“I hope you will forgive me for intruding, gentlemen, but I simply could not allow you to leave without trying my special almond cake. It is an old, trusted—and quite secret—family recipe.”
Mr. Bingley’s face brightened with genuine delight. “Madam, it looks excellent!”
Mr. Darcy accepted his slice with measured, impeccable politeness. “Thank you. It is very good.”
Mrs. Bennet beamed at them both. “You are too kind, gentlemen!”
Bingley leaned forward eagerly. “I am so glad to have such neighbours. Unfortunately, etiquette insists we return to Netherfield before long.” He added with an apologetic laugh, “My sister could not accompany me today—she is still struggling to settle in and claims she slept dreadfully last night. She has no idea what she missed here; I am certain she would have beencharmed, and even she could not complain about cake this good—even with her very discerning tastes.”
Darcy’s mouth curved in a subtle smile, noting his friend’s natural openness and candour. He was privately grateful, however, for the hour’s reprieve from Caroline’s constant stream of small criticisms about country living.
But Mrs. Bennet had not gone to such trouble for nothing. “And now, before you leave—if you will permit it—I should be very glad to present my daughters. They are waiting most properly in the parlour.”
Mr. Bennet set down his teacup with an exaggerated sigh of resignation. “Ah—the formalities. Very well, madam. Let us not keep them waiting.”
They proceeded to the parlour with deliberate steps, Mrs. Bennet sweeping ahead like a triumphant herald.
Elizabeth and Jane rose immediately, offering graceful, practiced curtseys.
“Mr. Bingley, Mr. Darcy,” Mrs. Bennet announced proudly, “my eldest daughters: Jane and Elizabeth.”
Bingley bowed low, his eyes lingering unmistakably on Jane’s face with open admiration.
“Miss Bennet. A true pleasure.”
Jane blushed delicately, returning the greeting in her gentle, composed manner.
Elizabeth curtseyed with calm civility. “Mr. Bingley. Mr. Darcy.”
Darcy’s gaze met hers a fraction longer than decorum strictly required. Her eyes were clear, steady, with a spark of intelligence that caught him off guard. He inclined his head slightly deeper than before.
“Miss Elizabeth.”
A brief silence fell, charged with new awareness.
Mrs. Bennet, determined to banish it, clapped her hands lightly. “Well! Such a charming introduction. I do hope you will both come again very soon.”
Bingley found his voice first. “I shall count the days, madam.”
Darcy offered a more measured but respectful, “Thank you for your hospitality, Mr. Bennet. Mrs. Bennet.”
Just then, Sophocles emerged from beneath a side table, tail high, surveying the guests with regal disdain.
Darcy, surprisingly unperturbed, bent slightly, offering a patient hand. Sophocles sniffed it with royal gravity—then, with deliberate grace, sprang onto Darcy’s shoulder.
The room froze.
Elizabeth’s eyes flew wide with horror. “Sophocles! No—come down at once. Sir, I am so very sorry—”
Darcy straightened carefully, one brow arching, the cat settling like a sceptical sentinel on his dark coat.
“Do not trouble yourself, Miss Elizabeth,” he said in that careful, precise tone. “It seems I have been... approved.”
Elizabeth stepped forward helplessly, hands half-lifted, but Sophocles only curled his tail more securely behind Darcy’s neck.
Bingley burst into delighted laughter. “Darcy, I think you have made a friend for life!”
Darcy’s mouth curved in a rare, genuine smile. “It seems unavoidable.”
