Page 15 of The Cat Who Loved Mr. Darcy (Pride and Prejudice Variation)

A faint breeze lifted the loose strands of her hair. Darcy’s eyes tracked it before returning firmly to hers.

“Shall we walk back now?” he asked softly.

She nodded. “Yes. I think Jane and Mr. Bingley have already begun to return.”

He offered his arm again, and she rested her hand there without hesitation this time.

Together they turned back along the path, while ahead, Jane’s gentle laughter mingled with Bingley’s bright exclamations, the sound carrying over the hedges like a promise of the better season to come.

***

Mr. Bingley led the way through the front door with cheerful enthusiasm, offering his arm gallantly to Jane as they crossed the threshold. Elizabeth followed just behind them, with Mr. Darcy closing the door neatly before falling into step beside her.

They moved in a polite cluster along the polished floor of the hall that led toward the parlour, where they knew Mr. Bennet would be waiting.

Halfway along the passage, there was a sudden, unmistakable sound: “Mrrrow!”

Elizabeth blinked. “Oh, Lord. Sophocles.”

Jane immediately bent, her gown rustling softly. “Here, puss—come here!” She stretched out a hand invitingly.

But the cat darted smartly away, evading her fingers with feline precision, then swept straight between Mr. Bingley’s legs, making the poor gentleman hop back with an alarmed chuckle.

“Steady on!” Bingley cried, laughter in his voice. “You have a smuggler aboard, Elizabeth!”

Elizabeth sighed. “Sophocles, do not—”

But the cat ignored her entirely, skirted her shoes without so much as a pause, and marched directly to Mr. Darcy. There he sat down, tail curling neatly, and let out another imploring meow that echoed off the panelled walls.

Mr. Darcy stopped, looking at the creature with wary surprise. “What in the world—?”

The cat meowed again, louder.

Elizabeth coloured, exasperated. “I beg your pardon, Mr. Darcy. He is begging for attention, I fear.”

Darcy hesitated a breath, then, with solemn caution, reached out his left hand and stroked the cat between the ears. Sophocles purred thunderously, then, seeing his advantage, climbed swiftly onto Darcy’s arm.

“Good heavens,” Darcy muttered, stiffening as the cat scrambled up his sleeve, claws hooking delicately.

“Sophocles! No!” Elizabeth moved forward quickly to catch him.

But the cat, sensing rescue was not what he desired, flicked his tail and boldly hopped to Darcy’s shoulder instead. He settled there with regal complacency, curling his tail and fixing Elizabeth with a look of feline triumph.

Elizabeth huffed. “Sophocles, get down this instant!” She reached again.

But the cat only shifted slightly, pressing closer to Darcy’s collar, determined to maintain his new perch.

Bingley let out an irrepressible laugh. “Darcy! It seems you have made a conquest.”

Darcy turned a slow, incredulous look on him, but one corner of his mouth twitched in reluctant amusement. “So it would appear.”

Elizabeth bit her lip to keep from laughing outright. She folded her arms and shook her head. “He is impossible, sometimes.”

Bingley gestured encouragingly. “Well, lead on, man. Best show Mr. Bennet your new accessory.”

Darcy sighed with deep, resigned dignity. “If I must.”

Together they walked the rest of the hall, Sophocles perched proudly on Darcy’s shoulder like a shaggy epaulette, purring smugly all the while.

They entered the parlour to find Mr. Bennet seated comfortably with his paper. He lowered it slowly as they approached, blinking at the sight before him.

Mary’s eyes widened as they entered. She stood up straighter in astonishment. “Good heavens! Is that Sophocles on your shoulder, Mr. Darcy?”

“Well,” Mr. Bennet drawled, gaze resting on the cat with undisguised astonishment. “I see you have brought a guest of your own choosing, Mr. Darcy.”

Darcy offered a small, impeccable bow, though he was forced to do so carefully lest the cat slide off. “It seems, sir, that he insisted on the honour.”

Sophocles meowed once, as if to confirm it.

Mary frowned indignantly, folding her hands with prim precision. “I assure you, Papa, I did put Sophocles in his box. I give you my word.”

Elizabeth covered her mouth to hide her smile. Jane let out a quiet giggle.

Mr. Bingley was all but doubled over with laughter. “I always suspected you were irresistible to certain creatures, Darcy.”

Although it might have been natural to smooth over the scene, Mr. Bennet sensed the best course was to play along with the game that seemed to relax everyone present.

He set down his paper with mock solemnity.

“By all means, make yourself at home, Sophocles. I trust Mr. Darcy will remain obliging enough to serve as your throne.”

Darcy raised an eyebrow but smiled in honest amusement.

