Page 103 of Pride and Prejudice Resolutions

"It would be my pleasure, Lady Matlock," Mrs Gardiner replied with a gracious smile.

"And Mr Gardiner," the Earl boomed, shaking Elizabeth's uncle by the hand. "Happy New Year, old man! Come, I have a bottle of something in the library that needs an expert opinion."

Elizabeth felt the tension in Darcy's arm dissolve. He looked down at her, his eyes warm.

"They have been accepted," he said.

"They have been adopted," Elizabeth corrected, smiling as she watched Robert spin Jane towards the ballroom floor before the line had even finished. "Your cousin seems intent on starting the dancing early."

"Robert is impatient. He has been checking his pocket watch every five minutes."

"And you?" she asked, tilting her head. "Are you impatient, Mr Darcy?"

The heat in his gaze was a scorching touch on her skin.

"I am counting the seconds, Elizabeth. Until midnight."

"Why midnight?"

"Because," he said, leading her into the crush of the ballroom, "I have a resolution to make. And I cannot make it a moment sooner."

Robert Fitzwilliam, Viscount Keathley, heir to an earldom, was in a state of panic.

Again.

It was a delightful, euphoric sort of panic, but panic nonetheless. He was dancing a quadrille with Jane Bennet, holding her hand, watching the candlelight catch in her golden hair, and realising with absolute clarity that if he did not secure her hand in marriage within the next hour, he might actually explode.

And then there was Darcy.

Robert glanced across the set. His cousin was dancing with Miss Elizabeth. He looked intense. Focused. He was a man with aPlan. Robert knew that look. It was the look Darcy got when he was restructuring the tenant laws or organizing a library shelf.

Darcy was going to propose at midnight. Robert knew it. He had seen Darcy checking the clock. He had seen the bulge of a ring box in his pocket.

The cheek of him,Robert thought as he turned Jane in the figure.Thinking he can claim the romantic climax of the evening. I found them first. Jane fell for me first. Literally.

He could not let the "Mouse" steal his thunder. He, Robert Fitzwilliam, was the rake. He was the dashing one. He needed to be the first to cross the finish line.

The music ended. Robert bowed to Jane, retaining her hand as the other couples dispersed.

"My Lord?" Jane asked, her eyes shining. "Is something wrong? You look distracted."

"I am seized by a sudden need for fresh air," Robert lied. "And quiet. The orchestra is very loud, do you not think?"

"It is a ball, Robert," she laughed.

"Precisely. Terrible place for conversation. Come along."

He did not wait for an answer. He tucked her hand into the crook of his arm and steered her—fast—away from the dance floor, past the lemonade table, ignoring Richard, who raised a glass to him, and towards the library.

The library was empty, and the fire was roaring. It was perfect.

Robert closed the door, muffling the sound of the violins. He turned to Jane. She was beautiful, confused, and wonderfully alive.

"Robert?" she asked. "We are missing the waltz."

"Hang the waltz," Robert said breathlessly. "Jane. Look at me."

She locked her eyes with his and her expression softened. "I am looking."