Jane had been handed a cup of tea before she had fully stepped into the room. Mary was already cornered by Mr. Philips, who was offering loud opinions on moral education. Kitty and Lydia were whispering, giggling, elbowing each other with alarming frequency.
Then Lydia’s voice rang out, clear as a bell. “They’re coming to Meryton!”
Mama turned. “Who is coming, child?”
“The officers!” Lydia beamed. “They’ve been posted just outside the village—dozens of them. In uniform, Mama. I nearly swooned.”
“They say Colonel Forster is very handsome,” Kitty added, clasping her hands and squeezing her arms together until her bosom… well, her fichu no longer served its office.
“Oh, my word!” cried Mrs. Bennet. “Dozens of eligible young men in uniform, just a few miles away? Thisisa blessing.”
Elizabeth rolled her eyes and accepted her tea. “And here I thought we already had more than our share of distractions.”
“Speak for yourself,” Lydia huffed. “You do not swoon over anyone.”
“That is because I like to remain conscious.”
Darcy, from across the fire, lifted his brow—but said nothing. Instead, he deliberately looked away from the conversation.
She could not help herself. “Do you object to the militia, Mr. Darcy?”
“I object to little, Miss Bennet. Though I find it curious how swiftly uniformed strangers become objects of worship.”
Lydia beamed, not remotely insulted. “Oh, we’ve always loved uniforms.”
Elizabeth sipped her tea. “It does not take a red coat to inspire admiration. Some gentlemen manage it with nothing but black broadcloth and a glower.”
She said it lightly, too lightly, but Darcy’s eyes narrowed slightly.
“Glowering is vastly underrated,” he said. “It wards off nonsense.”
“And conversation,” she added, teeth flashing.
Darcy’s gaze held hers. “Precisely.”
The room had gone oddly quiet. Elizabeth glanced away, mortified to find Mrs. Philips, Sir William, and even Jane watching with interest.
Mrs. Bennet leaned forward. “Did you hear, Mr. Darcy? The officers will be stationed quite near Meryton. Very near indeed.”
“I had not heard,” Darcy said without looking away from Elizabeth.
“We shall be entirely overrun with officers!” Mrs. Bennet cried. Not in dread, but something quite the reverse.
“Perhaps Hertfordshire has room enough,” Elizabeth said mildly.
“Not if they all want tea,” muttered Miss Bingley, who had not been addressed but would not allow herself to be left out.
A ripple of polite laughter passed around the room.
And then Sir William cleared his throat. “With so many new visitors, and such a fine house as Netherfield among us, it does rather put one in mind of… a ball.”
Miss Bingley’s fan paused mid-flutter.
Mrs. Bennet sat bolt upright. “A ball?”
Mr. Bingley, bless him, smiled like someone had offered him cake. “An excellent suggestion!”
“I could not agree more,” cried Mrs. Philips.
