raisedbymoogles (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
raisedbymoogles) wrote2021-07-10 12:46 am
raisedbymoogles) wrote2021-07-10 12:46 am
Entry tags:
Flailing around in a fandom I have no place in.
I'm not a huge fan of Regency settings. To me all the Dance of Manners and Social Status etc. isn't a romantic backdrop - it's exhausting bullshit, and I only dabble in it to see someone break it the fuck over their knee.
Maybe that's why I latched onto Lydia Bennett.
Gazing out over the lush hillside of her brother-in-law’s estate, Lydia drew a deep breath and said, “I am going to miss this place, Lizzie.”
Her dear sister - prettier than her, smarter than her, more accomplished and more admired, and in those respects marriage and motherhood hadn’t changed her one bit - turned to her in shock. “What on earth can you mean? You know you are always welcome at Pemberley!” Her eyes narrowed, making that pretty face take on a weasel-ish cast (though Lydia refrained from laughing at her for it). “Is that the problem, Lydia? Is he-” She paused then, clearly searching for some way to put it delicately.
Now Lydia had to laugh, though she managed to smother it behind her glove a bit. “Oh, my dear husband always has something to say whenever I return from Pemberley, but no, he has no intention of preventing my visits. I think he rather enjoys the thought of my burdening Mr. Darcy with my presence - it’s just as good as antagonizing him in person.” Elizabeth blinked, clearly at a loss to how to respond. Lydia couldn’t blame her. Of necessity they had always restricted themselves to the unavoidable bits of conversation regarding Mr. Wickham - Elizabeth would ask after his health, Lydia would assure her of his continued vitality, and they woud move swiftly on. “But no, I feel certain this will be my last visit, for by the time the year is out you and Mr. Darcy shall, I think, be forced to rescind that standing invitation.”
“Lydia,” Elizabeth said, for all the world as though they were still children and Lydia had turned up with stolen jam all over her new dress.
Lydia closed her eyes, lifted a hand. “Don’t misunderstand me. I’m not a thoughtless child anymore; indeed I’ve given it a great deal of thought.” Elizabeth maintained an unhappy silence. “I have been married to Mr. Wickham ten years, and have enjoyed it for all of ten weeks. You will say I brought him on myself - and don’t give me that look, sister dear, that is what you were thinking - but if I am to spend my eternity condemned for my sins, I see no reason to burn myself in advance. So! by Christmas, I intend to be free of the man, and if it costs me every friend and relation I have in the process, so be it.”
Elizabeth’s silence stretched, until at last - “Please tell me you are not thinking of anything - desperate.”
Lydia had contemplated it, but it would do no good to say so. “I have no intention of saddling my children with a murderer for a mother,” she assured her sister. Elizabeth didn’t reply, her hand up by her chin, clearly upset. “Oh, cheer up, Lizzie, do. Brooding doesn’t suit you near as well as it does Mr. Darcy.”
“I can take no joy of this,” Elizabeth snapped. “Do you think you will make your case before Parliament? You will fail, and even the attempt will break our father’s heart, you know this.”
“Father doesn’t care, you know this,” Lydia mocked gently. “I waited until Mama was laid in the ground; that should be long enough. And Jane will forgive me, as she has the forgiveness of an angel, and Kitty will be too entertained to be cross. Mary will be unbearable, and I do apologize for that, but even she will be happy in her own way. Her virtue will shine all the brighter against the stain of her sister’s fall from grace.”
Elizabeth seemed to withdraw, uncertain of her next step. Then she drew breath to speak once more, but Lydia broke in before she could form the words. “And,” she said, “it will do you no good to bring up any talk of my owing Mr. Darcy. Yes, I have been appraised of his generous contribution.” Elizabeth’s teeth clicked. “But you needn’t pretend he did it for my sake.”
Elizabeth looked, for all the world, hurt. She sighed, defeat etched in the sudden faint lines around her mouth. “You have changed and you haven’t,” she declared. “Just please promise you will maintain this trend of giving things a great deal of thought before you act. If I must receive some sort of dreadful news by Christmas, better it be about him than about you.”
Lydia seized her sister’s hands, suddenly overwhelmed with affection for her. “Dear Lizzie! There’s a streak of wickedness in you yet; it’s what I admire most about you.”
“Don’t talk nonsense, Lydia,” Elizabeth grumbled, but when Lydia embraced her, she returned it.
It was a terrible breach of protocol for a man to catch his sister-in-law alone, of course, even upon the steps of his own house. But it wouldn’t be the first risk Fitzwilliam Darcy had taken on account of his wife’s unpredictable sister.
“Mrs. Darcy told me of your… intentions,” he said - muttered, really, under cover of stooping to take one of Mrs. Wickham’s bags.
Lydia sighed gustily. “I really hoped she wouldn’t,” she complained, utterly heedless of her coltish young daughter trotting ahead of them and any attention she may or may not be paying. “Not until I was away, at least. Very well, are you going to stop me?”
Darcy straightened, bag in one hand, the other automatically taking the hand of his towheaded nephew - unthinkingly affectionate little thing that he was, and Darcy could easily talk himself into hoping the boy had inherited all of George’s virtues and none of his vices. “From the bottom of my heart - if there is anything I may do to aid you, anything at all, you have only to write to me.”
