Page 129 of Pride and Prejudice Resolutions

"Yes."

"Good," she said calmly. "That means you are listening."

She set her book aside and rose. She walked to the mantel, adjusted a small porcelain figurine as if it were out of place, and returned, taking her seat again with the deliberate ease of a woman who had never hurried for anything in her life. She folded her hands.

"I saw you on Bond Street," she remarked.

Richard froze. Every muscle in his body tightened as if he had been shot.

Lady Matlock watched his reaction with the detached interest of a scientist observing a creature of the night exposed to light.

"You were in a narrow space," she continued thoughtfully. "You stood between Miss Bingley and a group of drunken young lords. You moved without hesitation."

Richard's mouth went dry.

"I observed you, Richard."

His jaw clenched. "You observed nothing."

His mother lifted a finger, as if correcting a child. "Do not attempt to lie. It wastes both our time."

Richard's gaze fell to the fire, attempting to find counsel in the flames. They offered only heat, which did not help.

Her voice remained composed. "Caroline Bingley has twenty thousand pounds."

Richard's head snapped up. "Et tu, Brute?"

Lady Matlock's brows rose at the Latin, unimpressed. "Do not be theatrical. It is unbecoming at your age."

He let out a harsh breath. "You are joining Father and Robert in this sport of forcing me into misery."

"I am joining sense," she retorted.

"She is trade," Richard said, as if the word itself were a shield. "Father will hate her."

Lady Matlock's eyes sharpened. "Your father hates bills more. He agrees with me."

Richard's hands opened, then closed. "She dresses like a warning."

"She dresses like a woman who refuses to disappear," Lady Matlock replied, and there was, in that, a note of approval so slight it might have been imagined. "Garish, yes. Bold, yes. Stupid, no."

Richard stared. "Mother."

Lady Matlock continued, utterly calm. "She attended the best school for ladies in England. Her manners are flawless. Her conversation is sharp. She knows the rules. She chooses which ones to obey."

Richard's throat tightened. The image of Miss Bingley in orange, rigid and proud, flickered again. He despised the way his mother's words slid into place around it, making it harder to dismiss.

"She would be a terrible wife," he muttered, meaning it with his whole soul.

"She would be an interesting one. And she would not require a tutor to hold her hand through a dinner party. Your father values competence. He pretends he values blood. He values competence, land, and the appearance of moral order."

Richard's mouth twisted. "You make it sound like a business arrangement."

Lady Matlock smiled. "Marriage often is."

Richard stood abruptly, the chair scraping. He paced once, then stopped, then turned back to her with contained fury, realising he was cornered by his own family.

"Mother, half the time I want to throttle her, and the only thing that keeps me from doing it is my impeccable breeding."