Page 17 of The Cat Who Loved Mr. Darcy (Pride and Prejudice Variation)

Mary sat on a narrow bench in the garden, spine rigidly straight, reading sermons in the weak October sun. Her lips moved just slightly with each line, and she wore the look of one determined to wrest improvement from every paragraph.

Meanwhile, Mrs. Bennet, Lydia, and Kitty had departed early in the morning, rattling off in the gig toward Meryton on the double pretext of ordering ball dresses and—rather more transparently—watching the officers drill on the green.

Jane waited in the front parlour, her pale hands twisting restlessly in her lap, eyes flicking again and again to the window with quiet longing. Each time wheels or hooves were heard in the lane she seemed to catch her breath.

Mr. Bennet sat nearby in his favourite chair, spectacles balanced low on his nose, the paper ignored upon his knee. He sighed, clicking his tongue in dry annoyance.

“Your mother, Jane, has chosen to forget every warning I have offered about militia officers’ connections. She cultivates them with the energy of a colonel mustering reinforcements.”

Jane only blushed faintly and attempted a soothing “Yes, Papa. Let us have faith,” though her gaze soon darted back to the window.

“True. They will return with bonnets rather than betrothals. Though if I know Lydia and Kitty, they are like dragons with three heads each—never quite convinced they have enough bonnets.”

At the other end of the room, Elizabeth sat pensively on the settee with Sophocles sprawled across her lap like a small, overfed tiger. She traced lazy patterns behind his ears while he blinked with regal indifference.

“You are shameless,” she murmured to him, voice full of gentle accusation. “You know you will be fed and petted no matter how many visitors you charm. You are spoiled and would do anything at all just to win your cream.”

Sophocles yawned and kneaded her gown with proprietary arrogance.

“Oh, very well,” Elizabeth added, her tone mock-magnanimous. “I suppose you can be a credit to the household. Sometimes.”

She continued to murmur such transparent flatteries to the cat, fully aware he believed none of them and would have acted no differently if he had.

Just then Jane, who had grown still and intent, suddenly leaned forward, pressing a hand to the windowpane.

“Lizzy! Papa—look. There’s the post messenger at the gate!”

Elizabeth straightened at once, her heart giving a small, startled leap.

Jane’s eyes shone with cautious hope. “It is about time for Mr. Darcy’s first letter to arrive, is it not?”

Elizabeth bit her lip, trying not to smile too broadly. Sophocles, picking up on the sudden energy, let out a questioning meow and shifted in her lap.

Mr. Bennet gave a sardonic little huff, folding his paper at last. “Well,” he said, tapping his fingers on the arm of his chair, “let us see what arrives, and hope it proves more interesting than alarming.”

Elizabeth smothered a laugh, smoothing Sophocles’s fur with absent affection.

“Papa, you always assume the worst.”

He lifted one brow, giving her an arch look over his spectacles. “Experience has taught me the benefit of preparation, my dear. Besides, I react to news better than your mother.”

Jane pressed her fingers together in her lap, her voice calm but quivering with hope.

“Even if it is not from Mr. Darcy, it may be from London. Perhaps Aunt Gardiner will write…”

Elizabeth glanced at her sister, her expression softening.

“I hope so, Jane. Her letters always feel like good sense and comfort.”

Mr. Bennet snorted quietly, though there was no real sting in it.

Before Elizabeth could reply, the knock came at the door and they heard the maid’s voice faintly in the hall, speaking to the post messenger.

Sophocles lifted his head, ears flicking with interest, as though he too understood that the drama was about to begin.

Elizabeth’s heart gave another small, guilty flutter of anticipation.

Jane’s cheeks bloomed pink with hope for what the envelope might hold.

Mr. Bennet sighed with deep resignation.

“Well,” he said, “prepare yourselves, ladies. The post is always an excellent excuse for strong feelings in this house.”

They heard the soft rap at the parlour door. The maid entered, bobbing a quick curtsey with a single folded letter on a small tray.

“Post just come, ma’am.”

Jane looked at it hopefully but the maid turned at once to Elizabeth.

“For you, Miss.”

Elizabeth blinked, startled. The maid moved a few steps towards her and she took the letter carefully. The seal was plain but the direction unmistakable in its neat, deliberate hand.

Mr. Bennet watched over his spectacles. “Well, Lizzy? You needn’t look so astonished. Who is your correspondent?”

Elizabeth coloured faintly. “I am not certain, sir. But—I have a guess.”

Sophocles twitched his tail and huffed on her lap. Jane gave her hand a quiet squeeze.

