Page 1 of The Cat Who Loved Mr. Darcy (Pride and Prejudice Variation)

The first cool evenings of autumn had begun to creep into Longbourn, bringing a touch of smoky heather and fallen leaves to the air, but the Bennet drawing room remained lively, almost stifling with talk and laughter and argument.

Elizabeth had retreated to the window seat with her book, more for the view than the words.

Outside, the hedgerows were a soft green dusk, the sky pale in its fading gold, and the breeze rattled the casement ever so slightly.

Her true companion, however, was neither wind nor novel but Sophocles, her grey-and-white tomcat, who lay stretched along the ledge, eyes half-shut in inscrutable contentment.

“He is the very picture of dignity,” she murmured, with private amusement.

Elizabeth did not bother to turn. “On the contrary, Mama, I consider it excellent training in observing character. Sophocles cannot flatter, and he cannot lie. I dare say he is better company than most gentlemen I know.”

“Impudent girl,” Mrs. Bennet huffed. “And what would you know of gentlemen? If you spent less time with that ill-tempered brute and more attending to your appearance, you might yet have an offer before Jane!”

At that, Sophocles uncoiled his long, elegant body and turned a slow, imperturbable stare upon Mrs. Bennet. His tail flicked once—then he jumped lazily onto a nearby cabinet and finally settled on Mr. Bennet’s favourite armchair.

Jane, who had been stitching quietly by the hearth, tried to soothe the rising storm. “Mama, he is not so ill-tempered as all that. He is really very gentle with those he likes.”

“He is partial to you, at least, Jane,” Elizabeth observed with a smile. “He has good taste.”

“That’s no recommendation!” Mrs. Bennet declared, only half-jesting, waving her hands in exasperation. “He scratched Mr. Hill last week, poor man.”

“Because Hill tried to remove him from Father’s chair,” Elizabeth said serenely. “One must have some principles, after all.”

At that moment, the door opened and Mr. Bennet himself entered, holding a letter aloft between two fingers with all the solemnity of a royal summons.

“Family assembly,” he announced, in his usual dry manner. “A letter has arrived, and I think it deserves your collective attention. I am confident it contains a wealth of instruction on duty, humility, and the blessed virtue of obedience to one’s elders. All of which we shall enjoy together.”

Elizabeth’s eyes lit with mischief. “A sermon in letter form? From whom, Papa?”

Mr. Bennet sat down, carefully removing Sophocles from his chair, only to have the cat leap lightly onto his lap with a low purr. He adjusted the letter with mock gravity.

“Our dear cousin Mr. Collins.”

A chorus of groans met this announcement.

“Oh!” cried Mrs. Bennet, immediately atwitter. “Give it here! Let me see!”

But Mr. Bennet would not surrender his prize. “No, no. You will hear it read aloud in the proper style. Lizzy, pay attention. This may be your future.”

Elizabeth rolled her eyes and gave Sophocles a conspiratorial pat. “What do you think, old philosopher? Would you endure Mr. Collins’s company for my sake?”

Sophocles did not answer, but his whiskers twitched in what Elizabeth decided was derision. He then leaped onto Mr. Bennet’s lap and waited with lazy interest.

Mr. Bennet cleared his throat and began to read in pompous, sonorous tones:

“ My dear sir,

The long-expected event of my ordination is at last complete ...”

He stopped and glanced around. “Momentous news. Do attempt to stay awake, my dears.”

“... and I feel it incumbent upon me to announce my intention of visiting you and your amiable daughters by the end of this week, in order to make amends for any past resentment occasioned by the unhappy entail of your estate ...”

Elizabeth snorted. Sophocles startled slightly at the sound, then blinked in disapproval at the letter.

“... and to assure you of my readiness to offer consolation in the form of —”

Here Mr. Bennet paused dramatically, eyes glinting.

“— in the form of my most humble and respectful proposals of marriage to one of your daughters .”

Mrs. Bennet let out a squeal of triumph so high-pitched that Sophocles’s ears flattened against his head.

“There! Do you hear that? One of my daughters! He is coming to choose! Oh, I knew it!”

Elizabeth sighed. “I wish he would send ahead a list of questions. It would save everyone time.”

Jane tried again for peace. “Perhaps he means kindly.”

Elizabeth raised a brow at her. “Kindly! My dear Jane, I have rarely read anything more self-congratulatory in so few lines. What say you, Sophocles?”

Sophocles, unruffled by the excitement around him, placed a single proprietary paw on the letter in Mr. Bennet’s hand, as if to claim dominion over it.

