Kitty was first to recover. “Mr. Darcy? Darcy—Darcy?”
“He wrote to you! Lizzy, how grand!” Lydia squealed.
Mrs. Bennet’s mouth worked soundlessly a moment before she found her voice. “Well! I never! Lizzy, why did you not say so at once? What does he want? Is he proposing? Has he invited us all to Pemberley?”
“No, Mama,” Elizabeth said, her face flushing. “He simply asks if I will permit him to write again. To continue... a correspondence.”
“Oh! A secret courtship! How romantic!” Kitty and Lydia shrieked with laughter and speculation.
Elizabeth looked pained. Jane laid a quieting hand on her sister’s arm.
Mr. Bennet rapped his knuckles once on the arm of his chair. “Enough.”
The chatter faltered.
He fixed his wife with a cool stare. “Mrs. Bennet, that is quite enough interrogation. Elizabeth owes you no defence for a letter she had every right to receive. She will answer it—or not—on her own terms.”
He turned to Elizabeth, voice softening. “If you wish, Lizzy, you may go to your room and write now. You have had enough of an audience for one day.”
“Thank you, Papa.” Elizabeth met his eyes with grateful relief. She curtseyed quickly and slipped away, letter clutched to her chest.
A tense hush remained until Mr. Bennet sniffed with exaggerated politeness. “Now. Since our first drama is resolved, perhaps you will all oblige me by explaining the real purpose of this morning’s heroic journey to Meryton.”
Mrs. Bennet coloured. “We went for bonnet trimmings—”
“There is a little bird that tells me you spent most of the time talking to officers,” Mr. Bennet spoke up crisply.
Kitty and Lydia wailed in protest.
“That’s not true—”
“It was only a little while—”
Mr. Bennet raised one brow. “Ah. I see. Not shopping then, so much as parading yourselves. For gentlemen without land or prospects, wearing borrowed red coats.”
“Papa!” Kitty gasped.
“Officers do have prospects!” Lydia said, stamping her foot.
“Indeed,” he mused. “Prospects for being transferred in six months and leaving you with nothing but gossip and disappointment. I warned you before, Mrs. Bennet: these are not suitable acquaintances. They offer no stability, no promise. If you encourage these follies, you will see nothing but grief from them.”
“Well, I think it unkind to speak so.” Mrs. Bennet huffed, indignant. “I only want them to make good connections!”
“Your notion of connections seems limited to red cloth and borrowed plumes, my dear.” Mr. Bennet settled back in his chair, voice drier than dust. “Mark me—I would rather see my daughters unwed than badly wed to men who cannot keep them.” He sighed, lifting his paper once more as if to dismiss the entire room. “And that, my dears, is all I have to say on the matter—today.”
Lydia pouted. Kitty sulked.
Jane pressed her lips together and tried to smooth things over with gentle hushes.
***
Upstairs, Elizabeth sat at her small writing desk, the door closed behind her, her breath slowly evening out, Darcy’s letter open before her, pen in hand—and the first words of her answer taking careful, deliberate shape on the page.
The hush of her room broken only by the faint rustle of leaves at the window. Darcy’s letter lay open on her desk, its careful, formal lines oddly vulnerable on the page.
She ran her finger along the edge. ‘I make no demand, only a hope.’
A rueful smile curved her mouth.‘You hope for my reply, Mr. Darcy. I suppose you deserve one for writing such a careful, honest thing.’
