Elizabeth, mortified yet laughing despite herself, reached to coax the cat. “He can be very particular. I beg your pardon for his... liberty.”
Darcy actually rested a steadying hand on the cat’s back. “He is welcome to stay as long as he wishes.”
Sophocles purred loudly in triumph.
Mrs. Bennet’s face was a picture of battling emotions—shock at the breach of decorum, relief at the friendly laughter, and wild speculation all at once.
“Well!” she declared too brightly. “What a... charming animal. So loyal. How very... amusing.”
Mr. Bennet, who had watched the entire scene with twinkling eyes, cleared his throat diplomatically. “I think, my dear, our guests must be leaving now—before your cake tempts them to stay all afternoon.”
Bingley wiped his eyes, still chuckling. “I shall treasure this memory, Mrs. Bennet. And we shall look forward to visiting again.”
Darcy, gently lowering Sophocles to the floor, offered Elizabeth one last, grave nod. “Miss Elizabeth.”
She dropped a curtsey, breathless with mortification and humour. “Mr. Darcy.”
They departed with polite farewells, Mrs. Hill holding the door with practised solemnity.
As soon as it shut, Mrs. Bennet rounded on her daughter. “Lizzy Bennet, I have never been so embarrassed in my life! Letting that creature crawl all over our guest!”
Elizabeth bent to scoop up Sophocles, who yawned with smug satisfaction. “I did not let him, Mama. He chose. And I think Mr. Darcy survived the experience.”
Mr. Bennet closed his eyes in silent amusement. “Indeed. I suspect he may never recover.”
Jane pressed a hand to her mouth to hide her laughter, and the entire room dissolved into uneasy but undeniable mirth, Sophocles purring as if he had planned it all along.
***
Half an hour later, the dining room at Longbourn was alive with restless anticipation. The Meryton party had returned at last. Mr. Collins complained of a headache and promptly retired upstairs to his room. Lydia and Kitty—who had made the entire journey home an ordeal for him with their nonsensical opinions and endless gossip—were now perched at the edge of their chairs, whispering feverishly and craning their necks for any sound from the hall. Mary sat stiffly at her usual place, book closed but fingers tapping pointedly on its cover in silent disapproval.
Kitty let out a squeak. “I heard the door shut! They have gone—I am sure Mama is coming back!” She pressed her face to the windowpane, eyes wide as if hoping to divine their mother’s mood before she even entered the corridor.
Lydia, who had spent the last few minutes pacing in tight little circles, clapped both hands with barely contained glee. “At last! She will tell us everything. I am certain she did not sit quietly behind closed doors—she must have spoken to them!” Lydia’s imagination was always a step ahead of reality; she pictured, behind her eyelids, gentlemen in blue and green velvet coats with buttons that gleamed like sovereigns.
The door opened with deliberate, almost theatrical flourish, revealing Mrs. Bennet, cheeks flushed, eyes bright with triumph. She waved her hand like a queen bestowing favour on her loyal subjects.
“Well!” Mrs. Bennet declared grandly. “That is done. And very well done, if I say so myself.” Her voice vibrated with such lively energy that even Mary looked up from her book in startled surprise.
“Tell us!” Lydia all but shouted, bouncing in her seat like a child denied a Christmas treat. She grabbed Kitty’s hand and squeezed it so tightly that Kitty yelped for an entirely differentreason. “Did you see them? Were they handsome? Rich? Oh, do not tease us—I must know!”
Kitty chimed in, voice quivering with righteous indignation. “Mama, you were so cruel! You sent us to Meryton and then kept us waiting like poor relations at the back door!” She tossed her hair with dramatic flair, as though rehearsing the role of a wounded heiress.
Meanwhile, Elizabeth and Jane had slipped quietly into seats opposite, exchanging looks of wry resignation.
Mrs. Bennet huffed grandly and settled herself among the cushions with all the dignified weight of a stately barge coming to rest. “And rightly so! You two would have giggled and chattered like magpies—utterly unseemly in polite company—and humiliated us all before the introductions could even be managed.”
“I would have been perfectly proper!” Kitty scowled, folding her arms across her chest in mock indignation.
Lydia gave an unladylike snort. “Properly flirtatious, maybe.”
Mrs. Bennet ignored them, already glowing with the triumph. She paused dramatically, drawing deep, measured breaths through pursed lips as if savouring some rare delicacy. At last, she turned to Jane—the clear favourite—her voice melting into uncharacteristic gentleness. “Jane, darling, you must prepare yourself for attention. Mr. Bingley barely took his eyes from you all afternoon—and as for his friend Mr. Darcy—well! There is more there than meets the eye.” She stopped herself suddenly, as if biting off further revelations.
“This is all such contrived nonsense,” Mary sniffed. “I do not see why you wouldn’t let us stay at home and greet them sensibly.”
Mrs. Bennet shot her an exasperated glare. “Because sensible from you, Mary, would mean scolding them on the dangers of dancing and the sins of vanity.”
Mary opened her mouth to retort, then snapped it shut, her expression settling into a wounded pout.
