“You are both behaving like monks,” she declared. “I should think confinement to the nursery would make you desperate for company.”
Thomas pushed a carrot around his plate with solemn concentration.
Toby released a sigh substantial enough for the entire table to hear.
“We are reflecting upon our crimes,” he informed her.
Kitty snorted inelegantly into her napkin.
Mrs. Bennet directed a warning glance toward the twins. “You may reflect silently.”
“Yes, Mama,” they chorused.
Mr. Bennet, who until that moment had seemed chiefly occupied with his wine, reached beside his plate and lifted a folded letter.
“Speaking of disturbances to household peace,” he said mildly, “I received this today.”
The change in his tone drew immediate attention.
“From whom?” Mrs. Bennet asked.
Mr. Bennet adjusted the letter in his hands. “That depends upon whether you are acquainted with a gentleman by the name of Alfred Barnett Wilson.”
Grace Bennet blinked.
For perhaps the first time that day, genuine surprise crossed her features.
“Alfred Wilson?” she repeated slowly. “My late husband’s cousin?”
“The very same, unless Hertfordshire contains another Alfred Barnett Wilson distinguished by extraordinary confidence.”
Mrs. Bennet frowned slightly. “I have heard nothing from Alfred in years.”
“That makes two of us fortunate until now.” Mr. Bennet opened the letter with exaggerated care. “Unfortunately, the gentleman appears eager to renew the acquaintance.”
Elizabeth instinctively turned toward Jane’s empty chair before recognizing the absurdity of the impulse and directing her glance instead toward Mary, who had already straightened with visible interest.
“What does he say?” Kitty asked.
Mr. Bennet cleared his throat.
“‘Dear Bennet,’” he began, “‘it has been too long since our families enjoyed proper familiarity. I have determined at last to correct this neglect and shall therefore arrive at Longbourn on the twentieth of November at four o’clock. I anticipate remaining a fortnight at minimum and look forward greatly to renewing old connections.’”
Mr. Bennet lowered the page.
“It appears,” he observed dryly, “that I have been afforded neither the opportunity to accept nor decline. The gentleman assumes his welcome as an established fact.”
Lydia giggled. “How very bold.”
“How very alarming,” Mrs. Bennet corrected.
Mr. Bennet turned toward her. “What precisely can you tell us of this determined invader?”
Mrs. Bennet leaned back slightly, thoughtful now and not merely surprised.
“The last I heard,” she said slowly, “Alfred had purchased a mill in Lancashire.”
Elizabeth noticed the brief flicker of expression that passed over Kitty’s face at the word mill. The distinctions of trade and consequence, so freely discussed at Netherfield, seemed suddenly nearer home.
