Page 128 of Pride and Prejudice Resolutions

Richard spread his hands. "A creative mind."

"A destructive one," she corrected, without heat. "You require an anchor."

"I require a tailor who does not write to my father."

Lady Matlock's mouth sharpened. "You require a wife."

Richard's head lifted, slow and wary. "No."

Her brows rose. "Richard."

"No," he repeated, and felt, for the first time all evening, the relief of plain refusal.

Lady Matlock's eyes glinted. "You will marry."

"I will not," Richard replied. "I have seen the eligible women of London. Half of them look like horses."

Lady Matlock regarded him as if assessing whether he had sustained a head injury during infancy. "Horses are valuable."

Richard waved a hand. "Horses. And not the beautiful sort. The sort that bite and have unfortunate ankles."

His mother turned a page in her book, still not reading. "You are choosy for a man with creditors on his heel."

"I am discerning," Richard replied.

"You are panicking." Her voice softened by a fraction, enough to make the word more dangerous. "And you disguise it as taste."

Richard's fingers tightened on the arm of the chair. "You did not summon me here for a lecture on my character, Mother. You have had one and thirty years for that."

Lady Matlock smiled. It was not a kind smile. It was a smile of recognition, of a woman who knew the exact spot to press to make a man flinch.

"You are right," she said. "I summoned you because your father is serious, and I agree with him."

Richard stared at her. It was one thing to be pursued by his father's pragmatism. It was another to find his mother joining the hunt.

"You agree," he repeated.

She gave a small shrug, a movement of silk and certainty. "I do."

"You would exile me?" Richard asked, incredulous.

"I would save you," she countered. "From your habits, from your debts, and from your dramatic tendency to behave as if your problems are a moral injustice inflicted by the universe."

Richard's laugh came out sharp. "So, which heiress have you selected? One of the girls with no chin and a father who breeds sheep?"

Her mouth tilted. "Those girls have five thousand pounds each. You could do worse."

Richard leaned forward. "Mother."

Lady Matlock's gaze did not flicker. "You want a woman with beauty and money and intelligence and a temper soft enough to soothe you, yet firm enough to correct you. You are describing a fantasy."

Richard's eyes narrowed. "Darcy found one."

"Darcy is Darcy," she replied, and the faint affection in her voice was so rare it made Richard feel, inexplicably, jealous. "Darcy also possesses Pemberley. Women come to him the way moths come to light. You are a spark in the wind."

Richard pressed his fingertips to his forehead. "Do not wax poetic. It makes me distrust you."

Her eyes crinkled. "You distrust me regardless."