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Mr. Bennet held up his hand. “There is no need to explain, dearest Lizzy. Now, I beg the two of you to pardon this interruption, for you were no doubt in the middle of discussing secret affairs. I fear I may have got in the way.”

“No, Papa.”

The wily elder man squinted over his spectacles. “Well, whatever the manner of your intercourse, I did not mean to interrupt you. I am merely in search of my paper.”

Elizabeth crossed her arms over her chest. “Papa, would that be the same paper you have tucked under your right arm?”

Feigning surprise, he pursed his lips. “Well, imagine that.” He shook his head. Scratching his whiskers, he said, “I can only attribute my lapse to old age. Father Time is catching up with me.” Again, he held out his hand, “I give you two leave to carry on as you were.” He continued a slow and steady pace towards the door opposite the side of the room where he had entered. “Bon appétit, young man.”

As glad as Darcy was to see Mr. Bennet quit the room, he considered the situation might have been far worse. By now, he was hardly in the mood to resume where he had left off.

Elizabeth’s soft voice pierced his frustrated musings. “Mr. Darcy, I believe it is still your turn.” The teasing twist of her lips was all it took to revive his flailing sentimentality.

Her easy playfulness reminded him of the reason he loved her so. How unfortunate he had spent as much time as he had denying his affections. That she had been immune to his charms never once occurred to him, and only after she had declared him the last man in the world that she could be prevailed upon to marry had he realised how unworthy had been his pretences to a woman so worthy of being pleased.

Even the embarrassing goings-on in the room down the hall could not persuade him against his ardent belief of being one of the luckiest men in all of England.

Her spirits rising once again to playfulness, Elizabeth, in her haste to ply Darcy with his next mouthful, spilt preserves on his crisp white cravat. Gasping, she immediately started removing the stained cloth from around his neck.

Her tiny fingers brushing his skin stirred him. Endeavouring to bridle his desires, he seized both her wrists in his tender grip. Darcy leaned forward, slowly erasing the distance between them and with that, all semblance of propriety. Releasing her hand, he rubbed his finger along her chin. His finger tingled as it skimmed across her soft skin. Elizabeth swept her tongue over her lower lip, sending his pulse racing. Darcy’s heart swelled in his chest.

If only we were at Pemberley, I would reach up and remove the pins from her hair so that it might fall loosely and sweep about her shoulders. He sighed. It will not do, at least not now when there is the threat of interruption at any moment.

Darcy’s supposition that it was only a matter of time before the next disruption proved painfully true when Elizabeth’s younger sister traipsed into the room. She threw her hand over her mouth in order to suppress a girlish giggle. “Oh, pardon me, Lizzy … Mr. Darcy. I was led to believe I might find Papa in here.”

Assuming a more decorous attitude, Elizabeth said, “I am afraid you missed Papa, Kitty.”

Kitty’s slumping shoulder spoke to her disappointment.

“What on earth is the matter, Kitty? Why do you wish to see Papa?”

“Oh, I simply must speak with him at once, for I am convinced that he will agree to allow me to visit Lydia now.” Kitty was on a mission that included badgering her father into submission by asking him the same question every day for over a month, hoping that he would indeed change his mind.

Elizabeth released a heavy sigh. Lydia must have planted that seed in Kitty’s fertile mind. Poor Kitty, albeit the older of the two, had so relied upon Lydia, and now with all the activities surrounding the two eldest sisters’ nuptials of late, Kitty bewailed her feelings of being even more insignificant.

Unfortunately, Kitty’s pleas to Elizabeth to speak to their father on her behalf went largely ignored and reminded Elizabeth of a missive she had received from Lydia, boasting of her imminent good fortune upon being the sister of not one but two rich gentlemen. What good fun it would be to attend the nuptials, she had proclaimed, and oh, how exciting were the prospects for gaiety at the many balls at Netherfield Park and even Pemberley.

Mr. Darcy’s edict that Mr. Wickham was never to be received at Pemberley was one against which Elizabeth could hardly argue, but Mr. Bingley had never expressed such sentiments. Elizabeth supposed the gentlemen’s paths would surely cross again sooner or later. I would much rather it was later—much later.

Kitty was preparing to take her leave when the door swung open. In marched one of the servants bearing a heavily laden tray, likely at Mrs. Bennet’s urgings. In the blink of an eye, a lanky dog burst into the room, headlong into the servant, knocking over the tray, which then crashed onto the floor, toppling the servant, and sending a tureen of soup soaring high in the air. Moreover, where did it land but straight atop the servant’s head? It was all he could do to keep the dog from lapping the soup from his face when another dog ran into the room and also partook of the feast.

Swatting the dogs away, the servant scrambled to his feet and tried to reclaim a modicum of dignity when in rushed yet another dog, toppling the gangly young man again. A rotund servant armed with a rolled up newspaper raced in behind the third dog. What a mess it was; one made even worse as the footmen took turns slipping and sliding. The havoc exacerbated further still as the dogs took turns loudly yapping and hungrily lapping up the waste.

Elizabeth recognised the exasperated turn of Mr. Darcy’s countenance, and although she knew she should not have enjoyed the unfolding chaos half as much as she did, she simply could not help herself. Wanting to mask her amusement with a measure of outrage she did not truly possess, one look at Kitty belied Elizabeth’s intention. Wonderfully entertained, Kitty laughed and smiled in a manner Elizabeth had not seen in her for months.

Espying another canine, a puppy with big round eyes, cowering in the corner of the room, Elizabeth’s busy mind attempted to sort out the confusion. Though she knew not what truly set off the mayhem, Elizabeth had no doubt of its instigator: the scraggly stray that Kitty had rescued just weeks ago. Loud and long-limbed with a tail that might as well have stretched a mile by the manner in which it disturbed everything in the dog’s wake, the poor creature did not belong indoors, for she was wholly unsuitable for polite company. However, Kitty would have it no other way, insisting that her pet, which she had named ‘Lady,’ was just as worthy as the other pets granted the shelter of the manor house. Supposing Kitty had adopted the mongrel as a means of placating her loneliness when her sister Lydia left, her parents did not have the heart to deny her pleas.

“What is the meaning of this disturbance?”

All eyes turned towards the stout butler looming in the doorway. Even the yelping dogs fell silent, but only for a moment. Upon assessing the situation for himself, he proceeded to Mr. Darcy’s side. “Sir, I beg your pardon. If you will bear with—” Two dogs, teeth flashing and jaws clenching, haggling over a cut of meat, ensnared themselves between the gentleman’s long legs, sending him careening over the table.

Darcy’s wine splashed on his tan waistcoat and dark trousers. His mouth flew open!

Knowing the deep-crimson liquid would certainly leave a nasty stain unless she acted precipitously, Elizabeth doused a linen cloth with water. Biting her lip, she was in the midst of dabbing the offending liquid, on the verge of venturing lower, when Darcy seized hold of her wrist.

Arising from his chair with utmost urgency, Darcy said, “Is there somewhere we might go to escape this madness?”

“Shall we return to the parlour with the others?”