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“I do beg you, Lizzy,” he continued, directing a mock-solemn glance across the table, “if you must aim your culinary catapults at anyone today, kindly spare me a Mischief of Mushrooms. I have long considered them the most untrustworthy of vegetables.” He shuddered theatrically. “They lurk in the sauce, you know.”

Arabella gave a snort of laughter. Elizabeth pressed her lips together, valiantly pretending to be mortified.

“I make no promises,” she replied drily. “The kitchen is a dangerous place these days. One never knows what may take flight.”

“Quite so,” Mr. Abernathy replied. “I’ve already alerted the butler to issue chain mail with the soup.”

Elizabeth shook her head at him, and he smiled genially at her in return.

“I think you protest too much, my girl. You are not in the habit of sacrificing your own dignity for just anyone."

"It was hardly a sacrifice," Elizabeth protested, though she had thought the same herself. "I merely appeared clumsy, which is not such a terrible fault."

"It is when one is generally known for uncommon grace," Mrs. Abernathy observed. "No, my dear, I believe you may care for Mr. Darcy more than you care to admit, even to yourself."

Elizabeth opened her mouth to refute this claim, then closed it again.

The very suggestion was absurd. She scarcely knew Mr. Darcy, and what little she did know had not particularly impressed her.

He was proud, high-handed, and seemingly incapable of normal human warmth.

She had glimpsed a flash of humour in him, but it disappeared so quickly that she could not be sure she would ever see it again.

"You are overthinking my actions," Elizabeth said at last. "It was a simple matter of practical necessity. The first accident was my fault, though unintentional. I had a responsibility to assist him. Nothing more."

"As you say, my dear," Mrs. Abernathy replied, in a tone that suggested she was not in the least convinced.

Mr. Abernathy cleared his throat as he began to eat. "Well, whatever your motivations, you have given us all a dinner party to remember. Lady Maria was still talking about it when she departed."

Elizabeth winced. "I had rather hoped the incident might not become the subject of general discussion."

"My dear girl," Mr. Abernathy said with a chuckle, "when you deposit an entire fish in the lap of the man who until two days ago was one of London's most eligible bachelors, you must expect a certain amount of gossip. Half the ton will have heard the tale by luncheon." He snorted. “Tail.”

"Wonderful," Elizabeth muttered. "Jane will be horrified when I write to her about this."

"I think not," Mrs. Abernathy disagreed. "Your sister knows you too well to be alarmed. She has always appreciated your more creative solutions to social predicaments."

"Speaking of creative solutions," Arabella interjected, "what do you plan to do the next time you encounter Mr. Darcy? Surely you must have some strategy in mind."

Elizabeth had, in fact, been pondering this very question since awakening that morning. "I believe the best approach is to behave as though nothing unusual occurred. If Mr. Darcy mentions it, I shall apologise with appropriate gravity. If not, I shall follow his lead."

"A sound plan," Mr. Abernathy approved. "I would not be surprised if Darcy does avoid the subject. He is not a man who enjoys dwelling on such things."

“Too bad,” Elizabeth said softly. “He could certainly stand to introduce a bit more levity into his daily study.”

“He is smooth enough when among the men,” Mr. Abernathy added. “Clever. Deliberate.”

"Be fair, Lizzy," Mrs. Abernathy chided gently. "Mr. Darcy is reserved, certainly, but not intentionally discourteous. He simply does not possess the natural ease in mixed company that some gentlemen do."

"I shall endeavour to keep an open mind," she conceded, though privately she remained sceptical. A man of Mr. Darcy's wealth and position had little reason to treat others well but every expectation of excellent treatment for himself.

"That is all anyone could ask," Mrs. Abernathy said, patting her hand. "And in the meantime, perhaps we might focus on planning activities that do not involve sauces or other potentially hazardous substances."

Arabella came to her rescue. “We have Bullock’s Museum in a few days, and perhaps we could go to the shops?”

"That does sound pleasant," Elizabeth agreed, relieved at the change of subject.

“And safe,” Mr. Abernathy concurred, then sat up straight. “The Trouty Trouser Travesty!”

“Enough,” Mrs. Abernathy said firmly, and her husband turned his attention back to his breakfast.

The conversation drifted to more mundane matters such as the latest fashions, Arabella's progress with her watercolours, and Elizabeth’s work with the music master. Elizabeth participated with her usual animation, but a part of her mind remained occupied with thoughts of Mr. Darcy.

She shook her head. However gallant his endurance of last night’s spectacle, however surprising the flicker of humour or the faint softening of his manner, none of it altered the truth: they had been intentionally compromised, and Mr. Darcy had stepped forward out of honour, not affection.

To allow the engagement to stand would be to bind him to a wife he had not chosen, and she to a man she did not know.

She had seen too clearly what became of such unions, had watched the bitter estrangement of two people who neither liked nor respected one another.

She would not live such a life, and she would not condemn him to it.

Let the world whisper if it must. She would rather endure the scandal than a marriage built on so poor a foundation.

Despite her protests to the contrary, she could not entirely dismiss Mrs. Abernathy's suggestion that she cared more for Mr. Darcy than she was willing to admit.

Not that she harboured any romantic feelings, of course.

That would be ridiculous, though perhaps she did feel sorry for having embarrassed him.

But not much, she assured herself. Not much.