.

“Still not a morning person?", Lizzie laughed. “I remember you brought Kitty to tears a few times, with your morning airs.”

Lydia glanced at the beautiful dress. “Is that Kitty’s gown?” 

“It is mine. People don’t leave clothes at their relatives’ houses, usually.”

Lydia ignored the comment. “I hear she stays here quite a bit. Kitty, that is.”

“She is the only unmarried one out of us,” Lizzie shrugged, unbothered by Lydia’s tone. Then: “Why are there men's breeches in your bag?”

Lydia shot up in bed again. She mentally scolded herself for leaving her bag open. “They are not mine.”

“I gathered that.”

“They are my husband’s,” Lydia continued, aware of how defensive she sounded. She tried to calm down. “Must have gotten in there by accident.”

She watched her sister shoot a doubtful look in the direction of the mess of clothes in her bag. 

“Where is he?,” Lizzie asked, still breezy, but like she was working up to something. “Your husband, I mean?”

Lydia shrugged. “Back in Manchester.” Then, swinging her legs out of bed: “Flower picking, you said? What a marvellous idea, dear sister. I do love flowers.” She grabbed the clothes from where Lizzie had left them on the ottoman, and disappeared behind the screen to change. 

It was a ridiculous activity, flower picking, but Lydia's life had become such a farce she was not even surprised anymore. Last week she'd been hunting Manchester's gambling clubs in search of her husband, tomorrow she'd be on the move again in one of those horrible coaches, and who knew what London would bring next week? Flower picking in pretty clothes would do just fine. 

And it really was a very pretty dress: green with a white pattern, more flowery than Lizzie’s usual style, and with a matching green bonnet and jacket. The set also included a stays, much firmer than hers were, a petticoat, stockings, and an impossibly soft shift.

“How familiar, to wear your hand-me-downs,” she sneered. But she knew Lizzie could hear her suppressed glee about the garment. It had been so long since she’d been able to afford fashionable gowns.

“I could send someone up to help you dress?”, Lizzie offered. 

“No need!”, Lydia said hastily.

It was a repeat of last night, only this time it was worse: Lizzie knew her. Lizzie had seen the tantrums Lydia used to throw over having to wait her turn for the maid.

“I could help you dress?”, Lizzie's voice came, softly. 

The knot in Lydia's stomach tightened. The dress looked like it'd be difficult to get on alone, and given she did not like being touched by strangers Lizzie's  help would be welcome. But she could not bear to be the subject of Lizzie’s charity. “No need, I will manage!” she said.

Her sister refrained from commenting. “I will go get dressed as well, then,” she said. “We will see you at breakfast.”

Lydia stared at the floor till she heard the door open, and only then did she gather the will to say thank you. She heard Lizzie pause for a moment, and then the door closed again. 

It took some time to get into the dress on her own, but it was worth it: the dress was magnificent. She admired its fabric and make in the mirror, tried on the bonnet with different bows to see the full effect, and finally left when her stomach reminded her she hadn't eaten in a day. 

When Lydia reached the breakfast room, she discovered only her nephews were there. They stared intently at her from the table they shared with their nursemaid, but Lydia gave them a small nod and focused on the buffet instead. Food, real food that she hadn't even had to cook herself, took priority over whatever two children had to say to her. 

“Who are you?” the oldest boy demanded (Lewis, she remembered his name was). She shot him a quick look while loading her plate with scrambled eggs and sausages. He had his father’s sharp face, but his curls were the same ones only Lydia and Lizzie had inherited from their father.

 “That is a secret.” She shrugged. Lydia did not want to ruin her day by saying her husband's name already. The toast did not fit on her plate, so she held it with her teeth and walked over to the boys. The nursemaid glared.

The younger boy, Richie, was still being spoon fed by his nursemaid, but Lewis was done with breakfast and holding a book instead. She recognized it: it was the illustrated edition of Midsummer’s Night Dream Lizzie had shown her the day before. 

“Why?” Lewis asked.

“Well, it's…”, she glanced at the book, “it's because I am actually a fairy queen.” She sat down at the table and smiled at the nursemaid. It was a pretty girl, if one ignored her angry face.

“Really?”, Lewis asked, distrustful. 

Lydia gestured at her dress. “Of course! Haven't you seen my beautiful dress? You think regular people wear this?”

“‘Tania?” Richie asked, mouth full of porridge. 

“Ah, you got me.” Lydia nodded, while cutting the sausage (meat! Real meat!) on her plate into pieces, “Yes. It is I, Queen Titania.” And then, because the boys were looking at her expectantly: “Will you help me make magical flower crowns today?”

Richie squealed in delight and spilled his food all over the table. The nursemaid rushed in to clean up. 

Lewis watched Lydia, clearly taking her measure. Then his face brightened. “Are you in love with a donkey?”

Lydia sighed wistfully. “Aye, what can one do…” 

Lizzie and her boorish husband appeared some fifteen minutes later, right when Lydia was knighting the boys with a candlestick. They immediately jumped up, screaming at their parents about their new task to slay a fairy dragon (Lydia, having not picked up a book in years, did not remember the original play that well). 

One stern look from their father made the children shut up. "What is this?”, his voice thundered through the room. 

Lydia had so wanted to play nice, but she truly could not stand the man. 

“Oh I do beg your pardon, am I not to play with them, Mr Darcy?” Lydia sneered, ignoring Lizzie's reproachful look. 

Mr Darcy's frown deepened, but before he could say anything Lizzie jumped in. "We prefer to have them play in a room not filled with valuable china, sister,” she said, pushing the children towards the nursemaid. “Miss Dennis, could you get them ready to leave? Thank you so kindly.” 

The nursemaid curtsied and took the boys with her, not before shooting Lydia a dirty look.

Lizzie turned to her sister and husband again and seemed to decide keeping the two of them together would not do either. 

“Lydia, I forgot to tell you Mrs Reynolds has some shoes that might fit you.” 

“I have shoes.” 

“I know, but we will be walking through some muddy fields after yesterday’s storm.” She made Beth appear as if by magic. “Beth will take you to see Mrs Reynolds. We meet at the entrance in fifteen minutes!” 

The last thing Lydia saw before the breakfast room’s doors closed behind her was Mr Darcy, sitting down for breakfast with a gloomy look on his face. She rolled her eyes. Oh, to be a reluctant tyrant.

She wondered, sometimes, whether this whole thing was not also her fault. Whether she had pushed her sister to accept this man that, for all his wealth, had the personality of a damp rag. A man that had denied Wickham his inheritance, denied Lydia the life Wickham would’ve had with that inheritance. How often had Lizzie proclaimed she hated Darcy? To think that perfect Lizzie, always so set on marrying for love, always looking down on Lydia and Kitty for their flirtations, had stooped so low as to marry this spiteful man for money. 

She was sure Lizzie’s resentment towards her stemmed from the way Lydia had stolen Wickham. 

Well, Lydia mused a bit later, trudging after the pair through the muddy fields of Pemberley, she won't have to fear I take this one from her. 

Pemberley's lands were truly magnificent. Lydia had not had the chance to see much of it the evening before, but now in the daylight the fields and dots of woods appeared to her city eyes as almost too idyllic. The air was too clean, the grass too green. And the hills certainly too steep. 

After some twenty minutes of walking uphill Lizzie finally set up base, in a partly shielded meadow with a good view of Pemberley. They'd taken three picnic blankets with them, each tied to a different phase in the assembly of bouquets. Lydia gathered the flowers were for some sort of event on Sunday. She did not bother to get the finer details: it was clear Mr and Mrs Darcy wanted her to be gone for that.

But the fixed spot caused a problem: it had been easy to avoid Mr Darcy while walking, but now she had to sit either with Lizzie (who wanted to have a talk with her Lydia was not ready for), her husband (who she wanted to avoid for obvious reasons), or with the angry nursemaid. 

In the end the children saved her. Lewis was quite taken with the concept of magical flower crowns and wanted to be the Puck to Lydia's Titania, so she sent him out to hunt for flowers while nodding along to Richie's monologue about ladybugs.

Around noon, Lydia was carefully studying a flower patch Lewis had discovered for her, when a carriage appeared on top of the hill. It stopped close to where Lydia and Lewis were standing, but as neither Lewis nor his parents downhill looked too surprised, Lydia waited patiently to see what was happening. So she watched as the carriage door opened, and a young woman all clad in black stepped out. The woman was tall and lean, dark blonde ringlets peeking out from under her bonnet. Lydia’s first impression of her was that of a gothic heroine: rather plain, but with the kind of blonde, wide-eyed look men loved. And mourning a tragic death, judging from her black attire. 

“It’s Georgiana!” Lewis shouted. The Darcys at the foot of the hill looked up. Richie started waving excitedly, and the woman waved back. 

“Georgiana! Look! We are making flower crowns!” Lewis ran up to her, pulling her towards Lydia. 

“Good day!”, the woman said, slightly out of breath, while readjusting her bonnet. “Pleasure to make your acquaintance, I am Miss Darcy.” She curtsied awkwardly on the uneven ground, looked up, and smiled at her.

Lydia was oddly taken by her smile. It was nice to meet someone who knew nothing of her or her husband; someone who saw her in the pretty dress and probably assumed she wore this kind of thing every day. Someone who saw her and just smiled.

Lewis interjected before Lydia could introduce herself. “Georgiana! Georgiana! This is Queen Titania!”

“Oh?” 

They both turned to Lydia. Lydia took a beat to switch to her fairy persona, and then made a theatrical bow. “Yes! I am indeed Titania, and I am afraid to say you may not proceed until you too wear a magical flower crown.”

Miss Darcy’s cheeks turned bright red. “Oh!”

"Blushing prettily will not save you, fair maiden,” Lydia was getting the hang of her role, “and the consequences of not wearing a crown are quite dire!”

“It is very bad!” Lewis piped in. 

“You might be turned into a donkey.”

“Well, I would not want that!", Miss Darcy exclaimed.

“Do not worry, my lady! Puck is selecting the flowers,” Lydia nudged Lewis towards the flower patch, “and I will make you the most beautiful flower crown! How do you feel about buttercups?”

⭒ Elizabeth 

Elizabeth watched it all happen as if in a nightmare, unable to stop it. Something should have happened already. They were taking too long, talking and laughing without showing any signs of recognition. Why was Georgiana back already? Why was she here, now? What were they up to, up on that hill? 

Right as she decided she should go up there herself and see, Lewis came running down, the two women trailing behind him. Georgiana was still dressed in black (Lady Catherine insisted on full mourning, even three years after her daughter's death), but she was clutching Lydia's arm for balance and giggling. Georgiana, that very same girl that had taken months to truly open up to Elizabeth, was giggling. Of course her sister would be the one to break the ice.

It all became clear when they arrived at their picnic blanket, right when Elizabeth and William got up to greet his sister. Lydia turned to Georgiana with a bright smile, and said: “I am afraid you have been misled, Miss Darcy. I am in fact not Queen Titania, as you have been led to believe, but instead a rather ordinary woman. Mrs Wickham, pleasure to make your acquaintance.” 

Her grin fell when she saw Georgiana's reaction.

Elizabeth clutched her husband’s arm, who seemed as unable to react as she was.  

“Miss Darcy? You did not really think me a fairy queen, did you?” 

Georgiana blinked. “You are Mrs Wickham,” she repeated, slowly. “Mrs George Wickham?”

“Yes…?”

Georgiana unlinked their arms and set a few steps back, expression unreadable. She glanced at Elizabeth and her brother, opened her mouth, and closed it again. Then she turned around, briskly gathered her skirts, and stomped back up the hill to her carriage. They all wordlessly watched her ride away as quickly as she had arrived.

“I want to go with Georgiana,” Richie whined, breaking the silence. 

Elizabeth watched Lydia’s shoulders tense and quickly dropped the boy in the pram. 

“Miss Dennis will take you back to Georgiana, be a good boy now.” She gave Lewis a push to go with his brother and nursemaid. 

They left right on time. Lydia swirled around, furious. 

“What was that?”, she demanded. “Why did she react that way?” She paused, and then slowly turned to William. “What lies have you been telling her?” William’s eyes widened. “Oh, you thought I did not know about your little smear campaign? That I did not know what you took from him? From us? That I could have been a clergyman's wife? I know everything, Mr Darcy.” She turned again to Elizabeth. “And you! You’ve allowed him to spread these lies about me and my husband!” She looked on the verge of crying, suddenly. “I know you are angry that I took Wickham from you,” she said through gritted teeth. “But honestly, sister, I think you got the better deal out the whole thing.” 

She spread her arms, encompassing Pemberley and all its lands. Then she shuddered, and marched downhill to Pemberley without looking back. 

William made to go after her, but Elizabeth stopped him. 

“Let her breathe,” she said. “And let us plan.”

She laced her arm with William’s and stirred him gently towards the house. She'd send someone up to gather the flowers later. 

Elizabeth felt every bit as anxious as her husband. Not only because of the things Lydia had said, but by the way it had been said too. She had grown accustomed to the layers of formality and etiquette her environment used to obscure true thoughts: to have it all said so plainly was unsettling. But it always calmed her to be around chaos. It was a skill she had honed through years of living with her sisters (of living with Lydia in particular, now she thought of it). And now at least they knew what was going on in her sister's muddled mind. 

“I fear we have made a mess of things, dearest,” she mused.

“We?”, he spluttered. “I think this is all on me, Lizzie. If I had not…”

“No, no. William, it could have been so much worse. But we should have told them, told them both.”

“It is a wonder we managed to keep them apart this long.” William sighed unhappily.

Elizabeth thought of the wedding and subsequent baptisms Lydia had always been conveniently indisposed for. They may have made it clear the Wickhams were not welcome at Pemberley, but the distance had certainly helped. 

“Why did she come?” William asked, a note of despair in his voice. 

“I think it was true enough that she was going to visit Jane,” Elizabeth said, carefully. “But something is wrong. I think she left in a hurry.”

William stopped at that. “She did?”

“Her bag was a bundle of haphazardly collected clothes. Lydia was never tidy, but… She is being shifty about Wickham’s whereabouts, and most important of all: she did not know the Bingleys are in Bath. This visit was not arranged in advance.”

“I see.” They continued walking. “What a terrible muddle that girl is in. She still believes Wickham, after all these years…” 

“We should tell her. I think she might be more receptive to the news than she was at sixteen.” 

“Of course, yes. We must. But could we keep Georgiana out of it? I do not wish for her to have to think any more about that man.” 

“Dearest… Georgiana will have some questions, after springing Mrs Wickham on her.” 

“But she knew your sister was married to him!” 

Yes, Elizabeth remembered the conversation well. They'd sat down Georgiana and told her one of Elizabeth's sisters was married to Wickham. Georgiana, who at 16 held God only slightly higher in her esteem than her brother, had nodded bravely and inquired whether she'd have to see him again. They assured her she would not, and that had been the end of it for William. He hadn't seen the sleepless nights and internalized guilt like Elizabeth had.

“Knowing is different than seeing,” she said, gently. 

“You are right, of course. But let us at least talk to her separately then. There is no need for Lydia to know about Georgiana’s past. They need not even interact.” 

Elizabeth bit her lip. “That might prove difficult… I think we should keep Lydia here. Until we know what is going on. I know it is not ideal, but I fear what will happen if we set her loose again. Unless Georgiana does not want her here, of course.”

William sighed. “First we must talk to them. Separately.” He hesitated. “Georgiana… Should we send for her friend? She may wish to seek comfort from someone who is not… us.”

Elizabeth smiled fondly at her husband. “You mean Miss Helen Triggs?”

He nodded. 

“Her name is Mrs Helen Marshall now. And I am afraid Georgiana and her have not spoken since her marriage.” 

“Really? Why not?” He looked angry at the thought that anyone would dislike his sister. 

Elizabeth shrugged. She herself had been surprised at the sudden change: Georgiana and Helen had been inseparable for years.

“I was so happy to see her make a friend,” William muttered. 

“She has me,” Elizabeth reassured him. “Or, at present, she at least has my other sisters. And she still socialises with the other girls in the bible study group.”

William did not look reassured. “What a miserable day this is turning out to be. Must that man haunt us forever?”

“I am so sorry, William,” Elizabeth said. She was. With all the turmoil in London, William would not be home for some time after this week. She had wanted to enjoy their last days together.

They continued walking in silence and soon caught up with the children and Miss Dennis. Richie was getting tired, and William picked him up. Elizabeth took her older son’s hand in hers and listened absentmindedly to his enthusiastic recounting of the morning.

“How fast do you think Puck is?” he asked. “I think I am as fast as a horse when I run. Not Father’s horse, but my horse for sure. But I think Puck might be faster than a horse. How fast is that, you think?”

“I think Puck might as of yet be faster, but if you practise enough you might get there,” she assured him. 

 In the distance, a figure in a green dress entered the large house, while a carriage was being unloaded in front of it.

Chapter Text

𖤓 Lydia

Lydia continued to impress herself with her ability to ruin things. She had been granted one day of leisure, one day of doing nothing and catching her breath, and she'd managed to absolutely ruin it for herself. 

She knew of her status as the black sheep of the family, of course she did. It had taken her some time, but by the second Christmas as a married woman she was all too aware. Lizzie and Jane were suddenly of a social class leagues above her own, and had taken their mother’s love and praise with them. Mary had escalated her moralising speeches upon marriage. Her father, disdainful towards Kitty and Lydia for as long as she could remember, hardly talked to her anymore. Neither did Lizzie. And even Kitty, always her closest friend growing up, preferred the company of her older sisters over Lydia’s now. Only Jane seemed sympathetic to her, but in such a patronising way she could not stand it. 

Lydia felt entitled to her sisters’ help, but that did not mean she liked needing it. And she had never been as aware of her own powerlessness as when she stomped back to Pemberley, unable to fight the lies they had apparently been telling Miss Darcy about either her or her husband, while wearing her sister’s fancy dress, walking to her sister’s fancy house, with no more money to her name then the few coins she had managed to smuggle out of Manchester. Pemberley’s stately façade mocked her own insignificance. She felt humiliated just by looking at it.

If only Jane had been home. Jane would not have dared ask her questions. Jane would have insisted on a long stay, and then after pampering her sister for weeks she would have offered Lydia money. Lydia would have been granted the dignity of refusing until she could not anymore, and then she could have started her new life well-rested and with means. Instead of that now she had to come up with an exit plan even sooner than expected, and it was all her own stupid fault for not keeping her mouth shut. Lydia quickly went over her options. It was still early: she could walk to Lambton and find a place to stay there. She had not counted on this many travel expenses, but a day or two in an inn should be doable. With a bit of luck, she’d find a less reputable one and save money.

There was no way around Pemberley though, not with all her meagre belongings still there. So she entered through the servants’ entrance, hoping to avoid Miss Darcy, only to be stopped in her tracks by the sight that awaited her. 

Miss Darcy was sitting on the floor of the entrance hall, in front of a large trunk. She was surrounded by footmen, who appeared to have been carrying the enormous thing, but were now waiting for her to retrieve something from it. When Lydia walked in, Miss Darcy shot her a panicked look and then closed the lid with a bang. If the look had not been enough, the bundle in her arms (a bundle that looked a suspicious amount like books wrapped in cloth) would have been enough to make her look guilty.

Miss Darcy turned to her footmen, face bright red, and instructed them to carry her trunk upstairs.

“Mrs Wi… Mrs! Hello again,” she spluttered, looking up at Lydia. “I am so sorry for that display earlier.” She crawled up awkwardly, the servants already gone and Lydia too stunned to help. “You see, I… ” she trailed off. 

“You recognized my name,” Lydia said, cautiously. “As no one here seems to know who I am, I assume you have heard of my husband.” She took a deep breath. “I do not claim my husband to be a saint, but I must insist that many things said of him here at Pemberley are untrue and unfair.”

Miss Darcy winced. “I did recognize his name, yes.” She did not elaborate, taking a moment to dust off her dress instead. “What brings you to Pemberley, Mrs Wickham?”

Of course even her sister-in-law did not know who she was. “Mrs Darcy is my sister,” Lydia sighed. She expected a surprised gasp, but Miss Darcy just nodded.

“Yes, of course, I was told Elizabeth’s sister married Mr Wickham. I just did not expect you to be so…” She bit her lip, looking pensive. “How old are you now, Mrs Wickham?”

Lydia was taken aback by the question. “Uhm, four and twenty?”

“And how old were you when you were married?”

“I had just turned sixteen.” 

Georgiana stared at her in disbelief. 

“It is not an uncommon age for girls to marry!” Lydia crossed her arms defensively.

“Oh, I do apologize! It is only… It surprises me that you were married around the same time as my brother. You did marry before they did, didn't you?” 

“Yes.” And then, in an effort to break that patronising, empathetic look on Miss Darcy’s face: “In fact, your brother assisted my wedding.”

 It worked. Miss Darcy looked shocked, even more so than before, and then furious. Her knuckles tightened around the bundle in her arms, a deep frown on her face. 

"My brother assisted your wedding?”

“He did.” Miss Darcy seemed to be onto something, but Lydia was completely lost.

“You were acquainted, then. My brother knew you before your wedding.”

“Lizzie and I met Mr Darcy at the same time, yes. Why?”

 Georgiana fiddled with the fabric around the bundle in her arms, looking anywhere but Lydia.

Then she took a deep breath. “I did recognize your husband’s name, yes. But not because of any gossip or slander. He wronged me, personally.”

Now it was Lydia’s turn to be shocked. “What…?”

“I knew him, in my youth. He grew up with my brother and I. And then… he wronged me.”

Lydia could think of a few ways in which a young lady could be wronged. She felt nausea coming in. “When was this?”

Miss Darcy winced. “I suspect a year before you met him. I was fifteen.”

“And your brother…”

“Yes. He knew.” Miss Darcy seemed to be assessing Lydia with her eyes. “Forgive me for my terrible impertinence, but how… how happy are you? In your marriage?”

Lydia could not help but laugh. It sounded joyless, even to her own ears. If Lizzie had asked, she would have lied. But this was Miss Darcy. Miss Darcy, who was holding a conspicuous bundle of books close to her chest and had just stupidly told her a secret that could ruin her. 

Miss Darcy, who did not seem all that happy with her brother right now. And what did it matter anyway? She was leaving. 

“I was in love,” she said. It sounded almost like a whisper. “For a year. It has been miserable ever since.”

Miss Darcy reached out and touched her arm, tentatively. She took her time to speak, which Lydia found oddly endearing. “I am so sorry, Mrs… Mrs Wic…” She winced. “Would you mind if I called you by your first name? I wish for us to be friends, regardless of your husband. May I?”

Lydia looked at the woman before her. Miss Darcy was too trusting, too innocent. Too kind. She was obviously caught up in something stupid, judging by that bundle in her arms. Lydia’s usual reaction to an attitude like Miss Darcy’s was to spoil it; to bring it down a notch. Lydia did not believe someone could be this kind to a stranger, especially someone who knew her husband. 

But she needed to believe it was true, to have her kindness, if only until she left this cursed place.

She put her hand over Miss Darcy’s. “Of course you may. What is yours?” 

"Georgiana. Call me Georgiana, please.”

Chapter Text

⭒ Elizabeth

By the time Lydia and Georgiana reemerged, they were on a first-name basis. Elizabeth put aside any plan she might have had of talking to them separately: they had clearly talked to each other, and the result was Georgiana standing next to Lydia like an overzealous guard dog. She had changed out of her mourning clothes, and was wearing a pale blue dress next to Lydia’s bright green one. Lydia had also gained a shawl that looked a suspicious amount like one of Georgiana’s. 

“Good afternoon, Mrs Wickham; sister,” William said, looking up from his newspaper. It was already the most frosty reunion she had ever witnessed between the siblings. “I hope you had a pleasant journey, Georgiana. We did not expect you until tomorrow. Is everything well?”

Georgiana smiled politely. “Very pleasant, thank you brother. I am afraid our aunt caught a cough and insisted I leave her. You know how she has been since Lady Anne’s death.” The last part was spoken more softly. 

William defrosted slightly in response. “Nothing serious, I hope?”

“I dare say not. Her companion, Mrs Jenkinson, told me she has had many of these… Light illnesses the past two years.” They shared a meaningful look. Lady Catherine de Bourgh had not taken the death of her only daughter well. 

Georgiana turned to Elizabeth. “I thought I had met all of your sisters, Elizabeth. I would have liked to know Lydia sooner, considering we are so similar… in age.”

That confirmed Georgiana was angry with her as well. 

“Alright.” William carefully folded his newspaper and stood up. Both Darcy siblings were tall, but William was a considerably larger presence next to Georgiana’s willowy form. Eight years ago Georgiana would have cowered and given in. But Georgiana had grown, and Elizabeth had taught her well, and she stood tall and defiant with only a small twitch in her eyebrows.

They looked like they were about to get into it, so Elizabeth quickly turned to her sons. “Lewis, Richie, go to Miss Dennis for afternoon tea.”

Lewis looked up from his card game with a frown. 

“But…” Richie whined.

“No buts.” She quickly surveyed the rest of the drawing room. Better to not have servants present for what was about to unfold either. “Mr Davies and Mr Francis will accompany you. Mr Francis, please ensure no one interrupts us.”

Elizabeth caught Lydia looking briefly impressed by the display of power, before her expression smoothened out again. 

The moment everyone had left, Elizabeth turned to her family. “I suggest we all sit down,” she forced her husband and Georgiana to obey with her stare, and Lydia followed reluctantly, “and calmly discuss the situation. William, that is, Mr Darcy, and I, would like to start by apologising to both of you for not introducing you to each other sooner. We are sure the situation came as a shock.”

Georgiana nodded gracefully. Lydia rolled her eyes. 

“The fact of the matter is,” she continued, “that there is considerable history between Mr Wickham and the Darcy family. A history, I might add, that I myself was not aware of at the time of my acquaintance with Mr Wickham.” 

“Oh, I know all about the history,” Lydia sneered. “I know of the position that my husband was promised by the late Mr Darcy, and then denied by his son. Wickham told me everything.”

Elizabeth had suspected as much, and had prepared accordingly. She still hated that it fell on her shoulders to explain to her sister that no, her husband of eight years had actually not been cheated out of his inheritance, but had rather received the money and spent it all in the same year. William provided the notarized contract that proved it. 

Lydia’s expression went from disbelief, to horror, to defeat. Elizabeth felt guilt wash over her. She was not even sure why the topic had never come up: there had been so much bad blood around their respective weddings, and Lydia had been so far away afterward… And she had been angry at her sister too, if she was honest with herself.

When they were done with the explanation, and Lydia seemed convinced, Georgiana sat up primly, folded her hands in her lap, and said: “All of this does not explain, however, how it came to be that my brother assisted Mr Wickham’s wedding. Especially considering all the bad blood between Mr Wickham and the Darcy family, as we have just established. One might think,” her voice turned icy, and Elizabeth saw Lydia smirk, “that my brother would know enough to warn any young lady not to marry our mutual acquaintance. Let alone the sister of his own wife.”

Elizabeth exchanged a look with her husband. 

“I would like to clarify we were not, as of that moment, married or even engaged,” she said slowly, looking for the right words. “In fact, marriage seemed very far outside of the realm of possibility at the time. The particular circumstances of the Wickham marriage, however, are not mine to tell.”

She gave Lydia a meaningful look. Lydia sighed audibly and let her head fall back. Elizabeth had noticed the deterioration in Lydia’s manners already, but was still surprised at the childlike gesture. Even Georgiana seemed taken aback. 

