Mr. Denny gave a courteous bow. “A pleasure as always, Mrs. Bennet, Miss Bennet, Miss Elizabeth.” He offered Kitty a kind, almost fraternal glance.
The young officers and Mr. Bingley took their leave with the usual polite promises. Mr. Wickham’s bow in Elizabeth’s direction was correct but brisk. She returned it coolly.
When the door closed behind them, silence lingered for a beat.
“Well,” Mr. Bennet said dryly, breaking it, “that went beautifully.”
Elizabeth barely smothered a snort.
Jane, ever gentle, tried for peace. “They were very civil about it all.”
“Civil,” Mr. Bennet repeated with mock solemnity. “Yes, that is the word.”
Before Mrs. Bennet could rally for a defence, there was another knock at the door.
This time it was Mr. Bingley alone. He stood in the entry with an apologetic smile, his hat tucked respectfully under one arm.
“Forgive the intrusion—I only wanted to thank you all properly for the invitation this evening.”
Mrs. Bennet beamed, her good humour instantly restored. “Oh, Mr. Bingley! Such manners. Come in, come in—though I fear the excitement has quite undone us.”
Bingley’s eyes sparkled with amusement as he stepped into the hall. “I heard Wickham’s coat may never recover. Tell me, Miss Elizabeth, was it truly the cat’s doing?”
Elizabeth lifted a brow, refusing to deny it. “Sophocles seems to have strong opinions on our guests.”
Bingley laughed, bright and untroubled. “A cat of discernment, clearly.”
Mr. Bennet waved him toward the hearth. “Join us for a moment more, Mr. Bingley. I promise the beast is in the kitchen now, awaiting judgment.”
Bingley grinned and settled himself. He cast a glance at Jane, who met it with shy warmth.
Elizabeth watched them, her own expression softening.
Mr. Bennet regarded the scene with narrowed but approving eyes. “Well. If nothing else, the evening was instructive.”
Elizabeth arched a brow at him. “Papa.”
He spread his hands innocently. “What? I like to know the character of my dinner guests. Sophocles has simply taken that responsibility onto his own furry shoulders.”
Mr. Bingley burst out laughing. Even Jane’s lips twitched.
Mrs. Bennet shook her head, though she could not entirely suppress a reluctant smile.
At last, Bingley stood, gathering himself.
“I must not overstay—I only wished to make sure no lasting offence was taken. And to say goodnight properly.”
He bowed carefully to Mrs. Bennet, and offered a warmer, lingering bow to Jane.
Elizabeth noted it, satisfaction quietly stirring in her chest.
Mr. Bennet gave a mock-sigh of resignation. “Goodnight, Mr. Bingley. Mind the cat on your way out.”
Bingley paused at the door with a last grin. “Thank you, sir. I shall tread carefully.”
When the door shut behind him, the room fell into an oddly contented hush.
Elizabeth found herself smiling into the quiet, one hand absently stroking Sophocles’s now-vacant chair.