Mr. Bennet settled back with dry amusement. “We shall attempt to preserve our tempers while you examine it.”

Elizabeth turned the letter over once in her hand before she broke the seal. There was no name on the outside—only her direction in a neat, unfamiliar hand.

She unfolded the single sheet carefully, her gaze sharpening as the words revealed themselves.

Pemberley, Derbyshire

October 24th, 1811

Miss Elizabeth,

I trust you will forgive my writing so soon after our parting.

It is my hope that you may think well enough of our brief acquaintance to receive this letter.

I will not speak too freely of admiration before you should welcome it, yet I will not feign indifference.

I value your candour and your mind, and I am grateful for your conversation.

It is only right that I thank you for the welcome you and your family extended at Longbourn. Your father’s civility and good sense deserve particular acknowledgment. I am indebted for the courtesy he showed both to Bingley and to myself, despite our being only newly known to you all.

Our conversation during the garden walk remains particularly in my thoughts.

I hope you will not think me impertinent for saying it left a strong impression on my mind of your frankness and discernment.

I make no demand, only a hope. I wish that we might understand one another better, without the constraint of hurried conversation or public observation.

Should you find yourself willing to continue our exchange, it would be my honour to hear from you. I will not presume on your answer if you would rather not offer one.

With my respectful compliments to your family, I thank you for your patience in reading this.

I remain your obedient servant,

F. Darcy

Elizabeth let the paper sink a fraction, blinking at the careful, controlled script. She drew in a slow, unsteady breath.

No one in the room spoke.

She read it again, slower, her heart tapping uncomfortably in her chest at “ I cannot pretend I am indifferent and I make no demand, only a hope .”

At last, Elizabeth folded the letter in her lap, fingers pressing it flat.

She felt heat in her cheeks she could not quite hide, but said nothing. She did not look up at once.

Jane sat nearest, hands lightly clasped, watching her sister with gentle concern.

“Well?” Mr. Bennet prompted at last, his voice mild but not without curiosity. “Is it safe to inquire what news has turned you so solemn, Lizzy?”

Elizabeth let out a slow breath. “I am only trying to decide whether to blush or to answer it. Don’t worry, Papa. He is... very proper. He thanks you, in fact.”

Mr. Bennet’s brows lifted in mock alarm. “Thank me? For what sin, I wonder?”

“For your civility, and for receiving him and Mr. Bingley so kindly—even though you hardly knew them,” Elizabeth said.

“How very polite.” Jane’s face lit with relief. “And he wrote only to say that?”

“He asks to continue our correspondence,” Elizabeth said softly, her fingers still moving over the folded letter in her lap, “so we might understand one another better despite the distance.”

“Then he hopes you will answer, no doubt,” Mr. Bennet observed, nodding slowly.

“Yes,” she admitted, lifting her chin though colour warmed her cheeks. “Though he says he will not presume if I choose not to.”

“Which is his way of making sure the next move is yours,” her father added with amusement.

“That seems very proper of him,” Jane offered gently, with her usual calm sincerity.

“It does,” Elizabeth managed, her voice uneven but wry. “And very careful.”

“Good. I prefer a careful suitor to a careless one. But you will need to decide at a certain point if you wish to encourage it,” Mr. Bennet added, lifting his brows.

Elizabeth met his gaze without flinching. “I know.”

“Well. You have my blessing to read and answer his letters as you find fit. I won’t interfere,” Mr. Bennet sighed, shaking his head with wry affection. “But don’t say I didn’t warn you that careful words often come from a careful heart.”

A short silence followed, broken abruptly by the commotion at the front door. The party of ladies who had gone to Meryton had returned home.

Mrs. Bennet’s voice rang shrilly before she had even crossed the threshold. “Lizzy! Jane! Girls! Come see what we found in Meryton—oh, I declare, we have had such success!”

She swept into the room in a flutter of ribbons and shopping baskets, Lydia and Kitty tumbling behind her in breathless excitement.

Elizabeth rose automatically, folding Mr. Darcy’s letter in her hand. Jane moved to greet them with calm serenity.

Kitty held up a hatbox in triumph. “Look, Lizzy! Look at this trimming! Mama says it is the latest London style—”

Mrs. Bennet barely paused to breathe. “And the officers were out in fine display drilling on the green! Such handsome young men—so polite! I told Colonel Forster we should make up a little party for them at Longbourn—”

Elizabeth tried to answer, but Mr. Bennet’s dry voice cut through the babble.

“I am sure you were the picture of decorum, my dear. But before you smother us in military gossip, you might wish to know Elizabeth has had a letter.”