Mr. Bennet looked down at the cat with admiration. “Well said, sir. You cut to the heart of the matter.”

But Mrs. Bennet would not be deterred. “Lizzy, I will not have you laughing at this! Do you not understand what this means? He is the heir! He is your only chance to save us all from ruin! And he is coming here—to this house! This very week!”

Sophocles turned his head away in profound disinterest. He would not deign to waste a meow on that.

Elizabeth offered her mother a small, infuriating smile. “Yes, Mama. I hear you. The ‘impatient heir’ is coming to inspect us. Shall we also polish the cat in preparation?”

Mrs. Bennet ignored her completely and launched into a plan of cleaning, menus, and gowns with Lydia and Kitty squealing approval.

Sophocles rose, stretched with the grace of a small tiger, and hopped down from Mr. Bennet’s lap. He slunk elegantly across the room to Jane, who laid aside her needlework and accepted him into her lap with gentle composure.

“There,” Elizabeth said with satisfaction. “He has chosen the only other reasonable person here.”

Mr. Bennet folded the letter and tucked it away. “Well, I consider that a fair summary of the evening’s business. Our cousin will arrive to bestow his condescension upon us. Let us meet it in the spirit it deserves.”

“It is easy for you to say that, Mr. Bennet, but there is hardly time for all that has to be done.” Mrs. Bennet was already beginning to lose her calm.

“Patience, my dear. There is enough time,” Mr. Bennet said, trying to ease the situation. He took the letter from his pocket, gave it a brief reread, and studied it with exaggerated solemnity.

Mrs. Bennet hovered over him, twisting her handkerchief. “Well? Well? When is he coming? Don’t sit there looking like a judge, tell me!”

Mr. Bennet cleared his throat.

“According to our dear cousin,” he said, “Mr. Collins proposes to arrive on Friday.”

“Friday?” Mrs. Bennet’s voice rose an octave. “And today is Wednesday! That gives me only tomorrow to prepare!”

He looked at her blandly over the paper.

“Ah. Arithmetic was never your weak point, my dear.”

She waved her hands in exasperation.

“Mr. Bennet, this is no time for jokes! I must plan a proper supper, tidy the rooms, wash the curtains, press the girls’ gowns—good heavens, I shall need two days in one!”

He folded the letter with exaggerated care.

“Might I suggest you begin immediately? I shall stay well out of your way to speed your progress.”

She gave him a look of outraged despair.

“Oh, you are no help at all!”

He sighed.

“On the contrary. I am entirely helpful. I intend to be perfectly silent while you save us all.”

Mrs. Bennet, however, was unmoved by irony. She fluttered about issuing instructions for the household as if the visit were a royal tour.

Elizabeth watched Jane stroke Sophocles’s head gently, the cat rumbling in low approval. Despite her amusement, she felt the prickle of unease that came whenever marriage and security were brought up so forcefully.

Marriage. Entail. Survival. Nonsense that repeated itself on such occasions, more and more upsetting and obsessive.

Her gaze softened at Sophocles, who yawned luxuriously and closed his eyes. At least he demanded nothing from her but honesty, a little milk, and kindness.

Elizabeth leaned back against the window and muttered softly, “If only people were as easy to judge as you.”

He twitched an ear at her voice but did not bother to open his eyes.

And the room settled into its usual mild chaos—plans, arguments, and all—beneath the watchful, unimpressed eye of the cat who ruled them all.

***

Mrs. Bennet spent the better part of that evening in a state of restless triumph, striding about the drawing room with all the purpose of a general preparing for battle.

“Lizzy, you shall not laugh! I am determined you will receive Mr. Collins properly,” she declared, stabbing the air with a rolled-up list of household tasks. “You will speak gently. You will smile. And you will wear that pink muslin I like so well.”

Elizabeth raised her brows. “Must I, Mama? I think Sophocles has claimed it for nesting.”

“Then wash it!” snapped Mrs. Bennet, ignoring the unhelpful snort from Mr. Bennet behind his book.

Sophocles, who had taken possession of Elizabeth’s vacated seat, gave a slow blink, completely unmoved by the uproar. His plumed tail curled neatly around his paws.

Kitty and Lydia, meanwhile, were engaged in their own excited whispering about the possibility of a ball at Meryton now that Netherfield was let.

“Mama, do you think Mr. Bingley will host a dance straightaway?” Lydia squeaked, practically bouncing in place. “He must! Jane will look so handsome at a ball! And there will be officers! Think of it!”

Jane’s cheeks pinkened at the mention of Mr. Bingley, but she busied herself smoothing Sophocles’s fur. He accepted the attention with regal tolerance.

