Page 142 of Pride and Prejudice Resolutions

Caroline lifted the note, examining it as one might a suspicious fungus. "He has requested Charles accompany us, for propriety."

At the mention of his name, Charles looked up from the far end of the table where he had been constructing an elaborate tower out of toast points. His face brightened with the eagerness of a spaniel hearing the word "walk".

"A ride! Capital idea! I have not ridden in weeks. Not since that incident with the fence. And the ditch. And the vicar's hat."

"You rode over a vicar?" Caroline asked faintly.

"Not over. Past. Very quickly. He was most understanding, though his hat did suffer. I sent him a new one. With ribbons."

Louisa groaned, pressing a hand to her swollen abdomen. "This family is a source of perpetual humiliation."

"But the ribbons were tasteful," Charles protested.

Caroline re-read the note, searching for hidden meaning in the terse script.Wear something that will not frighten the horses.The audacity. As if she habitually dressed like a circus.

Though, to be fair, there had been the orange incident. And the violet pelisse. And that unfortunate bonnet with the stuffed magpie.

"I shall wear grey," she announced.

Louisa blinked. "Grey?"

"Subdued. Respectable. The sort of colour a woman wears when she is not attempting to set the world ablaze."

"You? In grey? Again?" Louisa set down her fork, her face shifting from annoyance to suspicion. "Caroline, are you unwell? You have been wearing muted colours for weeks. It is disturbing. You look like a governess."

"I look refined."

"You look dull."

Caroline folded the note in precise, sharp creases. "I am adapting my strategy. The Colonel believes—" She stopped, catching herself before revealing too much.

"The Colonel believes what?" Louisa leaned forward, narrowing her eyes. "Caroline Letitia Bingley, are you taking advice from that penniless second son? The man owns nothing but a horse and a sword. What could he possibly teach you about securing a husband?"

"Tactics," Caroline replied coolly.

"Tactics?"

"A strategy applied to the marriage mart. Very effective."

Louisa stared at her as though she had announced her intention to join the veil. "You have gone mad. Pregnancy has addled your wits, no, wait. I am the pregnant one. What is your excuse?"

Charles, who had been listening vaguely, suddenly clapped his hands together. "I shall accompany you! It will be marvellous! I shall wear my new riding coat. The one with the brass buttons. Miss Whitmore said they were very dashing."

"Miss Whitmore finds everything dashing," Caroline muttered. "She called a teapot dashing last week."

"It was a very fine teapot."

Caroline rushed to her chamber. She stood eyeing the riding habit Schmidt had laid out on her bed. It was grey, as promised. Slate grey wool with black frogging across the bodice and a matching spencer jacket. The skirt was cut for side saddle, long enough to drape elegantly but practical enough to avoid tangling in the stirrups. A crisp white cravat at her throat and a small black hat with a single curling feather completed the ensemble.

She looked like a storm cloud. A very elegant, possibly dangerous storm cloud.

"Will this do, Miss?" Schmidt asked, adjusting the fall of the jacket.

"It will have to. The Colonel has strong opinions about my wardrobe. If I arrive in anything brighter than ash, he will likely commandeer my horse and send me home on foot."

Schmidt, who had been privy to three years of Caroline's sartorial warfare, merely grunted and fetched the riding gloves.

By ten minutes to ten, Caroline was standing in the entrance hall, tapping her riding crop against her boot with mounting irritation. Charles had not yet emerged from his chambers. This was unsurprising. Her brother operated on a timeline comprehensible only to very small children and men who had recently suffered head trauma.