Page 138 of Pride and Prejudice Resolutions

"Can it be arranged?"

His mother had stared at him for a full thirty seconds. He could feel her dissecting his motives, cataloguing his weaknesses, and filing them away for future use.

Finally, she rang for a footman. "Very well. I will send a note to Lady Sefton. I will inform her that Miss Caroline Bingley is to be added to tomorrow's guest list. The Earl and I will be most displeased if she is overlooked. Will that do, son?"

"Yes, Mother, thank you."

His mother nodded and returned to her correspondence, and the matter was settled. Richard had escaped before she could ask questions, and now the trap was set. The invitation delivered. The stage prepared.

He checked his pocket watch. Half past ten. She should arrive soon, assuming Bingley had not lost the invitation or accidentally set it on fire.

He scanned the ballroom, mapping exits, threats, and potential obstacles. Old habit. A soldier never stopped assessing the terrain.

The crowd parted near the entrance.

Richard straightened.

And his mouth dropped two inches.

She was not orange.

Richard's brain registered this fact with sluggish comprehension, like someone struck over the head with a marble lion head.

She was burgundy.

Burgundy velvet, to be precise. The gown was cut in the height of fashion, high-waisted, with long sleeves that hugged her arms before flaring slightly at the wrists. The neckline was modest by ballroom standards, revealing only the elegant curve of her throat and collarbones. No garish trim. No excessive embellishment. Just the rich, deep wine red of the fabric and a narrow band of cream silk ribbon beneath the bodice.

Her hair, that mass of red-gold that usually bristled with feathers and defiance, had been tamed into an elegant arrangement atop her head. Soft curls framed her face, whilst the bulk of it was swept up and secured with simple ivory combs. The style revealed the graceful curve of her neck, the line of her jaw, the small, shell-like perfection of her ears.

She wore no jewels save for a single strand of pearls at her throat.

She looked… refined. Restrained. Dangerous.

Richard's mouth, which had been hanging open in a manner unbecoming to a Colonel of His Majesty's forces, snapped shut with an audible click.

Miss Bingley swept into the ballroom on the arm of her brother, who looked as he always did, cheerful, vapid, and utterly oblivious to the fact that half the room had turned to stare. Charles Bingley wore a coat of pale blue. His cravat was tied in an elaborate knot that had clearly taken his valet an hour to achieve and would survive approximately ten minutes before collapsing.

But it was not Bingley who drew the eye. It was his sister.

Caroline's green eyes swept the ballroom. Her chin was lifted. Her spine was straight. She moved through the crowd, knowing fully well that she was being watched by thetonand intending to make it worth their while. And then her gaze landed on him.

She did not smile or frown. She simply looked at him for a beat too long, her eyes narrowing fractionally, before she returned her attention to her brother, who was babbling about the splendour of the chandeliers.

Richard pushed away from the potted palm and crossed the ballroom, weaving between clusters of gossips and debutantes, until he reached the Bingleys.

"Miss Bingley." He executed a flawless bow. "Mr Bingley. What a delightful surprise. I had no idea Lady Sefton extended her invitations so broadly."

Bingley beamed, utterly missing the insult. "Colonel Fitzwilliam! How marvellous! I was just telling Caroline what a stroke of luck it was to receive an invitation. We were not expecting one, you know. The post was quite late this morning. I nearly missed it entirely. I was in my dressing gown!"

"A tragedy narrowly averted," Richard replied dryly.

Caroline's eyes met his over her brother's head. "How extraordinary to receive Lady Sefton's invitation this morning, Colonel. So unexpected. So remarkably well timed. One might almost think that someone with significant influence had taken a sudden interest in my social calendar."

"Lady Sefton is known for her impeccable taste in guests."

"How strange, then, that her taste improved overnight. Why, only last week I was informed her guest list was quite full."

Richard's mouth curved. "Circumstances change, Miss Bingley. Perhaps she had a cancellation."