“We ran away together,” Lydia told Georgiana. “Mr Darcy came to look for us in London and arranged for the marriage to take place. I do not know what he was doing there, though. And he certainly gave little warning about my husband’s character.”

William scoffed. “I did talk to you!”

“Yes, about my moral failings in running away.”

“That is not true,” William was turning red. “I told you about his character.”

“If you did, I remember none of it.” Lydia smiled. There was no joy in her eyes. “Must have gotten mixed up in your judgement of my character. In any case, everyone seemed very intent on me marrying him, despite all his apparent failings.”

“Because you had to,” Elizabeth jumped in. “Don’t you see? It was the only option.”

“The only option for what? Your personal comfort?”

“Lydia.” Elizabeth felt herself get agitated. She was an adult woman. She had two children, for god’s sake. But Lydia had always had a way of getting under her skin. “It would have been one thing if you were engaged. We would have intervened. But you ran away. You were living with him. Surely you must see how that affected your reputation. Our reputation. You could have ruined us all!”

“But I did not! What prospects did I ruin for you exactly, Lizzie? All but Kitty are married advantageously!”

It was unfair, so unfair. Elizabeth was suddenly thrown back to those days, back when she had fallen in love with William and thought all chances of marriage were ruined by Lydia’s carelessness. Lydia had almost taken this life from her. And she would never forgive her for that.

“Lydia,” Elizabeth exclaimed, “I repeat: you were sharing quarters with him before marriage! You knew Jane had been abandoned by Bingley, you knew none of us had any prospects, and you ruined our reputation and your own anyway.”

 “And yet here you are, mistress of Pemberley, in this marvelous life you have built for yourself. If everyone had just let us be, no one would even have known about it until we came back married. People elope every day, Lizzie. I do not see how any lives were ruined by my elopement but my own.”

Elizabeth flinched. Did she truly not know? 

𖤓 Lydia

Lydia paused. “What?”

“You were in London,” Lizzie said, suddenly very quiet. 

“Yes?”

“You did not go to Scotland. One might think you would go to Scotland, if the aim was to get married.”

“We were on our way there, we were intercepted.” She glanced at Mr Darcy, looking for confirmation. His pinched expression gave nothing away.

“What? What is it? We just made a stop on our way to Scotland, so as to not be discovered. Then we were found, and they made us marry in London. Mr Darcy was there, he can attest to it.”  

As she was saying it, she felt the wrongness in her own statements. She had never stopped to examine the events around her marriage too much. What had once been a joyful yet insignificant start to their adventure had been soured by the years, and she cared little for the memories.

Mr Darcy cleared his throat. “We had to… persuade Mr Wickham. To marry you.”

Lydia recoiled. “What do you mean?” 

She felt a featherlight touch on her hand, and then, upon not being shaken off, Georgiana took her hand in hers. It was the only source of comfort in a sudden flood of emotions. 

“Lydia, you must have realised…” Lizzie whispered. 

Lydia cut them off. “Let us speak plainly: Mr Darcy bribed my husband into marrying me?”

Lizzie was starting to get more defensive again. “You must have known what the alternative was.”

“I thought he wanted to marry me!”

“You should have had more sense! Really Lydia, I know you were just sixteen, but you knew what a risk running away was. You knew what was at stake. Both Jane and I had had our prospects of marriage ruined, and the future of our family depended on our good name remaining intact. You hardly knew the man. He took you away from your friends and family. If he'd been decent, he’d have courted you properly.” 

“But your prospects were not ruined!” Lydia tried again. She was suddenly very aware of Georgiana next to her. Lydia did not want her to hear this. It was pathetic. She’d been so, so, stupid.

“Because luck caused us to find husbands of means who did not care about our station or our family. A family that includes you, Lydia! That we found these gentlemen was pure luck.”

Mr Darcy shuffled around self consciously on his chair.

Lydia felt her lips start to tremble. “I loved him. Everyone loved him.” She felt the weight of the statement, and wondered whether the fear of losing him to someone else had driven her younger self. She did not know. The Lydia she was now had eight years of marriage and misery to colour her memories. “I came back married and suddenly everyone had decided he was a horrible fellow. Acted as if they'd always known. And you did. You did know. And you did not tell me.”

“And I will punish myself forever over that,” Lizzie said, emphatically. “I apologise. But Lydia, I would have told you had you come back from Brighton courting the man. But you did not. You ran away.”

Lydia felt very tired, all of a sudden. It was all too much. In the span of a few hours, the few good parts of her marriage had been thoroughly dismantled. She let herself sink into the couch, half hidden behind Georgiana.

They all sat together in silence for a bit. It was rather too much frankness and too little politeness in one go, for English polite society, Lydia mused. 

“I am sorry too.” She broke the silence, eventually. She could hear how stilted she sounded. “For... everything. I will need some time to process this information about my marriage. I will retire to my room.” If they still wanted to evict her tonight they'd have to drag her out: there was no way Lydia could walk to Lambton now. She reluctantly untangled her hand from Georgiana’s and made for the door, but right before reaching it she remembered something. “A bribe, you say?” She directed herself to Mr Darcy. “Pray, what did you bribe my husband with, exactly?”

Mr Darcy hesitated. “A lump sum of… a high amount. And we paid off his debts in both London and Meryton.”

Lydia scoffed. “Of course.” She wanted to note that letting her marry a man with that many debts, without warning, was part of her grievance. It had made the past eight years all the more difficult. But she was tired. And if she was honest with herself, she did not know whether sixteen year old Lydia would have cared.

Chapter Text

⭒ Elizabeth

“She will stay, of course,” Georgiana told them, the moment Lydia had left.

Elizabeth and William shared a look. 

Misinterpreting the look, Georgiana continued: “Brother, you cannot mean to send her back to that man.”

“I do not. She can stay, Georgiana. Of course she can.” 

Georgiana deflated in her seat. “Oh. Oh, I am so glad that it is settled. Thank you.”

Yes, she could stay, Elizabeth thought. But what then? Elizabeth realised she’d been so focused on where Lydia had come from (something she still did not have very clear), that it had not even occurred to her to consider where Lydia had been going. Even if Lydia agreed to stay, the peace they had just found was fragile at best. Her staying at Pemberley was no long term solution, but what could be? 

And that brought her back to the question that had been looming over them since Lydia’s arrival. 

She took a deep breath.“There is still the matter to consider of Wickham, and the circumstances of Lydia’s departure…”

Georgiana looked up. “What circumstances? What do you mean?” 

She looked so worried. What had happened in those few hours, Elizabeth wondered, for her to care so much?

 “It seems Lydia left home in a hurry. We do not know where Wickham is, currently, or why he has not travelled with his wife,” William explained. 

“And they do not seem to have parted… on good terms. Has she not told you anything?”, Elizabeth added. 

“No, she has not! But that seems like all the more reason to keep her here, safe with us, does it not? Oh, we must help her. Brother, please.” 

William frowned. “What exactly is it you want me to do, sister?” 

“Well, what does one do in a situation like this?” 

And then Georgiana continued, as if it were nothing: “We could help her separate. Legally. Or even divorce.” 

Elizabeth stared at her in disbelief.

“Georgiana!” William too looked scandalized. “Do not speak lightly of these matters! Where do you get these ideas?” 

Georgiana shrugged. “We know him to be a gambler, to have debts, and not to treat his wife fairly. With a husband that terrible, why not?” 

“No matter how horrible the circumstances, she did choose to marry that man. She made a promise before God. That is not something to take lightly!” 

His sister stared at him with the big, blue eyes everyone knew William could not resist. “ I chose to marry that man,” she said, very quiet all of a sudden. 

“But…!” 

“Don’t you see, brother? If you… If you had not arrived at Ramsgate when you did, if I had not confessed our plan, I might have been the woman tied to him forever, with no means of escape.” 

It suddenly made sense, all of it. This was the thing Elizabeth had been missing about Georgiana’s protectiveness of Lydia. She felt a deep sadness come over her. 

“But you did confess, and it all worked out…” William tried to squeeze her hand, but Georgiana shook her head violently and pressed her hand to her breast.

“But it could so easily not have. And I would have welcomed an escape, in her shoes. Brother, I should have…” Georgiana sat up straight, fire in her eyes. “I could have saved her. We could have saved her. If only I had told someone about Wickham, if people had known…”

William had forgotten the earlier transgressions; only the older brother was left to answer. “No, no. No. I will not allow you to shoulder that burden, Georgiana. There was nothing you could have done. That choice was made by me, and me alone, and I do not regret it. It was my duty to protect you. It is… very unfortunate that Lydia was the victim of it. But I will help her. I promise you I will.”

“How?”, Georgiana demanded.

Elizabeth wondered, faintly, what had happened to the shy girl she once knew. 

“We cannot help her divorce. You know this.” 

“But it is possible. There is a process.” 

“And what would you know of that process, sister? I do not know of more than a handful of divorces in the past decades. None of them were initiated by the wife. It is simply not done.” 

“Well, it ought to be.” 

It was no empty statement: Georgiana said it with true conviction. William studied her face, unsure, but seemed to decide this conviction stemmed from childish ignorance. 

He smiled and patted Georgiana’s knee. Georgiana did not flinch.

Lately, Elizabeth was not so sure about Georgiana’s ‘childish ignorance’ anymore.

“Georgiana, dearest,” Elizabeth said, trying to keep the conversation light, “if even the King struggles to obtain a divorce from parliament, I doubt Mrs Lydia Wickham will.” 

“Do not misunderstand me: I do not claim it to be easy. I simply think it is our duty to help her.” 

William nodded. “I will figure something out to help her,” he assured them. “Not divorce, but something. Do not worry. Sister, Elizabeth: I promise I will take care of it.” 

Long after she’d sent the Darcy siblings to recover from the conversation in solitude (something they both needed, though one did so with a book and the other with a pianoforte), her husband’s assurance still echoed through her mind. “I will take care of it”, he’d said. And she did not doubt he would: he was a capable, intelligent man. It was only - she did not know what it meant. What it implied, even. What he intended to try. And it bothered her that she did not know.

She wondered sometimes whether other wives felt like this. When she was younger, it seemed as if married women were privy to secrets beyond a girl’s imagination. That some vault of knowledge would be revealed to her upon marriage. And that was true, to an extent, but she was almost thirty now, mother to two children, and it still felt like there was a lot she did not know. Did other wives, wives in the social class she had married into, hear their husband say he'd take care of it, and have some idea of what it would entail?

She did not see William again till he appeared late that evening with his valet. Supper had been served to everyone in their rooms, on her orders, to allow her family their space to work through their feelings about everything. William’s arrival was not a surprise though: he slept in her room more often than not when at Pemberley. He smiled and nodded in greeting, wordlessly signalled for his valet to start undressing him, and did not speak until the man had left them again. 

“Do you trust her?” he asked, settling into the bed.

Elizabeth took a moment to consider the question. “I do not know her,” she said, finally. “The last time I saw her was at Longbourn, four years ago. We have not spoken, properly spoken, since her marriage. She was ten and six, William.”

He sighed unhappily. “We must know what happened in Manchester, dear.” 

“I know.” 

“And we will take care of her, but she cannot let her stay if she brings trouble. Georgiana…”

“Do not underestimate her. She is dealing with this quite well, all things considered.” 

“Too well. I blame you, you know. Before you walked into my life my sister would not dare talk to me like that. Divorce! Where did she get that idea? And now with Lydia here, I cannot see how that will be a good influence.” 

“Georgiana is a smart young woman.” 

“I know, I know. But a young woman about to inherit a fortune in a year, and I do not want any Wickhams around when that happens.”

Elizabeth grinned. She had not expected her husband to think in that direction. “Let's not be hasty in our judgement, dear. They have known each other for less than a day. And she may yet get married before that.”

William waved his hands around in frustration. “Do you see any eligible young bachelors hanging around her? She refuses to have another season and spends her days with that Bible study group of hers. She will receive her share at twenty-five if unmarried, and it looks like that will come to pass.”

“Do not pretend you resent her not getting married,” Elizabeth laughed. “If it were up to you, she’d stay here all her life with us. You have scared off any suitors she might have had for as long as I have known you.”

“Well, do you trust her judgement in men, after the whole business with that degenerate?” 

“I am hardly one to judge,” Elizabeth pointed out. She did not like reminding her husband of her own infatuation with Wickham, but she felt some solidarity with Georgiana there. 

William did not comment. Instead he shuffled closer and embraced her, and Elizabeth smiled as his warmth enveloped her.

“It will all turn out well,” he whispered. “I will take care of it.”

And just like that she felt uneasy again.

𖤓 Lydia

There was much to do, much to plan for, but for that one evening Lydia allowed herself to just sit in her fancy golden room, surrounded by her sister's wealth, and wallow in despair and self-pity. Her mind was a jumbled mess of thoughts and impressions, her perception of the world at different stages in her life, the decisions she'd taken, and that one, damned man. Nothing coherent: all coherency in her reasoning had left the moment she could not find a clear person to blame anymore. 

She cried herself to sleep in the early hours of the morning, but when she woke she was ready to take action. Lizzie had told her she was to leave on Saturday, and now that Saturday had come she could not afford to wallow anymore. She had to get dressed, eat enough for the day, pack whatever food she'd get away with, and head out to Lambton. With a bit of luck she'd be able to hitch a ride to London immediately, otherwise she'd find some place to stay in. But before anything, the time had come to go through her travelling bag. There was no putting it off anymore: she had to take inventory before travelling on. So she rolled out of bed, flattened the sheets haphazardly, and started emptying her bag on it.

When it was done, Lydia stared at her belongings and refrained from hitting herself over her own stupidity. It was worse than she’d expected. She had indeed needlessly brought George’s breeches. Lydia had dressed like her husband a few times while he was in France - to travel around Manchester safely - but she would not get far with only breeches. The one dress she'd packed was pretty, but only suited for summer. Certainly not the kind she could work in. Then there were the few jewels she had not sold yet (mostly because they were worthless), a stray glove, a few stockings and a shift. No stays, and the one Beth had taken from her turned out to be irreparably broken, but Lydia hoped Lizzie would let her keep the one she had borrowed. Finally, there was the beautiful, brocade dressing gown her mother had gifted her for her nuptials. Lydia knew she would not have forgiven herself if she’d left it behind. But it was also one of the more impractical items she owned: too heavy, too fragile, and only suited for wandering around a mansion in her shift. She had tried to sell it once, back in 1816, but no one around her had any use for it. Nor did Lydia, really. The very notion of a future home that would warrant such a garment was laughable, but, Lydia considered, she was in one such a house now. This may be the very last time she'd be able to wear something like this. So instead of putting Lizzie's dress on, or the one useful dress she had traveled in, she decided to dress properly after breakfast and wrapped herself in the beautiful garment for now. 

This at least she could enjoy. Had she cried herself to sleep last night? Yes. Was her whole life a lie? Yes. Did the reality of her situation threaten to catch up with her very soon? Yes. But Lydia, if nothing else, had taught herself to find happiness wherever she could. There were many who had it worse than she; she knew plenty of them. But she was now staying at a mansion, had eaten three full meals the previous day that she did not even have to cook herself, and she was wearing her beautiful gown. She was determined to make the most of it while it lasted.

Chapter Text

⭒ Elizabeth

Elizabeth started breakfast alone with her husband that Saturday. The children were eating in the nursery, and Lydia and Georgiana had not appeared yet. They did not speak much: with William set to go back to London at the end of the week, he had a lot of work to catch up on. Elizabeth too was busy: she had a luncheon to plan for twenty guests the next day, and had been handed a list of tasks from a stern looking Mrs Reynolds.

“You agree on the lambs we saw on Thursday, then?” she asked her husband. 

He nodded without looking up from the tenant agreements, eyes squinted. Elizabeth watched him for a moment. She had noticed his eyesight getting worse for some time now, had hinted at it a few times, but he was still vehemently denying anything was wrong. She was just considering a strategy to get him to get his eyes seen on this London trip, when Lydia and Georgiana appeared. 

They arrived at the same time, Lydia bumping into Georgiana at the entrance.

“Beg your pardon!” Lydia said cheerfully, patting Georgiana on the shoulder before making a beeline for the breakfast buffet. 

“Good morning to you both,” Elizabeth smiled, putting her list away. “Did you sleep well?”

“I did, sister,” Lydia said, a bit too loud. “Marvelous beds you have here.” She looked much better than Elizabeth had expected after the revelations of the previous day. A bit too well, perhaps. 

Georgiana had frozen in the doorway. She was watching Lydia fill her plate enthusiastically, lost in thought, but when Lydia shot her an inquisitive look she blinked and sat down quickly next to Elizabeth.

“I did as well.” Georgiana smiled. “How about you, Eliza?” 

“Oh, as well as one might expect.” 

A servant arrived to serve Georgiana her tea. Lydia continued to fill her plate. 

“If the weather stays like this tomorrow we could serve tea outside,” William remarked. “It would be the first time this year.” 

“That sounds lovely,” Georgiana said. “And I think it might, Mrs Reynolds said the good weather is here to stay.”

“She does have a good sense for the weather, that woman.”

“It’s her bones,” Elizabeth laughed. 

Lydia sat down with her plate, and everyone fell silent as they watched the mountain of food she had brought. Elizabeth tried to gauche Lydia’s expression, but her sister showed nothing but glee as she started to wolf down the meal.

“Lydia, dear,” Elizabeth said, after a beat. “We were wondering what your plans were.”

Lydia stuffed her mouth with beans. “What do you mean?”

“Well, you said you were planning to visit the Bingleys, originally. Do you want to go to Bath?”

Lydia shrugged. “I was, but I am headed to London. Don't want another detour.” 

“You were headed to London?” Elizabeth repeated. “Why?”

Lydia pulled a face. “Oh, just travelling.”

“And what were you planning on doing at the Bingleys?”

“Can a woman not visit her sister?”

“Certainly, but those kinds of visits are usually planned.”

The mask of cheerfulness fell from Lydia’s face as she rolled her eyes. “Look Lizzie, I will be out of your hair soon enough. I'm already packed! Do not fret!” She threw her hands up. “I will not pollute the shades of Pemberley any further. You can take me into town whenever you want, or I will walk, and I will find my way from there.”

Elizabeth gaped for words.

“But Lydia, we are asking you to stay,” Georgiana said, softly. 

Lydia stared at her and then snapped her head back to Elizabeth. Elizabeth nodded, trying for an encouraging smile.

“... You are?” Lydia mumbled.

“Unless you have other plans, of course”, Elizabeth said, quickly. “But we would love to host you here. We have some lost time to make up for!”

“But what about that thing you said you had tomorrow…”

Elizabeth waved away the concern. “The engagement tomorrow is a luncheon, you are welcome to join us. I asked you to leave today to avoid Georgiana and you meeting, but well… You can stay as long as you need.”

“I… what?” 

Lydia glanced at William, who nodded. 

Lydia tensed all over and then suddenly slumped down in her seat. She sat like that, eyes squeezed shut, for a few moments. Elizabeth wanted to reach out, do something, but did not know what would be welcome. 

“Oh Lydia…”, Georgiana muttered. She sounded close to crying herself.

“I only brought one dress,” Lydia whispered. “And breeches.”

Elizabeth smiled, hesitantly. “We will figure that out, sister.”

“You can borrow mine!” Georgiana insisted.

“There is one matter we should settle first though,” William said. He was being gentle, and Elizabeth prayed Lydia would interpret it as such. “Where is your husband, Mrs Wickham? What happened?”

Lydia took a deep, shuddering breath. She looked up. “I do not know where my husband is, Mr Darcy. I left.”

“You… left?”

“I mean, we both left, I suppose. We were evicted from our lodgings.”

They all stared at her. 

“And… he will not come looking for you?” Elizabeth heard herself say.

"No, we had a fight. No… No. I don't think so.”

William shot Elizabeth a wide-eyed look before turning to her sister again.

“Do you think him still in Manchester?” he asked. 

Lydia let out an ungracious snort. “I doubt it. I’m sure I would’ve heard, if he were around.”

“Why? Manchester is a big city.”

"Well, we were not exactly popular.” Lydia took a bite from her toast and continued talking with her mouth full. “He had a lot of friends in the Manchester cavalry, if you catch my meaning.”

Georgiana sat up, eyes wide. It took a bit longer for Elizabeth to connect the dots of cavalry  and Manchester, but when she did she too turned to her sister in shock.

"You mean the yeomanry involved in the unfortunate events on St Peters Field?” William asked.

‘The Peterloo Massacre’, everyone but the most conservative newspapers had called it. Two cavalry units had been sent to arrest the organizers and disperse the crowd. In the chaos that ensued, eighteen people were killed and hundreds wounded. There had been a child, only two years old, among the victims. Elizabeth had read the accounts last year holding her own toddler close to her chest.

“Who else? My husband went around giving drunken speeches defending the yeomanry and hussars…” Lydia sighed, unbothered. “It is a miracle he is still alive. And they almost hired him too! Lord, did we dodge a bullet there. I'd have no friends left if he had.” 

Georgiana was practically bouncing in her seat. “Oh, how wicked that man is!” 

“But I thought Wickham was still with the 18th regiment,” William said. 

Lydia was trying very hard to act aloof. “Well, you know how it goes with Wickham. Can’t hold a job, that husband of mine!” Then, more seriously:: “So no, I do not know where he is. And… I do not intend to find out. I am not going back.”

“But how?” Elizabeth asked. “What were you going to do? Stay at Jane’s?”

Lydia shrugged. “Work.”

Elizabeth’s mind immediately jumped to the one occupation they had all feared Lydia would take up, back in the day. It had been one of the few options she could think of, for a destitute girl in London.

Lydia seemed to pick up on her thoughts and rolled her eyes. “No, not that,” she sniffed. “As a barmaid. A friend gave me a letter of reference for a place in London.” 

Elizabeth was not put at ease. The idea of her sister working, and as a barmaid at that, in God knows what place, while she was here enjoying her life at Pemberley horrified her.  "But Lydia, working…?”

“Why not? I've worked before.” She rolled her eyes. “Oh, do not look so scandalised, Lizzie.”

“But…. If Wickham did not provide for you, why did you not ask for help sooner?”

Lydia turned red. “I did! Did you think all those times I asked for money I just wanted pretty dresses?” 

Not pretty dresses exactly, but Elizabeth had to admit she never imagined her sister would handle the monetary gifts responsibly. 

“A barmaid…” William muttered under his breath. 

“Yes, a barmaid. The sister-in-law of the great Mr Darcy was a barmaid, I beg your pardon for the inconvenience.” Lydia getting riled up was a good sign. It showed she was at ease, as least, but Elizabeth feared a clash with her husband. “You may have missed it, but the past few years haven’t exactly been easy for those of us not owning a grand estate. What else would you have me do, Mr Darcy? I have not the education for a respectable gentleman’s daughter occupation, and no other income to speak of.”

He nodded slowly, conceding that point. “But what was Mr Wickham doing? He was employed most of that time, was he not?”

“Mr Wickham was off to France, wasting our money on whiskey and women. I was offered a job when I most needed it, and I do not regret taking it. But do not fret, Mr Darcy. Decency was upheld when he came back and forced me to stop. Which of course did not stop him from wasting our money on whiskey and women, but…”

They all stared at her in shock.

“I see no shame in a decent occupation,” William said, carefully choosing his words. “I merely regret the circumstances that led you to a husband that would not provide for you.” 

Elizabeth feared he was lying. Her family had brought him enough shame as it was, and these new potential disgraces would not be welcome news to him. But Lydia believed him enough to calm down. 

“Luckily there is no need for all of that now,” Elizabeth said. “You do not have to worry about your upkeep anymore. We will take care of you.” 

“Yes! Imagine that…” Lydia looked around in wonder. 

They continued eating breakfast in silence. Lydia seemed to have lost her appetite, playing listlessly with her food until Elizabeth casually remarked no leftovers were thrown away. Georgiana had been overtaken by a restless energy that had her occasionally shake her head at her plate or let out a sigh. Finally, William made a show of gathering his papers and gestured at Elizabeth to follow him to his study. She followed quickly. 

“It seems we have a mutual separation on our hands,” he said, the moment she closed the door behind them. “This is good, it means we know where to start. I must write to your father at once. Then my solicitor in London, and we will go from there. Oh, and Bingley should also know, of course. Could you inform Mrs Bingley of everything that has happened? ”

She loved the way he looked at her, fully trusting her to understand. Luckily, up to here she could follow.

“Of course, I will write to Jane this afternoon!” And then: “When you say you will write to my father, you mean you will ask him about the Wickhams’ annual allowance, right?”

“Yes! I was involved in drafting the marriage contract at the time, and I think we may yet secure that allowance for only her. If, as I suspect, Wickham will hide away for a while and not contest anything, it will make the process easier, but if he does reappear to claim the allowance we will at least know where he is.” 

Elizabeth nodded slowly. “And your solicitor would know about this, because he helped draft the contract eight years ago?”

“Indeed.” 

“And your London solicitor is still Mr Steepleton, is he not? Mr Thompson is your solicitor in Derbyshire.” 

“Yes, he is.” 

“He came to dinner once. With his wife, in London. That Mr Steepleton, you mean.” 

“Yes, dear. Where are all these questions coming from?” 

Elizabeth stared at the stack of papers on his desk. “It is only - I do not know how to do these things. If I ever needed to contact Mr Steepleton, or Mr Thompson,  myself, how  would I go about that? Where would I write to? What would be a fair pay for their services? What could they help me with, and to what extent? ” 

“You… You would not need to, Eliza. I would do it for you.” 

“But what if - God forbid - something were to happen to you?” 

William was completely dumbfounded. “If something were to happen to me, you would be surrounded by people to help you. Mr Reynolds, for a start.” 

“Of course, but what if something were to happen to them as well? William, my sister traveled alone from Manchester to Pemberley, and it seems she survived on her own in Manchester for quite some time too. I cannot help but think… I do not know whether I could do the same." She took a deep breath. "I do not know when I became so reliant on you and our staff to do things for me. I do not know how to talk to solicitors, how to get my affairs in order. And I think I should know at least some of these things.”

“But dearest, none of that will not come to pass.” 

“Will it not? It was not so long ago that across the pond a landed gentry were forced out of their homes, or worse…” 

“There will be no revolution in Great Britain.” 

“You cannot say that. Look at the Peterloo Massacre! Look at the Cato Conspiracy, the Pentrich uprising right here in Derbyshire. Look at what is happening now in Scotland.” Elizabeth had made an effort the past years to read the newspapers, fighting her lacking education with whatever means available, and she was proud to show it. “William, I just want to be sure that if something happens, I will know how to keep our children safe.”  

Her husband studied her face. After a moment, he nodded. “You are right, of course. I will show you where everything is, and explain how it works.” 

“You will?” 

He smiled down at her. “How could I say no, my dearest Elizabeth? But allow me to write these letters first, the sooner they get out the better.” 

“Of course. Thank you, dearest. You do not know how much this means to me.” 

He caressed her cheek and smiled. “I will call you when I am done, and we can go over them. And if you do not mind, there is a matter you could help me figure out right now.” 

“Anything!” 

“How are we going to introduce your feral sister at church tomorrow?”

Elizabeth threw her head back and laughed.

Chapter Text

𖤓 Lydia

After breakfast, Lydia found herself laying on her bed. She’d been gearing up all morning to leave, had prepared mentally for a long day of walking and carriages and people, and now she was suddenly left with nothing in particular to do. It had still not fully sunk in that she could stay. The nervous energy coursing through her body would not let her relax just yet.

