Page 20 of Companions of Their Youth (Pride and Prejudice “What if?” Variations #9)

A fter lunch at noon, Lydia was sent back upstairs to do more lessons. As Kitty made to follow Jane and Mrs. Bennet to the drawing room once more, Elizabeth touched her shoulder.

“Come with me.”

Without protest, Kitty trailed behind her elder sister, up the stairs and to the room where Lydia was doing her studies. Instead of sitting at her desk, however, Lydia lay sprawled across the window seat. The books remain closed and untouched on the other side of the room.

She turned at their arrival, pouting. “It is dreadfully dull since Kitty came out. I hate being alone all day.”

“I know,” Elizabeth said gently. “But your sixteenth birthday is only a few months away. Perhaps, if you behave, you will be allowed to come out then.”

Lydia huffed but said nothing.

Elizabeth sat on the edge of the bed and beckoned them closer. “I wanted to speak to you both about what Mama said. About officers.”

Kitty twisted her fingers. “I did not mean to be wicked,” she said. “Maria Lucas told me that Charlotte said redcoats are handsome and fun. I did not think it made me bad to want to flirt with one.”

“It does not,” said Elizabeth. “But Mama is right to be cautious. Some officers are honorable. Some are not. And when a gentleman is not honorable, it is the lady who suffers.”

“How?” Lydia asked, frowning. “Do not people have to share a bed to make a baby? That does not happen unless you are married.”

Elizabeth flushed. “That is… a conversation for another time.”

Lydia crossed her arms. “Why does everyone treat me like a child? I am the tallest of us, even Jane!”

“It is not very ladylike to discuss such things,” Elizabeth admonished.

“But how are we to know what not to do if we have no idea what it is we are not supposed to do?” Lydia shot back. Her eyes were narrowed, but not with defiance—there was only confusion there. And curiosity.

Elizabeth hesitated. She glanced out the nursery window, where the autumn sun streamed in golden stripes across the rug. Then she looked back at her sisters.

“We live on a farm,” she said slowly. “You have seen the dogs and the horses, yes?”

The girls nodded.

“Well,” Elizabeth said awkwardly, “when animals mate… it is not so different for people. It is not always a bed. It is not always marriage. A few kisses may seem harmless, but they can lead to things you are not ready to understand—and those things can lead to consequences that cannot be undone.”

Lydia wrinkled her nose. “You mean it is like when the brown mare kept chasing the stallion, and then he climbed on her?”

Kitty looked horrified.

Elizabeth’s ears burned. “Yes,” she said shortly. “Something like that.”

“Oh,” Kitty murmured, pink-cheeked. “That is… rather disgusting.”

“It is also how babies are made,” Elizabeth said with finality. “And why Mama is so strict. If a gentleman truly loves you, he will honor you by waiting. If he tries to rush or trick you, then he is not worthy of your time.”

There was a silence as both girls processed this.

Lydia finally muttered, “It still sounds gross.”

Elizabeth allowed herself a faint smile. “That is exactly how you should feel for now.”

She stood and brushed off her skirts. “Thank you both for listening. I know it is awkward. But I want you safe. If you ever have questions, you may come to me. You will not be punished for asking.”

Kitty gave a tiny nod. Lydia frowned, but she did not protest. Elizabeth gave their shoulders a squeeze, then left them alone.

Before exiting the room, she paused at the door to look back at them—one perched on the window seat, the other cross-legged on the floor. Both looked far too young… and yet somehow too close to womanhood at the same time.

As she descended the stairs, she was still blushing. But a small flicker of pride stirred in her chest.

It had been awkward.

But perhaps it had done some good.

∞∞∞

A day or two later, as the ladies of Longbourn sat gathered in the drawing room after a late breakfast, a footman entered with a note. He bowed and handed it to Jane, who broke the seal with the quiet grace so natural to her—a grace that Elizabeth always slightly envied.

“It is from Miss Bingley,” she said, scanning the contents. “She invites me to dine at Netherfield. Her brother and Mr. Darcy are to dine with some officers this evening, so she and Mrs. Hurst would enjoy my company.”

Mrs. Bennet uttered a delighted gasp. “Oh, how very promising! It is an obvious mark of favor. Why, it must be Mr. Bingley’s doing—he must have persuaded his sisters to extend the invitation.”

Elizabeth gave a small smile, but her gaze drifted toward the window. Grey clouds had gathered along the horizon, creeping low and thick across the sky. The wind pressed against the panes with an ominous hum. Mrs. Bennet followed her gaze and her expression faltered.

“Oh dear,” she murmured. “It looks like rain. And your father and Mark took the carriage horses this morning to check the far fence line. They will not return until late.”

