Page 21 of The Cat Who Loved Mr. Darcy (Pride and Prejudice Variation)

Breakfast the next morning at Longbourn was lively, if uneven in mood. The fire crackled in the hearth, and the teapot steamed, but no amount of domestic comfort could entirely smooth the edges left by the previous night’s events.

Mrs. Bennet was in fine spirits, a clear sign she had misunderstood the entire situation and believed everything was proceeding according to her matchmaking plans, which was obviously wrong.

“Well! I declare, last night was a triumph. Did you see how polite those officers were? And poor Mr. Wickham—so gallant, even after that unfortunate little mishap!” she said with eager satisfaction, ladling sugar into her tea as if to sweeten the memory.

Mr. Bennet regarded her from behind his spectacles with unmistakable dryness. “Indeed, my dear,” he said, tapping his spoon once against his saucer. “He will forever remember Longbourn’s hospitality as both warm and brothy. Poor fellow!”

Elizabeth hid a smile behind her cup, while Jane looked on with gentle concern.

As the eldest, Jane ventured carefully, “I thought Mr. Denny handled everything very well. He seems a kind sort.”

Mrs. Bennet nodded with enthusiasm. “Quite so! Very obliging, very polite—and so attentive to Kitty and Lydia. It is only prudent to encourage such connections.”

Mr. Bennet gave a mild snort. “Ah, prudent. Is that what you call squealing and giggling so much they nearly fell off the sofa?”

Kitty flushed.

Lydia scowled at her father and kicked at the rug. “Papa! We were only friendly. Mr. Denny likes us,” she insisted, her voice sharp with adolescent indignation.

“Yes,” Mr. Bennet said, one eyebrow rising. “He struck me as dangerously good-natured. Far too good for you, Lydia. He seemed to favour Kitty, which is better, but I suspect her candour reminds him of his sisters. Nothing more.”

Elizabeth choked on a laugh. Jane cast her a reproving glance, trying to maintain calm.

Mrs. Bennet ignored them both, charging ahead. “Really, Mr. Bennet! You delight in scolding them. I see no harm in forming acquaintance with officers. They are so respectable—and good marriages have begun with less.”

Elizabeth stirred her tea slowly, watching the steam rise. “Is it respectable to dodge every question Papa asked? If so, I thought Mr. Wickham was… interestingly evasive.”

“Lizzy… perhaps he did not want to speak of unhappy matters at dinner. It might have embarrassed him,” Jane said gently, frowning a little.

Elizabeth sighed but gave her sister a gentle look. “Perhaps. You are always kinder than I am.”

Mr. Bennet folded his paper noisily and set it aside. “Fortunately for the family, you are both present: one to suspect motives, and the other to forgive them.”

Mrs. Bennet made an exasperated sound and buttered her toast with unnecessary force.

“You would see motives in a glass of water! Honestly, I think it was excellent they visited. And Mr. Bingley was the soul of good breeding! See how nicely he stayed to apologize for Wickham. He even sat for another quarter hour just to make sure no offence was taken. Such a considerate young man!”

“True,” Mr. Bennet admitted with a nod.

Jane’s colour rose delicately. She lowered her eyes. “He is very thoughtful,” she admitted softly.

“So thoughtful he risked Mama’s third round of questioning. Heroic, really.” Elizabeth leaned over to nudge Jane with a smile.

Mrs. Bennet brightened immediately at the mention of Bingley. “I like Mr. Bingley! Such manners, such a fine temper. Mark my words, Jane—you could do far worse.”

Jane sighed, trying to hide her pleased expression behind modesty. “Mama, please...”

Mr. Bennet cut in with dry amusement. “And you, Lydia, could do far better than any Militia officer, I hope—unless you wish to march with the regiment every season.”

“You are impossible, Mr. Bennet.” Mrs. Bennet slapped down her knife with a huff. “What would you have me do? Tell them to refuse to speak to any young man?”

“Not at all, my dear,” he said with perfect calm. “Only that they listen when young men speak. Mr. Wickham said little that comforted me about his prospects. And you, my love, would have him son-in-law before the broth cooled.”

Mrs. Bennet blushed scarlet and huffed. “Well! I shall not be lectured at breakfast.”

“But, Papa. You must admit the broth had the final word last night.” Elizabeth’s smile turned sly.

Lydia giggled wildly at that. Kitty joined her, while even Jane fought a reluctant smile.

Mr. Bennet gave his eldest daughters a conspiratorial nod. “Indeed. Our Sophocles may yet prove the household’s best judge of character. You should take him with you when visiting the Meryton regiment next time, Mrs. Bennet.”

“Well. Until the next invitation arrives, I suppose,” Elizabeth said, eyes sparkling.

