“So, Mother, what do you think of my boyfriend?” Lydia asked the delighted Mrs Bennet. “Don’t you wish your elder daughters were no longer on the shelf?”
This was too much for Lizzy and Jane, who rushed out in tears.
Later that day, the girls were sitting on the quayside, admiring Wickham’s fine windsurfing talents—or at least Lydia was admiring him, when she happened to say, “Aren’t things strange. Here I am with my boyfriend, and you, Jane, and Lizzy with none. But never mind. You never know what might turn up. Talking of turning up, wasn’t it strange that that horrible Mr Darcy came into Tottie’s with Uncle G and dragged me away—just as I was about to get my best tip ever! Can you believe it! Just as we were leaving, the manager came out, and Darcy had a real hoo hah with him and got me struck off my contract that dear Wickham had worked so hard to set up!” Lydia clasped her hand to her mouth. “…Oh!—it was all meant to be a secret! Oh, fish hooks!”
Lizzy nearly fell off the quayside in shock. So Darcy was the saviour! Oh, Lor! Darcy! Questions, rapid and wild, crowded her mind. Feelings, passions, possibilities rose to the surface and were then quelled immediately by reasoning. She walked on into town, but nothing could distract her; not Jane imploring her to try on the bright pink sweatpants in Jack Wills that she had long coveted; not the glorious sight of Bolt , Cadmus , and Wolf , the rowing club’s Cornish Pilot Gigs, out training; not the site of a common heron standing on the shoreline; not the sudden dramatic exit of The Baltic Exchange III all-weather lifeboat, leaving its pontoon on a rescue mission; not even Lydia offering to buy her a ginger-and-honeycomb ice cream from Salcombe Dairy. No! Her mind was in turmoil. Unable to relax in ignorance, Lizzy determined to send a text to Aunt G, begging her to clarify, to explain, to enable her to comprehend this extraordinary occurrence.