As she studied the wooden ceiling of her room, Lydia started fixating on the things she’d been ignoring about her body. One of her teeth ached, for a start. Not enough to worry her, but enough to notice it. Her head too felt strange: that may or may not turn into a headache. Her stomach was full, a welcome change, but almost too full: she felt bloated and stuffy. And her left foot had a small blister from using Lizzie's booths the day before. The bruises on her wrist, from that last fight with Wickham, were still sensitive, but she was positive they'd heal quickly.

Mostly she was just tired, very tired.

It was odd, having a whole day ahead of her with nothing in particular to do. Lydia remembered days like these: she used to have a lot of them. Even after her marriage, she'd get the occasional weeks off when staying at Jane's or her parents’. But Wickham did not like staying with her family. And ever since they weren't able to afford a serviced apartment anymore, he had not liked her being away for extended periods of time (no matter how lousy her housekeeping). Of course, ever since he came back from France with even more of a gambler, Lydia had not liked leaving her husband alone with their money either. So that had been the end of that.

Now she could not even remember what it was she used to do all day. Daydream about boys, mostly. Shopping in Meryton. Learning the latest dances, instead of any useful skill like cooking or washing clothes (and Lord, had that come back to bite her). Fighting over ribbons with Kitty.

That last thought gave her an idea. She got up, retrieved a needle and thread from the pocket of her apron, and set to mending her bonnet. Lydia had spent many a day the past years mending her neighbour's clothing, or elevating dresses with ribbons and frills for weddings and baptisms. She was good at it, she liked it, and the extra income had been welcome.

A few minutes in though, she suddenly remembered she was not getting paid for this particular bonnet. She threw the needle and thread on the bed and rushed to the door.

“Oy!” she shouted at a footman about to disappear down the stairs. He turned around, looking curious, but did not move.

“Could you come here, please?” she asked, smiling primly.

“I beg your pardon?” The man's faint voice came from the far end of the hallway.

“Could you come here?” she shouted again.

He finally walked towards her, but not with the deference and speed a sister of Mrs Darcy deserved. Lydia was about to point that out, chest puffing up. And then she saw his face.

“What may I help you with, Mrs Wickham?” he said.

He looked like Mr Howarth used to look. Agnes’ husband.

“I do beg your pardon,” the man added, reluctantly.

Mr Howarth was in service too. Or had been, until Peterloo left his face so disfigured no house would hire him anymore.

"Mrs Wickham?”

Lydia blinked. “What?”

“You called for me?”

“Oh! Oh, yes.” She stared at the threadbare bonnet in her hand. It was probably made of worse fabric than his fine livery was. Lydia extended it to him defiantly. "Could you mend this for me, please?”

He took it from her and bowed, a slight twitch in his brow. “Of course. I will have it back to you by the end of the day.”

Lydia smiled coyly and swirled around. “Thank you!”

In an effort to escape both the ghost of Mr Howarth and her own thoughts, and with nothing better to occupy her time with, Lydia wandered down the hall in search of entertainment. Lizzie and her Mr Darcy were nowhere to be found. She did find her nephews, but Richie had just had an “accident” and his nursemaid begged Lydia to let her give him a bath in peace. So she walked on, and found a lot of servants buzzing around the large dining room, preparing for the luncheon the next day. She quickly left before the Mr Howarth lookalike could appear.

At last she found herself drawn to the sound of a pianoforte. As she got closer she realised there was more sound than music to be heard: a few chords would be played, followed by some silence, only to have the musician play a few notes again.

It was Georgiana, of course. She found her behind a pianoforte, scribbling in a large notebook with one hand while sounding out notes and chords on the pianoforte with the other. Lydia watched her do it for a bit in silence, before gently knocking on the open door.

"Lydia?” Georgiana dropped some papers, eyes wide, and scrambled up to grab them.

“Am I intruding?

“No, no, of course not!” Georgiana pressed the sheet music close to her chest, in a gesture reminiscent of the bundle of books Lydia had seen her smuggle the day before.

“I can leave! I heard the music, and I thought…”

“No! Please, stay.” She was bright red. God, that girl was easy to fluster. “Although,” Georgiana continued, slightly relaxing her grip on the paper, “I do not know how interesting you will find it.”

Lydia slowly moved to sit down on an extravagant sofa, careful not to make any unexpected movements. Georgiana still looked like a skittish cat.

“What were you doing?” she inquired, after a silence that went on for a bit too long.

Georgiana abruptly sat down on the pianoforte stool. “Oh! Well, I was making an arrangement”, the way she pronounced the word betrayed a high level of French, “adapting the orchestra parts of Herr Beethoven's,” that pronunciation in turn betraying a high level of German, “fourth pianoforte concerto into one single pianoforte part.”

Lydia stared at her. “Why?”

“You must think this very silly! My brother bought me the full score, you see, but I can hardly play all parts myself! I was hoping Elizabeth could be persuaded to play the rewritten orchestra parts with me.”

Lydia snorted. “She still plays?”

“Occasionally.” Georgiana tilted her head. “Do you?”

“Jane tried teach me as a child, but I did not have the patience for it. Lizzie found me a new tutor when I was five and ten, but then I left for Brighton and… Well, you know the rest.”

“Oh, how sad…”

“Indeed. But do not let me stop you! Please continue: you are far more entertaining than anything else in this house, even when making… arrangements.” Lydia knew she had failed miserably at the French pronunciation, but Georgiana did not comment. “Please, pretend I am not here.”

Georgiana fidgeted nervously with the sheet paper, looked around her a few times, and set to work again.

Lydia had heard many a pianoforte over the years: from the old thing at Longbourn that was mainly used for Mary's hymns (and somehow always out of tune), to the fancy one at Netherfield, to the cheap square one in Manchester's dancing hall. None of them had ever sounded as good to her as these few chords did. It was magnificent. Lydia could feel the sound reverberate in her chest.

She was oddly moved by it too, considering Georgiana was not even playing any actual music. Lydia had only been half-sincere when promising Georgiana this was entertaining to her, but she found herself sitting quietly, listening to the sounds. And then after a while, Georgiana did start playing some melodies. She'd quickly look back at Lydia each time and smile, until she seemingly could not stop herself from commenting anymore.

“This I call the Robin Hood theme,” she’d say.

And then, a bit later: “I do so prefer the pianoforte over the harpsichord. Just listen!” She played a few chords at different volumes, ending with a big, dramatic sound that filled the whole room. “A harpsichord could never produce anything of the kind!” She smiled to herself, satisfied.

And then, finally: “This is the most precious theme”, as she played one of the most haunting melodies Lydia had ever heard, “and it is only played by the strings. Imagine! A concerto for pianoforte, and the pianoforte only plays two bars before remaining silent for several pages!” She enthusiastically flipped the pages to show Lydia. “Is it not marvellous?”

“It is.” Lydia smiled.

“This truly is a piece for pianoforte and orchestra.”

“Why not find an orchestra to play it with, then? Would that not be better than this…” Lydia waved her hands around, “condensed pianoforte part?”

“Oh Lydia,” Georgiana laughed, “where would I find a full symphony orchestra in the middle of Derbyshire, willing to perform with me? I am no professional musician!”

“Do you not know any other young ladies who play instruments?”

She put down the sheet music and swivelled around to face Lydia with a wicked smile. “Of course I do, but they all play the harpsichord.”

Lydia grinned back. “Have you ever even heard the whole thing performed?”

Georgiana stared off into the distance. “Only once, when I was twelve. My brother took me to Vienna, and we saw it performed by the master himself. It was… The most magical moment I have ever experienced.” Georgiana seemed to almost glow, unbridled joy at the memory shining through her. The kind of happiness one could only feel if unmarred by any strive.

Lydia wanted to drink from it and make it hers.

“I am glad we met, Georgiana,” she said instead.

Georgiana beamed as if she had just been given a great compliment. “I am as well, Lydia,” she replied. “Though… Allow me to apologise for the circumstances of our meeting.”

“Ah yes, that bundle of books you were smuggling.” Lydia leaned forward, wiggling her eyebrows.

Georgiana laughed awkwardly. “Oh, that…”

“Do not fret,” Lydia teased. “I will not tell Mr Darcy about your seditious libel.”

It had been a joke, but Georgiana's flustered reaction indicated it was anything but.

Lydia tensed up. “It is?!”

“It is not!” Georgiana shot Lydia a panicked look before looking away. “That is, it is not seditious. Nor libel. I mean, it should not be!”

“My my, Miss Darcy,” Lydia exclaimed. “What mysterious depths you possess!”

“They are Christian concerns,” Georgiana mumbled. “Please don't tell my brother.”

“My lips are sealed.” She leaned back, studying Georgiana’s face with newfound interest. “What is it you were smuggling, then?”

“Just some periodicals and pamphlets...”

“What kind of pamphlets?”

“Mostly periodicals!”

“Right,” Lydia drawled, “I am sure Mr Darcy does not mind you reading Two-Penny Trash at all…”

“They are entirely legal!” And then, hopeful: "You read Cobbett's Political Register too, then?”

“I do not. And neither should you!”

“Surely you understand!" Georgiana pleaded. "You are from Manchester. You were there, at Peterloo!”

“I was not at Peterloo.”

She almost had been. Her friends had tried to convince her, and Lydia had considered it for curiosity's sake. Laziness had won out.

“But you were near! Tell me, did you see the Orator, Henry Hunt?”

She looked so hopeful, and Lydia could not help but want to impress her a bit. “I did see him pass by once,” she admitted, reluctantly.

“Did you know it was him because of the hat?”

“I… Yes. White, was it not?”

“Yes! So the crowd sees him! Oh, was he not marvellous?”

“I did not hear him speak.” And then, because Georgiana was hanging onto her every word: “Though I did hear say he was a compelling speaker.”

“I read that as well!” She looked so… wistful.

Lydia raised her eyebrows. “Do you fancy him, Miss Darcy?”

“I do not!” Georgiana exclaimed..

“The lady doth protest too much…”

“I assure you I do not. And frankly, I resent you reducing my political interests to those matters. He has marvellous ideas, Lydia. And he is right! About reforms, about the corn laws. All of it! Why should they not be represented in parliament? Why should common people not be able to afford bread?”

What would you know, little bird, Lydia wanted to say, about the price of bread. About the taste of sawdust in your flour.

Instead she sang, teasing:

With Henry Hunt we'll go, me boys, with Henry Hunt we'll go!
We'll mount the cap of Liberty, in spite of Nadin Joe.

Georgiana looked up. "What was that?”

“Oh, you don’t know it? Everyone in Manchester is singing it.”

"They are? Can you sing it for me?”

“I don't know all the lyrics! There seems to be a new verse every week!”

"Oh Lydia, please!”

Lydia let out a dramatic sigh. “Alright, alright. I’ll sing you my favourite part.”

She quickly went through the chorus again, before continuing:

But soon reform shall spread around, for sand the tide won't stay.
May all the filth in old England right soon be washed away!
Now quit this hateful mournful scene, look forward with this hope
That every murderer in this land may swing upon a rope!

Georgiana's mouth fell open. "Lydia!”

Lydia winked.

“People truly sing that?”

She expected the song to scandalise Georgiana. To shock her out of her rebellious musings, as verses that crass and seditious should for a proper young lady. And at first it did, but then her expression changed. She angled her head, mouthing the words to herself. Her hand mindlessly touched the pianoforte keys. She was not scandalised, and that was dangerous. Lydia knew what happened with people who took these things too seriously. It was all fun and games, until you ended up dead in a field after a peaceful protest.

And Georgiana was looking increasingly like she was ready to ride off and swing Nadin Joe from a rope herself.

"But of course not everyone likes your Henry Hunt,” Lydia said quickly, trying to dissuade any such ideas. “This too is sang in Manchester." She sang, as out of tune as before:

I will not see old England fall
A martyr to sedition!
Shall Henry Hunt pollute the law
With noxious fermentation?

No! Right and left, and threes about,
We’ll boldly meet the danger,
Says I, “I’ll see this business out,
As Volunteer or Ranger.”

I’ll keep the way my father trod,
The way that I was born in,
My King, my Country, and my God
I’ll love for all their scorning!

“Oh.” Georgiana stared at her lap.

“Yes.”

“So… Which one do you sing?”

Lydia smiled wryly. “Depends on the company.”

Lydia could see Georgiana was disappointed. She felt a pang of guilt, but ignored it. These were dangerous topics, and she needed Georgiana to know that. “Georgiana, this is no child's play.”

“I know it’s no child’s play.”

“Do you? Your beloved Mr Hunt is in prison, and he was gentry just like you. People… People died. And for what? What did they accomplish, other than even more misery?”

“They are not dead because of Henry Hunt and the reformers, Lydia. They are dead because of the cavalry.”

“They died all the same.”

“It was not their intention to die! Were it not for the shameful involvement of the cavalry, the entire event would have been peaceful. At least they died standing up for what was right.”

Lydia felt nauseous, images of the days after Peterloo flooding her brain. “Oh yes, what is right,” she scoffed. “Because after all those dead and wounded clods, the government lowered the price of corn and widened the suffrage, right? Oh wait!”

“How else do you suggest the people demand reform?“

“They cannot! The only thing they can do is sit and wait, fight to survive and hope not to die. Nothing will change until those in power decide it no longer benefits them.”

“That is not true! The people demanded reform, and now all of England is in uproar over the events at Peterloo. That counts for something!”

“They are in uproar, yes, but privately! The government made sure there’ll be no other Peterloo anytime soon!”

“Those laws will be repealed soon. And if they do not, the government may face more drastic demands. Look at the French Revolution! I am no Jacobite, but you must admit changes occurred there.”

“Ah yes, the French Revolution! Tell me, Miss Darcy: did the French progress much, after their little revolution? Did they not first have an emperor, and now a king again?”

“Is not all of Europe on the edge because of that revolution?” Georgiana fired back.

“If it does happen in old England, they will come for the King’s head first and yours second,” Lydia sneered.

They stared at each other in mutual shock.

She'd gone too far, Lydia knew she had. Why did she have to open her stupid, stupid, mouth? Of course she had ruined this too, and before it could even become anything.

And then Georgiana started giggling hysterically.

“Oh Lord!” she exclaimed. “No one has ever talked to me that way!”

Lydia took a moment to catch on, and then joined in her laughter out of sheer relief.

They laughed for a good while. When she finally calmed down, Georgiana turned to face Lydia properly. “I do not really wish for a revolution,” she said, wiping the tears from her eyes.

“Come to accept your head would be on a spike too?”

“I meant to say - not like the French one. That did get messy in the end…”

Lydia rolled her eyes. “A messy revolution? You don’t say.”

“But reform, Lydia. Or even just repealing the corn laws. It is possible, and it would make such a difference.”

“It will never happen.”

Georgiana sighed. “If you say so.” And then: “Will you promise not to tell anyone about this?”

Lydia laid down on the sofa. “You do realise you have given me the power to ruin you three times over? You are not that clever, for someone this cultured.”

Georgiana squinted her eyes and studied Lydia’s face. Then she smiled, satisfied. “No, you will not tell.”

Lydia was grateful for her grace. More grateful than she was willing to show. She waited a moment, and then smiled back. “I will not. On one condition.”

“Which is?”

“That you will show me your wares.”

Georgiana laughed. “I did promise you a dress for church! Come see me in my rooms tomorrow morning, and I will see what I can do.”

Chapter Text

⭒ Elizabeth

Six people, Elizabeth concluded almost immediately, was too many people for their carriage.

It did not help that Lydia, Georgiana and Elizabeth herself were all dossed out in their Sunday clothes, taking up rather more space than usual. It did not help that Lewis was angry about not being allowed to sit on the box with the driver, which he made known by crossing his arms and loudly announcing it every few minutes. It did not help that Georgiana was carrying an enormous folder full of sheet music. And it certainly did not help that Richie, ever since Christmas, would get very excited and jittery about the prospect of going to church, before being sorely disappointed each time at the reality of it.

He was now nervously wriggling on her lap, mumbling to himself. Elizabeth deeply regretted the day she told his nursemaid his mother could handle him at church alone.

She leaned over her son to catch Lydia's attention.

"Lydia, dear."

Lydia was lost in thought, staring out the window.

"I want to look at the horses," Lewis whined.

"You can see the horses from here, look," William tried, pointing out of the window.

"Not well," Lewis sniffled, stomping his foot for good measure.

"Lewis, behave."

"But father…"

"Lydia!" Elizabeth tried again.

"Hmm?" Lydia looked up.

"We need to discuss today!"

"Mamma?" Richie drawled.

Elizabeth sighed. "Yes, love?"

"Look! Spot!" He pointed at a spot on his cravat, which everyone from his nursemaid to his parents had managed to miss that morning.

Lydia glanced over. "Not to worry, that just needs some salt and vinegar."

Content, Richie continued twirling his cravat with his - hopefully clean - hands, and Elizabeth moved him to his father's lap.

"Lydia, we were thinking we should ease in your introduction at church."

"What do you mean?"

"There is no hiding your identity, the whole congregation knows I have a sister married to George Wickham. But we may avoid the unpleasant conversation that could arise. There are plenty of Wickhams in Derbyshire…"

"You do not mean to say I'll have to see his cousins?"

"No! No, there are no Wickhams in our parish. But their existence may just give us enough plausible deniability to not address the whole affair this very moment. We will introduce you as Mrs Wickham, and we will say you are family, and for now at least we will try not to give any details."

"You want to hide me away?"

"No! We are not asking you to lie, and neither will we. But if you could try to avoid mentioning your husband by name, or specify your exact relation to us, that would help a great deal. By next week the whole town will know about it without any involvement on our part."

"Ah, I see. Spreading the word without any unpleasant conversations."

"If the mystery we offer the congregation is your identity, and not what brought you here, that might even spare you some unpleasantness in the future."

Lydia made a face. "Distant relation and ambiguous Wickham it is." Then, bringing her face close to Lewis: "Did you hear that, little one? Your mother is a cunning one, eh?"

"Mother says I cannot drive the carriage," Lewis pouted.

"Said the same thing to me, boy, don't take it personally."

Elizabeth kicked Lydia's shin before she could think better of it. Lydia immediately kicked back. Elizabeth folded her legs away and turned to Georgiana, trying to regain her composure.

"Did you hear the plan, Georgiana?" Elizabeth checked.

Georgiana nodded, and Elizabeth prayed the girl would manage. God bless her, but Georgiana was easy to fluster and not exactly fit for subterfuge.

She would have loved to discuss the plan with all of them before this cramped carriage ride, but circumstances had not allowed for it. Elizabeth had spent most of Saturday planning the luncheon, and too many servants attended them at supper to allow for private conversations. Breakfast this morning had been as hectic as any Sunday's. And really, the decision to go to church in town rather than the church at Pemberley had been made at the last moment.

"What did you bring in that folder, Georgiana?" William asked his sister.

Georgiana peeked at him over the thing on her lap. It was a folder meant for art more than music: it was enormous, and poked Lydia in the side.

"Oh! Just some of my progress on Beethoven, to show Mr Brooke."

Elizabeth noticed Lydia stifling a grin.

"But Mr and Mrs Brooke have both been invited to Pemberley this afternoon," William remarked, confused.

"Oh, how silly of me! Must have slipped my mind."

Richie started softly singing to himself about his trip to church.

"Could you not have found a smaller one?" William was trying to be gentle, but his clear annoyance at having to prop up his legs the whole way belied the gentleness. "It would have made the journey more comfortable."

Lewis let himself fall on the floor of the carriage, worming his way through the little space there, to demand attention for his cause. Elizabeth tried to heave him up, hissing at him to sit down, and dropped her Bible in the process.

"I also brought some hymns I promised the organist," Georgiana offered William. "He will not be attending the luncheon."

Lydia covered her mouth with her hand and turned to the window again. Richie increased the volume of his church chant.

Elizabeth decided they'd take two carriages next week.

Elizabeth remembered it well, the first time she'd been to this parish. She'd been newly wed, giddy at everything her new life had to offer her. And then, after dreamily exploring Pemberley and learning what it meant to be both mistress of an estate and wife, that first outing to church taught her what it meant to be Mrs Darcy. It'd been a minefield of curious gossips, judgemental parishioners and bootlicking townspeople, all of it covered with layers upon layers of deference and respect the like of which she'd never experienced. It had taken her years before she felt at ease in the role, and even then only in the context of Derbyshire: she still avoided London as much as possible.

Yes, compared to those early days, introducing Lydia at church was child's play.

She entered the battlefield of the church square with Lydia on one side, her youngest son on the other, and the rest of her family trailing behind as their first opponent approached.

"Good morning, Darcy family!"

"Good morning, Mrs Pearson."

Mrs Pearson smiled fondly at Richie, who immediately hid behind Elizabeth's skirts. "How glad I am to see you, Mrs Darcy! Are you well?"

"I am, Mrs Pearson, thank you."

"And your family?"

"Mr Darcy and I are well, as are our children. How are you, Mrs Pearson?"

"There are many who have it worse," Mrs Pearson said, wistfully. "And who is this young lady you've brought with you? May I be introduced?"

Elizabeth only felt a slight hesitation at the thought of vouching for Lydia by introducing her. Then she faced Mrs Pearson with a bright smile. "Of course! Mrs Pearson, I present to you Mrs Lydia Wickham, who is visiting us."

If Mrs Pearson recognized the name, she showed no sign of it. "Oh, how lovely to make your acquaintance! Are you from around here, Mrs Wickham?"

"No," Lydia replied with a pleasant smile, "I am from the North."

"And your parents?"

"Not from around here either."

Mission accomplished, Elizabeth linked their arms together and took Lydia to the next group of people.

It went quite well, all things considered. They told people about Lydia being from the North, about her indefinite stay, about her appreciation for the Pemberley grounds, and no one even commented on her surname until they met Mrs Young.

"Oh, a Wickham?" She paused for just the right amount of time to make the follow-up an ambiguous jab: "Such a fine garment you wear, Mrs Wickham."

Lydia was not fooled. "As is yours, Mrs Young! My mother had one just like it when I was a babe."

Elizabeth smiled politely and quickly pulled Lydia over to the next group. Unfortunately, in her haste to get Lydia away, she did not properly take in who it was she was approaching. Too late she discovered the next group consisted of the Marshalls: Mrs Helen Marshall, Georgiana's former friend, her husband Mr Marshall, and her parents, the Triggs.

Elizabeth was about to turn away, when William stepped around her.

"Mr Marshall!" he said, completely oblivious to the discomfort of his wife, sister and Helen Marshall. "How good to see you, I did not know you would be in town again so soon."

"Darcy! By Jove, what luck indeed. I thought you had gone to see your aunt."

"No, no, that was my sister. But she is back already, as you can see."

"Ah, Miss Darcy! Lovely as ever. As are you, of course, Mrs Darcy." Elizabeth gently touched Georgiana to shake her out of her stupor, and they all curtsied. "And who did you bring with?" Mr Marshall continued.

Lydia had caught wind of something going on, and was looking from Georgiana to Helen Marshall, and back again, with a deep frown.

Elizabeth nudged her. "This is Mrs Lydia Wickham," Elizabeth told the Marshalls. She wanted to continue, but was distracted when Helen Marshall audibly gasped. Everyone turned to look at her.

"Oh! I do apologise," Helen Marshall stammered. "I… I thought I misheard. Wickham, you said?"

"Yes, Wickham" Georgiana confirmed quickly, and forcefully grabbed Lydia's arm. It gained her a brief surprised look from Lydia, before Lydia joined her in looking at Helen Marshall defiantly.

Helen Marshall curtsied. "It is my pleasure, Mrs Wickham" she muttered.

There was something going on between Helen Marshall and Georgiana, that much was obvious to everyone.

Elizabeth did not know what to do about it. Which meant they had to escape.

"Oh, look at the time!" Elizabeth exclaimed. "We should make our way inside." She quickly gathered her party and almost managed to get everyone away unscathed, when William saw it fit to invite the Marshalls to their luncheon that afternoon.

"There is room for two more, is there not?" he asked her.

Elizabeth forced herself to smile. "Yes, of course. You are most welcome."

But the moment they reached their private pew in church, she angrily turned to her husband.

"Dearest, I told you Helen Marshall and Georgiana had a falling out," she whispered over the organ music.

"Did you see Mrs Marshall's reaction just now?" he whispered back.

"I did, yes."

They stood with the congregation as the vicar walked in, followed by an officiant holding the cross. Behind them, some late-comers trickled in.

"Do you think there is a chance Mrs Marshall knows about Georgiana and Wickham?" William whispered, barely moving his mouth as he nodded at the procession.

"I fear it may be so."

William looked pained. "After all that I… I thought… Maybe by inviting her, they could make amends?"

Elizabeth sighed. "Did you see your sister just now? William…"

They sat down again.

"Talk to Georgiana, please. Make sure even if they had a falling out, Mrs Marshall will not tell. Eliza, please."

Elizabeth opened her mouth, but stopped when she saw Mr Manning, the vicar, climb his perch.

Mr Manning cleared his throat and said: "The Lord be with you!"

"And also with you," the congregation replied in chorus.

Mr Manning, an old man when Elizabeth joined the congregation and even older now, coughed, the droplets reaching their pew.

"The Lord maketh poor, and maketh rich," he proclaimed. "He bringeth low, and lifteth up."

"Amen," Lydia sighed next to her.

𖤓 Lydia

Church was as dreadfully boring as Lydia remembered it being.

She watched her nephew Richie, who'd spent the whole morning gushing about going to church, slowly but surely arrive at the same conclusion, as his eyes glazed over and he sank into his mother.

The vicar was still finishing up loose ends from Easter, it seemed, sin and repentance being a big topic. A good part of the service was dedicated to praying for the soon-to-be-crowned king (with no mention of the wife he was trying to divorce, of course), adding a few extra prayers for the troops suppressing the uprising in Scotland (which Georgiana, to her credit, bore without a flinch), and the vicar lightened up the service with some jokes about the absurdness of Catholics in parliament.

Lydia had been tired all day: the service was not helping. She fought off the sleep well enough during the various prayers, but during the sermon she went looking for other matters to entertain herself with. Like, for example, the various mysteries surrounding the woman sitting next to her.

Lydia had started the day by getting dressed with Georgiana. Georgiana and her maid had awkwardly talked around the issue of Lydia's bust being considerably larger than Georgiana's for some time, much to Lydia's amusement, before settling on a gown with a low enough waist. Georgiana had clearly welcomed the change of subject to the other purpose of her visit: the seditious literature she'd smuggled.

So once the maid was gone, Lydia watched in amazement as Georgiana retrieved one bundle of leaflets and books after another from behind a loose panel in her wall, giddily displaying them on her bed. Her spoils ranged from mildly alarming (copies of both The Examiner and Cobbett's Political Register) to extremely worrying (a pamphlet calling for the Scottish Uprising and another speaking favourably of the Spencians and their failed attempt at assassinating the cabinet). Many of them were recent, which gave Lydia a clue about the first mystery she intended to solve: the origins of all this libel. Given that they were recent and some of them had arrived with Georgiana, the items must have been procured somewhere during her visit to her aunt. From all she'd heard about the lady, it was unlikely it was the aunt herself who secretly harboured radical thoughts. But someone in Kent must, and Lydia was determined to find out who.

More interesting now was another mystery though: what Georgiana intended to do with them. Or rather: who she intended to pass them on to. That would have been a great mystery indeed, had Georgiana not spend the whole day walking around with an enormous folder: it had to be someone at church.

