Chapter 2 #4
Dinner at Longbourn that evening possessed none of the ordinary comfort that had once rendered the family table a place of cheerful conversation and domestic ease.
The candles burned steadily in their polished branches, their light reflected in the dark mahogany and the carefully arranged silver, yet the atmosphere of the room remained constrained, as though each man present felt the weight of circumstances none quite wished to examine aloud.
Mr. Bennet, whose strength had been exhausted by his brief appearance downstairs that afternoon, had already retired to his chamber, leaving his sons to conduct the meal without the quiet authority that ordinarily presided over their table.
Mrs. Bennet, however, remained at the foot of the table—a position she preferred not out of strict adherence to convention, but rather for its practical proximity to the dining room door, allowing her to catch Hill’s eye and issue a steady stream of murmured instructions regarding the succession of dishes.
Her spirits were noticeably elevated, her customary anxieties much softened by the day’s events.
The visible improvement in her husband’s health had lifted a profound weight from her shoulders, restoring a measure of her usual vivacity.
She ate with a hearty appetite, occasionally offering a cheerful observation upon the excellent quality of the roast or the brightness of the afternoon sun, seemingly oblivious to the brooding silence of her sons.
For Mrs. Bennet, the worst of the storm had passed; her husband was mending, the house was intact, and she was content to let the lingering tensions of her children wash over her without demanding her immediate interference.
James sat at the head with the composed gravity that recent days had imposed upon him, carving the roast with a precision so deliberate that the action seemed less a matter of appetite than a means of occupying a mind unwilling to wander.
Elias sat to his right with the reflective stillness of a man accustomed to considering matters before speaking upon them, though the slight tension at the corners of his mouth betrayed the fatigue of a long morning spent assisting Mr. Phillips with delayed legal business.
Naturally, Miles occupied his usual place opposite him, eating sparingly and with little attention to the meal itself, his gaze fixed instead upon the dark polish of the table where the candlelight trembled faintly.
Laurence, by contrast, lounged in his chair with restless impatience, pushing food idly across his plate and displaying the unmistakable air of a man who considered himself unjustly confined.
The silence which had endured for several minutes was at last broken by the sound of hurried steps approaching from the hall, followed immediately by the door opening to admit Kit.
He appeared thoroughly exhausted despite the evident effort he had made to restore some order to his appearance, for though his clothes had been changed and his hair hastily brushed, the faint scent of camphor and strong soap clung to him, and the stiffness of his movements betrayed the physical strain of his recent exertions.
Without ceremony he took the empty chair beside Laurence, poured himself a glass of water, and drained it in a single determined swallow before allowing himself a long breath.
“Forgive my lateness,” he said at last, glancing briefly toward James with the weary composure of a man who had already endured enough explanation for one evening.
“Sir William’s mare chose the most inconvenient moment imaginable to produce her foal, and the matter proved rather less straightforward than anyone in the stable had hoped. ”
He leaned back for a moment, pressing a hand briefly against his brow before continuing with dry understatement. “Both the mare and the foal are alive and well, which appears to have satisfied the household entirely, though securing that result required rather more labour than I had anticipated.”
Laurence regarded this entrance with languid amusement that sat poorly upon the strained atmosphere of the table.
“Well then,” he drawled after a moment, allowing his tone to linger somewhere between mockery and boredom, “the conquering hero returns at last. Tell me, Kit, did Sir William Lucas express his gratitude by erecting a monument to your skill in the stable yard, or was the reward limited to offering you the hand of one of his daughters in recognition of your triumph?”
Kit set the empty glass upon the table with a firmness that caused the crystal to ring faintly against the wood, and turned his head toward Laurence with deliberate composure.
“As a matter of fact,” he replied in a tone that betrayed both fatigue and irritation held carefully in check, “Lady Lucas devoted nearly an hour of her time to persuading me that Maria Lucas and I possess an intellectual sympathy of the most promising description. The entire conversation, however, depended upon a narrative I found myself obliged to avoid rather quickly, for the sake of preventing certain rumours concerning this household from acquiring a less charitable interpretation. You may imagine the reason, Laurie.”
Laurence laughed outright at this explanation, leaning back with renewed amusement that seemed to grow rather than diminish beneath his brother’s displeasure.
“You see?” he said lightly, casting a quick glance around the table.
“Even the heroic extraction of livestock from peril has improved the matrimonial prospects of our family. You ought to perform such miracles more frequently, Kit, if they produce such agreeable consequences.”
“It was not a miracle,” Kit returned with visible impatience, his voice sharpening despite his efforts to maintain restraint.
“It was a difficult delivery, and the only reason I remained long enough to hear Lady Lucas speculate upon my future domestic felicity was that I had been forced to defend the family’s honour by offering an explanation for Miles’s affairs that did not involve the full measure of your disgrace. ”
Laurence’s amusement faltered slightly, though the defiant lift of his chin suggested he was not yet inclined toward humility. “And what explanation did you devise?” he asked with careless curiosity that scarcely concealed his irritation.
“I told her only that Miles is engaged in matters of honour which concern the welfare of another,” Kit replied evenly, his gaze steady and unyielding.
“That explanation possesses the rare advantage of being entirely true. Lady Lucas seemed to know more already, however, and I therefore avoided particulars.”
James laid down the carving knife with quiet decisiveness that immediately commanded attention without requiring him to raise his voice. “That will suffice, Laurence,” he said, his tone calm but unmistakably authoritative, conveying the expectation that the matter should proceed no further.
Ordinarily such a statement would have ended the discussion, yet Laurence’s temper had been worn thin by confinement and reproach, and the resentment he had been nursing throughout the day found expression before caution could restrain it.
“Why must everyone behave,” he demanded with sudden irritation, “as though the fate of the kingdom depends upon my conduct? A man exchanges a few words with a young woman in private, and suddenly the entire household treats the matter as though disaster itself had visited Longbourn.”
Elias placed his fork upon the table with quiet deliberation that gave his reply a measured gravity befitting the moral seriousness of his character.
“A private conversation is not the difficulty,” he said calmly, though the firmness of his voice left little doubt regarding his opinion.
“The circumstances under which that conversation occurred are very much the difficulty, and you know it very well, Laurie.”
“Miss Monro appears none the worse for it,” Laurence retorted with careless impatience, spreading his hands in exaggerated innocence.
He never liked being called Laurie by his elder brothers, for it reminded him too plainly that he remained the youngest among them.
“Indeed, if anything she has profited by the ‘adventure,’ for she acquires a Bennet after all.” His eyes slid deliberately toward Miles, whose stillness had grown increasingly pronounced.
“A more respectable Bennet than she might otherwise have expected, I should think.”
Miles raised his head slowly, meeting Laurence’s glance with a composure that rendered the mockery suddenly uncomfortable.
“I did not offer Miss Monro my hand as a matter of compensation,” he said quietly, the restraint of his tone making the rebuke more severe than anger might have done.
“I offered it because it was the right course to take.”
Laurence shrugged with an air of theatrical resignation that suggested he found such scruples tedious rather than admirable. “Right perhaps,” he said lightly, “but extremely inconvenient for the rest of us.”
Elias leaned slightly forward, his expression thoughtful though his voice remained steady. “Inconvenient to whom exactly?” he asked, the question delivered with calm curiosity that nevertheless demanded a serious answer.
“To everyone,” Laurence replied without hesitation. “A Catholic clergyman’s daughter becoming the wife of an Anglican future rector will surely give the parish something to discuss. One hardly knows which church the household will be expected to attend.”