Lydia Read Online Free

the way it is. Men inherit, and women must hope for the best.” Currently, Mr. Collins lives in Kent, in a parsonage belonging to a richnoblewoman called Lady Catherine de Bourgh. He appears to be quite in love with her and she has a daughter Mamma already hates, because even though Mr. Collins says she is too sickly to have any proper accomplishments, she is extremely rich.
    â€œ Lizzy is extremely accomplished,” Mamma said, as Mr. Collins guzzled Hill’s delicious lemon posset. “Why, she plays the piano better than anyone in Hertfordshire, and she is always with her nose in a book.”
    Kitty kicked me under the table. “Why is Mamma telling lies about Lizzy?” she whispered, and I shrugged to say I had no idea.
    â€œLizzy doesn’t read half as much as me,” Mary protested. “And she only reads in English. I am teaching myself Greek.”
    â€œTeaching yourself?” Mr. Collins looked appalled. “But what about your governess?”
    â€œWe don’t have a governess,” Mary said. “I have asked for one so many times, but Father says there is no point in educating girls . . .”
    â€œWe are not talking about you, Mary,” Mamma interrupted. I caught Kitty’s eye and giggled.
    â€œ I’m learning Greek,” I minced beneath my breath. Kitty snorted. Mr. Collins turned his attention to me.
    â€œAnd what does Miss Lydia read?” he asked.
    â€œShe doesn’t.” Mary glared at me. “She prefers chasing after officers.”
    I nearly choked on a dried fig. Mr. Collins looked confused.
    â€œLydia likes to be outside,” Jane said, before I could respond.
    Mr. Collins declared that outdoor pursuits were veryadmirable and even educational, but that I should not forsake books entirely. “For not reading will make you stupid.”
    â€œI’m afraid it is far too late for that,” Father said.
    Mr. Collins and Father both chuckled like it was the most amusing thing in the world. Jane squeezed my hand under the table.
    â€œMonstrous, monstrous man!” I complained to Kitty when we went up to bed. “And ugly! So ugly!”
    â€œYou have to be nice to him,” Kitty said. “Liddy, you have to try.”
    â€œNice to him! Why? He wasn’t nice to me!”
    Kitty started on about Longbourn and the inheritance and being thrown on the streets, but I wasn’t listening.
    â€œI don’t care if Mr. Collins stands to inherit half of Hertfordshire, I shan’t be nice to him. I would rather beg on the street than ask for his protection! I would rather keep pigs!”
    Kitty said nothing. I threw myself on my bed and began to write, jabbing my diary like my pencil was a dagger and the paper Mr. Collins’s face.
    â€œWhat are you doing?” Kitty asked after a while.
    â€œI’m writing my journal. I’m going to make it as scurrilous as possible. I mean to sell it when we’re poor, and become a publishing scandal, and make us pots of money.”
    â€œLiddy, be serious. What will happen to us when Father dies?”
    I put down my pencil. Kitty’s face was soft in the candlelight, her eyes big and dark and frightened. It’s easy to forget, sometimes, that she is older than me.
    â€œFather isn’t going to die for ages and ages,” I told her. “Inever saw a man in better health. But when he does . . .”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œWell, we shall all have to go and live with Jane and the splendidly rich Mr. Bingley.”
    Kitty gave a snort of laughter and all was well again. But I can’t help thinking, what if the future isn’t Mr. Bingley and balls and dazzling husbands – what if the future is Mr. Collins?
    I don’t think I could bear that.

Tuesday, 19th November
    T he day did not start well. Mr. Collins insisted on accompanying us on our walk to town after breakfast. I thought I would die from the tedium of listening to