Mary bristled. “It isgodlywrath, Papa. A righteous indignation at the decay of our moral foundations is not sin—it is Scripture. And Elizabeth is walking dangerously close to heresy. I fear for your soul, Sister.”
Elizabeth allowed a wry smile. “I only wondered why a soldier’s prayer was more dangerous than his musket.”
Mrs. Bennet, who had been humming vaguely to herself through the exchange, suddenly clapped her hands. “Oh, mercy, who cares what the soldiers pray, so long as they are not disturbing the furniture? What matters is how elegant last night’s assembly was!”
The tension broke like a stick snapped over a knee.
Jane smiled into her tea. Lydia perked up immediately.
“I thought the musicians played better than usual,” said Kitty.
“And Mr. Bingley danced every set,” added Jane, her cheeks just barely pink.
Mrs. Bennet fanned herself. “And with you, my darling! Twice, in fact—and then he danced with Lizzy. Imagine! What gentleman could ask for a more promising start to a courtship?”
“And with that dreadful Miss Goulding not at all,” Mrs. Bennet continued, ignoring her. “Mark my words, girls—we are on the brink ofsomething. I feel it in my bones.”
“If your bones are so wise,” murmured Mr. Bennet, returning to his paper, “perhaps they can tell us whether we are to expect rain.”
But Mrs. Bennet had no ear for sarcasm this morning. She was already recounting—again—the cut of Mr. Bingley’s coat and the elegance of his cravat. “And did I mention that he danced with Janetwice?” she repeated. “Oh, Mr. Bennet, you should have seen it!”
“Considering the fact that you have now informed me twice of the event, it feels as though I had been present.”
Mrs. Bennet ignored her husband. “Did you notice, girls?”
“I think, Mama, that half the room noticed,” Elizabeth said dryly.
“And the other half will hear of it by breakfast,” Kitty added with a grin.
Lydia giggled. “Well, I heard Mr. Bingley told someone that Jane was the most beautiful girl in the room. And even Mr. Darcy said it as well.”
“Why does that name sound familiar?” Mary muttered, though no one paid her any heed.
“Did he?” Mrs. Bennet’s eyes opened wide. “When was that?”
“Right before he asked Lizzy to dance.”
Mr. Bennet’s face popped over his newspaper once more. “Danced with you, Lizzy, eh?”
Before Elizabeth could respond to her father, Mrs. Bennet raised a dismissive hand. “Yes, yes. But that man ispeculiar. He danced only once—and withyou, Lizzy, and not even Jane! Very strange behavior, I say. Very telling.”
Elizabeth blinked. “Telling of what, Mama?”
“Oh, heavens, I do not know. Perhaps he has poor eyesight. Or perhaps he merely wished to oblige Mr. Bingley—heis clearly quite smitten with Jane. Perhaps Mr. Darcy danced with you so his friend might appear more at ease.”
“I see,” Elizabeth said mildly, reaching for her toast.
Mrs. Bennet leaned in, whispering behind her hand as though sharing a confidence no one had asked for. “I mean no offense, my dear, but you must admit—darkhair andgreeneyes? It is not what fashionable gentlemen are looking for. Very striking, yes, but not at allelegant. Not like Jane’s coloring or the other girls.”
“Mama,” Jane said softly, her cheeks tinged pink.
“I’m only beinghonest. One must be realistic when making matches. Mr. Darcy has ten thousand a year and wears boots better than a prince—he will wantrefinement. London polish. Not cleverness.”
“Then I am safe indeed,” Elizabeth said sweetly, folding her napkin. “For I have never been in danger of being either richorpolished.”
Mr. Bennet’s newspaper rustled once more.
“I do wish,” he muttered, “that our breakfast table would cease being a battlefield for beauty and theology. I am beginning to fear for the marmalade.”