("They sought a pre-eminence not easily attained," the vicar was saying, "to be earned only by a patient endurance of unmerited sufferings for the service of mankind…")

Lydia rolled her eyes and focused on the congregation. During all the introductions rounds that morning, she had only seen Georgiana have a notable reaction to three people: Mrs Marshall, a mystery in her own right, and two other young women of Georgiana's age. One a handsome girl with a babe on her hip, the other a mousy one. Neither of them looked particularly radical or subversive, but they shared a familiarity with Georgiana no one else there had displayed. It had to be them.

When the vicar finally motioned for everyone to stand up and sing the closing hymn, Richie woke up with a shock. He tried to babble along, which only gained him a smug look from his barely awake brother.

Lydia, reminded of the reasons she'd avoided church as much as possible the past years, was glad it was over.

After the service, she watched Georgiana enter a hushed conversation with the two women from before, which further confirmed her suspicions. The truly intriguing part was Mrs Marshall joining their group as well. Georgiana acknowledged her in a friendly if stiff manner, and the four of them continued talking like old friends. Lydia was about to walk up to them, when Lizzie suddenly appeared, seized her arm, and stirred her away.

"Don't you think I have been introduced to enough people today?" Lydia hissed.

"Mrs Pearson is considering buying ribbons for her granddaughters, I am sure your input would be most welcome."

"Oh, would it?"

Lydia sat down for the conversation with strong reluctance, but ended up enjoying herself tremendously. Mrs Pearson did appreciate her input, having no knowledge whatsoever of Lydia's background, and the topic itself was delightfully inconsequential. After days of difficult talks, discussing the merits of one pattern over another (with someone who might even be able to afford good ribbons at that) was delightfully refreshing.

From the corner of her eye she noticed something was not quite right with Georgiana's group. Georgiana had turned into herself, clutching the folder. One of her friends was rocking her baby while telling Georgiana something, looking serious. Mrs Marshall seemed to reply to the woman with the baby, but it did not relax Georgiana.

"… but you are quite right, Mrs Wickham, quite right," Mrs Pearson was saying. "One could always offer the suggestion of patterns with other garments, leaving the ribbons as a neutral component to be matched with any frock."

Mrs Marshall took the folder from Georgiana and started flipping through it, covert enough to hide its contents.

"Of course one could also go the other way," Lydia heard herself tell Mrs Pearson. "Give plain frock the suggestion of sophistication with eye-catching ribbons."

Her eyes were still fixed on Mrs Marshall.

"Indeed, indeed! How long did you say you were staying, Mrs Wickham? I would love to consult you further on these matters, perhaps in the presence of my granddaughters."

The folder was given back to Georgiana, who looked decidedly sad now.

"I will be at Pemberley for some time, madam, and would be happy to call on you," Lydia said. "If you could excuse me now, there is a matter I need to attend to."

Without awaiting Mrs Pearson's response, Lydia made for Georgiana's group. She was now quite certain these were the women Georgiana had meant to pass the periodicals onto, but something had gone awry. And Lydia was quite sure that something had to do with Mrs Marshall.

“Good day to you all.” She smiled her most charming smile, to mixed reactions. Georgiana looked grateful at her presence, the two unknown women were intrigued, and Mrs Marshall had a decidedly suspicious air about her. 

“Oh, Lydia! Allow me to introduce you to my Bible study group.” Georgiana said, having collected herself. “These are my dear friends from Lambton: Mrs Felicity Hayworth and Mrs Amy Gill..."

"Miss Darcy!" the pretty woman laughed.

"Oh no! I do beg your pardon! Mrs Amy Pryce, of course. Gosh, I keep forgetting you are married. Such a bad friend I am!"

"We are all married, dear," Felicity Hayworth said, hoisting her baby higher. There was the slightest edge of condescension there that Lydia did not like.

"Mrs Marshall you already met," Georgiana continued. "She has unfortunately left our group, as she lives in Derby now."

Mrs Marshall inclined her head.

"But pray tell, who is your friend?" Amy Pryce asked Georgiana.

"This is my Mrs Lydia Wickham." She smiled fondly at Lydia, and Lydia felt more welcomed with that one smile than she had in all the roundabout ways Elizabeth had found of introducing her today.

“Georgiana, may I have a word?” Mrs Marshall asked.

"Now?"

Mrs Marshall shot Lydia a look. Lydia glared back.

"Yes, now."

Georgiana nodded reluctantly, and they disappeared into a corner of the courtyard.

This development took the wind out of Lydia's sails, who had approached the group meaning to either rescue Georgiana or attack Mrs Marshall, as needed, but it did leave her with the opportunity to gather intelligence from the rest of the smuggling ring.

Lydia turned to the other women with a brilliant smile, angled in such a way that she could keep an eye on Georgiana and Mrs Marshall. “They seem like such good friends,” she cooed. The women she had been left with, Felicity Hayworth and Amy Pryce, took the bait. 

“Oh yes! They were inseparable. Mrs Hayworth nodded. “Such a shame Mrs Marshall had to leave Lambton when she married Mr Marshall.”

“Joined at the hip they were. Poor Georgiana.” Amy Pryce shot Lydia a look. “Are you close to the Darcy’s, Mrs Wickham?”

“Oh no,” Lydia giggled. “I did not know Georgiana before this weekend! Such a sweet girl.”

“She is! Very sweet.”

“And so passionate about her causes!”

“Oh, that she is,” Felicity Hayworth mused. “A girl needs something to entertain herself with, does she not?”

Lydia did not pride herself on much intelligence or wit. Not even her former prettiness was of much use, now the freckles she so hated had overtaken her face. But what she did possess was the ability to make certain women want to impress her. It had happened in Manchester, using the slight hint at sophistication her neighbours lacked, and it was happening here again, with the hint of worldliness Manchester had granted her.

So Lydia noted the escalation in gossip, and gave the other two the required complicit look. “Naturally, naturally! But how serious can those pursuits truly be, without a husband to guide her? We married women,” she made a point of tying the other two to her, “know what influence a husband can have on a girl’s development.”

"Not that she has truly strayed from the path!" Felicity Hayworth said.

"No, of course not! But she does have certain peculiar interests…"

“Like her insistence on French composers, even during the wars…” Amy Pryce muttered. 

Lydia gasped. “Surely not? My husband fought at Waterloo!”

She accepted the subsequent patriotic praise with grace, and then stirred the conversation back to Georgiana with her own offering of gossip: “I must say she did seem awfully concerned about the elections this weekend, for a young lady of her standing.”

“She means well!” Felicity Hayworth insisted. “It is only her artistic temperament that draws her to certain pursuits…”

“Nothing unsuitable, I hope?” Lydia said, sharply.

Both women glanced, unwillingly, at Georgiana and Mrs Marshall. Lydia, having now decided Mrs Marshall was indeed the source of all evil, hid her distaste as best as possible.

She knew enough, in any case. So she laughed, breaking the tension. “Imagine that! I am not sure her constitution could handle anything unsuitable.”

The others were giggling along with her, relieved, when suddenly Lizzie appeared next to Lydia. She smiled politely at the group, said some short pleasantries, and then whisked Lydia away again.

“What are you doing?” Lizzie hissed angrily.

Lydia rolled her eyes. “I was talking to those women.”

“Lydia. Those are Georgiana’s friends. Do not ruin this for her.”

“Oh please, those girls are not her friends. They were willing to sell her out to a stranger at the slightest provocation.”

Lizzie studied Lydia's face for a few moments, and then relaxed her frown. She nodded. "Have you seen my husband?"

Lydia shrugged, crossing her arms.

"Help me find him, please."

Lydia sighed.

"Lydia."

"Alright, alright. I'll help you find your wayward husband. Please don't find mine!" She winked, and wandered off.

Lydia walked around looking for Mr Darcy for a while, but did not see him. And by the time she was back at the front of the church Georgiana and Mrs Marshall had disappeared as well, so she changed her mission to looking for Georgiana instead.

Georgiana she found sitting alone on a bench near the carriages, staring at the graveyard lost in thought.

Lydia sat down next to her. "How did the smuggling go?"

Georgiana looked up, wiping a dry cheek. "Badly," she muttered. "Fel… They, I mean…"

"Oh, come off it. I know it's your little Bible study group."

Georgiana smiled a watery smile. "Of course you know. Well, my 'little Bible study group' said they could not take the periodicals home anymore, lest their husbands see them with it."

Lydia rolled her eyes. "Did they read The Examiner out in the open when they lived with their fathers? You need better friends, dove."

"We can peruse them together at Pemberley. I do understand. They all have different lives now, more responsibilities."

"Be hanged, that is no excuse."

"They have husbands, families…"

"You know who else had husbands? The women of the Manchester Female Reform Society."

"Which you were not a member of?" Georgiana smiled.

Lydia scoffed. "Of course not. You think I had the free time to hang around those fools?"

Georgiana laughed. Lydia bumped their shoulders together, and they sat together in companionable silence.

Lizzie appeared, carrying a sleepy Richie. "There you are! Come, we need to leave. Our guests will arrive in an hour, we need to get ready. William and Lewis are already at the carriage."

Lydia stood up, and offered Georgiana her hand.

"What is this luncheon for, anyhow?" Lydia asked, pulling Georgiana up. "Easter was last week."

Georgiana linked their arms together. "The elections, Lydia."

"What about the elections?"

"My brother has assembled the few voters in Lambton to align on important topics, before going to London next week."

Lydia raised her eyebrows at the folder in Georgiana's hands. Georgiana smiled and shrugged.

By the time they were all sitting in the carriage, both boys were thankfully asleep. Lydia too was tired, but she refused to go to sleep.

"Lydia" Elizabeth whispered. "Now that you are staying here, you should know we are expecting more guests later this week."

"Not Mary, surely?" Lydia whispered back. "Please, church one day a week is enough."

William shot her a disapproving glare. "No, not your sister. My uncle, Lord Fitzwilliam, and his youngest son Colonel Fitzwilliam will be staying with us," he said. "We are to travel to London together next weekend."

A lord. Lydia was to see a real lord. She'd had a few pointed out to her over the years, but she never thought she'd get to meet one. And as an equal, at that.

"We are also invited to a ball at the Brooke's home," Elizabeth continued. "The invitation has been extended to your person, and if Lord Fitzwilliam and Colonel Fitzwilliam arrive on time they may join us as well."

Lydia was suddenly overcome by a giddiness she had not felt since she was five and ten. A ball, a real ball, with dancing and pretty dresses. She tried to remember the last time she visited a respectable ball. Before the army was dismantled, probably. A week ago she'd been having dinner with the shopkeepers, and now Mrs Lydia Wickham was going to dally at a ball with the aristocracy…

"And my Bible study group is assembling at Pemberley too, later this week." Georgiana added, oblivious to Lydia's excitement. "We are still trying to set a date."

Lydia closed her eyes and imagined the dress she'd wear to the ball. Georgiana's maid would do her hair again, surely. Lydia would ask her for feathers. Yes, she could grow used to this new existence she'd been granted.

"Any other plans I should be aware of?" she asked, resting her head on the carriage door.

"Well, Elizabeth and I will go feed the poor tomorrow." Georgiana said, shaking Lydia out of her musings.

"With the leftovers from today's luncheon," Elizabeth explained. "We do not throw away food."

"Of course." Lydia nodded, eyes still closed.

"Will you come with?" Georgiana asked.

Lydia peeked at her through squinted eyes. "Feed the poor… Yes, why ever not? I will help you feed the poor." She smiled, teeth bared, but was immediately punished for it when pain shot through her tooth.

Lydia closed her mouth again, touched her aching tooth with her tongue, and dozed off.

Chapter Text

𖤓 Lydia

There was a man staring at Lydia. He'd been watching her closely during the first course of the luncheon, and he was still glancing at her two courses later, by which time Lydia had figured out who his wife was.

"Mr Clarke seems quite enchanted by you," her neighbour, a Mr Turner, whispered.

"I do not blame Mr Clarke, I have a lot of charm." Lydia smiled, sipping her port.

Mr Turner shot her an appreciative look. "I do not blame him either."

Mr Clarke was not the only one enchanted by Lydia.

It was probably her late addition to the party that caused her unfortunate placing at the table. Lizzie and Mr Darcy were each at one end of the table, Georgiana was hidden from view somewhere near her brother, and Lydia had been seated in a section with only one other woman. Or rather: girl. The girl was the sister of one of the men, barely ten and six, desperately insecure, and had a very obvious crush on Mr Turner. Lydia watched her make a fool of herself during the first part of the luncheon (the boring part, before anyone had consumed any wine). The girl batted her eyes at him, rearranged her hair every ten seconds to (unsuccesfully) hide her spots, managed to speak a few words here and there, and all in all provided an incredibly embarassing display of teenage love.

Around the second course Lydia decided to take over. It was almost too easy: the men had been eyeing her the whole time, and she only needed a few well-placed remarks and a coy smile to wrap them around her finger. Lydia was the mysterious new woman in town: young enough to be pretty (and Lord, did it stroke her ego that they preferred her over a young girl), married enough to not force them into any official courtship… and married enough to know the ways of the world.

The girl could never win. She was playing for poems and roses, for romantic proposals and promises of chaste, God-fearing happiness. She did not know it was all pretense. She did not know it had all been decided the moment Mr Turner first glanced at Lydia's breasts.

"But do you truly not mind Mr Clarke?" Mr Turner asked. "I could go set him straight."

"How gallant of you, Sir."

"Gallant! I am nothing if not chivalrous, Mrs Wickham. That is something you should learn, if you are to stay here."

Chivalrous. That too was a nice fiction to play out.

"I will be sure to notify you of any dragons I see hereabouts," Lydia told him.

"Do not fret, we will be there to save you! The walls of Pemberley can only hold so long!"

She rewarded the would-be rescuer with a coy smile. Lydia was pretty sure he too was married.

"People are moving to the drawing room, may I accompany you?" the young man on her other side offered. "With no disrespect to your husband," he added quickly.

"Yes, your husband! Where is Mr Wickham?" Mr Turner inquired.

"Oh, he's not with us… here." Lydia winked, and basked in the ensuing laughter. She had missed being charming. Being thought funny by people who did not know her reputation, who did not think her easy.

"In that case, let me accompany you as well!"

"He is a fool of a man," one of the men said, "if you were mine I would never let you out of my sight."

As they got up, Lydia caught the sad eyes of the girl. One could've felt guilty at the sight, but Lydia did not. She'd won. The girl had ample time to live through her own disenchantment with married life.

She let the men take her to the drawing room, and it was there she slowly became aware of the rest of their party. It was a large group: more than twenty attendees, and most of them men. She spotted Lizzie and her Darcy holding court with a group of distinguished looking gentlemen near the window. Georgiana was standing on the other end of the room, talking to a middle aged couple Lydia vaguely recognized. They had barely seen each other since the carriage, and now she wasn't looking at Lydia either. It bothered Lydia. She wanted Georgiana to look at her. To see her have fun, with these men who enjoyed her company and laughed at her jokes. Not to make her jealous, but just to show Georgiana people liked Lydia.

As Mr Turner described the various horses he owned, it occurred to Lydia that Georgiana probably hadn't had as many admirers as Lydia. She was not particularly handsome. Potential suitors may have thought her too tall. Her eyes were strange, her mouth too thin and broad. And she did not have much of a figure either. There may even have been men only interested in her for her money, Lydia realised, and bristled with anger at the thought. Would Georgiana recognise a man like Mr Turner and his friends for who they were, or would she look at them all moon-eyed like the girl from before?

Lydia soothed herself with the thought that she was here now to guard Georgiana against any unsuitable suitors. Georgiana may lack experience in matters of the heart, she would not end up with a Wickham if Lydia's life depended on it.

Mrs Marshall, Georgiana's former friend, was watching her from a corner of the room. Lydia ignored her, and focused instead on the three unsuitable suitors around her. 

They were still talking about horses.

"Do you own a carriage, Mr Turner?" Lydia asked.

Mr Turner floundered, having been interrupted in the middle of his story. "I beg your pardon, Mrs Wickham?"

"A carriage? You say you own horses."

"As I was telling you...."

"You must agree carriages are better suited to travel. "

"I… Indeed. Of course. And I do keep a carriage, yes."

"Good. Good, very sensible."

She stared at them. They stared back, confused.

Lydia's head was starting to hurt. Her tooth still bothered her. And suddenly, she was tired of pretending. Tired of pretending these weren't the same kind of men she'd seen hanging around the whorehouses in Manchester. The kind of men she'd find in her husband's gambling dens. The kind of patrons who'd slap her ass in the bar. They were treating her well now, playing this game of respectability, but they'd change their tune soon enough once they learned about her past.

From the corner of her eye, she saw Georgiana talking to the girl from before. They were both smiling.

"Gentlemen," she told Mr Turner and his friends, "I beg your pardon, but I simply must go ask Mrs Darcy… about the canapes."

She curtsied, and marched to Lizzie without awaiting their reaction.

The men in Mrs Elizabeth Darcy's group did not care much for Lydia. They briefly acknowledged her, and then continued their talk.

Lydia stood quietly next to her sister. Lizzie linked their arms and squeezed her affectionately.

"Had your fun?"

"I know, I know." Lydia sighed.

"I jest, Lydia," Lizzie whispered. "You are sober and I saw nothing improper. Thank you for putting up with them."

Lydia nodded. She evaded her sister's eyes.

The group was discussing the Easter week. One of the older men was complaining that the celebration part had taken emphasis away from the religious importance of the holiday. Lydia considered the sermon from that morning. She very much doubted religious importance had been taken away, but she bit her tongue.

Instead, she studied Lizzie in the role of Mrs William Fitzwilliam Darcy. It clearly gave her a lot of importance in the group, but Lydia had to admit she was doing well. From time to time, one of the men talking to Mr Darcy would exclaim something like, "But we should ask Mrs Darcy for her opinion first, of course!" and Lizzie would smile politely, offer an appropriate opinion to approving noises and nods, and the men would continue talking without involving her further.

Still, some of the old Lizzie came thorugh in the way her eyes gleamed as she studied the gentlemen around her, in the hint of irony that laced some of her appropriate opinions. Lydia was glad to see her sister not completely gone. Mr Darcy too seemed to appreciate those moments, but there was something strange about him. Something strange about the way he listened to her, the way he talked to her. He was not particularly affectionate. Any attentions he paid Lizzie were hidden beneath his curtness and the formality of the occasion. It took Lydia a while pin in it down, but then it hit her: he listened to Lizzie, truly listened. Every comment, opinion, question and jibe received his full attention,. Sometimes even a private smile. He took her as seriously as any men he was conversing with.

At one point Lizzie joked to the group about his disappearance at church. Lydia tensed, awaiting his reaction, but Darcy just chuckled. She stared at her brother-in-law in disbelief. The great Mr Darcy, chuckling.

Lydia felt a pang of jealousy. She turned away, wanting to distance herself a bit from the group, and was immediately faced with Mr Clarke.

"Mrs Wickham?" he said in a nasal voice. "Mr Clarke, we met at church this morning."

Lydia curtsied. "Of course. Lovely to see you again, Mr Clarke."

She knew her tone was edging on disingenuous. She hoped he would not notice.

"Indeed, indeed. I have heard much about you."

Lydia did not like his tone. "You have?"

He smiled, baring his teeth. "You have a certain reputation, Mrs Wickham. Is your husband not with you? One would think you two would hardly bare being apart, after such a.. tumultuous courtship."

Lydia glanced at Lizzie, but her sister was busy being monologued at by an ancient man.

"He is not with me, no. I am here visiting my sister." If the jig was up, she may as well claim the Darcys.

"I hope you are enjoying your stay in Derbyshire?" His eyes raked over her.

"I am… Yes."

Suddenly a familiar hand touched her shoulder.

"Mrs Wickham! There you are," Georgiana chirped.

"Miss Darcy!" Lydia briefly closed her eyes in relief and turned to face her.

"I hope I am not interrupting!" Georgiana's strange eyes had never been as dear to her as they were then. "It is only - I think the men are about to retire, and I promised you I would introduce you to my dear friends, the Brookes."

"Of course! The Brookes!" Lydia did not remember the Brookes.

"I hope you do not mind, Mr Clarke?" Georgiana asked the man.

"How could I say no to you, Miss Darcy?"

"How could I say no to you." Lydia laughed, regaining her footing, and quickly led Georgiana away from the group.

"Thank you," she whispered, the moment they were out of earshot.

Georgiana smiled sweetly at her. "Of course, Lydia, of course." Then: "Did he say anything to you?"

"No, no… He just knows who I am. Who my husband is."

Georgiana scoffed, which made Lydia laugh. The gesture clearly didn't come naturally to her.

"We will have my brother deal with him later," Georgiana said. "For now, I did want to introduce you to the Brookes, if you are open to it?"

Lydia smiled. "Lead the way."

Mr Brooke was a lively man in his forties with a good head of hair. His wife was a few years younger, extremely pretty, but also extremely Prussian. She was not that proficient in English, and they soon lost her to another guest that did speak German.

"I've known Mr Brooke since I was a child," Georgiana told Lydia. "He was the one to recommend I switch from harpsichord to pianoforte!"

"It was a great day indeed when I met the marvelous Miss Darcy!"

Lydia instantly liked him. 

"Tell her how we met!" Georgiana smiled.

"If you insist! Well, Mrs Wickham, one day I was walking the grounds of Pemberley, minding my own business, when - imagine my surprise! - I heard someone sing Le Roi et le Fermier! Or, as we Englishmen call it, The King and the Farmer. Are you familiar with the opera?"

"I am not, no."

"I do not blame you! It is quite old, and now France does not even have a 'roi' anymore… But I digress. That day, in the gardens of a mutual acquaintance, I encountered a nine-year-old girl singing a French opera to herself, and from that moment on I knew I had to take her under my wing. And then I discovered she played even better than she sang! She is quite special, our Miss Darcy, is she not?"

Georgiana blushed, predictably.

"She is." Lydia agreed. She wondered briefly whether the man had ever had any intentions towards Georgiana - But no. She had known many a perverted old man, and his was unadulterated paternal affection.

"Are you a musician, Mrs Wickham?" Mr Brooke asked her.

"I am not! Though I greatly enjoy dancing."

"Dancing! Well, you must come to our ball this week then! Miss Darcy, have you invited her?"

"I have," Georgiana assured him.

"Good, good."

"I trust you play the pianoforte as well, Mr Brooke?" Lydia asked.

"Mr Brooke plays every instrument!" Georgiana exclaimed. "And he is our resident Beethoven connoisseur."

"Which is why I am so excited by this project of Miss Darcy's!"

He started telling Lydia an elaborate story about Beethoven's use of themes in the fourth piano concerto. Lydia found it not half as interesting as Georgiana's enthusiastic explanations the day before.

"Miss Darcy is particularly fond of the Robin Hood theme," she said, trying to bring the conversation back to Georgiana.

Mr Brooke turned to Georgiana. "The Robin Hood theme?"

"Oh, it is silly really…"

"Beethoven is never silly, Miss Darcy! Do tell."

"It is the…" Georgiana bit her lip, looked around her, and then continued very softly: "The - paaah, pam padaah, pam pada pam pada pam pada…"

"And then the 'pom-pom-pom-pom-pom' with the pianoforte! Delightful, absolutely delightful. I look forward to hearing you play it."

Lydia could not help but laugh at their performance. "Why play it at all, if one can sing it?"

"A singing rendition could never do the piece justice, Mrs Wickham." Mr Brooke frowned. "You must understand, not even two pianoforte's will be able to capture the experience an orchestra would have provided us."

"Of course, of course." Lydia stifled her laugh. "I do apologise, and I most sincerely wish I will have the opportunity of hearing an orchestra play the Robin Hood theme one day."

Mr Brooked did not take the sincere wish as the platitude it was. "I fear it is not popular in England, Mrs Wickham. You may have to travel abroad to hear it."

"I guess I will!"

Georgiana cleared her throat.

"Did you see Lord George Cavendish when you were in Derby last week, Mr Brooke?" she asked Mr Brooke.

He turned to Georgiana, seemingly glad to be done with the conversation. "No, I did not have the pleasure! He was very busy."

"I think my brother and uncle mean to meet up with him in London. It is almost certain he will be in parliament again, is it not?"

Mr Brooke smiled. "You like him, then? Yes, he is a pleasant gentleman. Do not fret, I think your friend will be safe."

Georgiana's took a deep breath, eyes wide, and proclaimed: "I like Mr Miller Mundy less."

"Georgiana! You hardly know the man."

Georgiana shot Lydia a panicked look before saying, almost ashamed: "I meant as Tory MP for Derbyshire, Mr Brooke. I am sure he too is a pleasant gentleman."

Lydia turned to her in shock. What was she thinking?

It was clearly untrodden ground for them. Mr Brooke floundered for a reaction, before landing on: "He truly is a very amiable fellow. I know you, Miss Darcy! You like everyone, and I happen to know you two have a lot of things in common. He plays the pianoforte, for a start!"

Georgiana immediately retreated. "Of course, yes."

They fell into an awkward silence that Lydia was about to break with some more praise for Georgiana's pianoforte skills, when they were interrupted by raised voices coming from the group of men surrounding Mr Darcy.

"Gentlemen!" Mr Darcy said over the ruckus, his booming voice loud and clear, "Let us not forget to be civilised!"

"You too sound like a detractor of the corn laws, Darcy," one of the men said.

Darcy seemed to take pains to choose his words carefully. "I must admit I am not overly fond of the corn laws in their current form. They are causing a lot of unrest."

"You have had record income these past few years."

"And I would gladly exchange some of it for the safety of my family. My wife is afraid, I would guard her against it."

"By yielding to the people's demands?" another man scoffed.

"As concerned as I am for Mrs Darcy's comfort," Mr Clarke said, quickly bowing at Lizzie, "and with all due respect: your lands have both corn and cattle. What am I to do with my fields of wheat?"

Darcy glanced around him. The whole room was paying attention to them now.

"I think it is time we men leave the ladies to their tea. Mrs Darcy, I trust you will be alright?"

Lizzie smiled up at him. "Of course, Mr Darcy."

Mr Darcy bowed at his wife, as did the other men in his group, and he led the men to the adjoining room.

"Well!" Mr Brooke exclaimed. "Well, it seems that is my cue."

He turned to catch the attention of his wife, and told her what had happened (in French, indeed).

Mr Turner and his friends walked by and jovially greeted Georgiana.

"Will we see you at the ball, Mrs Wickham?" they asked Lydia.

"See me you will, but whether I'll allow you to dance with me is another matter." They laughed, Lydia grinned, and they all left in good spirits.

Georgiana was looking at Lydia now. She did not seem particularly impressed. "I see you made friends?"

"Friends?" Lydia scrunched up her nose. "No, I did not make friends. Georgiana! That is not how this works!"

Lydia patted Georgiana's arm and sighed. She had much to teach her friend about the ways of the world.

A few feet away, Lizzie turned to the room of women, clasped her hands together, and exclaimed: "Who wants to play bridge?"

That night, Lydia dreamt she was back home in Manchester. It was night, only one candle lit in their tiny room, and a drunk Wickham was telling her he'd lost one hundred and ten pounds playing cards.

The dawning horror felt as fresh as when she first lived through the conversation.

"It cannot be," Lydia said. "Why did you do this? Why…"

Wickham mumbled something about winning a horse.

"A horse? A horse?!"

"It was a fine horse."

"What would we have done with a horse in Manchester, George? Did you intend to win a stable as well? A carriage?"

"Calm down, woman." Wickham was trying his best to undress. "I would have sold it."

"For a hundred and ten pounds?" Her voice had gone shrill.

"I will win it back," he drawled.

"With what money?"

