Darcy sighed with deep, resigned dignity. “If I must.”
Together they walked the rest of the hall, Sophocles perched proudly on Darcy’s shoulder like a shaggy epaulette, purring smugly all the while.
They entered the parlour to find Mr. Bennet seated comfortably with his paper. He lowered it slowly as they approached, blinking at the sight before him.
Mary’s eyes widened as they entered. She stood up straighter in astonishment. “Good heavens! Is that Sophocles on your shoulder, Mr. Darcy?”
“Well,” Mr. Bennet drawled, gaze resting on the cat with undisguised astonishment. “I see you have brought a guest of your own choosing, Mr. Darcy.”
Darcy offered a small, impeccable bow, though he was forced to do so carefully lest the cat slide off. “It seems, sir, that he insisted on the honour.”
Sophocles meowed once, as if to confirm it.
Mary frowned indignantly, folding her hands with prim precision. “I assure you, Papa, I did put Sophocles in his box. I give you my word.”
Elizabeth covered her mouth to hide her smile. Jane let out a quiet giggle.
Mr. Bingley was all but doubled over with laughter. “I always suspected you were irresistible to certain creatures, Darcy.”
Although it might have been natural to smooth over the scene, Mr. Bennet sensed the best course was to play along with the game that seemed to relax everyone present. He set down his paper with mock solemnity. “By all means, make yourself at home, Sophocles. I trust Mr. Darcy will remain obliging enough to serve as your throne.”
Darcy raised an eyebrow but smiled in honest amusement.
Elizabeth finally reached over and plucked the cat away firmly. Sophocles let out a soft grumble of protest but settled into her arms with exaggerated dignity.
Darcy straightened his coat sleeve with fastidious calm. “My thanks, Miss Elizabeth.”
She lifted her brows archly. “My apologies, sir.”
He allowed the faintest smile. “Accepted.”
Mr. Bennet cleared his throat, amusement twinkling in his eyes. “Well. Now that everyone has settled into their proper places, perhaps we may finally sit down.”
And with that, the room warmed with laughter that even Sophocles, now sulking mildly in Elizabeth’s lap, could not quite disturb.
Darcy stood a pace from Elizabeth, one hand at his coat front, his expression very grave. He cleared his throat quietly. “Mr.Bennet, I hope you will forgive my speaking plainly in company. But I would rather not be thought to sneak about or presume. I wish to ask your permission for something—something that may seem sudden.”
Mr. Bennet’s brows went up, a glint of sly amusement in his eyes. “Sudden? My dear sir, you intrigue me already. Pray go on.”
Elizabeth felt her heart give a small, uneasy flutter, her fingers tightening around Sophocles despite his squirm of protest. Bingley, meanwhile, watched Darcy with open encouragement.
Darcy nodded once, visibly steadying himself. “I realize, sir,” he began carefully, “that I have had the occasion and good fortune to be acquainted with your family for only a rather short while. But although I have met your daughter Elizabeth but a few times, I have admired her presence, her charm, and her clever mind.”
Mr. Bennet clicked his tongue thoughtfully, tapping one finger on his chair arm. “So,” he drawled, “you like her mind.”
Darcy did not flinch, though his next words came with measured gravity. “I do. And I realise it is early days. We have not known one another very long, and there is every reason for caution. But I would rather be direct than allow misunderstanding—especially given your cousin’s clear interest in her.”
Mr. Bennet’s brows lifted, amusement and shrewdness mingling. “You saw that, did you?”
Darcy inclined his head slightly. “It is why I would not presume to pay her attentions without your approval. I had hoped you might permit me to write to her, when I am at Pemberley. Not as a promise or demand—but so that she may know me better. On her own terms.”
Mr. Bennet’s eyes gleamed with appreciative dryness, his voice softer than before. “A cautious man might have waited longer.”
Darcy met the older man’s gaze firmly. “Perhaps. But I would rather be thought too open than not enough.”
Mr. Bennet hummed, leaning back a fraction. “That says something for you, Mr. Darcy. You prefer awkward honesty to convenient silence. Most men wouldn’t trouble themselves.”
Darcy nodded once. “I would rather trouble myself than Miss Elizabeth.”
