“I did,” Mr. Bennet replied, his tone calm yet resolute, meeting her gaze with a steadiness that did little to ease her growing alarm. “What I have to say concerns Laurence—and it is not a trifle. I am sorry he is not at home yet, but we need to discuss the matter despite his absence.”
Mrs. Bennet’s breath caught audibly, her eyes widening as she pressed a hand to her bosom. “Laurence? What has he done now? Oh, Mr. Bennet—this cannot be another of his heedless escapades!”
“Pray, wait,” Mr. Bennet said calmly, lifting a hand to forestall further interruption, his gesture gentle yet firm, prompting her to subside with a flustered nod. “This goes beyond his usual conduct. But hear me first.”
Miles straightened at once, his attention fixed upon his father with quiet intensity, while Kit’s brows drew together in sudden concern, his voice low as he ventured, “Is it serious, sir?”
“This afternoon,” Mr. Bennet continued, his voice even though the strain lingered beneath it, “Laurence was seen behind the church stable at Meryton, alone with Miss Alice Monro.”
The effect was immediate, as though the words themselves had struck a spark in dry tinder.
Mrs. Bennet gave a sharp exclamation, half-rising from her chair in agitation. “Behind the stable? Alone? Oh, Mr. Bennet—this is beyond imprudence! The rector’s daughter—of all young ladies!”
“That sounds like Laurence—bold to the point of recklessness,” Kit said, then stared at the floor a moment, his jaw set, before lifting his gaze with a mixture of dismay and frustration.
Miles went very still, his hands clasping together tightly, his colour draining as he absorbed the implications, his voice emerging low and grave. “Witnesses, Father?”
“The matter was witnessed,” Mr. Bennet went on evenly, acknowledging their reactions with a faint nod that conveyed both regret and resolve, “by several persons, and therefore cannot be dismissed as idle report. Father Monro sent his daughter indoors at once and directed Laurence to return to Longbourn—a direction he has not yet obeyed. The rector himself was here shortly thereafter, informed me of the circumstances, and has just taken his leave. I gave him my word that I would call upon him tomorrow at noon with my decision.”
Mrs. Bennet sank back into her seat, pressing her handkerchief to her lips as she struggled for composure, her voice rising with anxious urgency. “Tomorrow? Then it will be everywhere by nightfall! The neighbourhood will talk of nothing else!”
“It might,” Mr. Bennet said quietly, his tone compelling her to meet his gaze, the firmness in his words drawing a hesitant silence from her, “but it will not harm her—not if I can prevent it. And I shall endeavour to do so with all the care the young lady’s situation demands.”
“Oh! how they will laugh at me—how they will whisper and titter behind their fans!” Mrs. Bennet exclaimed, clasping her hands with dramatic despair. “No one will invite me to tea anymore, no one will trust me with the latest intelligence, nor confide a single scrap of neighbourhood news. What am I todo, Mr. Bennet? How will my sons be regarded in society—good heavens! I declare, I should have been far better off with five daughters. That would have been infinitely easier. Oh! my poor nerves!”
Mr. Bennet regarded his wife as though she had quite mislaid her senses, and replied, with perfect dryness,
“My dear madam, you do not know what you are saying. With five daughters, matters would have been considerably worse.”
He turned his gaze from one to the other, his expression grave yet touched with the weary affection of a father burdened by his son’s folly. “Alas, Laurence is not yet home. Until I have heard his account, I will make no decision. I will not act in haste, nor allow indignation to outrun sense.”
Kit looked up then, his voice thoughtful yet edged with concern. “You mean to speak to him alone, sir?”
“I do. His guilt, or his defence against the accusation,” Mr. Bennet replied, his voice steady as he met his son’s gaze. “Whatever folly he has committed, it must first be understood. After that, I shall speak to Father Monro—and I shall do so with the young lady’s interest foremost.”
Miles lifted his eyes, his voice low and approving. “That is… right, sir. Her reputation must be protected above all.”
Mrs. Bennet pressed her handkerchief more tightly to her lips, her eyes bright with unshed tears as she struggled between anxiety and obedience. “And what are we to do meanwhile? Sit in silence while the neighbourhood whispers?”
“We wait,” Mr. Bennet said, his tone gentle yet unyielding, acknowledging her distress with a faint, reassuring nod. “And we keep silence—for her sake, if not for ours.”
At that moment, the faint sound of the front door opening reached them from the hall, a sound that caused Mrs. Bennet to start and Miles to straighten further.
Mr. Bennet straightened fully, his expression resolute. “That will be Laurence,” he said. “You may remain here or withdraw, as you judge best—but I will speak with him first, and alone.”
Miles rose at once, his movement decisive. Kit hesitated only a moment, then followed him toward the door with a supportive glance toward his father. Mrs. Bennet lingered, torn between anxiety and obedience, before turning away with visible effort, her hand pressing to her heart as she murmured a quiet prayer for guidance.
Laurence entered the house with the careless confidence of one who has not yet decided whether he has done wrong—or whether wrong has merely been suggested to him by narrower minds. He shut the door behind him with unnecessary force, tossed his hat onto the side table, and was halfway across the hall when he saw his father standing alone in the parlour doorway.
He stopped short, a flicker of unease crossing his features before he masked it with forced lightness.
Mr. Bennet did not move. He did not raise his voice, nor did he advance. He simply waited, one hand resting upon the doorframe, his expression composed to the point of severity.
“Come in, Laurence,” he said at last, his voice low and calm. “I have been waiting for you.”
Laurence obeyed, though with a faint tightening about the mouth that betrayed annoyance rather than contrition. He remained standing, hands loose at his sides, his posture erect and unyielding.
“Waiting for me, Father?” Laurence asked lightly as he entered the parlour, his tone carrying a note of defiance that he could not quite conceal beneath the casual air he affected.
