“And what was the outcome of this engagement?” Mr. Bennet peered over his glasses at his boys.
“We won,” Thomas said proudly. He stabbed at a potato and put it in his mouth.
“Of course,” Mr. Bennet murmured.
“There was a battle,” Toby continued. “We climbed the tree—”
“That was the mast,” Thomas inserted.
“—and we had swords.”
“Sticks,” Mary said.
Thomas shook his head. “Swords.”
“And we made George walk the plank,” Toby concluded.
Elizabeth could not restrain herself. “How unfortunate for George.”
“He was quite content,” Thomas said defensively. “He fell in the grass.”
Mr. Bennet regarded them with a thoughtful expression. “A most satisfactory arrangement.”
Mrs. Bennet’s lips curved slightly, though her tone remained composed. “You will not repeat the exercise tomorrow.”
The boys exchanged a look.
“No, Mama,” they said.
Elizabeth had little doubt the matter would be revisited under a different name.
Dinner concluded soon after, and the family withdrew to the drawing room.
The transition from table to hearth brought with it a change in atmosphere. Candles were rearranged, and chairs drawn closer together. The evening settled into its accustomed pattern.
Mr. Bennet took up a book and seated himself where the light fell most favorably. Thomas and Toby gathered at his feet, their earlier energy still evident but sufficiently contained to permit attention.
Elizabeth resumed her sampler.
The fabric lay across her lap, the pattern already well advanced. Her needle moved with practiced precision, though enthusiasm played only a small part in the exercise. Such work was never among her greatest pleasures, although she applied herself with care. Her mother’s expectations in these matters were quite reasonable and perfectly understood.
Across from her, Jane occupied herself with a piece of embroidery more delicate in design. Mary had a book open, though she glanced up from time to time to listen. Kitty and Lydia shared a seat, their conversation reduced to occasional whispers.
Mr. Bennet’s voice, reading aloud, filled the room with a steady cadence.
Elizabeth allowed her thoughts to drift.
The mention of Netherfield lingered. A new family—new faces—new possibilities. The idea stirred her curiosity, though without the restless anticipation she might once have felt. Longbourn, in its present state, satisfied her in a way she had not always known.
Her needle paused.
Memory, unbidden, carried her back to earlier years spent in town, where space was limited, movement constrained, and even the air seemed different. She had not been unhappy, precisely, although she had often felt confined.
Here, there was room to breathe. To walk. To think without interruption.
The contrast remained vivid, even after all these years.
The evening wore on. One by one, the candles burned lower. The reading came to an end; the work was set aside.
