Chaos erupted.
Kitty squealed. Lydia shrieked with unhelpful laughter. Jane rushed for a napkin.
Elizabeth clamped a hand over her mouth to hide a bubble of horrified, half-guilty laughter.
Mr. Bingley looked as if he were torn between helping and breaking down laughing.
Mrs. Bennet cried, “Oh! Oh, dear heavens—Hill! HILL!”
Mr. Bennet rapped his knuckles firmly on the table, voice ringing with dry command.
“Enough!”
He fixed Sophocles with a glacial glare. The cat had already retreated to the mantel, tail flicking with majestic indifference.
“Madam,” Mr. Bennet addressed his wife coolly, “perhaps the creature sensed some impropriety afoot. He is not often wrong.”
Elizabeth could not hide the startled, strangled laugh that escaped her.
Wickham was dabbing hopelessly at his soaked waistcoat with Jane’s offered napkin. His forced, strained smile did not reach his eyes.
Mr. Denny tried valiantly to salvage the moment.
“Capital reflexes, Wickham,” he managed gamely. “Might be useful in battle.”
Wickham’s answering laugh was brittle.
Mr. Bennet settled back in his chair with regal composure.
“Well. Now that the cat has given his judgment, perhaps we might move on to the second course?”
Elizabeth’s eyes sparkled, despite herself. She stole a glance at her father and found the ghost of a wink waiting for her.
The rest of the meal was conducted with cautious civility, punctuated by Wickham’s damp discomfort and Mr. Denny’s valiant attempts at cheerful small talk.
Mrs. Bennet did her best to recover the mood by praising the pudding effusively, while Kitty and Lydia exchanged barely suppressed giggles over the cat’s daring leap.
Elizabeth, for her part, remained watchful.
Mr. Wickham resumed his charming manner, but there was a flicker of tightness at the corners of his mouth every time Sophocles slunk past the hearth.
At last, dessert plates were cleared and coffee was served in the drawing-room. Conversation settled into a more restrained formality.
Wickham, though perfectly polite, seemed increasingly eager to be away. He stood, bowing with precision.
“My apologies for the disturbance earlier,” he said, voice silky, though his eyes darted once to the floor as if checking for any feline ambush. “You have all been most indulgent.”
Elizabeth dipped her head, schooling her expression into something gracious. “We are grateful you bore it so well, sir.”
Wickham’s smile strained just a fraction tighter.
Mr. Denny, ever the mediator, clapped his friend lightly on the shoulder. “Come, Wickham. Best leave before your uniform is entirely ruined.”
“Oh, but you must come again soon—so sorry for the... accident!” Mrs. Bennet cried, flapping her handkerchief in faint distress.
“Another time, ma’am,” Wickham assured her, inclining his head stiffly.
Elizabeth caught her father’s sidelong look of grim amusement.
