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" L izzy, you simply must tell us what happened," Arabella declared, her eyes alight with barely suppressed mirth as she poured a fresh cup of tea. "I have been attempting to piece together the events of last evening, but each time I think I understand, I begin to laugh all over again."

She and Arabella had been the first to the breakfast table, though Elizabeth was not hungry. "I am not entirely certain I should recount the tale," she replied, accepting the cup from her friend. "It was most abasing.”

"For whom?" Mrs. Abernathy asked as she joined them, settling into her chair with grace. "Poor Mr. Darcy looked as though he wished the floor would open up and swallow him whole."

"Yes, well." Elizabeth took a deliberate sip of tea. "That was rather the point."

Mrs. Abernathy's eyebrows rose. "Was it indeed?"

"You did it on purpose?" Arabella gasped, nearly dropping a biscuit before recovering. "Lizzy!"

"Not entirely," Elizabeth clarified hastily. "At least, not initially.” She sighed. This was not simple to explain in a way that others would believe. She could hardly believe it herself. “The first mishap was entirely accidental."

" First mishap?" Mrs. Abernathy repeated, aghast. "You mean to say there was more than one?"

Elizabeth felt a flush rising to her cheeks but maintained her composure. "I believe I shall require more tea to relate this story."

Arabella eagerly refilled her cup, then settled back into her chair, waiting for Elizabeth to begin.

Mrs. Abernathy regarded her daughter with a mixture of curiosity and fond exasperation, the look of a woman who knew them both very well and was therefore unsurprised by almost anything they might admit to having done.

“You must both keep this to yourselves, of course.”

The women assured her that they would, and Elizabeth set her cup down with care.

"It began when I turned rather suddenly during our conversation and startled poor Simms as he was filling Mr. Darcy's wine glass.

A small amount, the merest splash, really, landed on Mr. Darcy's trousers.

In a most . . ." She paused. “Unfortunate place.”

"Ah," Mrs. Abernathy murmured.

Arabella's eyes widened. "Do you mean—"

"Precisely," Elizabeth confirmed. "Mr. Darcy was horrified. He seemed convinced that the gentlemen would notice and draw certain unflattering conclusions."

"Men do tend to notice and remark upon such things," Mrs. Abernathy observed drily. "They find them endlessly amusing, for reasons I have never comprehended."

The door to the morning room opened to admit Mr. Abernathy, who had a folded newspaper under one arm.

"Are we discussing the Great Fish Calamity? I should hate to miss the telling.” He frowned.

“Or . . . perhaps it should be 'The Trout and About'?

Because the fish was certainly about Darcy's person. Or 'The Fish Out of Water'? No . . ."

Elizabeth found herself torn between mortification and reluctant amusement. There was something almost endearing about Mr. Abernathy's determination to immortalise her crowning moment of disgrace.

"Oh! I have it!" He snapped his fingers triumphantly. "'The Trout Swims a Lap'! Do you understand, Mrs. Abernathy? Because it landed in Darcy's lap !"

Mrs. Abernathy closed her eyes briefly, as though praying for patience. "My dear—"

"No, no, that is still not quite right," Mr. Abernathy mused as he set the newspaper on the table and wandered over to where the food was set out.

As he began to fill his plate, entirely oblivious to his wife's exasperation and his daughter's barely restrained giggles, he offered, "What about 'The Scales of Justice'?

For surely the fish exacted some manner of revenge for its untimely demise! "

Despite her embarrassment, Elizabeth felt one corner of her mouth twitch. "I am not certain Mr. Darcy had any hand in the fish's execution, sir."

"An innocent party then," Mr. Abernathy agreed solemnly, piling his plate high with eggs, bacon, and toast. "All the more tragic. Perhaps 'The Béchamel Baptism'?” He paused. “No, too religious in tone."

"Father, please," Arabella said, though her plea was somewhat undermined by the laughter in her voice. "You are making Lizzy uncomfortable."

Elizabeth, whose cheeks were indeed rather warm, picked up her cup again. "Not at all," she replied, summoning a smile. "I find his creativity quite impressive. Though I believe the event hardly merits its own title."

"You are too modest, Lizzy," Mr. Abernathy declared. "It was a masterpiece of social theatre, and I am determined to give it a name worthy of its impact. 'The Fish That Flew'? 'The Trout Trajectory'? No—"

Mrs. Abernathy sighed audibly. "Mr. Abernathy, I believe the eggs require your attention. You do not like them cold."

"Just one more attempt, my dear," he pleaded, before turning back to Elizabeth with undimmed enthusiasm. "'Trout and Consequences'! Ha!”