She wanted to scream, to get out of bed and run away, as far from this conversation as possible. Run back to eight hours ago, when she may have stopped him from going out. Run back to eight years ago, when she may have stopped herself from going with him.

But she could not move.

"That is not something you should concern yourself with."

"It is more than my yearly allowance..."

"Shall we discuss those shoes you bought last Christmas? Because we can, sweetling, we can." He wiped the sweat of his handsome face, once so dear to her, and sighed. "Help me with my boots, will you?"

"What will we live off?" she whispered. "It is only February."

The price of food had become unbearable since the wars and the corn laws, and no one was willing to sell on credit anymore. She did not know how to reach the end of the year with only debts to their name.

"Do not worry; I will take care of it." Wickham put his muddy boots on the sheets she'd taken pains to wash last week. "Lyds, boots."

Lydia did scream, then.

The scene changed: suddenly she was in the bright sun. Wickham was still there, as was their rickety old bed, but they had all moved to the gardens of Longbourn. An old willow by a creek hung over their bed like a canopy. The house itself was not in sight, nor did she recognize the landscape, but she still knew this to be her father's home.

"I will take care of it," Wickham's voice echoed, while she threw bedsheets and clothes and shoes and anything she could reach at him. But he did not move to shove her off the bed. He did not scream back like he had back then. Instead he sat on the bed, motionless, and let her take her anger out on him.

"Lydia!" a voice called out. She looked up, and saw her childhood friend, Penny Harrington, standing on the other side of a creek. Penny looked like she did when Lydia last saw her: pretty, blonde curls, no older than four and ten. Dressed in the white dress Lydia had so envied her.

"What?" Lydia shouted back. "Do you not see I am busy?"

"Come here!" Penny beckoned.

"I cannot!"

"Why not?"

Lydia looked at her husband, who had not moved from the side of their bed. "I am married now!" she replied.

"So am I!"

"You are?"

Penny nodded. "To Mrs Marshall."

That did not sound right: Penny had no way of knowing Mrs Marshall. "You are not," Lydia told her.

"I must not be," Penny agreed. "Please come, Lyddie."

"But what will we do?"

The fields stretched out endlessly behind Penny. The sun was warm, unbearably so, the tree's shadow giving little relief.

"We will be here." Penny shrugged.

Lydia looked back at her husband, still motionless. Vague impressions of their conversation came back to her. "I cannot," she said, "I have no money left."

"But I need you," Penny said.

Lydia shook her head. "I cannot help you."

"You do not want to." Penny looked like someone else, suddenly: her hair darker, a few years older.

"Penny, I have no money, no home, no husband. I cannot help even myself. Ask the queen for help."

Penny scoffed, something the real Penny would never have dared do. "The queen will die."

Lydia knew it to be true. "Aye, she will."

She was sweating, suddenly, uncomfortably hot.

"You should get in the shade," Penny said.

Lydia looked up. "I am in the shade."

The scene changed again. She was clutching Wickham tight and laughing as they twirled through a room, his bright red uniform a blur of colour. Her own dress was made of gold, impossibly beautiful.

"We are having a ball!" she screamed, and dissolved into giggles. Wickham joined her laughter.

She was drunk, but on more than just alcohol. She was drunk on happiness, drunk on the exhilaration of dancing, drunk on love. Drunk on panic, because something was not right. This was not real. She was still too hot.

"I am so happy!" she shouted at Penny.

The room spinned and spinned, people blurring into nothing, until she fell to the floor.

She was home again, in Manchester. Laying in her own, familiar bed, surrounded by the destruction caused by their fight and the familiar sounds of the city. Wickham was snoring next to her. The neighbour's baby was crying, waking two more children in the building. On the street, two cats got into a fight.

There was no golden dress in sight.

"I thought I was not here anymore," she told her husband's sleeping form.

He did not react.

She felt impossibly sad. It had all been a dream, just a dream. The sun was gone, but she was still burning up, and she was still here.

When she woke, it took her some time to figure out she was in Derbyshire. Images of Manchester and the garden kept overlapping, the canopy on her bed for a moment resembling the tree from her dream.

But no, Lydia was far from any home she'd ever known: she was alone in a big, empty, dark room; surrounded by big, empty, dark rooms. If she had screamed in her sleep, she was not sure anybody heard.

Lydia shuddered. Her body was burning with fever.

Chapter Text

⭒ Elizabeth

To belong to a community, Elizabeth thought that morning over breakfast, truly was a beautiful thing. She'd loved having all her friends together, had already made plans with them for a long hike and picnic next week, and was overall very pleased with herself over the successful luncheon. How anyone wanted to live in London, with its dirty streets, putrid smells and foul air, was beyond her.

"Gosh, how I long to be in London." Georgiana sighed wistfully. "They're putting on Artaxerxes again…"

"Did they get a man to play the role this time?" Elizabeth asked.

"No, still a woman, Mrs Vestris. They say she is 'as effective a representative of Artaxerxes as it is possible for a delicate female to be'."

"Fascinating! I saw it performed by a castrato once, it would be interesting to see the difference."

"There appears to be 'an abundance of interesting traits', even if 'there be no masculine.'"

"I always found that opera to be very melodramatic," William commented.

"Barely tolerable, you say?" Elizabeth said innocently. He shot her a look and she laughed. She'd never get tired of it.

"They're very mean about poor Miss Carew though," Georgiana continued, unbothered. "Oh brother, can we not go?"

William shook his head. "It is not a good time for you to go to London, I would not have the time to accompany you anywhere."

"I know, I know." Georgiana put the newspaper down. She was in a strange mood this morning.

"Are you done with the Morning Post?" Elizabeth inquired. She was a bit worried about Georgiana's lack of interest: the girl had always taken well to Elizabeth's insistence on following the news, but lately it seemed she barely read the arts and culture section.

"Yes, do you want it?" Georgiana passed on the newspaper without waiting for an answer.

Elizabeth was about to put it down, when her eyes caught on an article dramatically titled Escape of Captain Davis from prison. It was the latest entry about a gentleman fraudster with gambling debts, an 'embarrassment to his many relations'.

"Have we seen Lydia yet?" she asked.

"She retired early last night, I have not seen her since," Georgiana said.

Elizabeth asked a servant to go check on Lydia and continued reading the newspaper. Half the page still described the unrest in Scotland. The royal troops seemed to be winning, but who was to say with the Morning Post. The King offered 500 pounds to any person with information on treasonable papers distributed in the neighbourhood of Glasgow. In Spain the king had been forced to accept the new constitution including universal suffrage, while the French king was establishing the Commission of Censorship following the law suspending Liberty of Press. The newspaper announced approaching trials for high treason in London too.

It worried Elizabeth, the direction Europe was going in, but she had trouble finding a specific thing to latch onto. None of these things impacted her daily life in Pemberley. Not as long as no real revolution took place, but the measures taken to prevent said revolution did not sit well with her either. It was difficult to form a coherent opinion, so far removed from London, with only the newspapers to go off and her husband and friends with the same lack of knowledge to discuss it with. She lacked crucial context.

Which brought her thoughts back again to Lydia. She wanted to feel like that situation had been resolved, like they could move forward, but there was something still gnawing at her. And where was her sister?

"William," she said, forcing herself to move to another topic. "I asked Harris to come find you this afternoon."

He looked up from his own newspaper. "The gamekeeper? Why?"

"To arrange for a hunting party. Thursday morning, I was thinking."

"But I do not want to hunt," he said, looking sad.

"I know, darling, but I am afraid you must. Your uncle expects it from us."

"It is not even hunting season!"

"It is always… something season for your uncle. And he expects certain standards from his hosts."

"I hardly have enough time to do my work on the estate as it is, with all our guests this week!"

"William," she said in the voice she knew he could not say no to, "I will be the one judged if we do not host up to the standards of Lord Fitzwilliam."

William sighed and returned to his paper, which meant she had won.

Elizabeth knew he hated hunting, but this was not up for discussion: she'd had to fight tooth and nail to be respected in her current station in life, and she was not about to ruin it by not providing Lord Fitzwilliam with everything he required. Lydia would be a hard enough sell to the family as it was.

Mrs Reynolds knocked on the door and entered.

"I apologise for interrupting, Madam, but it seems Mrs Wickham does not feel well this morning."

Georgiana's head snapped up. "What do you mean?"

"She is ill, Miss Darcy. Feverish, and very tired. I have sent for the doctor."

"Oh dear," Elizabeth muttered. She felt a knot of worry form in her stomach. "Thank you, Mrs Reynolds. How serious is it?"

"She is still lucid, and from what she says the fever does seem to have come down since last night - but she is clearly unwell."

Georgiana stood up. "We must see to her!"

"Ah…" Mrs Reynolds shot her mistress a look, and Elizabeth quickly stepped in.

"Better wait to hear what the doctor says, Georgiana," she told her. "If it is infectious, we cannot risk it spreading through the house."

"But…"

"We have to keep the children safe. Richie is only three."

The latest round of fevers had claimed five lives in Lambton. Elizabeth would not risk it.

Georgiana hesitated, but stayed put.

"Who did you sent for?" William asked Mrs Reynolds.

"I heard Dr Da Fonseca is checking up on a patient in the village today. He should be here forthwith."

That was good. Elizabeth trusted Da Fonseca more than the Lambton doctor, who was as close to a village quack as civilised society would allow.

"Send him up when he arrives, we will await news in the drawing room," she said.

Mrs Reynolds nodded, curtsied, and disappeared.

"Well," William said. "Well, I suppose we must wait, then."

They moved their business to the drawing room and sat together in silence, decidedly more uneasy than before.

"Mr Brooke wants me to play some Beethoven at the ball," Georgiana announced, after a long silence.

"Oh, that is lovely darling!"

"He may play some of the arrangement I wrote."

"I look forward to hearing it."

They went back to silence. Elizabeth picked up some embroidery. William started going through his correspondence, which reminded Elizabeth she still had to write to her family about Lydia. She did not know what to say now.

After a while, William visibly braced himself and turned to his sister.

"Georgiana?"

"Hmm?" Georgiana looked away from the clock, still fidgeting with her hands.

"Did you get the chance to speak to the Marshalls yesterday?"

Georgiana tensed. "I did not."

"It is only… I got the impression yesterday that Mrs Marshall knew more about your history with Mr Wickham than she let on. Is that possible?"

"Yes. I told her."

"You told her…"

"Everything."

William shot his wife a panicked look.

"When was this?" Elizabeth asked gently.

"A few years ago." She did not seem remorseful, just resigned to receiving their judgement. "And she has not told anyone since, not even after our falling out."

"Have you told more people?"

"Not yet."

"Not yet?"

"I think I will tell Lydia. Must we talk about this now?"

"Lydia?" William groaned. "My dear sister, if the story got out… I beg of you, be careful."

Georgiana stared unblinkingly at him for a few seconds. “You have never let me tell my story to anyone. Allow me the dignity of sharing it with the one person who might understand.”

She turned to watch the clock again. William opened his mouth, but Elizabeth shook her head at him. He went back to his correspondence.

The doctor finally came to find them some two hours later, led by an encouragingly calm Mrs Reynolds.

"Ah, Mr Darcy!" Da Fonseca greeted them in his beautiful accent. "How good to see you!"

"Da Fonseca, it is good to see you, too!" Mr Darcy greeted him with genuine warmth. "Despite the circumstances, that is."

"Such is the life of a doctor! But I have hopeful news. It seems Mrs Wickham's fever is not of the infectious sort: the cause is her infected tooth. The bad humours have spread to her body."

"So we can go see her?" Georgiana said.

"You can, and I am sure she will appreciate the company. She is a spirited young lady, even in her weakened state."

"Oh!" Georgiana's face softened with relief.

"Will she lose her tooth?" Elizabeth asked, who knew her sister would be very spirited indeed if such an aesthetic loss were to occur.

"She may," Da Fonseca said. "We will have to see how her condition progresses. For now it is important to let her rest and to ensure she stays hydrated. I have given Mrs Reynolds instructions on when to administer willow bark tea: tonight in particular, as the fever may come back."

"Thank you, doctor. Your help is much appreciated."

"You are welcome, Mr Darcy. I will take my leave, and come back tomorrow to see how she is doing. Some bloodletting too, once I have the equipment."

"Could you not stay a little while longer? I had been meaning to discuss this vaccine business in London with you."

"A fascinating topic, Sir! Unfortunately I have other engagements. Do you have time tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow I will be riding around the estate, I am afraid."

"How about next week?"

"Next week I am in London!"

Elizabeth and Georgiana exchanged a look, and silently made their retreat while the men discussed William's intention of spending time with the children.

When they got to the room, Georgiana immediately rushed to Lydia's side. Elizabeth paused in the doorframe and took in the scene before her first. Lydia was laying under a mountain of covers, hair plastered over her pale face. She looked so small, so vulnerable.

Suddenly Elizabeth was eleven again, watching from a doorframe as her mother sobbed over Lydia's frail body. By that point, Jane and Elizabeth had been pretending everything was fine for weeks. They had distracted Kitty and Mary, consoled their father. Had even taken over the household as their mother grieved a child not-yet-dead. But Elizabeth remembered vividly that moment in the doorframe, watching six-year-old Lydia shivering in her bed, when it hit her that her sister truly may die.

Lydia, this present Lydia, turned to face Elizabeth, a weak grin on her face, and said: "Finally! I thought you had forsaken me!"

Lydia had not died back then, and had been all the more spoiled for it.

Elizabeth stepped into the room, sat down on the bed, and picked up a wet rag from the night stand.

Lydia would not die now either.

She pressed the rag to Lydia's forehead. "How are you, sister?"

"What do you think?" Lydia moaned. "I am miserable. Miserable!"

"How is your tooth? Does it hurt?"

"Oh no, the tooth is fine," Lydia said, suddenly appearing a lot less miserable. "The doctor said it is almost dead, so I do not feel anything anymore."

That did not sound good. "Almost dead? What did he mean?"

"Do I look like a doctor? Ask him."

Elizabeth decided to worry about the matter later, and set about figuring out the symptoms she did understand. Her sister was shivering. She felt warm to the touch, but not to a worrying degree. Her skin was clammy from the sweat. But she did seem lucid, and spirited, and that gave her hope.

While exchanging Lydia's pillow for a fresh one (a whole operation, given how weak Lydia was), Lydia started babbling about witches.

"What was that?" Elizabeth asked, once it was done.

"I have been cursed, Elizabeth!" Lydia told her. "Cursed, I tell you, cursed!"

Elizabeth hummed in agreement.

"Cursed?" Georgiana giggled.

"Do not laugh at me! Do you not see my sorry state?"

"I see your sorry state, and yet I doubt it was brought on by a curse."

"I think it was that Mrs Marshall of yours," Lydia said. "She was shooting me dirty looks all evening."

Elizabeth and Georgiana exchanged a quick glance.

Lydia continued, unbothered: "Is that why you fell out? Because she is a witch? You should have known not to anger a witch, Miss Darcy."

"Witches are not real."

"Not real! Not real?! Can you believe her, Lizzie?"

Elizabeth shrugged. She combed the hair out Lydia's face.

"Tell that to my neighbour in Newcastle," Lydia prattled on, with an ever weakening voice. "If that woman wasn't a witch I don't know who is. One day I woke with some dirty twigs beneath my pillow, and who do you think was standing before my window, at the end of a day of misfortunes?"

"Your neighbour," Elizabeth and Georgiana said dutifully.

"My neighbour Mrs Danforth." Lydia closed her eyes. "Bitch."

Before Elizabeth had decided whether to scold a sick person on her language or not, Lydia was fast asleep. She looked so young, all of a sudden.

"I think she will be alright," Elizabeth told Georgiana.

Lydia woke again an hour later. She quickly masked her relief at seeing them by rolling her eyes, and Elizabeth allowed her the pretense.

"How are you, Lyddie?"

"Lyddie," Lydia muttered. "No one has called me that in ages."

"You did not like it, it was too similar to Lizzie."

"I may reclaim it. You do not go by Lizzie anymore, do not think I have not noticed."

Georgiana forced Lydia to drink some water and helped her get rid of some of the covers.

"Do you know who I dreamt of last night?" Lydia asked Elizabeth, nestling into her rearranged bed.

"No sister, I am afraid I am no witch."

Lydia huffed out a laugh. "Well, I know you aren't. I dreamt of Penny! Little Pen Harrington. She used to call me Lyddie too. Whatever happened to her?"

Elizabeth's hand stilled on her embroidery. "You do not know?"

Lydia too went still. "What?"

There was no hiding it. "She died, Lydia. A few years ago."

Georgiana took Lydia's hand in hers before the thought even occurred to Elizabeth.

"Died?" Lydia said, voice hoarse. "How?"

"In… In child birth. I am so sorry Lydia, I thought mother would have told you."

"When?"

"1816, I believe." It occurred to Elizabeth that Pen was not the only one to have died that year: 1816 had been hard on everyone. Lydia herself had asked for money quite often back then.

Suddenly Lydia's hands shot out from under the covers, grabbing Georgiana and Elizabeth by the arm with unexpected force.

"I am going to die!" she screamed.

"Lydia, no!" Elizabeth hurried to her side. "You are not going to die."

"I dreamt a dead woman beckoned me to join her," she cried. "It was an omen! I am cursed and I am going to die!"

Lydia started trashing under her covers, wailing out. Elizabeth tried to calm her down, to soothe her, but felt herself slowly join in her sister's despair. She hated seeing her like this, hated hearing her cry, hated seeing little Lyddie suffer.

Suddenly Georgiana jumped on the bed, and in one fell swoop pinned Lydia down. Lydia and Elizabeth both froze in shock.

"You are not going to die," she told Lydia, calm and steady.

Lydia looked up at her in wonder.

"And you are not cursed," Georgiana added. She sat down again on the edge of the bed, seemingly surprised at her own actions.

"Alright," Lydia whispered, after a long silence. "If the lady so wishes."

"The lady does wish."

The whole interaction had only taken a few seconds, and in those few seconds Georgiana had made everything right again. Lydia was calm. Elizabeth was calm. And they continued on as they had before.

Lydia dozed off from the exertion, but did not truly sleep again. From time to time she'd startle awake, frantically look for Elizabeth and Georgiana, before lying down again.

At some point she expressed interest in food, and Elizabeth arranged for lunch to be brought.

"I must say, sister," Lydia said as she slurped down down the last of her soup, "if this is the food you offer your guests, I worry for your standing in society. You said you were expecting a lord?"

"Worry about regaining your health, will you?"

"Give me more willow bark first."

One of the servants cleaning up lunch approached Elizabeth, and shyly inquired about her plans for the afternoon.

And just like that the fog in Elizabeth's mind lifted, the fog obscuring everything but her worry over Lydia. Elizabeth remembered she had duties to fulfill, that she had not seen her husband since breakfast, that she had not seen her children all day, and that she had a kitchen full of leftovers to deliver before they spoiled.

"We were going to feed the poor this afternoon," she said out loud. Georgiana looked up, as surprised at the reminder as Elizabeth had been. "The vicar expects us at two."

"Must you?" Lydia whined. "One could argue I am poor too."

Elizabeth hesitated. Lydia clearly did not want to be alone.

"Let me get you something to read, I would have you well entertained."

"Read? Do you not see me dying, sister? I can hardly open my eyes!"

"Go," Georgina said, amused. "I will read to her."

𖤓 Lydia

When Lydia woke again, Georgiana was still there. She appeared to be hiding almos: hunched over a book by the window, trying her best to become one with the curtains.

Then Georgiana looked up. The light from the window hit her just so, a relieved smile appeared on her face, and suddenly she appeared to Lydia almost an angel.

Lydia felt a pang in her chest, unrelated to her illness.

"You are awake," Georgiana said. "How are you feeling? Do you need anything?"

She held out a glass of water without awaiting a response, and Lydia drank from it dutifully.

"You should stop giving me water," she complained. "I do not see myself capable of walking to the chamber pot right now."

The small distance seemed insurmountable. Even sitting up seemed like too big an effort.

"Doctor's orders." Georgiana shrugged. Then, softer: "We will help you, of course."

Lydia stared at her, lost in thought.

"I am sorry about your friend," Georgiana whispered. "Were the two of you close?"

Lydia looked away. "I… Yes. " They had been close: Penny and her sister followed Lydia around everywhere. But her friend's devotion had annoyed her in equal measure, and that was difficult to explain. She had never missed Penny as much after leaving as she did now.

"It was complicated," Lydia said. 

Georgiana gave her an encouraging nod.

"She did everything I told her to do," Lydia said. It was true, and something Lydia had appreciated at the time, but it felt unfair to reduce all she had been to that. Lydia tried again: "She was up for anything, but she was such a stickler about the way we did it. Always had to do everything properly, even if the thing we were doing was stealing ribbons from Jane."

She giggled at the memory of Penny's elaborate schemes. If it had been up to Lydia they would have just burst into her sister's room and ran away, but Penny always wanted a proper heist. So they orchestrated distractions with Kitty, mixed up ribbon boxes by accident, and Penny made sure the ribbon was returned in the exact same state.

"One time we dressed an officer up as a woman," she told Georgiana. "Borrowed a dress from my aunt, spent a day putting his outfit together. I was happy with just the dress, but Penny insisted on continuing. Did some magic with his make-up, had him shave his arms, filled up his corset and told him how to behave. He liked it too! Came up with a name for himself and everything. He looked just like a girl, no one knew." She smiled at the memory, and then stopped once she remembered the rest of it. "Not even Wickham."

Georgiana did not even flinch at the name. "And now you dress up as a man?"

"Now I what?"

"The breeches, in your luggage."

"Oh, that. No, that is just something I did back when Wickham was away. The city is not safe for a woman alone, so I'd walk around dressed like him."

Lydia squinted her eyes. Georgiana looked entirely too fascinated by the anecdote.

"What was it like?" Georgiana leaned forward.

Powerful. Freeing. It was the ability to go anyhere, to do anything. To run, to jump, to curse, to spit. To walk into any bar without issue. Lydia had only been found out one time: when she walked into a whorehouse out of curiosity. Those women immediately knew what was up. But she'd still been there, had seen what it was all about, and gained a new perspective on the world.

Lydia was not about to tell all that to a potential revolutionary.

"Men are disgusting," she said. "And don't you get any ideas! I know you, you little seditionist. You are a mad, mad girl."

"I am not mad!"

"Was was that yesterday, then? Telling your friend Mr Brooke about your political opinions?" She tsked, for good measure. "Mad, I tell you."

"I thought he'd react differently," Georgiana said quietly.

"Whyever would you think that?"

"I… I thought he cared for me."

"He does, he clearly adores you."

"How can he adore me if he does not know me?"

Lydia rolled her eyes. "Oh, give it up already. It is impossible to know someone fully. I do not even know myself that well."

"You know what I mean."

"Your brother does not know about your sedition, and he too adores you."

Georgiana conceded that point. "It is only… Recently I talked about these matters with someone new, someone who cared to hear what I thought, and it was so… fulfilling to hear new perspectives."

It took Lydia a bit to catch her meaning. "You mean me?"

"Yes, Lydia. You." She patted Lydia's bedcover, amused. "My friends… Well, you saw them yesterday. They are moving on. I do not have anyone else to talk about these things with."

"Is that what happened with Mrs Marshall?" Lydia asked, suddenly making the connection. "She got married and left you to mount your revolutions on your own?"

Georgiana shot her a calculating look. "No… Mrs Marshall did not leave her beliefs behind. I think she is even involved in the Female Reform Society in Derby."

"So what then?"

Georgiana sighed. "She just wanted to get married. To have children and a family. And she chose well! Mr Marshall is a great man. A reformist as well, and an outspoken abolitionist." Georgiana sighed again. "She just left… me."

Georgiana glanced at Lydia as if looking for something, a reaction, but Lydia did not know what. She was starting to get tired again.

"Well," she said, "if I were a witch, I'd curse that Mrs Marshall myself. What nizzie would ever leave you?"

Chapter Text

⭒ Elizabeth 

11 April 1820
Pemberley, Derbyshire

Dear Mother,

I apologise for my delay in writing: we have been very busy with Easter and various social events. I assure you I write to you as much as I do my father, but you must understand my letters are often directed to you both! This one is only for you though; for I wish to congratulate you and Lady Lucas on your enchanting Easter Parade. It was a marvel, by all accounts, and we are so very sorry to have missed it.

Lewis and Richard were suitably impressed by the Maypole dance they do in Lambton. My aunt Mrs Gardiner has such fond memories of those festivities, and it is beautiful to see my own children live through them now. The Easter service too was very moving. Lewis has even decided to become a vicar - we will see about that!

You will be surprised to hear we are hosting a guest at Pemberley: Lydia has joined us for a prolonged stay. She is

Elizabeth put her quill down and stared at the paper. Lydia was doing better, but… She could not tell her mother the truth. Not yet.

doing well, and very much looking forward to a ball we will attend at the Brookes this Thursday.

That would do. Now, to distract her with news of high society.

Mr Darcy's uncle, Lord Fitzwilliam, and his son, Colonel Fitzwilliam, will also be in attendance. Colonel Fitzwilliam send me a letter asking whether he could bring a friend, one Mr Horatio Stirling. He is a Scottish physician and poet, and very well connected in London. Any friend of our dear Colonel Fitzwilliam is welcome, of course, but his letter was more announcement than request - it arrived only today and they are set to arrive tomorrow!

They will only stay for a few days, Mr Darcy is traveling with them to London. I will stay here with the children, and he will be back soon and stay for the summer. You do know how my husband and I prefer Pemberley over London!

Please pass on my regards to father, Kitty, the Philipses and Lucases. I look forward to seeing you all in June.

Faithfully,
Your daughter, Elizabeth

Elizabeth stared at the paper, satisfied. Then, because she could not help herself, she added a small chastisement:

N.B.: Mother - I understand your desire to have Kitty stay and look after you, but there is no need to rejoice in the disappearance of her suitor. She seems to have liked him very much, and has a sincere desire to start her own family. You have four married daughters with the means to look after you already - I pray you do not stand in her way.

Happy to have defended her sister thus, she put her quill down. It was done. She was sure her father would not be as easily distracted by her various anecdotes as her mother, but by the time he'd written back asking about Lydia she'd have more to share. Good news, hopefully.

When she looked up, she discovered Dr Da Fonseca in the doorway.

"Mrs Darcy, may I have a word?"

Elizabeth gestured for him to sit down. "Of course you may! How is my sister?"

"She is doing well, better than yesterday. Still very weak, but she is insistent on getting out of bed today."

"We were thinking of bringing her out for supper. I think we still have a wheelchair contraption somewhere, I needed one after the birth of my youngest. Would that be acceptable?"

"A great idea, Mrs Darcy, and a good way to guard her energy. Do not have her overexert herself."

"I will not. Thank you, Doctor, for all of your great care."

She expected the conversation to be done and turned to her table to seal the letter, but he remained where he was.

"Mrs Darcy," he said. "I wish to discuss a delicate matter with you."

She put the seal down again. "Of course, what is it?"

Da Fonseca hesitated. "I will tell you what I have noticed, as a medical professional. You may draw your own conclusions."

"Doctor?"

"I have noticed Mrs Wickham has some bruises on her wrist." Da Fonseca looked at her intently. "Healing well, and they alone need not be cause for concern, but… You should know a tooth infection, in an otherwise healthy mouth like your sister's, is often caused by… trauma."

Elizabeth carefully schooled her expression. "What is it you are saying, Doctor?"

"I think you know what I am saying."

Elizabeth nodded, fighting the knot in her throat. "Thank you for bringing this to my attention."

