Mary:That is statistically inaccurate, Kitty.
Lydia (scene_steelr):MARY
Jane:We’ll be on our best behaviour, Lizzy. Right girls?
Elizabeth grinned despite herself. Jane’s best behaviour was exemplary. Everyone else’s . . . well, everyone else’s best behaviour was still likely to be several decibels louder and considerably wilder than anything Darcy was used to.
She picked up her knitting needles again, this time with something approaching determination. If she was going to give him a present that represented who she really was, it might as well be something beautifully, hopelessly imperfect.
Just like the family he was going to meet.
Elizabeth lasted exactly twelve minutes before texting the man in question:Any chance you and Athena want a walk? Waffles is vibrating.
Darcy called instead of replying. “We are always in favour of vibrational management. Vincent Square in fifteen?”
It was approaching dusk when they met by the railings, breath fogging in the cold. Waffles pulled Elizabeth relentlessly towards Athena. Athena sidestepped with dignity and pretended not to know him.
“Hi.” Darcy tucked his free hand into his coat pocket. “You look purposeful.”
“I am purpose itself.” Elizabeth smiled. “Also terror. But mainly purpose.”
They set off around the green. Traffic hummed beyond the plane trees. Elizabeth cleared her throat. “So.”
“Yes?” He glanced over, attentive in that calm, steady way of his.
“I— my mum . . .” She paused before saying, in a rush, “My mum may have invited you to dinner.” She closed her eyes and then squinted up at him. “That makes it sound like she rangyoudirectly, which is terrifyingly within the realm of possibility, but no,sherangme. And I might have said I’d ask you. And I am now . . . asking you.”
A beat. Then the corner of his mouth tilted. “That was the most Elizabeth Bennet invitation I can imagine.”
She blinked up at him. “What does that mean? Charming? Muddled? Poorly presented but heartfelt?”
“Yes,” he said, amused. “All three.”
She pushed on before she could back out. “It’s just dinner. Well, it’s dinner at my parents’, which is like dinnerplusa live studio audience and the occasional flying vegetable. They’re lovely. Loud. Lydia will almost certainly interrogate you about your bank statements, and Mary will give a TED Talk on late-stage capitalism. You may leave with a pamphlet. And a photo on my sister Kitty’s Instagram page.”
He sounded amused. “I’ve endured many shareholder meetings. And Charles’s sisters. I expect I shall survive.”
Elizabeth had met Charles’s sisters and found them snobbish and condescending. And that wasbeforeshe’d been dating Darcy. They were sure to despise her now. “Are you sure? Because I can also run away to Scotland tonight and change my name to Elsie MacPie. I’ve got the wild hair for it.”
“Elizabeth.” He slowed them to a stop beneath a streetlamp. “I would like to meet your family.” Then, gentler, “But only ifyouwant me there.”
She exhaled, surprised by how much the question eased the tightness in her chest. “I do, or I wouldn’t ask.”
“Then I’ll come,” he said. “What may I bring that will neither inflame your mother’s expectations nor trigger a Marxist lecture from Mary?”
Elizabeth laughed, the sound coming out a little wobbly. “Flowers for Mum—cheerful ones, not posh—and a bottle of something that pairs well with turmoil.”
“Cheerful flowers. Bottle of wine. Noted.” He hesitated. “Dress code?”
“Elasticated waistbands.” She sobered, suddenly earnest. “Darcy—thank you. Truly.”
He reached for her gloved hand, warm through the wool. “For what it’s worth,” he said, voice softer, “I’m nervous too.”
“About my family?” she teased.
“About wanting to do this right.” His thumb traced a line over the back of her glove, as though reassurances could be smoothed in. “Tell me if I misstep.”
“You’ll be perfect.” She groaned. “No, not perfect—agh, wrong word—you will be you, which is what I like. Sunday next?”
