“Marginally,” Mary replied, scribbling notes.
“Are you seriously taking research notes on our family dinner?” Kitty looked up from her phone where she was undoubtedly applying seventeen different filters to her dinner photos.
“I’m documenting the evening’s social dynamics for potential future analysis—”
“She’s taking research notes,” Elizabeth and Lydia said in unison.
“I amnot—” Mary began.
“Mary,” Jane appeared with a tray of wine glasses that had been pre-poured to dangerous levels, “what’s the first thing you wrote down?”
Mary glanced at her notebook. “‘Caroline Bingley: textbook example of passive-aggressive social dominance behaviours.’”
“Research notes,” the other three confirmed again. Kitty just laughed and took a picture.
“Fine,” Mary huffed. “But my notes are more insightful than your collective observations.”
“Challenge accepted,” Lydia announced, sprawling dramatically across the sofa. “Caroline Bingley: living proof that passive-aggression is a competitive sport. Discuss.”
“Ooh, I’ve got one.” Kitty abandoned her phone. “Caroline Bingley: like a group chat notification you never wanted.”
Elizabeth accepted her wine. “Caroline Bingley: living proof that money can’t buy self-awareness.”
“Caroline Bingley,” Jane said, settling onto the sofa, “someone who mistakes cruelty for cleverness.”
They all turned to stare at Jane.
“What?” she asked. “I can be cutting when the situation warrants it.”
“No, you can’t,” Lydia said. She looked around at the rest of them. “She can’t.”
“I do have some training, you know,” Jane said with a touch of amusement. “I was only being—”
“You were being ruthless, for you,” Elizabeth replied. “I’m simultaneously proud and terrified.”
“Can we focus, please?” Mary interrupted, waving her pen like a conductor’s baton. “We have more pressing matters than my notes on Caroline Bingley’s psychological profile.”
“Such as?” Elizabeth suspected she knew where this was heading.
“Such as the fact that you’ve been staring into the distance all evening like you’re mentally rehearsing a murder.” Lydia's expression was insufferably smug.
“I’m thinking about my book. I’m still stuck.”
“I call fib,” Kitty confirmed. “It’s not the same look you get when you’re plotting the perfect crime.”
“She’s right,” Mary added. “It wasn’t your writing face.”
Elizabeth looked around at her sisters, feeling ganged up on. “I was thinking.”
“About?” Jane prompted.
“Relationship things,” Elizabeth admitted.
The response was immediate and overwhelming.
“YES!” Lydia shouted, throwing her arms in the air.
“I KNEW IT!” Kitty shrieked, popping up to perform a little victory dance that involved far too much hip movement.