Mrs. Bennet seized on this new topic with all the fervour of a convert.

“Yes! Oh yes, he must hold a ball. We must be ready! Jane, you must have new gloves at least—Lizzy, mind you don’t embarrass us with your scornful ways. Kitty, Lydia, stop shrieking like wild creatures! Where is Mary? That girl will be the death of me with her obsessive novel reading.”

Mr. Bennet lowered his book. “Wild creatures may be preferable to some of the gentlemen you plan to throw them at.”

Elizabeth smothered a laugh. Sophocles, too, let out what sounded like a feline grunt of agreement, which made Jane giggle despite her mortification.

“I assure you, Papa,” Elizabeth said solemnly, “if any gentleman at this ball proves unworthy, Sophocles shall see him off personally afterwards.”

“Excellent,” Mr. Bennet replied gravely. “Shall I commission him a sword?”

Mrs. Bennet looked scandalised. “You will mock, but this is serious! Mr. Collins arriving, Netherfield let, a ball to prepare for—this is our moment! You should pay a visit to our new neighbour—Mr. Bingley, is that his name? I heard that he has begun bringing his furniture and luggage. Oh! I must speak to Hill immediately about the linens—Jane, you shall write to your Aunt Philips for the latest on the Meryton assembly—”

And so the Bennet household surrendered to cheerful, chaotic industry, executing Mrs. Bennet’s grand plan with cleaning, washing, and vigorous carpet-whipping—though in no particular order.

***

Half an hour later, Elizabeth found herself pressed into cleaning out the small parlour with Mary, who offered solemn reflections on the moral dangers of assemblies while attempting to polish the mantelpiece.

“I only hope,” Mary said earnestly, “that any ball will not encourage vanity and idleness. Cards and dancing are so often misused.”

Elizabeth pretended to consider this. “We shall endeavor to sin in moderation.”

At which Sophocles, watching from a chair, yawned so broadly that it seemed almost judgmental.

Mary sniffed. “He is a beast of appetites himself. I don’t think he is a proper model of restraint.”

Elizabeth only smiled and scratched the tomcat under his chin. “Ah, but he never lies about what he wants.”

That night, the house finally quieted, but Elizabeth could not sleep easily. She sat at her small writing desk in her bedchamber, Sophocles perched on the windowsill watching the moonlit garden with hooded eyes.

She bent over a letter half-written but unfinished to Aunt Margaret Gardiner, pen paused mid-word.

She considered the words she wanted to write:

Jane is hopeful. I try not to be. Mama is determined to see us all married by Michaelmas, preferably to Mr. Collins or Mr. Bingley, the gentleman who has let Netherfield Park, although we have never seen either of them. I do not know which fate is worse.

She put the pen down.

Instead, she reached out to Sophocles. He hopped down, landing silently, and came to butt his head against her arm with deliberate affection.

Elizabeth smiled wearily.

“At least you love me for myself.”

The cat settled into her lap, purring low and deep, his weight grounding her in the dim hush of the room.

***

The next morning dawned brisk and cool, with the scent of wet grass creeping into the corridors of Longbourn.

Mrs. Bennet was up before anyone, rattling the household into order like a field marshal.

“Hill! The carpets must be beaten. Kitty! Lydia! Stop squealing about uniforms and fetch the ribbons I set out last night. Lizzy! Where is Lizzy? We have no time to waste!”

Elizabeth appeared from the back hall, Sophocles draped lazily over her arm.

“Good morning, Mama. You seem calm today.”

Mrs. Bennet glared. “You think you are so clever. That cat sheds everywhere. Put him down!”

Elizabeth set Sophocles on the floor. He sat, neatly tucking his paws beneath him, unrepentant.

Mrs. Bennet stabbed a finger at him. “He will not be allowed in the parlour when Mr. Collins visits!”

Elizabeth looked at her mother with feigned horror. “What, banish the only honest judge of character in the house?”

Sophocles meowed once—a short, commanding sound that would startle even Lydia into silence.

Jane covered her mouth to hide a laugh.

Mrs. Bennet waved them all off in disgust. “Hopeless girls! All of you! Hopeless!”

Elizabeth only smiled, smoothing Sophocles’s head, and whispered softly to him, “We shall see, old friend. We shall see who passes your inspection.”

He blinked up at her with solemn approval.

All around them, the Bennet household hummed and rattled and plotted for the future—marriages, dances, inheritances.

But Sophocles watched it all with cool, unblinking calm. He would judge them all in his own time.

And Elizabeth, for all her cleverness, would listen.