The family soon learned why Lydia had been reluctant to sing or play for the master after she had performed tolerably well for the French tutor. She sang like a magpie. It would appear that the poor girl was positively tone deaf, which was very odd considering all her sisters had at least some sense of musicality and very disappointing to her mother’s dream of having five daughters all singing like angels from heaven. No matter, she would learn to play tolerably well and leave the singing to someone else.

She looked quite different with her hair down in curls and her old dresses cut like a girl’s instead of a woman’s. She looked more like the girl she was and was subsequently treated like one by her sisters, but in the best possible way. She was read to by Jane when she complained her eyes hurt, and helped with her scales by Mary, who was the most disciplined of the Bennet sisters, and even snuck a sweet treat or two by her sister Elizabeth, who knew how much she liked raspberry biscuits. It took the length of a long cold winter, but Lydia eventually made peace with her place in the family as the doted on youngest sister and was pleased enough with that. Mr. Bennet was simply relieved that she had quit throwing fits, complaining incessantly, and flirting with everything in breeches. And, of course, he was proud of her French, which he was told by the tutor was quite good.

February brought with it Jane’s twenty-second birthday which strengthened Mr. Bennet’s resolve to find husbands for at least two of his daughters before his demise, preferably for his two eldest. Jane put up a brave front and never complained, but he could tell she was still saddened over Mr. Bingley’s removal from the neighborhood. The cad had not even said goodbye. He had paid her an inordinate amount of attention, singled her out on every possible occasion, then hied off to London promising to be back within a few days but never actually returned. His sister had sent a letter, of course, but it was no substitute for his presence and it was not a kind note, deftly killing all of Jane’s dreams with a swift stroke of the pen. But what else could be expected from Miss Bingley, a woman with such a spiteful tongue and prickly nature?