Page 72 of When Elizabeth's Cat Chose Darcy
Across the room, the piano stumbled. Bingley had turned a page too early or too late or landed on the wrong section entirely. Georgiana’s hands halted, and she rolled her eyes with a fraction of her spirit.
“Mr. Bingley, we were in thedevelopment.”
“Were we? I thought… isn’t this the part where it goes rather fast?”
“That is the recapitulation, and we were nowhere near it.”
“Ah.” Bingley attempted to turn the page back, misjudged thegrip, and sent the entire sheaf of music cascading off the stand in a waterfall of paper directly onto Cinnamon’s back.
Cinnamon, who had been draped across the arm of Darcy’s chair with the boneless elegance of a cat who considered herself above the concerns of the room, erupted from the paper attack in a burst of ginger fur and indignation. She streaked across the carpet and launched herself directly at the nearest available surface, which happened to be Caroline’s skirt—her silk trimmed with Belgian lace.
Caroline’s sneezes and shrieks created a bizarre melody as she flailed at her skirts, trying to dislodge the cat. Meanwhile, Georgiana and Bingley knocked heads in their rush to gather the scattered sheet music.
I bit my lip, fighting back laughter, but lost the battle when Georgiana, instead of crying, burst into giggles, and then Bingley was laughing, bringing Darcy to his feet. He scooped up Cinnamon, detangling her claws from Caroline’s lace while shuddering with suppressed laughter.
Through it all, Mama maintained a façade of perfect calm. How she managed it, I’ll never know, but I suspect years of exposure to our family’s antics had something to do with it.
“Bless you, Miss Bingley.” Mama handed her a fresh napkin, and Mrs. Long pressed her lips together with the heroic self-control of a woman who was mentally composing the account she would deliver to Lady Lucas tomorrow morning, and the account would be detailed, devastating, and repeated verbatim at every tea table in Meryton for the rest of the season.
“Well!” Lydia declared, with the authoritative brightness of a child seizing an opportunity. “The concert is clearly concluded. I propose Commerce. Or Whist, if anyone can be bothered to count trumps, but Commerce is more amusing, and nobody has to sit quietly, which I think we have all done quite enough of this evening.”
“Commerce,” Kitty seconded immediately.
“I am very fond of Commerce,” Bingley said, withthe pathetic gratitude of a man being offered a reprieve. “Miss Darcy, I do apologize. I told Caroline I was not the man for page turning.”
“Mr. Bingley.” Georgiana took the scrambled pages he had gathered. “You are forgiven. But if I may suggest, in the future, perhaps someone who canread musicmight be entrusted with the turning.”
Mary caught Georgiana’s gaze—a vindication, finally, and friendship, perhaps.
“Commerce it is,” Papa announced with the authority of the host. “Mrs. Bennet will deal. She is the only person in this household I trust with cards.”
“I am the only person in this household you trust with anything, Thomas.”
“Precisely my point, my dear. Precisely my point.”
“Mrs. Long, you will partner with me,” Mama said, dealing with the speed and accuracy of a woman who had been winning at cards since before her daughters were born. “Between us, we have sixty years of experience and very little patience for losing.”
“I never lose, Mrs. Bennet,” Mrs. Long said, settling into her chair with the comfortable determination of a woman taking up a battle station. “I simply allow other people to win less.”
I was sitting at the table when Darcy crossed the room and took the chair beside me.