"Of course. Is… Is her husband in the picture?"

"He is not."

"Good."

Elizabeth was barely present for his polite farewell, her mind abuzz with worry and regret. She longed for her own husband. She needed his quiet comfort, his steadiness. His input. But William was out on the estate all day, and sitting on this much longer was no option either, so she went to find her sister.

The door to Lydia's room was slightly ajar. Elizabeth watched, unseen, from the doorway as Lydia and Georgiana laughed over a game of cards.

"It is an eight." Georgiana giggled, moving a card just out of reach of Lydia's grabby hand.

"I do not believe you."

"It is! Truly!"

"You have put down ten supposed Eights already. I had one, there are four in total, you simply cannot have another one."

"It is an eight of hearts."

"Sure it is."

"Are you calling me a cheat?"

Lydia pursed her lips.

"Are you?" Georgiana repeated, a wicked expression on her face.

"Yes! Yes, I suppose I am."

Georgiana turned her card around and Lydia let out a delighted scream. "You dirty little seditionist! With your innocent big eyes! How dare you!"

"I told you it was an eight of hearts!" Georgiana giggled, trying to protect her face as Lydia started throwing cards at her.

"I'm not taking back all of those cards!"

"You have to! It is the rules!"

"No! No, no, no, not going to happen! You horrible cheat, how dare you lie to me!" She was heaving from the laughter. "How many cards do you have left?"

"Three," Georgiana managed to say in between giggles.

Lydia shrieked again, swiped all the cards off the bed, and let herself fall back into her cushions. "All yours. I am done."

She seemed tired from the excitement, but still infinitely more herself than on Monday. A liveliness had come back to her face Elizabeth had not realized was gone. She watched Lydia and Georgiana smile at each other (too intimate, too close for how little they knew each other), and decided she'd spied enough.

She cleared her throat and stepped into the room.

Georgiana startled, as if caught doing something inappropriate, but Lydia just shot her a lazy smile from the bed.

"There you are," she said.

"Here I am. How are you doing?"

"The fever did not come back," Georgiana said, before Lydia could open her mouth. "But she is still very weak, her body is recovering. She walked a bit earlier, it tired her out."

"I am sure the doctor told her all that already," Lydia said lazily.

"Has he been taking good care of you?"

"He has," Georgiana said. "Recommended some food, I passed it on to the kitchen. He said bloodletting was unnecessary as she was much improved."

"Thank you as well, Georgiana, for your good care," Elizabeth said.

Georgiana blushed prettily.

"I will be all recovered for the ball!" Lydia announced, with slightly misplaced conviction.

"Let us hope so," Elizabeth said anyway. "Georgiana, may I have a word with my sister?" 

"Yes, of course!" Georgiana scrambled up. "I… I will go… do something else."

Elizabeth sat down on Georgiana's place at Lydia's side, took Lydia's hand in hers, and while Lydia was still distracted watching Georgiana leave she pushed the sleeves of her sister's night shirt up.

"Lydia, what is this?" She gently touched her sister's bruises. They were bigger than she'd hoped, from the quick look she'd had at them days back.

Lydia quickly glanced at the blue marks and looked away again.

"Lydia."

Her sister turned back reluctantly. "Hmm?"

"Your arm."

"It is a bruise, what else could it be?"

"Did Wickham do it?"

Lydia sighed. "It is not what you think it is."

"Lyddie, please…" Elizabeth whispered.

"Look, you can blame my husband for a lot of things, but this is not one of them. He did not beat me, Lizzie. I am not one of those women."

Elizabeth tried frantically to make sense of the feelings of horror and sadness inside of her.

"It never came out of nowhere," Lydia continued. "Our fights just turned violent sometimes. It is not the same."

"Violent?"

"It did not happen that often, and many a time I was the one to lash out first. This bruise does not even hurt at all! I was packing, we were fighting, he grabbed my wrist so I'd face him. Completely natural!"

"But Lydia…"

Lydia rattled on. "I once gave him a black eye. The nigmenog went around claiming he got in a bar fight; didn't want to admit it was done by a woman. I am not a victim, Lizzie." She looked up at her sister intently. "Don't you dare call me a victim."

Elizabeth gently stroked her arm. "I will not," she said quietly.

"Good." Lydia pushed her sleave down again, before continuing in her usual light-hearted tone: "I do not recommend fighting while packing, let me tell you, that is the very reason I brought so little."

"We could try to recover some of your things," Elizabeth offered, softly. "Is there anything you'd like from Manchester?"

Lydia shrugged. "No use. I'm sure our landlady has sold it all by now."

"Still…"

"Can we talk about something else?"

Elizabeth hesitated. She felt like there was more to discuss, more to talk about. A man ought not to beat his wife, no matter her actions. There could be no mutual violence if the woman had no choice but to stay, if the man held all the power and bodily strength. But Lydia did not want to discuss it, and what was Elizabeth to do, really? A man ought not to beat his wife, but he was allowed to. All Bennet sisters had learned that the hard way with some of their neighbours in Meryton. There was no going after him, even if she did find a way to convince Lydia.

"Of course," she relented, inwardly deciding they'd come back to this topic later when she was better equipped to have it. "What do you wish to talk about?"

"Why talk if we can play cards! Let us make merry. Get Georgiana back, and the children. Cheat is a game for more than two players."

"You are a sore loser."

"I'll behave!" Lydia insisted.

She did not.

Lydia took a long nap in the afternoon, and afterwards Elizabeth pitched the idea of joining them for supper in a wheelchair. She'd expected some resistance to the idea (Elizabeth had certainly loathed using it after Richie's birth), but Lydia was too excited about leaving her room to care. She even seemed to enjoy being driven around, encouraging servants to run her through the long corridors of Pemberley.

"If need be you can wheel me to the ball like this!" she exclaimed.

William had arrived just in time for supper. He was on his best behaviour, inquiring dutifully after Lydia's health (even if he already knew all of it), and allowing Georgiana to fill him in on the most minute details.

It was Lydia herself who had enough of that conversation after the first course. "So who is visiting tomorrow?" she asked him, interrupting a thoughtful dissection on the state of modern dentistry.

William blinked, unused to sudden changes in topic.

Elizabeth kicked her sister's leg (gaining her a scandalized look, but it was not like Lydia was hurting there). "Lord Fitzwilliam, Mr Darcy's uncle, will come with his son Colonel Fitzwilliam. And I received word this morning that the Colonel will bring a friend, too."

"Lord Fitzwilliam is the Earl of…?"

"Causey," William said, regaining his composure. "Durham County. But he spends most of his time in London."

"What is he like?" Lydia asked, with genuine interest.

"He is… Well, you may know his sister, Lady Catherine De Bourgh?"

"I did not have the pleasure." It was clear Lydia had had the pleasure of hearing about her though.

"He married a French woman - a convert, do not mention the catholic question to my uncle, and has been known to have some French proclivities. Our families have Norman ancestry too, you see, and his branch of the family in particular is very concerned with our French roots." He hesitated, and added: "Do not mention the current state of France either. Nor Napoleon. Nor - Better not to mention France at all, actually. Or anything remotely political, for that matter."

"We think you will get along splendidly with Colonel Fitzwilliam," Elizabeth said, hoping her sister would get the hint it'd be best to avoid the Earl.

"You will," Georgiana agreed. "He is a great man, and we love him dearly."

"And he is bringing a guest!" Elizabeth continued. "I received the letter this morning. I am sure he will be a welcome addition to our party."

Any person that could distract Lord Fitzwilliam from Lydia was a welcome one. And from the little she knew of him, he'd be a distraction indeed.

"What do we know of this fellow?" William asked. "This Mr Stirling?"

"I thought you'd know more, dearest. I only know what your cousin told me."

"He will travel with us to London, you say?"

"I believe so."

"Do you know where he'll be staying?"

"Oh, but that is the interesting thing! They will be staying at Holland House."

"Holland House?" William repeated in disbelief. He put his fork down. "Are you sure?"

Both Lydia and Georgiana had perked up at the mention of the estate.

"Quite sure, yes."

"And my uncle knows his son will be staying in a Whig hotbed?"

"Husband, I have told you everything I know. We will need to discover for ourselves."

"I heard Holland House is where that madwoman Lamb met Lord Byron," Lydia remarked.

William pinched his brow.

"Who?" Georgiana asked.

"Caroline Lamb! Had a scandalous affair with Lord Byron, and a lot to tell about him afterwards. Did you know he and his sister…?"

"Lydia," William interrupted her, "considering the company we will keep tomorrow, it would do us well to keep to more appropriate conversation topics. Lady Caroline Lamb is not one of them."

Lydia shrugged. "She is if she sets her sights on that cousin of yours."

"I do not doubt his ability to resist the temptation," Georgiana assured her with a knowing smile.

Maybe it'd be best if Lydia stayed in for dinner tomorrow, Elizabeth considered as Georgiana recollected the people she knew associated with Holland House. Lydia's illness was a good enough excuse. On Thursday they'd have the ball, which meant at much smaller chance of Lord Fitzwilliam interacting with Lydia, and on Friday she could figure something else out.

"I for one am happy Mr Stirling is coming," Georgiana concluded. "If I am not to go to London, some of London society can come to us."

“Georgiana, if you wish to meet more people in London, we can arrange for another season," William said.

Georgiana wrinkled her nose in disgust. “No, I do not wish for another season. Too many social engagements, and you know I hate dancing, brother.”

Lydia gasped. “You hate dancing? But what about the ball?”

Elizabeth watched in amazement as Georgiana blushed and tried to play the comment down. “I do not! I just… Not for a whole season, but...”

Georgiana hated being the centre of attention as much as her brother did. Elizabeth was surprised Georgiana had given the impression she liked dancing at all.

“You may give me a season if you wish, Mr Darcy,” Lydia beamed, turning to him again. 

“Dare I point out you are married already?” William said, dryly.

“So are you, Sir!”

“Which is why I do not go for a season.”

“You do not go for a season because you are a bad dancer, and you know I know it.”

William shot Elizabeth a despairing look. 

(“She has all your wit and none of your sense,” he would tell her later.)

“It has been a while since I had lessons,” Georgiana said, drawing the attention to her again. “I do not know what dances are in fashion now. Maybe you could show me, Lydia?”

Lydia snorted. “And you think I have been dancing the past few years? Hire a tutor and teach me, I have forgotten how to dance even a Cotillion. The Quadrille is all the rage now, isn't it?”

Georgiana bowed her head in disappointment.

"And you are in a chair, which may complicate matters," William remarked.

"Oh no, I will not be in a chair on Thursday," Lydia assured William, almost threatening him. "I have not been to a proper ball in years. I have not been pretty since Waterloo, and have not been anywhere since Peterloo. I will dance and dance and make merry, Mr Darcy, even if my legs fall off at the end, and not even your Lord Uncle can stop me."

Chapter Text

𖤓 Lydia

The Fitzwilliam party arrived on Wednesday afternoon. If Lydia hadn't been aware of their importance before, she certainly would have been now: standing on the stairs before the main entrance, surrounded by half the household staff in neat little rows, and waiting for The Lord to arrive.

The part of Lydia awakened in Manchester, the one who'd seen her neighbours starve to death, was disgusted by all this groveling and pretense. The part of her raised at Longbourn, all too aware of her social standing after marriage, felt as daunted by the display as she was supposed to be.

Lizzie and her husband were at the foot of the steps looking like the perfect picture. Georgiana and Lydia had taken a spot a bit higher on the long stairs, strategically positioned next to a column for Lydia to lean on. It gave her a good view of the ostentatious carriage's slow trek among the long lanes of Pemberley, before it finally stopped in front of them.

The first one to get out of the carriage was, unmistakably, "The Lord". He took his time to take in the spectacle of Pemberley's grounds, the stately facade and the row of servants, and then turned right in time to accept Mr Darcy's hand with a pleased smile.

"It is good to see you, Darcy."

"It is good to see you, too. Welcome to Pemberley."

The Colonel was next to leave the carriage, whispering something to his friend, who laughed. They joined Lord Fitzwilliam in doing the required song and dance of greetings and introductions with Lizzie and Mr Darcy. Colonel Fitzwilliam was not wearing a uniform, but even if Georgiana hadn't pointed him out the family resemblance was unmistakable: broad shoulders and face, dark hair, thick brows. Nothing like his scrawny fair headed friend Mr Stirling. She liked him instantly: his booming laugh carried to the top of the stairs.

Her first impression of his father was less positive.

"Where is she?" Lord Fitzwilliam exclaimed. "Where is my precious niece?"

Georgiana took a step forward. "I am here, Uncle!"

Lord Fitzwilliam climbed the stairs in a few long strides, bowed much more honestly than he had for Lizzie, and took her in a tight embrace.

"Oh! Look at you! My dearest, most precious Georgiana." He held her by the shoulders to study her face. "You look more like your mother every day. Don't you think so, Darcy?"

"She does," Darcy said. The rest of the party was making their way up too.

Lord Fitzwilliam turned back to her again. "If only she were here to see you. She would be so, so proud of you."

Lizzie and Darcy made noises of agreement. Lydia was quite proud of the way she managed to school her expression. It was not every day one got to see a girl in her mid twenties treated as if she were a school girl. 

"Dearest, what light you bring to your family's life," Lord Fitzwilliam continued. "If only you were to give me the happiness of seeing you married well! That would be a true solace this old man's final days."

Georgiana, who had not said a single word in all this, looked extremely uncomfortable at having all this attention on her. "Married? Oh, Uncle…"

"Do not put any ideas in her head!" Lizzie stepped in, smoothly. "We love her dearly and we cannot do without her yet."

Everyone laughed. Lydia was suitably impressed by her sister.

"And what man would be worthy of our dearest Georgiana anyway?"

"None indeed," Lord Fitzwilliam agreed, finally letting go of his niece.

Lizzie quickly took Lydia's arm and brought her to the forefront.

"Lord Fitzwilliam, may I introduce to you my sister, Mrs Wickham?"

Lord Fitzwilliam turned and Lydia watched his face fell. "Ah. Yes. Such a surprise to see you here, Mrs Wickham."

"She will be our guest for a while," Mr Darcy said.

"Will she, now? One wonders why she hasn't been here before; I hear her husband has plenty of family to visit here."

Before she could come up with anything to say, Mr Darcy pointed out a statue to his uncle and whisked him away. She was left gaping for words.

Colonel Fitzwilliam took his father's place. "Lovely to make your acquaintance, Mrs Wickham!" He tipped his hat.

Lydia tried to curtsy again, but her knees wobbled. She inwardly cursed: this was no moment to show weakness.

Lizzie gripped her tightly. "She is not feeling well."

Georgiana appeared on her other side, lightly touching her back.

"I am so sorry to hear, Mrs Wickham! Should we get her inside?"

"No, no, Colonel!" Lydia managed. "I am perfectly fine, thank you."

"But I insist! You look positively pale!"

Lydia took a deep breath, let go of Lizzie, and looked the Colonel straight in the eyes. "I assure you I am well, sir. Thank you."

Lydia knew very well she had one task and one task only today: she had to ingratiate herself with the Lord and the Colonel. If she was ever to find her way in this household, if this arrangement was to work out at all, she had to make nice with the head of the family. And she could not show weakness.

Colonel Fitzwilliam inclined his head. "Of course, Mrs Wickham. May I then introduce you to my dearest friend, Mr Stirling? He happens to be a physician, if you do find youself feeling unwell again."

The mysterious friend, Mr Stirling, bowed. "I am at your service, Mrs Wickham. And yours too, Mrs Darcy and Miss Darcy."

At the top of the stairs, Lord Fitzwilliam started shouting instructions at the servants.

"We are so very happy to have you, Mr Stirling," Lizzie said, almost too honestly.

For the next hour or two, Lydia figured it'd be best to not draw any attention to herself. She found a spot in the drawing room next to the hall, sat down with a book she had no intention of reading, and watched all the chaos unfold.

Mr Darcy was trying to get Lord Fitzwilliam to admit he wanted to eat something but he was forcing him to insist again and again (for he "couldn't possibly put them out like that"), while occasionally shouting at the servants. Lizzie meanwhile apologized in his stead to the servants and corrected his commands, while fending questions from the housekeeper. Colonel Fitzwilliam and Georgiana were talking animatedly, which left poor Mr Stirling to be the first one to awkwardly greet the children that were being brought in by their nanny.

Lydia leaned back and enjoyed the spectacle.

She quickly decided Colonel Fitzwilliam was indeed her favourite member of the party. He seemed like a kind, good-natured sort of fellow, and between him and Mr Darcy they knew how to manage the head of the family quite well. They'd both been Georgiana's guardians, she'd been told, but his warm affection and teasing reminded her more of a brotherly dynamic than what she'd seen of Georgiana's daughter-like respect for her actual brother.

When he took of his hat, Lydia discovered Colonel Fitzwilliam was well on his way to being bald. That and Lord Fitzwilliam's very few remaining hair strands made her study Mr Darcy's hair with care. There were no obvious signs, but his hair was a bit thinner than she remembered it being eight years ago. It was no stretch to assume he'd follow the men in his family. This prospect delighted Lydia: she welcomed any less than perfect element to her sister's life.

After a while, Georgiana approached her with her cousin and Mr Stirling.

"Mrs Wickham!" Colonel Fitwilliam exclaimed. "Though we have barely talked it is as if I've known you for forever. Georgiana will not stop talking about you."

"Theo, stop it!" Georgiana, beet red, slapped him playfully.

"Georgiana herself has only known me for a week, sir."

"And what a week that must have been!"

"Theodore," Mr Stirling said, and Colonel Fitzwilliam threw his hands up in surrender.

Mr Stirling had the look of someone with a lot to say, who knew when (not) to do so. He'd been observing his surroundings like a hawk, a bemused glimmer in his eyes, and had not said anything until that one, effective admonishment. Lydia could not help but admire him for it.

“Do you read poetry, Mrs Wickham?” Colonel Fitzwilliam asked her.

Lydia had had little interest in literary pursuits before marriage, let alone after. “I am afraid not, sir.”

Colonel Fitzwilliam looked at the poetry book in her hand. She quickly closed it, and was grateful he did not comment on it.

“Georgiana is fond of poetry,” he said, instead. “She was very taken with that long poem by Lord Byron. Harold something?”

“Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage,” Georgiana blushed. “And not anymore, Theo.”

"Mr Stirling met Byron once," Colonel Fitzwilliam said, switching to a new victim.

"Oh! How was he?" Lydia asked.

They all turned to look at him.

Mr Stirling shrugged, a half-smile on his face. "Strange fellow."

Lydia felt like she was a child again, hiding in the corner of a drawing room while the adults (Lizzie, Darcy and Lord Fitzwilliam) ran around doing important things. The children's corner, in this case, consisted of a disgraced woman, a secret seditionist, and two forty-year old bachelors, but it was still a safe spot to watch the house proceedings from. And Lydia was grateful for their kindness.

But then the clock struck five. Georgiana went up to change for dinner. The two men followed suit quickly, and suddenly Lydia was alone in the drawing room.

Lydia needed to change as well. One of Lizzie's dresses was waiting for her in her room, white and sparkling and everything she'd ever dreamed. And still she could not move.

It had gone well, the afternoon. The men had been kind. Had liked her, despite her history, and there had not been a hint of impropriety or leacherous intentions. But… A corner in the drawing room was nothing compared to the large, open dining room. Lord Fitzwilliam would be there. She knew he would not be as easily charmed as his son. And even if he were, Lydia knew she'd end up doing something wrong. One way or another, she'd ruin it. She would say something stupid and she'd ruin it, and Lizzie would never forgive her.

So she sat in the drawing room's, clinging to her arm chair, and she could not get up, because if she got up Lizzie would end up never forgiving her.

"Lydia?" A voice came after what seemed like an eternity.

Slowly, very slowly, she looked up. Mr Darcy was standing next to her. He had already changed.

"Are you alright?"

After a bit, Lydia managed to nod.

"Do you want me to call for the wheelchair?"

"No… No. I can walk."

She expected him to leave at that, but he remained at her side.

"If you are unwell, we can excuse you from dinner."

That snapped Lydia out of her stupor. "Do you not trust me to behave?" she hissed.

"I do not trust my uncle to treat you with kindness," he said softly.

Lydia looked away.

"As much as we have our differences…"

"Differences?" Lydia raised an eyebrow.

"As much as we have our differences, I hope you know I see you as my charge now. We will take care of you, no matter what."

"I… Thank you, Mr Darcy."

He nodded, and remained silent at her side. It was a not alltogether uncomfortable silence. Lydia slowly relaxed into the chair.

"I will join you for dinner," she finally said.

"Good." He looked at her, imposible kind. "I will send a servant to help you dress."

"Mr Darcy?" she said, before he could leave.

"Yes?"

"Will it…. Will I ever belong? Here? Will it ever work?"

"Elizabeth won him over," he said, after a bit. "You will find your way too, I am sure."

Yes, Lydia thought. A sudden sense of relief came over her. Yes, Lizzie had won him over. Had won everyone over in fact. They all treated her like she'd always been the mistress of a house like Pemberley. Why not Lydia too? Was she not a gentleman's daughter, just like Lizzie? Why should she not be able to start anew?

"Mr Darcy," she said, full of renewed energy, "I will not let you down."

Dinner started out well. The first course was mostly dedicated to a polite interrogation of Mr Stirling by Lizzie, in which he came across as a very boring fellow and not at all the kind of person who knew Lord Byron. Lydia kept quiet. During the main course, Lord Fitzwilliam started pontificating about Georgiana. This was something Lydia could have appreciated, were it not that his compliments sounded suspiciously like barbs directed at Lydia.

"You know," he said, to no one in particular, "I was with Lady H the other day, and she said to me she found so few accomplished young ladies nowadays. I said to her: 'Lady H, I would agree with you wholeheartedly, were it not for the absolute paragon of womanhood that is my niece, who has been gifted by God so many a virtue, she single-handledly lifts up her entire sex. Never have I met a more accomplished girl.' And she had to agree, of course."

Lizzie and Mrs Darcy exchanged a look.

"We do so love our Georgiana," Colonel Fitzwilliam said. "And I heard you will perform at the ball tomorrow cousin, is that true?"

"Yes," Georgiana said, clearly grateful for the change in subject. "Mr Brooke and I have been working on Beethoven's fourth piano concerto."

"I do not think I have ever heard that!"

"It is marvellous," Lydia shocked herself by saying out loud. She wanted to leave it at that, but for the first time that day Lord Fitzwilliam looked at her with something other than contempt. Heartened, she continued. "Georgiana - Miss Darcy, she is a very accomplished player. And she is selling herself short: it is she who is transcribing the piece for two pianos, I do not think Mr Brooke has been involved much at all."

What followed was a slightly awkward silence, until Georgiana broke it by exclaiming: "I beg you all to stop complimenting me!"

They all laughed.

"Modest to a fault," Lord Fitzwilliam chuckled, and for once, Lydia felt included in the joke.

She relaxed a bit. She could do this. Lydia was charming: she could win him over. They both liked Georgiana, that was a good start.

"Are you fond of music too, Lord Fitzwilliam?" It came out more stilted than she would've liked. "It seems like musical talent runs in your family."

Lord Fitzwilliam looked at her as if she were a cockroach who'd just performed a mildly amusing trick. "No, Mrs Wickham. I do not. My sister Lady Anne did though, and my sister Lady Catherine has a deep affinity for music."

Lizzie hummed.

Lydia waited for Lord Fitzwilliam to ask her something back. "I like dancing," she said, when he failed to do so.

"I am sure you do." He sighed and chuckled again. Lydia did not feel included anymore.

"Did I hear your regiment was send to Scotland, Colonel Fitzwilliam?" Lizzie asked, apparently deciding asking about the Scottish Insurrection with a Scot present was less of a precarious topic than whatever Lydia was doing.

"Well! Mrs Darcy, it seems you have caught me. No matter, it was time I shared my news." He put his fork down. "You see, I am not attached to any regiment at the moment."

"You are not?" Mr Darcy said.

"I have taken half-pay leave..."

"Voluntarily," his father clarified. "My youngest son has proven himself honourable in battle just as much as his older brother - may he rest in peace. " The family mumbled an assent. "There was talk of sending him to the colonies…"

"…But I do not want to go to the colonies."

"Well, if this is what you wanted, I am happy for you," Mr Darcy said.

"What will you do now?" Lizzie asked.

"That, my dearest Mrs Darcy, I have yet to discover! For now, I have been traveling with my friend here, Mr Stirling, staying with graceful hosts such as yourself (though none as dear to me as you!), and shamelessly enjoying a life of leisure. We will see what we do afterward. Look for a London residence, probably."

"I was thinking of offering him the Bedford Square place," Lord Fitzwilliam said. "We should discuss that before we leave, Darcy, you own a share of the house as well."

"Bedford Square?" Mr Darcy asked. "Isn't Lady Victoria staying there?"

"She is, but it has been four years since my son - may he rest in peace - died. It is time. We will put her up in Durham with my eldest son and his wife. It is not proper. A young woman like that, alone."

Lydia stared at her plate.

"A widow," Mr Darcy corrected.

"Yes, a widow. It makes no difference: we have an obligation to provide for her, but I see no reason why I should provide for her in London. I hear she is seen around town quite a lot: am I to facilitate her remarrying? What if - God forbid - a new husband thinks he has any right to the house? No, no. Best to end it now."

"I repeat that I do not mind sharing a home with her, father," Colonel Fitzwilliam said.

Lord Fitzwilliam let out an irritated sound. "Living with a young unmarried woman is the last thing you need, son. You need to find a wife yourself."

"I am appalled at your implication, sir," he said lightly.

"Don't be daft. I am not implying anything, it is about the people's perception, not…"

"We could invite her to Pemberley," Lizzie interrupted. "It is closer to London than Durham, and we have more society. She will like it here."

Lord Fitzwilliam stared incredulously from her to Lydia. The unspoken "Are you to take in every English woman in need of a home?" was loud and clear.

Lydia did not know who she was, this widow, but she felt some affinity for her. Another woman Lord Fitzwilliam did not like much: they could start a club.

"I think it is a good idea," Georgiana, a woman Lord Fitzwilliam did like, said. "We cannot send her to Durham, uncle. Not even you like staying there. She is younger than me and London-raised, she would die of boredom."

Lord Fitzwilliam raised his hands in surrender. "Yes, by all means, do invite her. As long as the house is back in the family."

The guests decided to retire early after dinner. It had been a long day for them, and the men were to get up early for the hunt. So they all made a show of saying good night, and then finally, finally, it was over.

Lydia was tired but quite content. It had not gone well, but it had not gone badly either. He had liked her complimenting Georgiana. Perhaps complimenting his son and niece would do the trick? She was thinking over strategies to win his favour, slowly making her way upstairs (for she was still not feeling well), when she suddenly remembered she had forgotten her shawl. She turned back to the dining room.

Any other time, Lydia would have barged into the room. She was infamous for her lack of care and grace. Any other time she would have barged in, but this time, tired and a bit on edge, she stopped to listen to the voices inside.

"... adapting remarkably well," Lord Fitzwilliam was saying. "I will be the first to admit I was… surprised, when Darcy introduced you as his wife. You know I shared the opinion of my sister at first, but I must say you have proven to be a valuable member of this family."

It was strange to hear him talk like this. Gone was the effusiveness: he was speaking quite plainly now. 

"Thank you, Lord Fitzwilliam," Lizzie said.

"Which is why I do not understand, Mrs Darcy, why you would put everything on the line by inviting this woman into your home."