“I could ride Nelly,” Jane suggested.

“But the weather…” Elizabeth protested.

“Oh, pish,” Mrs. Bennet said, waving a hand. “She can take the mare. The invitation is too good to pass up.”

“But it will rain,” Elizabeth said. “You can see the clouds already forming.”

Jane folded the note neatly and looked up with quiet resolve. “I should like to go. I hope to be better acquainted with Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst. I will be there before the rain begins, if it falls at all.”

“It will rain, Jane,” Elizabeth replied.

“No, it will not.”

“You always say it will not, and then it always does.”

Jane gave her a rare, determined look. “It will not rain until long after I arrive.”

Elizabeth blinked, surprised by the uncharacteristic stubbornness in her sister’s voice. Sweet Jane, who rarely insisted on anything, now sat poised and certain, her cheeks faintly pink.

Elizabeth opened her mouth to argue again, but something in Jane’s expression stilled her tongue.

Why is she behaving this way?

And then she remembered—Charlotte Lucas, her practical tone, her cool words at the Meryton Assembly: “Comfort, respect, and security are worth far more than love. Romance fades, Lizzy, but a warm home and independence endure.”

Perhaps Charlotte was right. Perhaps comfort and mutual respect were enough for some women. And if Jane were caught in the rain—forced to stay overnight—then she would be one day further along in seeing Mr. Bingley’s true character.

So Elizabeth kept her peace.

When the time came, Elizabeth helped Jane wrap herself in her spencer and pinned her bonnet ribbon snug beneath her chin. The mare was brought round, and Jane mounted with the elegance she always possessed, her hands light on the reins.

Elizabeth stood at the window, watching the grey clouds shift and churn, unease prickling the back of her neck.

“She will be fine,” said Mrs. Bennet from behind her. “Now come away from that window, Lizzy. You are aggravating my nerves with all your pacing.”

Elizabeth turned slowly. “Yes, Mama.”

She took her seat and picked up her needlework, but as she threaded her needle, she noticed her mother glancing at the window again, her fingers twisting the hem of her sleeve.

The rain came twenty minutes later—slow at first, then quickening to a steady drumbeat against the glass. Elizabeth and her mother exchanged a single look.

And then both returned to their stitching, neither saying a word.

A few minutes later, the front door flew open with a gust of wind and a loud clatter of boots. “Good Lord,” came Mark’s voice from the entryway. “It is coming down like cannon fire out there!”

He and Mr. Bennet stepped inside, both soaked through.

Their coats were spattered with mud, and Mark’s hat was dripping onto the tiles.

Elizabeth looked up from her embroidery just as he peeled it off and ran a hand through his hair—sending a spray of rainwater across Kitty and Lydia, who were sitting nearest to him.

“Mark!” Kitty squealed, ducking behind the arm of the settee as droplets landed on her sleeve.

Lydia shrieked in dismay, hands clapping over her head. “You horrid creature!”

Mark grinned, unrepentant. “Would anyone like a hug?” he asked, stepping forward with outstretched arms.

“No!” came a chorus of voices from his sisters.

Mr. Bennet merely shook his head and removed his coat with a grimace. “You would think we had just swum home from the tenants’ cottage instead of riding.”

“Dinner will be ready shortly,” Mrs. Bennet informed them. “You both have just enough time to change from those damp things.”

Mr. Bennet gave a small bow of acknowledgment. “We shall not keep the table waiting.”

As both men climbed the stairs, Elizabeth glanced toward the darkening sky. The rain had thickened to a steady, drumming fall.

She returned to her needlework, but her eyes strayed often to the window.

Her mother sat nearby, working quietly, but the flicker of her glance toward the glass did not go unnoticed.

It was not until the clock chimed the hour and the family gathered in the dining room that the question—unspoken until now—finally came aloud.

As the soup was being served, Mark looked around the table and paused. “Where is Jane?”

Mrs. Bennet, already seated and smoothing her napkin into her lap, answered with a hint of unease. “She rode to Netherfield earlier this afternoon. The Bingley sisters invited her to dine.”

Mark’s spoon paused just above his bowl. “In this weather?”

“We tried to stop her,” Elizabeth said quickly. “Mama cautioned her. I did as well. But Jane insisted she would be there long before the rain began.”

“Our Jane… insisting?” Mark echoed, eyebrows raised in disbelief. “She must truly like Bingley’s sisters, then. Though for the life of me, I cannot imagine why.”

Elizabeth gave a pointed look. “I think her interest lies more in their brother.”

Mark let out a short laugh. “Ah. That does explain it. Bingley always had an eye for pretty blondes—and a knack for charming them, too.”