Her father sighed dramatically. “Heaven help us.”

At that, even Mrs. Bennet’s mouth twitched with unwilling amusement, and for one fragile moment the room fell into a warm, shared laugh that even the cold November morning could not quite chill .

Just as the laughter was dying down and Mrs. Bennet began fussing with her shawl to recover her composure, Mrs. Hill appeared in the doorway, bobbing a quick curtsey.

“Beg pardon, sir, madam—the post has come.” She held out the morning post neatly folded, and three sealed letters stacked upon it.

Mr. Bennet sat forward with polite, if slightly exaggerated, interest. “Ah. Civilization intrudes.” He accepted the bundle with mock solemnity, balancing the paper in one hand while examining each envelope in turn with slow scrutiny.

Her duty done, Mrs. Hill withdrew discreetly.

Elizabeth watched her father’s performance with wry patience and a spark of curiosity she tried not to show.

“Those are probably only bills. Are they?” Mrs. Bennet demanded sharply, peering as if her eyesight alone might reveal the contents.

“Alas, my dear, not this one.” Mr. Bennet held up the first letter. “A request from Phillips, no doubt wanting me to sign something dull.” He set it aside.

The second he examined more carefully. “Jane, this one bears a London hand. Aunt Gardiner. It is for you.” He passed it with a small nod of ceremony.

Jane accepted it with a soft blush. “Thank you, Papa.”

And then there was the third.

He paused deliberately, tilting it, studying the address. Then he looked straight at Elizabeth, one brow arching with unmistakable significance.

“Ah. This hand I know rather well,” he drawled. “It can mean only one thing. Mr. Darcy writes again to our Lizzy.”

Elizabeth’s heart gave the now-familiar flutter—equal parts dread and eager hope. She tried to keep her face calm as she held out her hand.

“Papa...”

But he merely tapped the letter on his palm in mock thoughtfulness. “Shall I read it aloud for you, Lizzy? It might save you some blushes later.”

“Papa!” she hissed, scandalised, though a nervous laugh escaped.

Jane hid a smile behind her letter. Lydia and Kitty craned forward, whispering and giggling.

“Really, Mr. Bennet,” Mrs. Bennet snapped, waving her handkerchief. “Do not tease her so. Give it over at once. It is highly improper to keep a young lady’s letter from her correspondent!”

“Correspondent, is it?” Mr. Bennet mused. “Not suitor yet, madam. Let us not get ahead of ourselves.”

Elizabeth coloured hotly.

But Mr. Bennet relented with a chuckle and set the letter gently before her. “There you are, my dear. Treasure it as you will.”

She took it, fingers tightening on the table edge to steady herself.

“Thank you, Papa,” she said quietly.

Mr. Bennet sighed and shook out his letter instead. “Don’t thank me too quickly. I look forward to watching you read it as if pronouncing sentence on a poor man’s life. Try not to look so grim.”

Elizabeth pressed her lips together to hide her smile. Her fingers trembled on the seal.

Jane reached across and laid a gentle hand on her wrist. “Tell me later if it is...kind.”

Elizabeth nodded, unable to speak.

Across the table, Lydia and Kitty whispered furiously, eyes wide with anticipation.

Mrs. Bennet snapped open her fan with decisive pleasure. “Well!” she declared triumphantly. “It seems we shall have something quite interesting for breakfast after all.”

Mr. Bennet lowered his letter just enough to peer over it at Elizabeth, his eyes glinting. “Take your time, Lizzy. We shall all try very hard not to stare.”

Elizabeth ducked her head with a stifled smile. Her hands trembled slightly on the letter.

Mr. Bennet cleared his throat, affecting a tone of exaggerated reason.

“On second thought,” he said firmly, “I think the recipients of these letters might prefer to read them in peace. Jane, Lizzy—you may take yours upstairs. I shall retire to my study with mine and my tea. We shall reconvene later.”

He gathered his letter and his teacup and left the room, leaving behind a hush broken only by Lydia’s disappointed squeak and Mrs. Bennet’s huff of annoyance. Elizabeth met Jane’s wide, sympathetic eyes—and together they rose to leave.

***

Elizabeth climbed the stairs with measured steps, holding the letter carefully between her fingers, as though it might vanish if not properly kept.

Jane walked beside her in thoughtful silence.

At the top of the landing, they parted with a gentle exchange of glances—Jane’s with a shadow of concern, Elizabeth’s slightly raised in a mute reassurance she did not quite feel.

Lizzy entered her room and shut the door behind her. The quiet pressed in at once, broken only by the faint sound of birds beyond the window. The daylight filtered through the curtains in pale ribbons. For a moment, she stood still, as though waiting for her heart to settle.

But it did not.