Chapter 4 #3
The insult alone was not what troubled her most. It was the manner in which it had been delivered, as though she were of no consequence, as though her presence scarcely merited acknowledgment.
Her hands tightened slightly in her lap.
“I shall put him from my mind,” she said aloud.
The words offered little reassurance.
She rose, extinguished the candle, and lay down.
Sleep proved slow to arrive.
Again and again, her thoughts returned to the same point.
At last, summoning a firmness she rarely needed to exert, she formed a resolution.
She would dislike him and would never seek his notice. She would avoid speaking to him whenever possible. The decision, once made, brought a bit of calm.
It was adequate for the present circumstances.
Morning at Longbourn brought with it fewer improvements to Elizabeth’s temper than she would have wished.
The house resumed its usual habits. Fires were stirred, curtains drawn, breakfast laid out with Mrs. Hill’s customary efficiency.
Nothing in the arrangement of the table suggested that the previous evening had offered any disturbance to her peace; the cups stood in their places, the bread was warm, the eggs properly prepared, and the boys already occupied their seats with an appearance of innocence that Elizabeth had learned never to trust.
Thomas and Toby were whispering.
This alone would not have been unusual. The twins whispered often, and generally with the same intensity with which generals might plan a campaign.
Their heads were bent together, their identical brows drawn down, and their voices were kept low enough to avoid Mrs. Bennet’s immediate notice, though not so low that Elizabeth, seated near them, could not catch a word here and there.
“It is perfect,” Thomas murmured.
“It must be done properly,” Toby returned.
“He is the only one suitable.”
“They will see.”
Elizabeth paused with her hand upon the handle of the teapot.
The twins fell abruptly silent.
She turned her gaze upon them. “What, pray, is perfect?”
Thomas stared at her.
Toby reached for his bread.
“We intend to play soldiers,” Thomas said.
Elizabeth studied him. “Do you?”
“Yes,” Toby added. “George will be the Frenchie.”
“The Frenchman,” Mary corrected from further down the table.
Toby gave her a grave nod. “That is what I said.”
“It was not.”
“It was close.”
Elizabeth’s attention remained on the boys. “And this game of soldiers requires a suitable gentleman?”
Thomas’s eyes widened in a manner too deliberate to be believed. “A general.”
“A very important one,” Toby said.
“And who is to be this general?”
They exchanged a look.
“Perhaps George,” Thomas said.
“Unless he is the Frenchman,” Elizabeth replied.
This difficulty appeared to trouble them for less than a moment.
“Then we shall need two Georges,” Toby decided.
“That may prove inconvenient.”
Thomas buttered his bread with great concentration. “We shall arrange it.”
Elizabeth would have pressed further, but Mrs. Bennet entered then with Jane and Kitty close behind her, and the ordinary business of breakfast reclaimed the room.
Still, she did not dismiss the exchange.
The twins had not lied with any skill, but they had lied with purpose, which was always more concerning.
Perhaps it was nothing.
With Thomas and Toby, however, nothing had a remarkable talent for becoming something by noon.
Elizabeth took her seat and resolved, for the present, to leave them to their imagined battles.
She had other matters to anticipate. The Lucases were expected to call that morning, and the prospect was pleasant enough to draw her thoughts from the previous evening.
Lady Lucas had, over the years, become her mother’s closest friend in the neighborhood.
Their temperaments were not identical, though they suited each other well.
Lady Lucas possessed good humor and local knowledge in abundance; Mrs. Bennet brought refinement, sense, and a steady kindness that invited trust without demanding it.
Their friendship had been a comfortable thing for both families.
Charlotte Lucas, in particular, had long been welcome at Longbourn.
She and Elizabeth were not intimate in the manner Elizabeth was with Jane, though there was a true regard between them.
Charlotte’s practical understanding of the world often balanced Elizabeth’s livelier turn of mind, and neither required the other to be other than she was.
Breakfast began.
Mr. Bennet made some remark about the assembly that prompted Lydia, who had heard only fragments of the evening’s report, to demand again a full account of every gown, every partner, and every dance. Kitty joined eagerly, though her interest was sharpened by regret.
Jane answered with patience. Mary supplied details where Jane was too modest to do so. Mrs. Bennet gave her own report with fairness, praising Mr. Bingley’s manners and finding Miss Bingley’s less deserving of admiration.
Elizabeth listened without contributing.
Her mother noticed.
When the first bustle of conversation lessened, Mrs. Bennet turned to her. “Lizzy.”
Elizabeth gave her mother her attention.
“You are not to take Mr. Darcy’s words to heart.”
The table grew a little more attentive.
Elizabeth’s fingers tightened around her cup before she deliberately relaxed them. “I have not.”
Mrs. Bennet’s gaze held hers with that perceptive steadiness Elizabeth both valued and disliked when it was directed too accurately toward herself.
“He spoke without consideration. That is a failing in him, not in you.”
“I know.”
Jane gave her a look of encouragement.
Elizabeth forced a smile. “Truly, Mama. They are already forgotten.”
It was not well done.
She knew it the moment the words were spoken.
Mrs. Bennet did not contradict her, but neither did her expression suggest belief. She merely inclined her head and returned to her breakfast, allowing Elizabeth the dignity of her claim.
Mary, perhaps seeking to assist, said, “It is often better to be slighted by a proud man than praised by a foolish one.”
Mr. Bennet studied her with interest. “That is very nearly profound, Mary.”
Mary colored a little, uncertain whether to be pleased or offended.
Lydia wrinkled her nose. “I would rather be praised.”
“By anyone?” Elizabeth asked.
“If he danced well.”
Kitty nodded. “And had a good coat.”
Mrs. Bennet’s look silenced them both before the discussion could deteriorate.
Thomas leaned toward Toby again, whispering behind his hand.
Elizabeth caught only the last words.
“They will see.”
She glowered at them.
They sat upright, both faces models of innocence.
Elizabeth raised a brow.
Neither moved.
Whatever they were planning, she suspected it had very little to do with France.