Lydia's hand froze on the door knob, her mind suddenly completely blank.

"She is my sister," Lizzie said, stiffly.

"Darling. Do not feign naiveté. You know what this is about. This, all of this - it only works if people forget where you came from. By association alone...."

"Lord Fitzwilliam..."

"Who else knows she is here?"

"We took her to church last Sunday, started introducing her. The gossip mill will have ran its course by now, as intended."

"And you asked me to join you for a ball tomorrow under those circumstances?" Lord Fitzwilliam sounded incredulous. "To host me here with her, as if we were of equal standing, is one thing, but to publically associate my name and title to this scandal too?"    

"There is no scandal. Mr Darcy and I are highly respected in our community, they will follow our lead."

"Maybe here in Derbyshire, but not London. Do you intend to attend social functions with her in tow? Do you trust her not to have her behaviour reflect on the family?"

"She has been here less than a week, we are still…"

"And what about your household? What influence will she have on your boys? What example does she set, for our beloved Georgiana? Do you wish them to follow in your sister's footsteps? Do you wish my niece to be ruined, too?"

"Is there a reason you chose to broach this topic without my husband present? It was not my decision alone to host her."

"Do not think for a moment I will allow my son's widow to join a household with that woman in it. I will have Lady Victoria stay in London before sending her here."

Apparently even the other woman he did not like had to be protected against Lydia.

"Lord Fitzwilliam. My sister was led astray by a man we, as a family, knew to be a bad influence. You have no idea what my sister has gone through. We owe it to her to take care of her."

"By all means, take care of her! Set her up in a remote cottage and grant her an allowance. But you will not do that, will you? Because, in truth, you do not trust her enough to risk giving her that freedom either."

Lydia did not want to hear Lizzie's reply to that. Her body had completely tensed up, a buzzing sound suddenly filling her head. She turned away and stumbled back to her room, not stopping until she was standing next to her bed.

It was still early. And even if she wanted to, she knew she would not be able to sleep. She did not even feel capable of crying, no matter how much she wanted to. She could not deal with this, not now. It was too much. Her head could not wrap itself around another revelation.

A knock sounded on her door.

"Mrs Wickham?" A woman's voice came from the other side.

"Yes?" Lydia managed to say.

An unknown maid stepped into the room. "Mrs Wickham, I have your bonnet for you. The one you asked us to repair?"

Lydia took the bonnet from her and stared at it. She'd had it for so long. A neighbour had given it to her, in exchange for embellishing her wedding dress. A practical thing made of straw, but pretty, comfortable enough to be worn around, and very resistant to rain and snow. How many times had she lovingly replaced the lace?

"We tried our best to mend it, Mrs Reynolds and me," the girl said.

The tear had been repaired, but was still very noticeable. She could tell from just looking at it the shape of the bonnet had been altered by the fix.

"This is your best?" she whispered.

"Mrs Wickham?"

"This is not my bonnet anymore. You changed the shape."

She should have done it herself. It was hers. Why had she trusted anyone with it? She'd brought so very few things from Manchester, and now this too was gone.

"Mrs Wickham…"

"If you can still see the tear, it is not fixed, is it?"

"This was the only way, Mrs Wickham. We asked around in town, even the straw plaiter said so."

"Did they now?"

"Yes, but she said she could easily recreate the bonnet, and for a good price too." Because it was a cheap thing, and they both knew it. "Could even line it with fabric, she said!"

How smug the girl looked, as if daring Lydia to admit she cared about this threadbare bonnet. Daring her to admit she could afford nothing better. Even this maid had three bonnets like it probably, lined with fabric and decorated with lace too.

"What did you hear?" Lydia hissed. "Did someone tell you something about me? Is that why you neglected your duties?"

The girl set a step back. "Hear something? No, Mrs Wickham, no one…"

"You expect me to believe that? With all the gossiping servants are wont to do?"

"Mrs Wickham, I apologise if I disappointed you…"

"Disappoint me? Yes, you did disappoint me." How shrill she sounded, but she could not stop. "I gave you a task, and instead of doing as I said you suggest I go shopping. Tell me, did this woman pay you to advertise her services?"

"No, I…"

"It does not matter who my husband is, it does not matter what my family's condition is. I am a gentleman's daughter! I am owed better than this!"

The girl looked up at her with big eyes. "We can get you another one!"

"It is not the same!" Lydia yelled. "Do you not see it is not the same?"

She scrunched the bonnet up, threw it on the ground, and screamed. Screamed, and screamed, and screamed, and sobbed.

When she looked up, the girl was gone.

Chapter Text

𖤓 Lydia

Lydia felt unsettled the whole morning. Nothing had changed, not really. Her room was still her room, breakfast still as lavish as ever. The men had gone for their hunt and so only Lizzie and Georgiana ate breakfast with her, but they were pleasant as ever. 

Nothing was different, and yet everything was. She could not follow the conversations the others were having. She ate without knowing what she was eating, and she looked at her sister and friend without truly understanding what she was seeing. 

When breakfast ended and everyone got up, Lydia was overcome by a mounting panic. Lizzie left the room, servants came in to clean up, and Lydia knew she had to get out of there as well. But she could not move. She needed to not be here, and she was not sure whether that meant the breakfast room or Pemberley.

Lydia surely would have broken out in hysterics, had not suddenly Georgiana appeared before her. Georgiana smiled down at her. She was chattering animatedly about… something, and wanted Lydia to come with. Lydia followed her numbly to a drawing room. She curled up like a dog at Georgiana's feet, the setting informal enough and Lydia unbothered enough, and then finally, little by little, her environment became clearer.

Georgiana was showing her an embroidered handkerchief. It appeared she wanted to give it Colonel Fitzwilliam before he left. It was somehow related to his travels through the continent, but Lydia had started paying attention too late to follow what it referenced exactly. It did not matter: Georgiana was content enough to chatter away.

At some point Lizzie came in with her son and sat down in a corner. Lydia watched like a hawk as she opened a book and started reading with him. They were going over his letters, seemingly unbothered by Lydia's presence. But it had to be fake. Lydia could not believe Lizzie was this dismissive about her conversation with Lord Fitzwilliam. Either she was hiding her resentment for Lydia, or it still needed time to land: there was no other option. How could she not hate Lydia? After everything they'd been through? And now with Lydia here, endangering everything Lizzie had build up.

Lydia was again ready to jump up and leave - Lizzie's presence, this room, this day, everything - when suddenly she felt Georgiana's knee press into her back. Immediately all the tension drained out of her. Georgiana was here. Georgiana, a girl who had been kind to her before knowing her. Kind to her even when she knew who Lydia's husband was. Knew what had happened. The world may look down on Lydia and Lizzie may end up resenting her, but of Georgiana she could be sure. Georgiana would protect her unconditionally. Georgiana was safe.

By the time Mrs Reynolds, the housekeeper, appeared, Lydia was recovered enough to talk to her. Mrs Reynolds looked at her knowingly as Lydia handed her some coins to tip the maid from last night, awkwardly talking around the incident. She could not even remember the girl's name. Guilt there mended as best she could (with coins she could not afford to lose), she retreated again to her safe spot at Georgiana's feet.

"Are you alright?" Georgiana asked.

Lydia looked up at her and nodded.

"Is it your health?" Then, worried: "Will you not be able to dance tonight?"

"No, no. I will dance tonight,” Lydia muttered.

“I look forward to seeing it! You know, I really am not that much of a dancer myself, but I would love to learn more. Do they dance differently in Manchester? What is your favourite dance?”

Lydia was struggling to come up with an opinion on dances, a topic suddenly so remote she could not recall ever thinking about it, when Mr Darcy and Lord Fitzwilliam arrived. 

"Father!" Richard, Lizzie's eldest, exclaimed. He jumped up to greet his father. His affectionate welcome was somewhat deterred by the wet, dirty coats both men were wearing, but Mr Darcy ruffled his son's hair affectionately. He looked miserable.

Lord Fitzwilliam was in a good mood. He greeted the women with all due pomp, even nodding at Lydia, shouted something about invigorating weather, and immediately left them to give instructions to the kitchen on how to prepare the hares he'd caught.

"Are my cousin and Mr Stirling back yet?" Mr Darcy asked his wife.

"No, should they be?"

Lizzie was looking at her husband with certain interest. Lydia adjusted her view, and had to admit dishevelled and windswept did look good on Mr Darcy.

"Theo wanted to show him the creek, they took another route back." The, "and left me alone with Lord Fitzwilliam" went unspoken; Mr Darcy did not look pleased about it.

Lizzie got up and took his arm. "Let's get you dried off, dear.”

Colonel Fitzwilliam and Mr Stirling arrived a little while later, bringing some liveliness back to the room. They hadn’t caught much, but did not look too disappointed about it. 

“This is all just to keep my father happy,” Colonel Fitzwilliam told them, laying down on a settee and closing his eyes. “He needs to do his little hunt wherever he goes. It is good for him, it’ll tide him over while he is in London.”

“How did you find the estate, Mr Stirling?” Georgiana asked.

“Very beautiful, Miss Darcy. I particularly appreciate the hills, being a Scot myself.”

“He was absolutely miserable when we were stationed in the Low Countries,” Colonel Fitzwilliam said.

“It was unnatural! They live on land that should not exist. Imagine, living below sea level. Inverted hills! God never intended for men to do that.”

“God never intended for men to eat haggis, and yet there the Scots are.” Colonel Fitzwilliam winked at Georgiana. "I blame Robert Burns."

The men were nice, and whether it was because of the hunt or the informal setting, everyone seemed more at ease than they had the day before. Colonel Fitzwilliam made some jokes verging on the inappropriate. Mr Stirling admonished Colonel Fitzwilliam, coming very close to swearing. Georgiana engaged them in an animated retelling of their travels through the continent. And Lydia sat on the floor, head resting on Georgiana's knee, and quietly enjoyed the conversation. She was safe.

⭒ Elizabeth 

They were at the long-awaited ball, with dancing and merriment all around, and Lydia was standing alone staring at a tablecloth. It was not even a particularly noteworthy tablecloth: it covered a dresser in the foyer. Most of it was not even visible.

Elizabeth watched her sister study it for far longer than should be considered normal, and then politely disengaged herself from the conversation with the vicar's wife.

"What are you looking at?"

Lydia looked up.

"Is this real lace?" she asked.

"Real lace?"

"Not made by one of those machines, I mean."

Elizabeth gave the tablecloth a quick look. "I believe it is real, the pattern is very intricate."

"How much would it cost, to have a piece this big?"

"Quite a lot, if it truly is French lace."

Lydia stared back at the tablecloth, shrugged as if replying to some internal dialogue, and turned around.

"Better not spill any wine," she said. She sipped her glass and walked away.

"Have you seen Lydia?" she asked her husband a while later. They had already done two sets of dances together, and Lydia had not made an appearance for any of them.

"Lydia? No, I cannot say I have."

William stepped around her. They were temporarily separated by other dancers.

"Georgiana too has disappeared," he said, once they were together again. "I think I will ask her to dance the next set."

"Three sets in a row? My my, Mr Darcy, how daring."

William smiled down at her. His mood had lifted much over the course of the day. "Only with the best of partners, of course."

Elizabeth squeezed his hand. She was secretly grateful for the respite: she'd been feeling nauseous all day.

The next spot she found Lydia in was the tea room. She was sitting alone again, staring into the distance. Lydia did not even flinch when Elizabeth sat down.

"Have you seen Georgiana?"

Lydia blinked a few times before responding. "Georgiana? I think she is setting up the pianos with Mr Brooke."

There was a bottle of wine on the table, with less wine than Elizabeth would have liked for a table of one.

"You should dance! Why are you not dancing?"

"No one has asked me to."

That explained Lydia's strange mood.

"What about those men you talked to at the luncheon last weekend? They seemed eager enough for your acquaintance." Too eager, if anyone cared to ask Elizabeth, but at this very moment Lydia could do with any dance partner.

"I think news has spread, Lizzie. They know who I am now."

Elizabeth carefully schooled her face. "All according to plan, then."

"Was the plan to have me shunned?"

Elizabeth had, admittedly, hoped the immediate backlash would be less. But this was a minor hurdle. Lydia just needed to dance with one respectable man. People had to see it was acceptable to do so, and it would all work out.

"Of course you are not shunned!" She quickly went over the options. William would be dancing with Georgiana. Colonel Fitzwilliam, her dear friend Theo, had a bad knee that was acting up after the hunt. Lord Fitzwilliam had declined going to the ball (not that he would have asked her). She could of course find someone outside of their party, but…

"I think Mr Stirling is currently unengaged." She hadn't talked much to the man, but he had seemed sympathetic enough. "Come, sister, let us find him."

Theo and Mr Stirling were sitting in a corner of the card room, laughing over something and completely ignoring the other occupants of the room. To his credit though, Mr Stirling stood up the moment they approached. Theo followed with a slight delay. He leaned on Mr Stirling to take weight off his knee.

"Mrs Darcy, Mrs Wickham." Mr Stirling bowed at them. "Are you enjoying yourself?"

"I have been enjoying myself immensely," Elizabeth said. "So much, in fact, that I will have to sit the next set out."

Mr Stirling took the hint. "Then may I ask Mrs Wickham for the next dance?"

Lydia looked earnestly surprised. "Me? Truly?"

"Unless you are otherwise engaged?"

"No, no! Please." She let go of Elizabeth and walked up to Mr Stirling with a hopeful expression. He took her arm and led her to the ballroom.

Theo offered Elizabeth an arm in turn. "Shall we go keep an eye?"

Elizabeth took his arm and nodded firmly. They grabbed a refreshment, claimed a secluded corner with a good view of the dance floor, and sat down to watch.

Lydia's first dance happened to be a waltz. Elizabeth remembered well her own proclamations as a teen that she'd never dance anything as indecent as that. And yet here they were: even rural Derbyshire was on it now, and Elizabeth was as fond of it as anyone.

Lydia too, at last, seemed to be enjoying herself. She held on tightly to Mr Stirling in the first half, but slowly her usual flair came back.

"She is a good dancer," Theo said.

"Always has been."

"And this was… her first dance?"

Elizabeth eyed him warily. "It has not gone as well as I hoped."

"'It' being…?"

"Her reintroduction into society."

"Hm. Give it time. Georgiana likes her a lot, she cannot be all that bad."

They watched as Lydia dipped a bit too low, head thrown back and smiling brightly. Elizabeth winced.

"Do you think it would ever work?" she asked after a short silence. "Taking her to London?"

"Yes, of course. Why not?"

"You know what I mean. Lydia. My sister. With the fashionable Londoners, and the ton, and your father."

"My dearest Eliza, society is not all that black and white. There are many more shades than the ones we tell young unmarried ladies about."

"Young unmarried ladies?"

"Oh, you know what I mean. People want our young ladies to believe a lot of things about the way the world works that later turn out to not be altogether… true."

"I can think of at least one unmarried lady who believes little of it."

"Our beloved Georgiana notwithstanding, my point is that a London with room for a Lady Hamilton and a Mrs Grace Elliot, has room for a Mrs Lydia Wickham."

Elizabeth appreciated the implication of herself as one of the people in the know. She appreciated the comparison of Lydia with famous mistresses less.

"Your father does not seem to think so."

"My father's London does not need to be Lydia's London! Should not be, if I may say so. And even my father has hosted many a famous courtesan, provided they were hanging on the right arm."

Elizabeth let out a laugh. "Truly?"

"Yes! We all pick and choose what societal mores to care about. My father is no different."

"Is your suggestion to find my sister a wealthy lover?"

"I would never suggest anything that scandalous." He grinned, waving at Georgiana and William entering the room. "But who knows!"

She slapped him playfully on the arm, and they sat together in companionable silence. The music started up again. Georgiana and William joined for the second dance of the set, William expertly guiding Georgiana through her clumsy steps.

"Your father made some allusions to a falling out with Lady Catherine," Elizabeth said tentatively, after a while of watching their family dance.

"Oh, that." He sighed. "Yes. She is not too pleased with me at the moment."

"I am sorry to hear it." Elizabeth did her utmost best at sounding sincere.

"But…"

"But I cannot help but feel happy we are no longer the only ones out of favour."

They smiled at each other.

"What happened?" Elizabeth asked him.

"There was some… talk of me marrying cousin Anne, right before she died."

"Oh?"

"It did not work out in time, she died before anything came of it. And Lady Catherine took offence that I waited too long. She thought I only wanted her hand to inherit the estate after she died."

"Then she knows you very little," Elizabeth said, even as a conversation from very long ago echoed through her mind. Younger sons could not marry where they liked, he'd once told her. Inheriting Rosings would have helped him a great deal.

Theo watched her think. "I loved her dearly," he said. "But you know it would have been a marriage of convenience. From her side too: the matter was raised because Anne wished for independence from her mother. But she took to her sick bed before anything could come of it."

"Poor woman." Elizabeth had liked Lady Anne, despite everything.

"Poor woman indeed."

"And now your father intends for you to marry someone else?"

"He does, yes." He stared at the dance floor. "I cannot say I am in a hurry."

Elizabeth wanted to assure him that any woman would be lucky to have him, as indeed they would be, but she could not bring herself to do it. Somehow, it was difficult to imagine him with anyone.

"Well, you are fortunate enough to have good friends," she said instead. "Have you known Mr Stirling long?"

He glanced at her. "Yes… One might say so. We met on the continent five, six years ago. Thereabouts."

"He seems like a good man."

"He is. And no idle gentleman either, you should have seen the library he carried with him during the war. Two trunks, from Coruña to Brussels."

"You should show him our library tomorrow!"

"I will! Though I doubt the Darcy family has collected many medical tomes over the years. He is a physician more in the… theoretical sense, one might say."

"You make him sound much more intriguing than he came across at dinner yesterday"

He laughed. "A wise decision I would say, given my father's presence at that very same dinner."

"Do not remind me." Her mood clouded again.

"I hope you do not worry yourself too much. You look tired, Elizabeth."

Elizabeth turned to look at the dancers. The noise around them had turned into a blur of music and chatter. Lydia, despite her health, appeared happy.

"I think I am expecting again."

"Cousin Elizabeth!" Theo sounded almost as surprised as Elizabeth was for saying it out loud.

"William does not know."

"Why not?"

"He frets over me when I'm pregnant. And he is about to go to London, I do not wish for him to worry yet. But!" She looked at him meaningfully. "Now you know, and I expect you to make sure my husband returns to me as soon as possible. I need him here to fret over me all summer, Colonel. Do not allow him to dally in London."

Theo saluted her. "I will not let you down, Mrs Darcy. And may I offer you my most sincere congratulations?"

"You may, of course."

"Does this interfere at all with your… current situation?"

"I think it will all work out quite brilliantly, really." Elizabeth had not consciously thought it through, but as she talked the puzzle pieces fell into place. "If I am right and everything goes well, the baby would arrive in winter. I'd have Lydia at my side during my confinement, and we would not return to London till spring. Enough time for us to get reacquainted and figure everything out."

Lydia would have all the time to form friendships, to feel at home. They'd grow closer over the pregnancy. Lydia would be there to support her with the new baby. They'd invite their parents to stay for the summer, and maybe the Bingleys could be persuaded to leave Bath for once. They'd be together, and they'd all help get Lydia to wherever she needed to be. It would work. And she should start by getting Lydia new clothes, next week.

"Very cunning," Theo said.

Elizabeth turned to him. "It is strange, is it not? This game of pretend we are all playing."

"What do you mean?"

"It was not really Lydia we saved back then, it was her reputation. And now it is not Lydia we need to ingratiate with people, it is her reputation again. Like you said, everyone knew about Lady Hamilton and Lord Nelson. The real thing at stake is whether they'll pretend to care. I only hope this time we can help Lydia herself too."

"I have every faith that you will succeed."

She smiled at him. "Thank you, Theo. You are a good friend."

"I am. And as your dear friend, I think I will ask your sister to dance this coming set."

"But your knee…"

"I am still a soldier, Eliza, even if only on half-pay. I will persevere."

On the dance floor, music now over, Lydia had flung herself into Georgiana's arms. She was red-faced, Elizabeth did not know whether from the exertion or the wine. Georgiana laughed and swirled a few steps along.

"There is only one more set before supper," Theo said. "I promise you we will get there without scandal."

They did indeed reach supper without any further incidents. Lydia, reunited with Georgiana, was on her best behaviour. She even stopped drinking during the meal, talking animatedly with Georgiana, Mr Stirling and Theo instead. And after supper she joined everyone else in the music room, where Georgiana and their host, Mr Brooke, were set to perform.

Elizabeth had heard Georgiana perform many a time. Often with Mr Brooke too, who had taken Georgiana under his wing right after Elizabeth joined the family. Elizabeth did not expect anything less than perfection from her dear friend, and yet every time she heard her perform she was surprised anew at how extraordinary these concerts were.

Georgiana played beautifully. Her hands flew over the keys, both delicate and powerful at the same time. Gone was the shy girl who'd barely managed to dance earlier. This was a female Apollo, allowing the mere mortals to listen in on her. Even Mr Brooke, accompanying her on a smaller standing pianoforte, shot her occasional admiring looks. The music went from quiet, to tender, to harsh. It was moving, so very different from what people usually played at these kinds of assemblies. This was the kind of music that belonged in a concert hall. The kind of music meant for a big audience. Elizabeth thought Georgiana would have had quite the career, had she been born a man.

When they were done, the whole room erupted in applause.

"That, ladies and gentlemen," Mr Brooke shouted over the applause, "was the first movement of Beethoven's fourth piano concerto! Miss Darcy and I look forward to performing the whole piece at some other point in time."

"Brava, Miss Darcy, brava!" someone exclaimed.

Georgiana turned her head down in embarrassment. She was Georgiana again.

"Was that not beautiful?" Elizabeth asked her neighbours, Theo and Lydia.

"Marvellous, absolutely marvellous," Theo said.

Lydia looked stunned.

"Lydia?"

There were tears in Lydia's eyes.

"If Miss Darcy ever takes to live as she plays, it will be very exciting both for us and for her!" Theo exclaimed, joining the people slowly trickling out of the room. "Do you not think so, Horatio?

Mr Stirling made a noise of agreement.

Elizabeth let them leave and sat down again next to her sister. "Lydia? Are you alright?"

She did not know what to think. Lydia had heard Georgiana play before: she knew they'd spent time together while Georgiana worked on the piece.

"Lydia, what is the matter?"

Finally, Lydia let out a shuddering breath. “Please Lizzie," she whispered, "please do not let me ruin her."

Chapter Text

𖤓 Lydia 

Lydia woke slowly, and then all at once. There was someone next to her.

"Lydia," a voice whispered. "Lydia, are you awake?"

Lydia opened her eyes, ready to jump, and then relaxed. It was Georgiana. She was safe.

"What…?" Lydia managed.

"Good morning." 

This was not Lydia's bed, but that was besides the point. Georgiana being there, smiling at her, was by far the bigger issue.

"Where am I?"

"We are in my room. Don't you remember? You stayed over, after the ball."

Oh Lord. Lydia squeezed her eyes back shut. No, she did not remember anything. The bitter taste of alcohol in her mouth was her only clue. At least Georgiana did not seem to think the situation improper. Not that there was anything improper about sharing a bed with a female friend! People did it all the time. Perhaps not in a house this big, but Lydia had been doing it all her life, and…

"It is only… Could you let go, please?" Georgiana interrupted her train of thought.

"Let go…?"

Georgiana nodded down. Lydia followed her gaze to discover she was laying completely curled around Georgiana's right arm, tightly clutching it as if it were a doll.

Lydia let go.

"Thank you!" Georgiana shook her arm and smiled. It was still dark, but Lydia thought she could see a blush on her face.

"What happened?"

"Oh… Well, you came back to my room to return the headband you borrowed. We talked for a bit, and then we thought it best you did not walk back alone at that hour. You had had quite a bit to drink," Georgiana added.

"I am so sorry…"

"No, do not apologise! It really is a long walk back to the East Wing, and all the servants had already gone to bed. You were quite right to stay."

"Did… Did I say anything embarrassing?"

"Not as such. Though you did get very emotional about Beethoven."

Lydia groaned, covering her eyes. The memories were coming back to her now.

"Do not fret, I like him as well." Georgiana giggled.

Lydia was sure it hadn't been Beethoven she'd been emotional about.

"And you do not mind that I stole your bed?"

Georgiana snuggled deeper under the covers, pulling them over Lydia's shoulder in the process. Lydia's heart ached at the kindness of it. She had not even realized she was cold, wearing only her shift.

"No," Georgiana said. "I used to share a bed with my friends when we were children, it made me think of that."

Children. Yes, of course. Nothing improper about it. "That sounds nice."

"Oh, and Kitty sometimes sleeps here when she visits."

"Kitty? Really?" Lydia felt a sudden pang of jealousy towards Kitty, which was a first.

"She usually stays in the adjoining room. I like having her here, she is like a sister to me."

That implied Georgiana did not consider Lydia a sister, but Lydia did not mind. She had enough sisters already and a strained relationship with all of them. It did not matter either way, because Lydia did not need pretty words to believe Georgiana cared for her. She was sure to her bone that there was little she could do to disappoint her (especially after last night), and that even if she did (and Lydia prayed she wouldn't), Georgiana would show her grace. That meant more to her than any words could describe.

"Kitty is terrible at sharing a bed," she said, instead of all that. "We'd always wake up with her in the middle, arms and legs spread out like a starfish. One time she pushed Mary out completely. And Mary continued sleeping on the floor without noticing!"

Georgiana giggled. "It must be strange for Kitty, to live alone with your parents now."

Lydia was sure Kitty enjoyed having Longbourn to herself very much, actually. Lydia did not want to talk about Kitty.

"What did you do with your friends when they slept over?"

"Oh, you know. Play games, tell stories, gossip…"

"… Mount revolutions…"

"That came later! I really was quite the ordinary girl, I assure you."

"Like hell you were," Lydia scoffed.

"… Share secrets…"

Lydia grinned. "I already know all your secrets."

"Not all of them."

"Which ones don't I know?"

Georgiana gave her a coy smile. She shrugged. "Ask me and find out."

"And you will answer? You would tell me things you haven't told Kitty?"

"I would tell you anything," Georgiana whispered.

Lydia was suddenly very aware of how close Georgiana was.

How had a creature like this ever involved herself with Wickham? The thought stuck, despite her continuous effort not to think of him. And, because she could not help herself, she heard herself asking: "What happened with Wickham?"

Something shifted in Georgiana's expression. She turned on her back.

Lydia cursed herself, and was about to tell her not to bother, when Georgiana opened her mouth.

"He tried to elope with me."

Lydia sat up in shock. "He what?!"

She'd known, of course. He wronged me, Georgiana had said what seemed like ages ago. There were only so many ways that could have happened. And yet: the horrors that could have been. Wickham, with his filthy hands on Georgiana. Sharing a bed with her, sweet-talking her, resenting her. Georgiana, living through everything Lydia had lived through. With more money, yes, but how long would that really have lasted?

"Don't act so surprised." Georgiana smiled weakly. "He did the exact same thing to you, I seem to recall."

"It was not the same! For one, you were what, fifteen?"

"Same age as you," Georgiana said.

But I had it coming, Lydia wanted to say. I was never fifteen like you were, never an innocent. It was my own fault.

She knew Georgiana would act all sad if she said that. "What happened?" she asked instead.

