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“This is ridiculous!” William interjected. “Both of you must leave at once!”

He grew more livid as the two women kept arguing, paying no attention to his attempts to quiet them. Fearing that shortly other guests would hear their bellows and they would all be exposed, he stepped between them.

“Enough! What must I say to convince you that I do not desire to keep company with either of you?!”

A military commander’s voice rang out in the darkness. “What the deuce are you women doing?” Richard stepped up to grab each of the harridans by an arm, looking from one to the other.

“I am personally escorting you both to the house this minute. You will go inside as though you are the best of friends who stepped out for a bit of air ...together. DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME?”

In the face of his anger and authoritarian behaviour, both ladies nodded. Immediately, he jerked them roughly towards the house, one on either side. They had to walk briskly to keep up with his long strides and when he reached the terrace, he halted abruptly.

“You will lock arms and start your charade, or so help me God ...” They shrunk back.

“NOW!” he barked, pushing them forward. He observed them as they re-entered the room, giving a performance worthy of the London stage. Lady Matlock was just inside the door and glowered as they passed, then hurried out onto the terrace to address her son.

Running a hand along Richard’s cheek, she noticed that he was trying to calm himself by taking deep breaths. “Are you well, my boy?”

He kissed her fingers and smiled wryly. “I am now, Mother. In fact, I rather enjoyed confronting those two.”

“And Fitzwilliam?”

“I shall find him and make certain he is well.”

“I hated to interrupt your evening to ask you to intervene. You looked as though you were thoroughly enjoying Mrs. Largin’s company, and I must add that she seems a fine person.”

“Mrs. Largin is a wonderful woman, and I very much enjoyed our dance, but I failed in my duty to my cousin. I should never have left Darce alone. I should have known that one or both of those vipers would pounce at the first opportunity and I regret giving it to them.”

“No, no. It is not your fault. I should never have asked you to forego your pleasure to guard your cousin. You are entitled to enjoy yourself. It is the fault of those—those—I cannot bear to call them ‘ladies!’ Would that they would leave the poor boy alone!”

“I fear that is not likely to happen as long as Darce is unmarried and possibly not even then. I have never seen anything like the effect my dour cousin has on women.” He shook his head in wonderment.

“And he is totally unaware of it. How he resists all that—” Realising who he was speaking to, Richard stopped abruptly. “I am sorry, Mother. I did not mean to be crass. I will just say that the man is a saint!”

“We must convince him to marry soon, Richard.”

“We will need plenty of luck for that! Now,” he leaned down to plant a kiss on her forehead, “if you will keep an eye on those two, I shall see how Darce is faring.”

Netherfield

Caroline Bingley was more than miffed. She had arrived in this Godforsaken country weeks ago, only to learn that Mr. Darcy had already returned to Pemberley. Had she known that the gentleman from Derbyshire would not be in Meryton, she would have stayed in Town. As it was, her sister and brother, the Hursts, had taken the opportunity of her absence to plan an extended visit with his relatives in Sussex. They did not intend on returning to London for months, effectively abandoning her to the heathens.

For days after she arrived, she had held out hope that a reciprocal invitation would be issued for the Bingleys to visit Mr. Darcy’s estate—naturally, she would travel with them. But alas, none came, even though she had glimpsed letters in Mr. Darcy’s elegant script being delivered to Charles. To make matters worse, Charles had actually asked her to help with that brat, Peter, because his angel, mealy-mouthed Jane, was with child. Again! Lord, did they not know what caused that!

A most unladylike snort from one of her guests drew her attention back to the present and the occupants of the drawing room—the most disgusting people she had ever met—the Bennets.

“How utterly cruel to be exiled here with these chits!”

Lydia snorted as she slapped Kitty’s leg. “La! I would much rather be in Town. At least there are men in red coats there.” This set off a new round of guffaws between the two of them.

Mrs. Bennet ignored her daughters’ banter, preferring to whine. “I should like to go to London, but my brother is not very accommodating anymore. I have told my Jane that she should insist Mr. Bingley buy a house in Town. Then, at least, I could spend part of the season there.”

Caroline’s eyes narrowed, and she was about to disabuse Mrs. Bennet of that notion in language even she could understand when her brother walked briskly back into the room. “I am sorry, madam, but I have checked on my wife, and she is still asleep. She will not be receiving company today.”

Mrs. Bennet stood, waving her handkerchief about. “Well, I shall just see about that!” She started towards the door, but Charles stepped in front, effectively halting her progress.

“Mrs. Bennet, I must ask you to leave my wife to her rest. She is truly unable to receive you or her sisters. Perhaps if you will come back in a few days ...” His voice trailed off, but his cold eyes never left hers.

Mrs. Bennet could feel Mr. Bingley’s animosity, though she was not sure just why he was angry. “I—I suppose I must. Tell Jane I shall return on Saturday.”