Lydia gave him a fierce, toothy smile. Then she was boarding the carriage after her daughter, and Darcy helped Little Georgie up after her. Then he merely watched, until the carriage was out of sight.
Maybe that's why I latched onto Lydia Bennett.
Gazing out over the lush hillside of her brother-in-law’s estate, Lydia drew a deep breath and said, “I am going to miss this place, Lizzie.”
Her dear sister - prettier than her, smarter than her, more accomplished and more admired, and in those respects marriage and motherhood hadn’t changed her one bit - turned to her in shock. “What on earth can you mean? You know you are always welcome at Pemberley!” Her eyes narrowed, making that pretty face take on a weasel-ish cast (though Lydia refrained from laughing at her for it). “Is that the problem, Lydia? Is he-” She paused then, clearly searching for some way to put it delicately.
Now Lydia had to laugh, though she managed to smother it behind her glove a bit. “Oh, my dear husband always has something to say whenever I return from Pemberley, but no, he has no intention of preventing my visits. I think he rather enjoys the thought of my burdening Mr. Darcy with my presence - it’s just as good as antagonizing him in person.” Elizabeth blinked, clearly at a loss to how to respond. Lydia couldn’t blame her. Of necessity they had always restricted themselves to the unavoidable bits of conversation regarding Mr. Wickham - Elizabeth would ask after his health, Lydia would assure her of his continued vitality, and they woud move swiftly on. “But no, I feel certain this will be my last visit, for by the time the year is out you and Mr. Darcy shall, I think, be forced to rescind that standing invitation.”
“Lydia,” Elizabeth said, for all the world as though they were still children and Lydia had turned up with stolen jam all over her new dress.
Lydia closed her eyes, lifted a hand. “Don’t misunderstand me. I’m not a thoughtless child anymore; indeed I’ve given it a great deal of thought.” Elizabeth maintained an unhappy silence. “I have been married to Mr. Wickham ten years, and have enjoyed it for all of ten weeks. You will say I brought him on myself - and don’t give me that look, sister dear, that is what you were thinking - but if I am to spend my eternity condemned for my sins, I see no reason to burn myself in advance. So! by Christmas, I intend to be free of the man, and if it costs me every friend and relation I have in the process, so be it.”
Elizabeth’s silence stretched, until at last - “Please tell me you are not thinking of anything - desperate.”
Lydia had contemplated it, but it would do no good to say so. “I have no intention of saddling my children with a murderer for a mother,” she assured her sister. Elizabeth didn’t reply, her hand up by her chin, clearly upset. “Oh, cheer up, Lizzie, do. Brooding doesn’t suit you near as well as it does Mr. Darcy.”
“I can take no joy of this,” Elizabeth snapped. “Do you think you will make your case before Parliament? You will fail, and even the attempt will break our father’s heart, you know this.”
“Father doesn’t care, you know this,” Lydia mocked gently. “I waited until Mama was laid in the ground; that should be long enough. And Jane will forgive me, as she has the forgiveness of an angel, and Kitty will be too entertained to be cross. Mary will be unbearable, and I do apologize for that, but even she will be happy in her own way. Her virtue will shine all the brighter against the stain of her sister’s fall from grace.”
Elizabeth seemed to withdraw, uncertain of her next step. Then she drew breath to speak once more, but Lydia broke in before she could form the words. “And,” she said, “it will do you no good to bring up any talk of my owing Mr. Darcy. Yes, I have been appraised of his generous contribution.” Elizabeth’s teeth clicked. “But you needn’t pretend he did it for my sake.”
Elizabeth looked, for all the world, hurt. She sighed, defeat etched in the sudden faint lines around her mouth. “You have changed and you haven’t,” she declared. “Just please promise you will maintain this trend of giving things a great deal of thought before you act. If I must receive some sort of dreadful news by Christmas, better it be about him than about you.”
Lydia seized her sister’s hands, suddenly overwhelmed with affection for her. “Dear Lizzie! There’s a streak of wickedness in you yet; it’s what I admire most about you.”
“Don’t talk nonsense, Lydia,” Elizabeth grumbled, but when Lydia embraced her, she returned it.
It was a terrible breach of protocol for a man to catch his sister-in-law alone, of course, even upon the steps of his own house. But it wouldn’t be the first risk Fitzwilliam Darcy had taken on account of his wife’s unpredictable sister.
“Mrs. Darcy told me of your… intentions,” he said - muttered, really, under cover of stooping to take one of Mrs. Wickham’s bags.
Lydia sighed gustily. “I really hoped she wouldn’t,” she complained, utterly heedless of her coltish young daughter trotting ahead of them and any attention she may or may not be paying. “Not until I was away, at least. Very well, are you going to stop me?”
Darcy straightened, bag in one hand, the other automatically taking the hand of his towheaded nephew - unthinkingly affectionate little thing that he was, and Darcy could easily talk himself into hoping the boy had inherited all of George’s virtues and none of his vices. “From the bottom of my heart - if there is anything I may do to aid you, anything at all, you have only to write to me.”
Lydia gave him a fierce, toothy smile. Then she was boarding the carriage after her daughter, and Darcy helped Little Georgie up after her. Then he merely watched, until the carriage was out of sight.