Elizabeth finally reached over and plucked the cat away firmly. Sophocles let out a soft grumble of protest but settled into her arms with exaggerated dignity.

Darcy straightened his coat sleeve with fastidious calm. “My thanks, Miss Elizabeth.”

She lifted her brows archly. “My apologies, sir.”

He allowed the faintest smile. “Accepted.”

Mr. Bennet cleared his throat, amusement twinkling in his eyes. “Well. Now that everyone has settled into their proper places, perhaps we may finally sit down.”

And with that, the room warmed with laughter that even Sophocles, now sulking mildly in Elizabeth’s lap, could not quite disturb.

Darcy stood a pace from Elizabeth, one hand at his coat front, his expression very grave.

He cleared his throat quietly. “Mr. Bennet, I hope you will forgive my speaking plainly in company. But I would rather not be thought to sneak about or presume. I wish to ask your permission for something—something that may seem sudden.”

Mr. Bennet’s brows went up, a glint of sly amusement in his eyes. “Sudden? My dear sir, you intrigue me already. Pray go on.”

Elizabeth felt her heart give a small, uneasy flutter, her fingers tightening around Sophocles despite his squirm of protest. Bingley, meanwhile, watched Darcy with open encouragement.

Darcy nodded once, visibly steadying himself.

“I realize, sir,” he began carefully, “that I have had the occasion and good fortune to be acquainted with your family for only a rather short while. But although I have met your daughter Elizabeth but a few times, I have admired her presence, her charm, and her clever mind.”

Mr. Bennet clicked his tongue thoughtfully, tapping one finger on his chair arm. “So,” he drawled, “you like her mind.”

Darcy did not flinch, though his next words came with measured gravity.

“I do. And I realise it is early days. We have not known one another very long, and there is every reason for caution. But I would rather be direct than allow misunderstanding—especially given your cousin’s clear interest in her. ”

Mr. Bennet’s brows lifted, amusement and shrewdness mingling. “You saw that, did you?”

Darcy inclined his head slightly. “It is why I would not presume to pay her attentions without your approval. I had hoped you might permit me to write to her, when I am at Pemberley. Not as a promise or demand—but so that she may know me better. On her own terms.”

Mr. Bennet’s eyes gleamed with appreciative dryness, his voice softer than before. “A cautious man might have waited longer.”

Darcy met the older man’s gaze firmly. “Perhaps. But I would rather be thought too open than not enough.”

Mr. Bennet hummed, leaning back a fraction. “That says something for you, Mr. Darcy. You prefer awkward honesty to convenient silence. Most men wouldn’t trouble themselves.”

Darcy nodded once. “I would rather trouble myself than Miss Elizabeth.”

Elizabeth’s eyes widened despite herself, Sophocles giving an indignant little mrrp as she tightened her hold.

Jane’s gentle hand rested against her sleeve in quiet solidarity.

Mary blinked solemnly at Darcy, listening with intent concentration.

Bingley could not keep the pleased smile from his face.

Mr. Bennet’s brows rose again, the humour in them unmistakable. “Ha! Sudden, you said? Yes, perhaps a little. But oddly reassuring for that very reason. Most young men would sneak notes without asking anyone at all.”

He studied Darcy carefully, weighing him, then let his voice ease into a gentler tone.

“Your asking says something of your intentions, Mr. Darcy. It tells me you mean to proceed openly and with respect.”

Darcy held that scrutiny without flinching, his eyes clear and steady.

Elizabeth felt heat creeping up her neck as she looked down quickly, biting her lip to hold back any too-ready reply. Jane’s smile was quiet and approving; even Mary gave a small, dignified nod.

At last, Mr. Bennet nodded once, slow and deliberate. “You may write—if Elizabeth herself is agreeable to it. I don’t pretend to accept on her behalf. But I have no objection at all.”

Darcy’s shoulders eased slightly. “Thank you. Truly.”

“Lizzy, I think you owe this gentleman an honest answer . I would not want you agreeing too hastily, mind.”

Elizabeth drew in a small breath, steadying herself. She lifted her chin just enough to meet his gaze, her voice low but clear.

“I should be pleased to hear from you, Mr. Darcy.”

Mr. Bennet’s eyes twinkled with approval as he clicked his tongue lightly. “Very good, then.” He gave Elizabeth a more sober look over his spectacles. “Just make sure you read any letter carefully before you answer, my dear.”

Elizabeth let out a breath she hadn’t realised she was holding and managed a wry, conceding smile. “I shall, Papa.”

But the surprises were not yet over. Mr. Bingley judged it was his turn to share something important and got to his feet, adopting a sort of solemn air.