Page 198 of Pride and Prejudice Resolutions

The Countess of Matlock had gone unnaturally still. Her fan had stopped.

"Mrs Fitzwilliam is a woman of taste and discernment," Lady Catherine replied. "She chose freely. A refreshing departure from marriages founded on… necessity."

Augusta's smile took on the gleam of a well-honed blade. "Pamela's marriage was founded on devotion. She had a husband who adored her to her final breath." The harpy tilted her head slightly. "But then, you would know all about devotion, would you not? How does dear Anne fare? Still unwed, I hear. Such a pity. She always seemed so delicate."

Lady Catherine's knuckles blanched on the head of her cane.

Edmund Lindon, displaying excellent tactical sense, began to edge backwards.

"Grandmother, perhaps we might find our seats—"

"In a moment, dear." Augusta did not look away. "I am merely renewing an old friendship."

"Friendship?" Lady Catherine inquired, her voice dangerously soft.

"Acquaintance, then, if you prefer." Augusta's smile sharpened. "You did share a Season with my daughter, after all. Such memories."

She dipped the shallowest of curtsies, devastating in its perfection, and glided away towards the seating area, leaving silence and scorched earth in her wake.

Lady Catherine remained standing. Her face was stone. Her pulse was war drums.

Eleanor cleared her throat. "Well. That was—"

"Do not," Lady Catherine said. She sat. The motion was controlled. Precise. Volcanic. "Not. One. Word."

Eleanor returned to her fan with alacrity, knowing fully well when retreat was the only sensible option.

Across the lawn, Augusta Prestwick settled into her chair, smoothed her skirts, and smiled the small, satisfied smile of a woman who had waited forty years for precisely this moment.

And somewhere, in the ornamental pond, a liberated frog considered his narrow escape from matrimony and decided he preferred the single life after all.

*

The End