Page 181 of Pride and Prejudice Resolutions

"Richard—"

"I am done." The words came out flat. Final. "I am done playing this game. I love her, Father. I love Caroline Bingley. And she will never believe me, because I waited too long to tell her, and I was too proud to admit it, and now she thinks I am exactly the kind of man I have spent my entire life trying not to become."

His voice broke on the last word.

"Ship me to the West Indies. Let me serve out my days in some godforsaken colonial outpost where the only thing trying to kill me is the climate. At least there, I will not have to see her. Atleast there, I will not have to know that I had one chance at happiness and I destroyed it through my own stupidity."

Silence stretched between them.

The Earl studied his son—the haggard face, the red-rimmed eyes, the uniform that was rumpled and stained from alleyways and carriage-chasing and the general wreckage of the evening.

Then, very slowly, he stepped back from the doorway.

"Come in, Richard." His voice was quiet. Thoughtful. Not angry—which was somehow worse. "I think we need to talk."

Chapter Fifteen: The Matlocks Descend

Caroline Bingley had not left her bedchamber in two days.

This was not a retreat. It was a strategic withdrawal. A tactical reallocation of resources. She was conserving her energy for future battles, not hiding under her counterpane like a child afraid of thunder.

The counterpane was very comfortable, though. Egyptian cotton. Obscenely fine weave. Worth every penny.

Schmidt had taken up residence in the chair by the window, emerging only to fetch tea, biscuits, and the occasional novel that Caroline pretended not to read. They had reached an unspoken agreement: Schmidt would not ask questions, and Caroline would not dissolve into a puddle of humiliating tears more than twice per day.

She had kept to the schedule admirably. Yesterday had only required one and a half dissolutions, which she considered progress.

"You should eat, Miss." Schmidt's voice drifted from the window, where she was ostensibly mending a stocking but was actually standing guard like a very domestic gargoyle. "The toast is getting cold."

"I am not hungry."

"You said that yesterday. And the day before."

"My appetite has taken a leave of absence." Caroline pulled the counterpane higher. "It will return when it is ready. I refuse to rush it."

Schmidt made a sound that somehow conveyed both maternal concern and the desire to force-feed her mistress like a reluctant goose being fattened for Christmas.

The knock on the bedchamber door was soft. Apologetic. The knock of a man who had learned, through years ofpainful experience, that disturbing his sister in her lair carried significant risks.

"Caroline?" Charles's voice was muffled. "May I come in?"

"No."

"There are... visitors."

Caroline's eyes narrowed at the ceiling. "I am not receiving."

"Yes, I told them that. Several times, actually. They were not interested in my opinion." He paused. "Caroline, it is the Earl and Countess of Matlock. They are in the drawing room. They are refusing to leave. And the Earl has eaten three of our scones and is asking pointed questions about the quality of our butter."

Caroline sat up so quickly that her head spun.

The Earl and Countess of Matlock. The Colonel's parents. In her drawing room. Eating her scones and critiquing her dairy.

"Tell them I am indisposed."

"I did."

"Tell them I have the plague."