Page 137 of Pride and Prejudice Resolutions

Richard walked faster. His father's voice gained volume, pursuing him like a vengeful ghost.

Tick-tock. TICK-TOCK.

He did not run. Fitzwilliams did not run. But he walked with considerable haste until he reached the safety of his bedchamber and slammed the door with enough force to rattle the hinges.

The message was loud and clear. Easter was approaching fast. The deadline of his doom was pending.

He needed a plan.

Richard pressed his forehead against the cool marble of Lady Sefton's column, wishing it would open up and swallow him whole.

He had spent the past two days calculating his options. He had drawn diagrams. He had made lists. He had consumed an entire bottle of his brother's best brandy whilst staring at the ceiling and cursing the universe.

The facts were these:

One: He required a dowry to prevent financial ruin and paternal disappointment, not to mention avoid dying of the fever somewhere hot.

Two: Dowries did not grow on trees, nor could they be ordered from catalogues.

Three: The current crop of heiresses with dowries in London consisted of: (a) Lady Araminta Glossop, who possessed a laugh like a dying goose and the intellect of a turnip, (b) Miss Honoria Fitzroy, who had the face of a horse and the conversation of a vicar's wife, and (c) the Weatherby twins, who were seventeen, identical, and made him feel like a predator lurking outside a schoolroom.

Four: Caroline Bingley had a dowry, no horse face, and a tongue sharp enough to fillet a man at twenty paces.

The logical conclusion was inescapable. If he was to marry a dowry, it would have to be hers.

The problem, the significant, unavoidable, catastrophic problem, was that he was not entirely certain he could live in the same house as Caroline Bingley without one of them committing murder—or worse, without all of London reading in the papers:Woman Dangled from Window by Ankles; Husband Cited.

It would have to be her house, obviously. His only possession of value was his stallion, Black Thunder, and he doubted Miss Bingley wished to take up residence atop a horse. She would complain about the lack of gilt. She would probably commission a saddle encrusted with diamonds.

No. Before he committed to a lifetime of her company, he needed to test the waters. He needed to observe her in her natural habitat. He needed to see her under duress, stripped of her defences, navigating the treacherous shoals of the Season.

And so, in a moment of what he could only describe as tactical insanity, he had devised THE plan.

He would offer not to court or propose to her, but to help her find a husband. He would simply observe. Catalogue her flaws and virtues. Determine whether a life sentence in her company was preferable to debtor's prison.

It was a brilliant plan. It was a terrible plan. It was the only plan he had.

When she accepted, he nearly choked on his own cravat.

She was sharp as a knife. She should have seen through the ruse immediately. She should have demanded more explanations, guarantees, written contracts in triplicate. But instead, she had glared at him with those damned green eyes and had the audacity to call him insufferable.Insufferable!As if she were some paragon of charm and civility, instead of a woman who dressed like a warning beacon and wielded her wealth like a cudgel. However, she had agreed.

And now here he was, standing beside a potted palm in this ballroom, waiting for Caroline Bingley and her useless puppy of a brother to arrive.

Of course, Lady Sefton's ball was not the sort of event to which the Bingleys received invitations. Trade money, no matter how large, did not automatically grant access to the inner circles of theton. The Countess of Sefton was a dragon in diamonds who guarded her guest list with the ferocity of Cerberus protecting the gates of Hades.

But Richard had asked his mother.

The conversation had been brief.

"Mother, I require a favour."

The Countess had looked up from her correspondence, one elegant eyebrow rising to a height that could have scraped the ceiling. "Do you?"

"I would like to procure an invitation to Lady Sefton's ball for Miss Caroline Bingley."

The eyebrow climbed higher. It was a miracle of muscular control.

"I see."