“...and to assure you of my readiness to offer consolation in the form of—”
Here Mr. Bennet paused dramatically, eyes glinting.
“—in the form of my most humble and respectful proposals of marriage to one of your daughters.”
Mrs. Bennet let out a squeal of triumph so high-pitched that Sophocles’s ears flattened against his head.
“There! Do you hear that? One of my daughters! He is coming to choose! Oh, I knew it!”
Elizabeth sighed. “I wish he would send ahead a list of questions. It would save everyone time.”
Jane tried again for peace. “Perhaps he means kindly.”
Elizabeth raised a brow at her. “Kindly! My dear Jane, I have rarely read anything more self-congratulatory in so few lines. What say you, Sophocles?”
Sophocles, unruffled by the excitement around him, placed a single proprietary paw on the letter in Mr. Bennet’s hand, as if to claim dominion over it.
Mr. Bennet looked down at the cat with admiration. “Well said, sir. You cut to the heart of the matter.”
But Mrs. Bennet would not be deterred. “Lizzy, I will not have you laughing at this! Do you not understand what this means? He is the heir! He is your only chance to save us all from ruin! And he is coming here—to this house! This very week!”
Sophocles turned his head away in profound disinterest. He would not deign to waste a meow on that.
Elizabeth offered her mother a small, infuriating smile. “Yes, Mama. I hear you. The ‘impatient heir’ is coming to inspect us. Shall we also polish the cat in preparation?”
Mrs. Bennet ignored her completely and launched into a plan of cleaning, menus, and gowns with Lydia and Kitty squealing approval.
Sophocles rose, stretched with the grace of a small tiger, and hopped down from Mr. Bennet’s lap. He slunk elegantly across the room to Jane, who laid aside her needlework and accepted him into her lap with gentle composure.
“There,” Elizabeth said with satisfaction. “He has chosen the only other reasonable person here.”
Mr. Bennet folded the letter and tucked it away. “Well, I consider that a fair summary of the evening’s business. Ourcousin will arrive to bestow his condescension upon us. Let us meet it in the spirit it deserves.”
“It is easy for you to say that, Mr. Bennet, but there is hardly time for all that has to be done.” Mrs. Bennet was already beginning to lose her calm.
“Patience, my dear. There is enough time,” Mr. Bennet said, trying to ease the situation. He took the letter from his pocket, gave it a brief reread, and studied it with exaggerated solemnity.
Mrs. Bennet hovered over him, twisting her handkerchief. “Well? Well? When is he coming? Don’t sit there looking like a judge, tell me!”
Mr. Bennet cleared his throat.
“According to our dear cousin,” he said, “Mr. Collins proposes to arrive on Friday.”
“Friday?” Mrs. Bennet’s voice rose an octave. “And today is Wednesday! That gives me only tomorrow to prepare!”
He looked at her blandly over the paper.
“Ah. Arithmetic was never your weak point, my dear.”
She waved her hands in exasperation.
“Mr. Bennet, this is no time for jokes! I must plan a proper supper, tidy the rooms, wash the curtains, press the girls’ gowns—good heavens, I shall need two days in one!”
He folded the letter with exaggerated care.
“Might I suggest you begin immediately? I shall stay well out of your way to speed your progress.”
She gave him a look of outraged despair.