Georgiana pulled at Lydia's shift. Lydia laid down, Georgiana turned to face her again, and she started talking. She told her of her father's death, the long years of mourning. Of her guardians, who loved her dearly and did not share any of their troubles with her. Of the opportunity of a good music teacher in Ramsgate, and Mrs Younge, who showed her all that life could be beyond Pemberley.

And Wickham.

"Why him?" Lydia asked. "What did you… What did he… do?"

"He treated me like a person," Georgiana said, after a short pause. "Everyone treated me like I was a fragile little doll. They still do, you have seen what my uncle is like. He made me feel so… grown up. He… You know, this will sound so very simple, but he asked me what I wanted. And he cared what it was. Or… pretended to, maybe."

"He always knew what people needed to hear. I am so sorry, Georgiana."

"But Lydia, this is not about what could have been, it is about what happened. You are the one it did happen to. I so wish I could have done something…"

"It would not have mattered."

"But it does matter! Your life could have been so very different!"

"It wasn't. What's done is done."

"We will free you of him," Georgiana said. "We will find him, and we will make him pay for everything he did."

"My protector." Lydia laughed.

Georgiana blushed prettily. She clearly liked being called that. 

"I am already free of him, Georgiana. He left, I am here. What else is there to do?"

"I have an idea," Georgiana said. "If you would just let me…"

"Georgiana," Lydia interrupted her, "I do not wish for you to do anything for me. You are here with me. That is all that matters." She looked intently at Georgiana, trying to convey all the meaning behind it. "As long as you are by my side, I can bear it."

Georgiana grabbed Lydia's hand. Lydia squeezed back. Georgiana's hand was thin and soft in hers, but her nails were clipped in the way of nail biters. They would've been short either way: Lydia knew that was the musician's way.

"My uncle really has been horrid to you," Georgiana said.

It took Lydia longer than it should have to tune back into the conversation. "Your uncle?"

"We are trying, you know. To get him to behave."

"I do not wish to talk about your uncle."

"What do you wish to talk about?"

"Well…." Lydia grinned. "You say not many people care to find out what you want. So tell me, Miss Darcy, what do you want?"

Georgiana looked at her, with a strong, impenetrable look. "I want to go to London," she said.

"Then go!"

"I cannot just go!"

"Why not?"

"Alone?"

"Can you not afford a companion? Do you not have an army of Fitzwilliam relatives to stay with?"

"My family's London is not the kind of London I want to be in," Georgiana said, as if it were some big secret.

"Go live in the Thames if you want, who cares. You are of age!"

"But my brother…"

"You are of age," Lydia repeated. "And you must have some sort of independent means. What are you waiting for?"

Georgiana looked at her, eyes shining brightly. "Yes. Yes! I am of age."

"Girls younger than you are grandmothers!"

Georgiana pushed her, laughing. "Yes, I will go to London."

"The city will eat you alive, but you'll survive it." Lydia brought her face closer to hers. "What else?"

"I… I want to learn to dance the waltz."

"I will teach you."

"You will?"

"We will swirl across the Thames."

"And what do you want?" Georgiana whispered, face now very close.

"I want to be here," Lydia said, after a beat.

Lydia's eyes caught on Georgiana's hair. Her braid had come undone in the night. Some of the ringlets had sprung loose, cascading over her cheek.

Lydia was unsure of what happened next. She was still sleepy. Maybe that was why she reached out to tuck a hair strand away. Maybe she just wanted to feel its soft texture. She did not expect Georgiana's hand over hers, and she certainly would have said something, were it not that she was suddenly distracted by Georgiana's eyes (blue, grey, specs of brown, increasingly dark). And then suddenly Georgiana closed the distance between them, and kissed her.

Lydia had kissed three girls in her lifetime. The first had also been her first kiss: Penny Harrington. They had been twelve, Penny nervous and unsure, Lydia feigning a confidence she did not have. Pen looked at Lydia like she could hang the moon, and Lydia had loved the attention. By thirteen though, Lydia had discovered the wonders of men. The game of flirtation was half the fun, and the feeling of being chased, of being desired, the power of refusal and concession, was much more enticing than anything needy little Pen had to offer. 

The second girl was a woman: Mrs Harriet Forster. Lydia had been nearly sixteen and blown away by her worldliness. Lydia had followed her around like a puppy for weeks, and once in Brighton Harriet had assured her that a kiss here and there, between friends, was not to be frowned upon. But Harriet was sparse in the affection she bestowed on Lydia, always leaving her wanting for more. They mostly kissed in front of her husband, and Lydia had been too besotted to notice.

With her third girl, she was all too aware of the audience. They had been with the regiment still, but as a married woman (and, as she was increasingly becoming aware of, a woman of loose reputation), she was invited to the less civilised regimental parties. Everyone had been drunk, Lydia had been angry because of a marital spat, and Wickham and his friend had goaded their respective wives into kissing. Lydia remembered only fleeting impressions of the experience: the wife’s impatient and showy kissing, her mouth like a leech on hers, the cheers of the men around them, the feeling of unknown hands touching her bodice (many hands, too many), and, once she had managed to disentangle herself from the woman, the sight of her husband and his friends unsubtly readjusting their breaches. 

It had made her feel dirty in a way she struggled to put to words. Wickham had liked it, tried many times to repeat that experience and more, but with that at least, she'd put her foot down.

And now there was Georgiana. Georgiana, who had been kind to her. Georgiana, who cared too much. Georgiana, who was beautiful and kind and everything that was good about the world.

Georgiana, who was still unspoiled and pure.

Lydia pushed her away, rolled out of bed, and scrambled out of the door.

⭒ Elizabeth 

Elizabeth was having a delightful morning. She loved a good ball. Charlotte had once told her she'd tire of them after marriage, but if anything, having a reliable dancing partner had made the experience all the more enjoyable. And this one had been a social success too: Lydia'd passed her trial by fire with only the slight hiccup of her inebriation, and that Elizabeth could forgive, given the circumstances.

Yes, Elizabeth loved a good ball, and the morning after - with a slow start, lazing around in bed with her husband - was even better.

They dragged themselves to their private sitting room for some tea around eleven. Elizabeth comfortably nestled herself into William's arms, and they quietly talked, meandering from one topic to another. It was their last morning together in a while: Elizabeth intended to savour it.

They had just reached the topic of Richie's lack of progress learning his letters, when suddenly the door flung open and Georgiana stormed in.

Elizabeth slid onto the floor from shock. William haphazardly fastened his dressing gown.

"What on earth…?"

Georgiana's face was stained by tears, eyes wild and unseeing. "We have to help Lydia."

"What?" William helped Elizabeth up to the settee again.

"Georgiana, what is wrong?" Elizabeth had never seen Georgiana this emotional.

"We have to help Lydia!"

"But we are, dearest, we are helping her. What happened?"

Georgiana visibly struggled to find something to say, before landing on, "I made a mistake."

"Nonsense," William said.

Elizabeth elbowed him.

"What kind of mistake?" she asked Georgiana.

"The kind that… I… Oh, Elizabeth, I ruined everything!"

William started to say something, face affronted at the very idea of his sister doing anything wrong, but Elizabeth stopped him.

"Georgiana," she said, softly.

Georgiana looked around in distress. Finally, she said: "I told Lydia about Wickham."

Elizabeth felt William next to her tense up completely.

"What did she do? Is she blackmailing you?" he asked.

Georgiana turned to him with a soundless scream. "No!" she cried. "How can you think that?"

"I told you not to tell her!"

"Telling her was not the mistake!"

Elizabeth stood up an held out her arms. "Stop it! Both of you! Georgiana, tell us what happened."

Georgiana whimpered. "I cannot."

Elizabeth stared at her in disbelief. Georgiana had never kept secrets from her. She may not tell everything that went on in that strange little head of hers, but she always shared enough: news that caught her interest, her music, the friends that came and went, even Wickham they had discussed. And yet now something big had happened, and Georgiana would not say what, and Elizabeth did not even know how to begin to approach it.

"Is this about Wickham?" she tried.

Georgiana started pacing back and forth. "It is and it is not…"

"We cannot help you if you do not say what is wrong, Georgiana," William said.

"I do not require your help, brother, Lydia does!"

"What did Lydia say?" Elizabeth asked.

"I… Lydia… She was wonderful."

"You do not regret telling her?"

"No! No…" She trailed off. "I am glad I did. It was so very good to finally talk about it with someone. Someone who understood."

"You can talk to us," William said, hurt.

"Can I? Truly?" Georgiana turned to him. "Because we never do."

William blinked. "I did not think you'd welcome it. I thought you wanted to forget."

"How could I forget? My big mistake, running away with that man, and look at all that came from it!"

"You were a child!"

"I am not a child anymore!" 

"I know, but..." 

"I am, in fact, the very same age you were when you had to solve the problems I created."

That was true, no matter how hard it was for Elizabeth to see Georgiana as anything but the girl of ten and six she'd first met.

"Though I doubt I would manage as well as you did then," Georgiana added, voice hoarse.

"Georgiana…"

"It does not matter in any case, because the consequences are still the same, and Lydia..." She let out a strange, distressed sound. "Lydia has had her life and reputation ruined because of it. And now she is not even safe here."

"Of course she is safe here," Elizabeth said, who was starting to get seriously worried.

"You played no part in what happened to her!" William said.

"No indeed, I did not play a part! I had no say in any of it! I never do!"

"What are you talking about?"

"I…" She threw her head up in a gesture reminiscent of Lydia. "I do not know, William. I do not know how to fix my mistakes. I let people down, I betray people's trust. And I do not know how to make it right again. I've never had to."

Something very big had happened between Georgiana and Lydia. Something big enough to make Georgiana feel like she had wronged Lydia, even after a week of Lydia following her around like a lost puppy. And Georgiana would not tell them what it was, Elizabeth could feel it in her bones.

"When I was five and set the Christmas tree on fire it was you who took the blame. When I was twelve and that thing with the horse happened, it was you who smoothed things over in Lambton. And… After I agreed to elope, you and Theo swooped in to take care of everything. The only thing I did was disappoint everyone, and I do not even know what you did to keep that man silent. We never talked about it," she said, voice very small all of a sudden. "I was so ashamed of myself."

"Georgiana, you could never disappoint me."

"You cannot say that," Georgiana whispered. "You cannot know that."

William stared at her.

"I made a terrible mistake." A tear rolled down her cheek. "I do not even know whether Lydia will let me make it right." 

"She will," Elizabeth said, even as she was overcome by a feeling of dread.

"You are my sister," William said. "I will always stand by you, no matter what."

"Even if I cannot be the person you want me to be? Even if I fail you again?"

"Even if you fail me again. It was, and is, my duty to protect you. It was I who failed you back then, Georgiana."

"No, no," Georgiana said, smiling through watery eyes. "You did not fail me, William. You have been both brother and father to me. When father died, before Elizabeth… I only wish you had not shouldered it alone. That you involved me more. If nothing else, in your solving of my problems."

William grabbed his sister's hand, pulling her closer to them. "You will not tell us what transpired, will you?"

"I wish I could," she said, miserably.

"Do you think you can solve it?"

"I do not know…"

"Will you let me know if you require help? Of any kind?"

Georgiana nodded, after a slight hesitation.

"Then I will trust you to take care of it. Or at least to try."

Georgiana turned to Elizabeth, who nodded her agreement after a brief hesitation.

"Thank you," Georgiana whispered. "Thank you brother. I... Will leave you be now. I apologise for the intrusion." She wiped her cheek with the palm of her hand, and walked out of the room.

"What on earth happened there?" William asked Elizabeth, breaking the tense silent left in his sister's wake.

"I do not know."

"You look distressed."

"I am."

What Elizabeth felt was in part borrowed sadness from a girl, a woman, she loved dearly. It was also the dawning realisation that she may not know her all that well after all. And beneath it all was a coiling, protective anger, because something had happened to her sister, and for once it seemed like it was not Lydia who was to blame.

Chapter Text

𖤓 Lydia

Lydia wandered the long, empty corridors of Pemberley without aim. There was a lot to consider, too much, but for now she was succeeding in her aim of not thinking about much at all. She needed to get dressed. She'd slept with stockings still on, saving at least her feet from freezing on the cold Pemberley floors, but running into Lord Fitzwilliam wearing only her shift would be disastrous.

Dressing meant going to her room, though, and Lydia was not ready to do so: she had the nagging feeling her thoughts would be inescapable once there. She was just considering whether to hide in the library, when she suddenly heard voices coming from around the corner.

She rushed into the nearest room, quietly closing the door behind her with utmost care, and turned to find a very familiar face staring back at her. It was the servant girl she'd had a breakdown in front of.

"Hell's teeth."

The girl raised her eyebrows. "Good afternoon, Mrs Wickham."

"How are you?" Lydia said, for lack of anything better to say.

The girl studied Lydia's disheveled appearance for an uncomfortably long time.

"I…" Lydia tried to come up with any explanation for the state she was in, and failed. "I hope I… Did Mrs Reynolds pass on my tip?"

"Aye," the girl said slowly.

"I really am sorry."

The girl nodded, not looking particularly forgiving.

"What are you doing?"

"Cleaning."

She seemed to have been in the process of cleaning a mirror in the empty bedroom.

"I am not like that, usually," Lydia said.

The girl hummed.

"Do they treat you well here?"

"They do." There was clear emphasis on 'they'. "I'd find myself another posting if they didn't."

"What, like it's easy?" Lydia bit her tongue, but it was too late.

"I'll have you know, Mrs Wickham, that I am a highly skilled and highly valued worker."

"Of course! Yes, I did not mean to imply that… But there isn't much work out there, no? Generally speaking."

"Look…"

"I remember when the soldiers came back to Manchester, right after the cotton mill firings too, that was…"

The girl froze. "You are from Manchester?"

"Not originally, but I lived there for six years."

"Really? Whereabouts?"

"Oh, all over the city. Are you from Manchester?"

"My family is. We moved out here when I was ten."

"You were born in Cottonopolis?"

A tentative smile appeared on the girl's face. "Aye, Cottonopolis itself. Got a cousin running an inn west of Ancoats still."

"Surely not the Foxhill?"

"No… Close-by though, the Five-Legged Lamb."

"The pie place!" Lydia struggled to hide her excitement. "You mean to tell me Tom is your cousin?"

"Tom Wilkins, yes."

"Nick me! Your cousin is a god among men."

The girl let out a startled laugh. "Don't let him hear that."

"Certainly not! Though I'd sell my soul for that pie recipe. Wait, does that mean you have the recipe?"

"You think he'd tell me? I have no idea what he puts in those things!"

She was letting her accent shine through. Lydia's heart ached for it, and she heard herself too fall back into the familiar intonations.

"Pity, that. I got to Manchester when he was still making them with potatoes. Almost felt sorry when he went back to chicken after the war."

"That's because it's all about the gravy, not the ingredients."

"You got that right! Filled them with watery soup in '16 and it was still delicious."

"By now, he'll be making the dough out of sawdust."

Lydia snorted.

The girl smiled back sighted, wistfully. "Lord knows where my cousin gets those spices."

"That man would resist torture over it. Mrs Jones once sent me to charm Tom into giving the recipe up, didn't work at all. And if not even his family knows…"

"Bit of a cotquean, that cousin of mine."

"Ain't that the truth."

"You worked for Mrs Jones, then?"

"Aye, during the war." Lydia remembered that decision well. Wickham's check had failed to arrive for the third week in a row, and Mrs Jones, staunchly denying Lydia anymore food on credit, had told her to work for it instead. What a concept that had been! How unthinkable, for Lydia to work! But why not, after all? Propriety tended to loose importance when one was hungry. And those had ended up being some of the best months of Lydia's life. "Tended the bar mostly, I'm a shit cook."

"Oh, so am I. Only time I'm in the kitchen is to eat."

"The advantage of working at a place with a kitchen!"

They both burst out laughing.

"Tough lady that is though, Mrs Jones," the girl giggled.

"She gave me a reference for a place in London." This was a point of pride for Lydia. Mrs Jones had a certain reputation in Manchester.

"Must be a good post, that."

"And if it ain't I'd leave," Lydia said, the girl's earlier words ringing in her ears.

They chattered on for a while, discovering several mutual acquaintances in the process. The whole conversation was a breath of fresh air. This is what normal people talked like, Lydia thought. This was real life, not the strange dream world she'd spent the past week in.

It was only after the girl left that Lydia realised what had happened. Lydia had just shown a servant exactly what sort of woman Mrs Darcy's sister was, and there was no coming back from that.

Lydia did end up going to her room after that, accepting defeat. Once there she collected all the dresses that had been gifted to her over the week and laid them out on the bed. There were two day dresses: one from Georgiana, the other from Lizzie. The evening dress she'd been given (white mousseline, the kind of flowy white princess dress she'd dreamt of wearing for so long), was still somewhere in Georgiana's room.

She did not want to think about Georgiana.

The lunch bell sounded somewhere in the building. Lydia called a servant over in the hall to announce that she would not come to lunch, as she was feeling unwell again. Then she walked back into the room and threw the things she'd brought from Manchester next to the dresses.

With no space left on the bed, she sat down in an armchair, pulled a blanket over herself, and contemplated her belongings.

She did that for long enough that when a knock sounded on the door, the room was considerably darker than it had been before.

"Lydia?"

Lizzie. Lydia froze.

Another knock.

"Lydia, I know you are in there."

"I cannot see you now! I am ill!" she shouted back.

"No, you are not."

Lydia, though not suffering any ailments anymore, was still offended at that. "Yes, I am!"

"Lydia, open the door."

"Go away!"

She heard Lizzie sigh. "We need to talk."

"Have the servants told you anything?" That would be quick, but not unheard of. Everyone knew how the rumour mills worked in country houses.

"The servants? No, should they?"

Damnation. "No?"

"Lydia, I only wish to talk. Please."

"I do not wish to speak to anyone at the moment." If not the servant gossip, this must be about the business with Lord Fitzwilliam.

It was quiet for a bit. "Will you talk to me tomorrow?"

Lydia stared at the mountain of clothes and objects on her bed. "Of course. Tomorrow."

Elizabeth sighed, audibly. "I will leave you to rest then. Get well, dear."

Lydia got up and lit a candle. Then she sat down and stared at the flame for longer than she should have, softly blowing to keep the flame dancing. One had to get their entertainment from somewhere, in this life of leisure.

There was again a knock on her door.

"I told you to go away, Liz!"

"It is me," said Georgiana.

Lydia almost dropped the candle in shock.

"Can we talk?"

Lydia looked around, just in case a new means of escape had presented itself.

"Please…" Georgiana sounded absolutely miserable. "I… I promise I will not…"

Lydia hurried to the door and opened it before Georgiana could finish the sentence.

"Hello."

Lydia had never seen Georgiana this nervous. She looked pale, her eyes wide and red. She was fidgeting nervously with her hands, picking at her nails. But she was here. The brave, foolish girl had come. Lord knew Lydia would've run for the hills.

Had run for the hills, in fact.

"I just wanted to… To…"

Lydia was torn between hugging her close to make her sad look go away, and closing the door in her face to go hide under the bed.

A servant appeared in the hallway. Lydia pulled Georgiana into her room (briefly pressing Georgiana against her, before the other woman stepped away), and closed the door behind them.

They stared at each other, wordlessly, until Georgiana caught sight of the chaos around her.

"What…?"

"How was lunch?"

Georgiana laughed nervously. "Lunch? Oh… It was alright. Mr Stirling asked about you. Listen, Lydia, I just wanted to…"

"We need not speak of it."

Georgiana stared at her.

"I do not mind, truly. It is very normal. You may think you want it, many girls do, but…"

"That is not why I'm here."

Lydia closed her mouth.

"I came to tell you that I will fix it. I will make it right."

"Fix what?"

"Everything." Georgiana seemed to regain some of her footing. "I would have you feel safe. Here, and anywhere else. Wickham should pay for what he did. And we cannot go after him for what he did to you, but if people knew who he was…"

Lydia felt the feeling of horror slowly rise inside her. "No, Georgiana…"

"I will tell people what Wickham did to me. Use my position in society against him. We can make sure he will never be welcomed in society again, that no one will ever offer him a respectable job again."

This must be some misguided attempt to keep Lydia silent. There was no other explanation. "You do not have to do this. Your secrets are safe with me, I swear."

"I do not care about my secrets! I care about you!"

Why? Lydia wanted to ask. "Georgiana…"

"I would have you feel safe."

"Not like this. Not like this, please. It would ruin you." Ruin her, and the little that was left of Lydia's reputation, too.

"Ruin what, exactly? It is like you said, I am of age. I have independent means. I could bear it. I would."

Lydia stared at her in horror. "Bear it? Have you enjoyed seeing how I was treated this week?"

"Of course not! But I would manage, as have you! I do not wish for the kind of social circles that would have me judged for it."

"What anarchist hellhole do you want to end up in? Everyone judges, everyone cares! I have a friend whose mother is a courtesan, and he cares!"

Georgiana raised her chin defiantly. There was no point in appealing to her ego, so Lydia pivoted.

"And this is not just about you, Georgiana. Do you think your uncle would take well to his favourite niece being a fallen woman? Your nephews, with another shameful aunt? Your brother and cousin, judged for their failure as guardians? Elizabeth Bennet Darcy, corrupter of sisters and sisters-in-law!"

"I…"

"And what about your marriage prospects?" Lydia was on a roll now.

"What about them?"

"You deserve a good, loving husband. Someone better than Wickham." Lydia could see it. The kind, faceless man that would cherish Georgiana like she deserved. Someone like Mr Stirling, though he himself was far too much of a confirmed bachelor.

"Lydia, I do not want a husband. Surely you must know… that."

It took Lydia longer than it should have to catch on. "That? No, that is childish fancy!"

"I am not a child!"

"You are not, but you are inexperienced! And once you meet the right man…"

"Inexperienced?" Georgiana looked incredulous. "Lydia, I assure you I am not. I have had deep, loving relationships. With women!"

Lydia did not want to hear this. She did not want to talk about it, at all, and yet she heard herself say: "But why succumb to it, if you could have a husband instead?"

"I could never love a husband like that."

"What does love have to do with it? I am talking about marriage! Security, income. Social standing."

"Did your marriage bring you those?"

"Oh! Yes, let us speak of my husband," Lydia sneered. "Did you not love him?"

"I… do not know. I thought I did. He was the last man I felt that for. "

"And so you thought you'd try his wife instead?"

Georgiana flinched, eyes wide and disbelieving.

Lydia wanted to take it back. To cradle Georgiana in her arms, to comfort her. To have Georgiana comfort Lydia, because she did not want any of this to be happening either. She could not lose Georgiana, too. Not on top of everything else.

"Lydia," Georgiana said, very, very quietly. "I apologise for bringing this into our relationship. It is clear you do not want it…"

Lydia stifled a cry.

"… and I… I just wish to help you. We can forget about it. Please, please let me help you. Let me make this right."

"I won't let you," Lydia said, the tears harder to contain by the second. "Please don't let me be the ruin of you, too."

Georgiana steadied herself on the bedpost, breath coming very fast. Then she clenched her fists, mumbled something, and left the room.

Lydia curled up on her chair and wrapped her arms around herself. She cried for what felt like hours, her mind catching on another thing to feel sad about every time she calmed down enough.

And then, suddenly, she was done. She sat back in the chair, mind very clear, and set to thinking.

She considered Lizzie, whose position was tied to Lydia's reputation. Who would have a house of gossiping servants and a London full of disapproving Lord Fitzwilliams to deal with.

She considered Georgiana, who for all her bad subterfuge, had managed to keep tabs on her various secret lives until Lydia showed up. Who was about to ruin her reputation over someone like Lydia.

And she considered the servant girl: a girl who could find another job if this one did not suit her. Just like that.

Lydia considered them all. Then she stood up, and started packing.

⭒ Elizabeth 

William's family, for all their insistence on fashionably late breakfasts and the importance of life at leisure, were always punctual. Elizabeth was therefore surprised to find the house empty the next morning. William had left their bed early to prepare for the journey, but he was nowhere to be seen, and nor were the Fitzwilliams.

She discovered a lonely Georgiana waiting next to the carriage outside.

"Where is everyone?" she asked her.

"I do not know."

Georgiana looked like she hadn't slept at all. Elizabeth was determined to have a good talk with her after everyone left, but decided to leave her be for now. She needed to talk to Lydia first.

The men announced their arrival with Lord Fitzwilliam's booming voice coming from across the courtyard. 

"… You promised, Darcy! Are we to sit on top of each other for days on end?"

"Hardly on top of each other, uncle."

"I'll have you know, I usually travel alone!"

"You are welcome to hire a carriage in town."

"What is going on?" Elizabeth asked when the men reached them.

"We are only taking one carriage," William said. He briskly walked up to them. "Georgiana, Elizabeth, may I have a word?"

Elizabeth made her excuses to the Fitzwilliams and Mr Stirling, and followed her husband and Georgiana back inside.

"Lydia has left." He said it without preamble, the moment they entered a small drawing room.

Georgiana made a sound between a gasp and a cry. She sank down on a footstool.

"What do you mean?" Elizabeth asked.

"She left this morning for London."

"London?" Then, once her brain had caught on: "What are you doing? Should we not send for people to look for her?"

William took a deep breath. "No, because it was I who facilitated her leaving."

Elizabeth sat down too. Georgiana was properly crying now.

"I do not understand…"

"I caught her trying to sneak out, early this morning."

"And you let her?" Elizabeth could not believe her ears.

"I am not her jailer! She would have run either way, I thought it best to provide her with the means to do so safely."

The realisation hit. "You gave her the carriage."

"And I sent Mary and John with her. It is no imposition, I wanted them as my London staff anyway…"

"… Oh, as long as it is no imposition…," Elizabeth said.

"… John and I will help set her up and find proper lodgings. I assure you, she will be well taken care of."

"In London! What is she to do in London, all alone? We had a plan, Darcy, we had it under control! How could you let her leave without talking to me?"

"She explicitly did not want to talk to anyone!"

"She was clearly distressed! One does not let a distressed woman take decisions like that!"

William sniffed. "Well, it had recently been brought to my attention that I should allow people to make their own mistakes. I think I did quite well, given the circumstances."

Elizabeth rolled her eyes.

"She will be well taken care of, I assure you. And she said she would write to you, Elizabeth. I will ensure she does."

"And me?" Georgiana asked, with a small voice.

"She… She did not mention it, but I am sure she will, Georgiana."

Georgiana let out an audible sob.

"Georgiana." Elizabeth turned to her, very, very slowly. "What happened?"

Georgiana said something unintelligible.

"What did you do?"

"I tried to make it right, I really did!"

And clearly she had failed.

For one, brief moment, it was as if Elizabeth was watching a stranger. She did not know who this woman was. She had no idea what was going on in her mind, no idea what mistake she could have made for Lydia to run away. Even her physical features, baggy red eyes and all, seemed strange and alien to her.

Then she scrunched up her nose in a way she had so often, for as long as Elizabeth had known her. And it was Georgiana again.

"Georgiana, why don't you go tell your uncle the carriage will leave soon?"

Georgiana struggled for words, and then left quietly.

Elizabeth and William watched her go.

"Did Lydia say anything about Georgiana?" Elizabeth asked.

"I asked. She explicitly said that Georgiana had nothing to do with her decision."

"Do you believe her?"

William hesitated. "No, I do not."

Elizabeth nodded.

"Elizabeth, I am worried about her. Perhaps I should stay here. We could ask Theo to take care of Lydia. He may yet convince her to come back; God knows he is more likeable than I am…"

"Oh no," Elizabeth said. "No, no. You will go. You will make sure my sister is well settled-in and has everything she requires. And I will stay here and take care of your sister."