Page 232 of Pride and Prejudice Resolutions

Charles froze. "Is he going to eat me?"

The cat did not eat him. Instead, he performed a slow, deliberate circle, his claws kneading into Charles's thighs like a baker working a difficult dough. Then, with a sigh that sounded remarkably as a human groan of resignation, the animal curled into a tight ball and began to purr.

It was a low-frequency sound that vibrated into Charles-the-human's bones.

Miss Bennet's jaw dropped. The clinical mask of the scholar shattered instantly, replaced by a manifestation of such utter astonishment that Charles almost forgot his own orange face.

"Well, I never…! He never does that," she whispered, her eyes wide behind her spectacles. "He despises all of humanity. He has spent the last five months hissing at everyone and attempting to trip my mother."

Miss Kitty stopped her frantic fanning, her eyes bugging out in a way that was entirely devoid of seriousness. She let out a sudden, high-pitched giggle. "Look, Mary! The two Charleses have merged. It is like an orange six-legged disaster area."

Charles could not move. The weight of the cat was surprisingly substantial, and the vibrating purr was strangely comforting. "Perhaps he recognises a fellow victim of the sun," he suggested.

Miss Bennet's eyes moved from him to the cat, then back again. She let out a laugh—a real, genuine sound that was not dry or cautious, but full of a light he had never heard from her before. It was a beautiful sound, and it sent a jolt of pride through his chest for causing it. At this instant, he swore that he would do anything to hear it again.

"Perhaps." Her composure returned, though her eyes remained bright. "But we have business to attend to. The feline Charles may accept you, but the village requires more proof of your merit."

"Do your worst, Miss Bennet." Charles tried to appear nonchalant while pinned by a sleeping tomcat.

"The strategy is simple," she began, returning to her lecture tone. "You will start with the fences. That is good. But the village of Meryton is a hierarchy of social debt. To win the collective mind, you must strike at the core. You must conquer Lady Lucas."

Charles blinked. "Lady Lucas? But she is very friendly. She always asks after my sisters."

"She is a gossip of the highest order," Miss Bennet corrected. "But because Sir William has a title, her word carries the weight of law. If Lady Lucas declares you a gentleman of substance, the rest of the village will follow as sheep to a salt lick. You must make her your champion."

"How?"

"By being useful in a way that highlights her importance. Offer your assistance to the vicar for the upcoming charity auction, but do so in her presence. Ask for her advice on the procurement of local wool. She loves to give advice, and she loves to be seen as the matriarch of the parish."

Charles nodded, absorbing the logic. "So, I must be a student of her wisdom?"

"Precisely. And you must do it with a sense of... light. You are too heavy at the moment, Mr Bingley. You are trying to be my father, and while I appreciate the effort, the village needs the man who can jest about his own orange face. They want amiable who stays, if you catch my drift."

Charles smiled, a broad, simple smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes. "Well, I suppose it is a good thing I have plenty of practise at being ridiculous."

She laughed again, shorter this time, but no less genuine. "Yes," she murmured. "I suppose it is."

The journey back to Longbourn was a slow, dusty procession that Charles found remarkably tranquil, considering he was still upset from the proximity of a purring cat and a laughing scholar. He walked on the left, leading Jupiter by the reins, while Miss Bennet and Miss Kitty occupied the lane beside him.

Charles felt the weight of his "Strategy" settling into a comfortable reality. He was no longer a weathercock, spinning aimlessly in the winds of other people's opinions. He was a manwith a list of structural failings and a plan to conquer a knight's wife.

"You are very quiet, Mr Bingley," Miss Kitty observed. Her fanning had reached a more reasonable tempo, and her expression had returned to its serious default state. "Are you contemplating the vanity of the world? Or is it the heat?"

"A little of both, Miss Kitty," Charles replied, offering a bow from the waist that was only slightly hampered by Jupiter's desire to investigate a nearby hedge. "But mostly, I am thinking of wool. And Lady Lucas. It is a fascinating combination."

Miss Bennet regarded him over the rims of her spectacles. "Do not underestimate the wool, Mr Bingley. In this parish, a man who knows his staples is a man who can speak for hours without ever revealing a single private thought. It is the perfect social camouflage."

"I shall be a master of the fleece," Charles promised.

They reached the gates of Longbourn, where the familiar, lively façade of the house rose up to meet them. Charles felt a sudden, sharp prickle of memory—the sound of Mrs Bennet's voice, the coldness of the reception he had received only a fortnight ago, and the lingering sting of the "desertion" charge.

He stopped at the gravel drive.

"You are not coming in?" Miss Kitty asked, her disappointment surfacing through the gloom. "Papa will want to hear about the strategy. And Mamma has ordered a remarkably large tray of biscuits."

Charles surveyed the front door. He could almost feel the atmospheric pressure of Mrs Bennet's pique emanating from the parlour windows. He thought of his orange face, his muddy boots, and the quiet dignity he had felt while being mocked by Mr Bennet in a pasture.

"I think not, Miss Kitty." Charles sounded firm, with a newfound resolve. "I am in a state that would potentially causeMrs Bennet to suffer a relapse of her nerves. And besides, I have a great deal of soil to remove before I can face the village as a gentleman of merit."