Page 154 of Pride and Prejudice Resolutions

"Do not sound so astonished."

"I am not astonished," he lied. "Merely... impressed."

"Careful, Colonel. That almost sounded like a compliment."

"I am capable of compliments."

She looked doubtful.

The dance spun them apart again. When they came back together, she was biting her lip to suppress a smile.

"Why are you doing this?" she asked, her voice low.

"Dancing?" He feigned innocence. "It is the customary activity at a ball."

"Helping me. Refusing Fawlton. Being nice." Her gaze searched his face. "What do you want, Colonel?"

"I want..." he hesitated, "to ensure you do not marry a scoundrel."

"Why?"

"Because Schmidt would never forgive me if I allowed you to ruin yourself under my temporary supervision."

"Schmidt?"

"She is scary," Richard said solemnly. "I fear her more than I fear French cavalry."

Caroline laughed, a real, unguarded sound that cut through the din of the ballroom like a blade. Several heads turned.

"There," he said with a broad smile. "That is what you should do more often."

"Laugh at you?"

"Laugh in general. It suits you better than pinched lips."

The music swelled, signalling its finale. They moved through the last figures, and when the dance ended, Richard found himself oddly reluctant to let go of her hand.

"One dance," she reminded him. "As promised. Now introduce me to Fawlton."

"No."

"Colonel—"

"Find another Marquis, Miss Bingley." He was already stepping back. "That one will destroy you."

He bowed, turned, and walked away before she could protest. Behind him, he heard her mutter, "Insufferable man."

He was still smiling when he left the ballroom.

Chapter Ten: The Honeymooners Return

The dining room at Matlock House had been designed to intimidate. The long mahogany table, polished to a mirror sheen, reflected the flickering candlelight and the stern portraits of Fitzwilliam ancestors glaring down from the walls. The Earl of Matlock, resplendent in a coat of forest green that clashed with his scowl, presided at the head of the table. His wife, the Countess, sat at the opposite end and sipped her wine, her eyes betraying that she had already won a battle no one else knew was being fought.

Darcy and Elizabeth arrived fashionably late, though Darcy would have preferred not to arrive at all. He had spent the better part of their journey from Pemberley enumerating the reasons London was inferior to Derbyshire, chief among them being the necessity of dining with his uncle. Elizabeth, however, had merely laughed and adjusted the sapphire comb in her hair, declaring that she would not miss the opportunity to witness Richard's inevitable humiliation.

"You are enjoying this," Darcy muttered as they were announced.

"Immensely," Elizabeth agreed, her eyes alight with mischief. "I do so love a family dinner. It is like watching a play where everyone has forgotten their lines but the audience."