Page 168 of Pride and Prejudice Resolutions

"Miss Bingley is no longer interested in your strategy, sir."

"Did she say that?"

"She did not need to say it. I have eyes, Colonel. And I know when my mistress has been hurt."

The words hit him like a musket ball to the chest. "Hurt? By whom? What happened at tea? What did my relatives say? Was it Robert? I will throttle him—"

"You happened, Colonel." Schmidt's jaw set into a stubborn line that would have impressed a battalion commander. "Now remove your hand from the door before I summon Mr Bingley to remove you."

"Bingley could not prise ivy from the stonework without calling for the footmen."

Schmidt did not blink. "Then I shall remove you myself. And I am stronger than I look."

Richard believed her. The woman had carried enough hatboxes to qualify as a pack mule. She could probably hoist him over her shoulder like a sack of meal if sufficiently provoked."

"Please," he said, and the word came out more desperate than intended. "Just tell me what happened. Let me speak to her. Five minutes. That is all I ask."

The granite of Schmidt's countenance cracked. Just slightly. Enough to give him hope. Then it hardened again. "No, Colonel. Miss Bingley was very clear. You are not welcome here."

"But—"

"Good day."

The door closed. Not slammed. That would have been beneath Schmidt's dignity. But closed with the finality of a coffin lid.

Richard stood on the steps, staring at the wood, his mind racing. What in blazes had happened? Miss Bingley had been fine yesterday. She had told him she did not need rescuing. She had ordered him to move because he was blocking the light. She had been sharp and prickly and entirely herself.

And now she refused to see him.

He knocked again. Louder. No response.

"Schmidt! Open this door!"

Silence.

"I know you are standing on the other side! I can hear you breathing!"

More silence.

Richard considered his options. He could force entry, but that seemed tactically unsound and would likely result in his breaking a bone. He could wait on the steps until Miss Bingley emerged, but she was stubborn enough to remain inside for a month out of sheer spite.

Or he could dig into the source of the problem: Tea.

Elizabeth and Jane had been there. They had witnessed whatever catastrophe had occurred. They would know what had gone wrong. And they would tell him. Even if he had to resort to threats or begging. He turned on his heel and stalked towardshis horse. Black Thunder, tethered to a post, looked at him deeply unimpressed by recent events.

"Do not start," Richard muttered, mounting. "I am aware I have made an error. I simply need to determine which error specifically, has resulted in my complete banishment from Portman Square."

Black Thunder snorted. It sounded judgmental. Richard urged him into a trot, his mind cataloguing every moment of yesterday's tea. He had arrived. Checked on Miss Bingley. Been told she did not need rescuing. Left. Simple. Straightforward. No obvious catastrophe. So why was Schmidt looking at him as though he had personally set fire to her mistress's favourite bonnet?

By the time he reached Darcy House, Richard had worked himself into a state of confusion so profound it bordered on existential crisis. He dismounted, flung the reins at a stable boy who looked mildly alarmed to be catching them, and stormed up the steps as if his boots were on fire.

Mostyn opened the door and regarded him coolly.

"Colonel Fitzwilliam. Mr and Mrs Darcy are in the drawing room. With Lady Keathley."

"Excellent. Announce me before I announce myself."

"Of course, sir."