James set down his fork with exaggerated delicacy, as though to distance himself from the subject through sheer finesse.
“I would prefer not to watch,” Miles murmured into his glass. “And I am quite sure the horse would prefer not to perform.”
Laurence snorted. “Spoken like a future clergyman.”
Miles turned to him, unruffled. “And you speak like a boy who regrets missing the war but has no wish to train for the next.”
“Peace does not last forever,” Laurence said, lifting his brows. “And England is never out of enemies for long.”
Mr. Bennet, at the head of the table, raised his glass in dry salute. “Oh, that is truly a comforting thought.”
The remark passed without further comment, though Elias, seated beside his father, gave a fleeting smile. It was the kind of smile that lingered more in the mind than the eye, the sort that revealed nothing but noticed everything. His was a presence more sensed than announced—quiet, contained, and marked by a habitual attentiveness that could easily be mistaken for detachment. His plate was only half touched, but his eyes missed little: the way Kit used his napkin to hide a grin; the slight tension in James’s shoulders; the flicker of something unreadable in their mother’s expression when Laurence mentioned war again.
It was Mrs. Bennet, predictably, who broke the growing silence.
“Well,” she said, laying down her fork with careful precision, “I for one am glad to have you all under the same roof again. It isa rare thing—a mother’s treasure—and I do hope you boys know how very much it means to me.”
They murmured acknowledgments in various tones, sincere or otherwise. James gave her a reassuring nod; Kit looked faintly abashed; Miles offered a warm, “Yes, Mother”; and Laurence, who had no gift for concealment, frowned faintly and took a long sip of wine.
Only Elias remained still, though his gaze softened as it met hers.
“It is good to be home, is it not, brother students?” he asked.
“Yes, it is,” Kit said. “But don’t worry. We shall be back to university soon enough. For you, it may be more difficult to secure a post. Apprenticeship with Uncle Phillips has its merits—but it is neither a salaried position, nor a steady one.”
“It is a beginning,” Miles said mildly. “One does not take holy orders in a day, nor enter the Inns of Court with a full purse. What matters is that Elias is learning from a man who knows his trade and who trusts him. There are far worse ways to prepare for the future than through quiet, steady work. Take Laurence, for instance.”
“Now, now,” said Mrs. Bennet, setting down her knife with a soft clatter, “let us not bring Laurence into every comparison. He is still very young—barely eighteen—and full of spirit. Not every boy is born to sit with his nose in a law book or a sermon. Some are meant for bolder things. Had the war not ended when it did, he might by now be wearing a lieutenant’s coat, with honours to his name and glory to his family.”
She glanced around the table, her voice gaining a touch of fervour, though not quite rising in volume. “He only needs the right opportunity to prove himself. You are all too ready to forgetthat not everyone was born so clever and settled as Elias—or so solemn as Miles.”
“Should we also not remember,” said Mr. Bennet with dry precision, “that he is nineteen, as of last month? Not quite the innocent you paint him, my dear.”
“Then let us also not forget,” Elias said quietly, “that had you not insisted upon sparing him, Mama, he might by now lie in a grave somewhere in Belgium or France, fallen for a cause beyond his power to understand.”
“It was well that Mother protected him,” Kit added, “so that he might come into his own reasons in time, and find a more suitable way to earn his bread. Let us also recall that the money meant to purchase his commission is—gone.”
“I never gave leave for it to be spent,” Mr. Bennet said, his brows drawing together.
“And yet it was,” Kit said dryly. “Practically behind your back, sir. I shall not name in Mother’s presence what he used it for—but I daresay it was no bookshop.”
Laurence shot him a furious glare, which did not go unnoticed and seemed to kindle something darker in Elias.
He straightened in his chair. “Then I have no choice but to speak plainly: Laurie spent most of it at brothels.Again.”
It was Miles’s turn to fix Laurence with a sharp, disappointed look. “Is that true, little brother? Have you truly no regard—for your soul, your health, or your future? I am… appalled.”
“Brothers, please,” James interjected, his voice firm, “we are at dinner. Let us show some respect for the table, if not for each other.”
“You and Father ought to have kept him under stricter guard,” Kit said coldly.
“You would not have managed better, I daresay,” James replied, with just enough heat to silence him—for the moment.
Mrs. Bennet looked momentarily gratified—and then her eyes turned to James, with a gleam of speculative hopefulness. “And I daresay, while you are all gathered here, it would not go amiss to think a little of your futures. Your father and I have long believed that summer is the season for reflection—and for… planning.”
Kit groaned theatrically. “Not again, Mama.”
“Oh, hush. I have said nothing particular—yet. But I do not think it unreasonable to suggest that a houseful of eligible gentlemen should take notice of the world beyond their books, horses, and barracks.”