“Or ‘A Fish-ous Attack’?” Elizabeth offered.

“Elizabeth, I beg you, do not bait him.” Mrs. Abernathy closed her eyes when she realized what she had said.

“You are quite right, Mamma,” Arabella added with a small snort. “Papa is just fishing for trouble.”

Mrs. Abernathy emitted a soft sigh, and her husband sat in the chair next to her with a boyish smile.

"You are just in time, Papa," Arabella assured him. "Lizzy has revealed that there were two incidents. The initial one was merely a wine stain, but it was located in a most distressing location."

"I see." Mr. Abernathy settled himself in the chair next to his wife. "That would explain Darcy's expression. I thought the man might expire from mortification." He gave Elizabeth a sly glance. "But how does one progress from an errant bit of wine to an entire fillet of trout?"

"That," Elizabeth admitted, "was a more calculated decision."

"On your part." Mrs. Abernathy confirmed.

Elizabeth nodded. "Mr. Darcy was convinced the men would humiliate him over the wine stain. I could see he was growing increasingly uncomfortable, and the thought occurred to me that if something more dramatic were to happen—"

"The wine stain would be forgotten entirely," Mr. Abernathy finished.

"So you deliberately knocked the fish into his lap?" Arabella asked again.

"I would not phrase it quite so crudely," Elizabeth protested.

"I merely . . . assisted fate when Johnson arrived with the next course.

A slight turn, a small bump—" She demonstrated.

"And voilà. A much larger diversion that completely overshadowed the initial accident and threw the blame upon me rather than him.

" She shrugged. “The wine was my fault as well, so I felt it only fair.”

There was a moment of stunned silence before Mr. Abernathy burst into hearty laughter. "A brilliant strategy, Lizzy."

Mrs. Abernathy pressed her fingertips to her lips, and Arabella covered her eyes with her hand.

"Oh, Lizzy," she gasped when she could speak again. "You are absolutely wicked."

"I prefer to think of it as resourceful," Elizabeth corrected her. "Mr. Darcy was in distress, and I provided a solution."

"A solution that involved publicly mortifying your intended," Mrs. Abernathy pointed out, though her eyes were twinkling. “And then yourself.”

"Yes, but—" Elizabeth hesitated, trying to frame her reasoning in a way that did not sound utterly mad.

"The wine stain was a private humiliation that I suspected would linger in the gentlemen's conversations for weeks, growing more vulgar with each retelling.

The fish was a public spectacle that reflected poorly on me, not him.

By the end of the evening, the story had already transformed into one about Mr. Darcy's forbearance in the face of his clumsy intended.

Far better for his dignity in the long run.

I believe that in this situation, I am better able to bear the censure than he. "

Mr. Abernathy nodded approvingly. "The girl has a point, Margaret. Political strategy at its finest. Create a larger crisis to distract from the smaller one."

"I daresay Mr. Darcy did not view it in quite those terms," Mrs. Abernathy replied.

"No," Elizabeth agreed, her expression sobering. "Though I believe he may have understood by the end. There was a moment, when he returned to the dining room, when he gave me a look that was not entirely accusatory."

"He did seem reasonably cheerful, considering," Arabella agreed.

"Hastings is a marvel with evening clothes," Mr. Abernathy explained. "Had Darcy wearing one of my waistcoats before you could say 'catastrophe averted’."

Elizabeth felt a surprising pang of guilt. "I do hope Mr. Darcy's garments were not ruined beyond repair."

"Bah, the man has more waistcoats than most of the peers in London," Mr. Abernathy said dismissively. "And if he does not, he can certainly afford them."

"Still," Elizabeth murmured, "it was not my intention to destroy his wardrobe."

"Only his dignity?" Arabella teased.

"Which was already in danger and apparently in dire need of adjustment," Elizabeth replied, unable to suppress a smile. "You must admit, Belle, Mr. Darcy could use a little humility."

Mrs. Abernathy studied Elizabeth with a thoughtful expression. "You know, my dear, for someone who professes such indifference towards Mr. Darcy, you went to extraordinary lengths to preserve his feelings."

Elizabeth felt heat rising to her cheeks. "It was not about him specifically. I would have done the same for any gentleman in similar circumstances."

"Would you indeed?" Mr. Abernathy's eyes twinkled. "I shall have to keep out of your way, then. After all, I might be the next victim of a Salvo of Salmon. Or would it be a Victory of the Venison in my case? Perhaps even a Buffoonery of Beans—though heaven forbid.”

He paused to sip his tea with great dignity.