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.
