Page 14 of Moments Frozen in Time (Pride and Prejudice Variation)

I nodded. “Although she would be required to follow him wherever he goes, unless she returns home to her family. But then she would be separated from her husband except on the rare occasions when either she can visit him, or he can visit her. It is not inexpensive to travel across England and very difficult to go abroad.”

Lydia acknowledged my words but said little else.

We walked in silence until we reached our first destination where we spoke briefly with Mrs. Johnson and her children.

The family was busy, so we did not linger long.

From there, we continued on to the second house I had planned to visit, leaving the items we had brought.

Whilst I spoke with the children’s mother, Lydia spent a few minutes playing with the younger ones, and for a moment, a wave of wistfulness passed over me as I recalled behaving in much the same way during visits with my grandmother .

I had been several years younger than Lydia at the time, but still, given how determined she was to be seen as grown, it was endearing to see her acting like the child she still was.

Although only a few years separated us, Lydia often seemed much younger than Jane or me.

In many ways, she had been indulged—chiefly by my mother, but the rest of us had done our part as well, yielding to her demands for the sake of peace.

We had all quickly learnt that Mama would always take Lydia’s side, which made it far more difficult to stand firm with her.

I had still done so on occasion though it seldom ended well.

Most recently, Lydia had taken some coins from my room, and I—furious—had pulled her hair and threatened her until she returned them, knowing full well that if Mama had witnessed it, she would have scolded me for being unkind rather than reproaching Lydia.

It was yet another matter I knew I would need to address with my sisters in the coming weeks. Admittedly, we had enjoyed a peaceful se’nnight, but that did not guarantee the calm would last.

As Mrs. Smith returned to her tasks, I remained still, simply watching Lydia.

Once again, I heard my grandmother’s voice clearly in my head: You must be patient, dear one, but that does not mean you should sit back and wait for everything to happen.

Sometimes, you must create your own opportunities rather than wait for circumstances to be perfect.

I laughed softly at the memory of the first time she had said those words to me.

As a child, I had found it nearly impossible to sit quietly or wait for anything.

Mama often scolded me for my restless behaviour, so Grandmama began challenging me to sit still for short stretches, promising a small reward if I succeeded.

At first, she had only started me with five minutes, usually after allowing me some time out of doors to run off my excess energy.

Once I was refreshed, I would sit at her feet whilst she read aloud or stitched, and if I managed not to fidget or interrupt, she would praise me warmly and offer a sweet or a story of her earlier days.

Slowly, the time would stretch, and I learnt, little by little, that patience was not merely the absence of movement but a kind of quiet strength.

If Mama was aware of these little lessons, I do not know, but Mama stopped fussing so much as I learnt to sit more calmly in her presence.

Now, watching Lydia laugh as one of the children tugged at her hand, I wondered if the same lesson could be passed on to my sister.

Lydia was headstrong, spirited, and often careless, but I could not help believing she was also capable of more than she had been encouraged to become before now.

She was older than I had been, of course, and the challenge now would lie in helping her see it for herself.

When she glanced up and met my gaze, she offered a smile that was both genuine and unguarded.

I returned it, and for a fleeting moment, I no longer saw the wilful girl I had so often scolded and complained about, but rather the child my grandmother might have guided—with a firm voice and a gentle heart.

That would be my task now as Jane and I attempted to provide her with the guidance she lacked.

With a deep breath, I adjusted the strap of my basket. “Come, Lydia,” I called. “We have one more brief stop before we return home.”

She gave the smallest of sighs but came willingly enough, waving farewell to the children before falling into step beside me. “You know,” she said after a moment, “I think my doll turned out prettier than Kitty’s. But I suppose I shall let her think hers is the best—for now.”

I bit back a laugh. This was progress, indeed. A fortnight ago, she would have bragged incessantly that hers was better and would have teased Kitty relentlessly.

When we returned from our outing, Mama immediately began complaining that I had kept Lydia out far too long and scolded us all to begin preparing for the evening at Lucas Lodge.

With a grin and a wink, Lydia bounded up the stairs to her room whilst I made my way to Papa’s study, choosing to ignore my mother’s commands for the moment.

I knew that she would be far more concerned with ensuring Jane and Lydia were turned out well and that the rest of us could wait.

I knocked, and upon hearing his call to enter, stepped inside and closed the door behind me. After relaying the details of our visits, I broached the true purpose of my interruption.

“Papa,” I said once a few moments had passed, “my sisters and I have begun reading together in the evenings. I wonder—might you be willing to procure a copy of A Vindication of the Rights of Woman by Mary Wollstonecraft? We have read some of Mary’s copy of Fordyce’s Sermons , and now we wish to compare his teachings to Mrs. Wollstonecraft’s arguments. ”

Papa chuckled. “I would gladly obtain a copy if it were a simple matter, but you know as well as I that Mr. Johnson would never order such a controversial text—not for me and certainly not for my daughters. If the rector caught wind of it, he might well expel me from the congregation, and your mother would be too scandalised to show her face in the village again.”

“But you could write to Uncle Gardiner to ask him,” I suggested, trailing off as I watched my father’s face.

“You may write the letter, and I will sign it after I have read it,” Papa agreed.

“That does not mean that Gardiner would be willing to purchase it, either, and you will need to send your own funds for the purchase. I will not waste my own money on this endeavour since I am certain that in the time it takes for the books to arrive, your sisters will have lost interest.”

For a moment, I simply stared at him, turning his words over in my mind.

In truth, I was not entirely surprised by his response; I had already begun to wonder whether my younger sisters would persist in their determination to better themselves once the militia arrived in Meryton.

Their enthusiasm was genuine at present; I did not doubt that, but it was also new and fragile and perhaps easily swept away by the novelty and attention of officers .

Mama, of course, still spoke fondly of the officer she had once admired before marrying our father.

She painted the idea of a red coat and a handsome face in such glowing terms that I feared my sisters might fall into the same romantic delusions, mistaking charm and a fine appearance for character and constancy.

My sisters and I had spoken often in recent days about what it meant to marry, especially what it meant to marry an officer, whose fortunes were seldom secure and whose affections were sometimes more gallant than sincere.

I had hoped those conversations would take root, but I was less certain if those conversations would hold up against the so-called romance of a man in a red coat.

The arrival of the militia would test more than just their resolve; it would test their understanding of what it is to grow wiser, not merely older.

For the first time, I felt my Grandmama Bennet as though she were truly present—almost corporeal—speaking to me, urging me not to give up.

“You must keep going, Lizzy, even when it is hard.” I could have sworn it was her voice I heard aloud, though I knew that could not be.

Still, the sensation stirred something deep within me, and I brushed aside my doubts.

Her words rekindled my resolve to do what was best for my sisters, even if our parents would not—or could not—do the same.