“The minister’s cat is a...a...pleasantcat,” he said with confidence.
“Used already,” cried Bingley, clapping his hands. “By me, good sir, at the very start of P!”
Sanderson groaned theatrically but settled near Mary’s chair without protest. “Miss Bennet,” he said with a mock bow, “you are my champion now.”
Miss Mary ducked her head, a pleased smile tugging at her mouth as she resumed with the letter Q.
Darcy leaned nearer towards Elizabeth. “Do you suppose his admiration is idle or intentional?”
Elizabeth tilted her head, her eyes still fixed on the pair. “I cannot say. But Mary seems...receptive.” Her countenance darkened. “If he toys with my sister’s heart…” She broke off, the warning clear without completion.
“Indeed,” Darcy murmured. “Such sport would be intolerable.”
At the letter U, Miss Mary faltered. “The minister’s cat isubiquitous—no,untimely—no,unified—”
“You are out. Mary!” Miss Kitty cried, gleefully striking an invisible bell.
Miss Mary flushed and rose, a touch breathless, while Sanderson immediately offered his arm. They withdrew together, and a low murmur passed through the room.
“That leaves three,” said Bingley, rubbing his hands together. “Shall we raise the stakes? A friendly wager?”
“What do you propose?” asked Jane, half amused.
“A plate of mince pies from the sideboard to the victor, and the honor of being declared the cleverest in the room.” He glanced about. “But beware—Darcy is known for his absurdly long words. Four syllables or more whenever possible. He will likely trounce us all!”
“I cannot help it if the vocabulary is at hand,” Darcy returned with dry amusement. “One uses the words one knows.”
“You must not let him intimidate you, Miss Elizabeth,” Bingley teased. “You have the nimblest mind among us.”
The three advanced swiftly—V, W, X. Elizabeth triumphed withxebec, and Darcy countered with xiphoid. Bingley, however, sputtered helplessly at Y.
“The minister’s cat is a...a yellow cat?”
“Out!” Elizabeth and Darcy chorused.
The room erupted in laughter, and applause rang out.
“And now,” said Bingley, grinning, “the final round. Will it be Miss Elizabeth Bennet or Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy who reigns supreme?”
“Z is upon us,” Miss Lydia whispered loudly, with every intention of being heard. She had reappeared with a rather flushed Captain Denny a few moments before.
“The minister’s cat is azealouscat,” Darcy began.
Elizabeth did not blink. “The minister’s cat is azanycat.”
Darcy’s lips quirked. “The minister’s cat is azodiacalcat.”
“The minister’s cat,” Elizabeth said with relish, “is azeteticcat.”
A beat. Darcy opened his mouth, closed it, and bowed his head.
“I concede. Z has defeated me.”
Applause rang out around them.
Elizabeth’s eyes danced with triumph. “Even four-syllable words may meet their match, sir.”
Darcy extended his hand to help her rise. “You have earned your mince-pies. But I shall demand a rematch—perhaps on the morrow—over bullet pudding.”
