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Colonel Fitzwilliam seemed really glad to see them.

—Pride and Prejudice

CLARA’S ROOM IN Mr. Darcy’s townhome proved more than ample, and she would have happily stayed there all day after the mummies had she not agreed to attend a dinner with Georgiana at Lord Edling’s estate.

Though Lord Edling had kept his distance for most of the night at the captain’s gathering, he’d still managed to extend an invitation to Georgiana before they parted.

Clara didn’t really have anything specific against the man, but something in his manners and the way he carried himself reminded her of her late husband.

Reginald Hughes had seemed perfectly amiable the few times they’d met before her own marriage—a mirage that had swiftly changed.

She didn’t wish that on anyone. Plus, with the freedom she experienced after Reginald’s death, she wanted to make sure Georgiana had some time to experience her own freedom, too, unbeholden to a man.

But as Lord Edling had no bad marks yet, Clara knew an outright refusal of a perfectly normal man pursuing Georgiana would be unkind.

Clara had already raised suspicion in the colonel’s eye, though she doubted anyone else noticed.

Somehow, that man was more astute and aware of people and circumstances—and of her—than anyone else.

So, they would go to Lord Edling’s dinner, and Clara would try to understand his character more.

At half past six, Georgiana was already waiting in the carriage by the time Clara pushed in the chair at her dressing table and made it downstairs. Their carriage ride passed with little said, other than how Georgiana was famished and couldn’t wait for the array of food.

Somehow, Clara didn’t find herself so hungry.

She’d openly declared her love of freedom and prosperity last night. But something in the colonel’s gaze as he challenged her had turned her stomach a little. That was necessary unease, she told herself.

“I am glad it will be a more intimate party,” Georgiana said as they walked up the front steps of Kendrick Park.

“Indeed.” Clara took in the ionic columns flanking the front entrance of the baron’s residence, complete with huge pots trailing vines of English ivy all the way down.

“Are you not in awe of these steps? The foliage and the stone together—”

“Oh yes,” Georgiana said, being sure to purposefully look about. “Lord Edling and his father before him have quite the eye for a grand esthetic, though Edling is so modest that one would never know . . .”

“I take it that you’ve been here before?” Clara clasped her hands behind her back as they cleared the final step.

“Yes, once last Season. It was a grand party with droves of people. It was the first time I met Lord Edling.”

Ah. Georgiana’s look conveyed an entire story. So, how many times had they interacted? Clara intended to find out the whole of their interactions as soon as they arrived home.

“Welcome!” Lord Edling himself opened the door, though footmen flanked the entryway. “Right this way.” He held his arm out to Georgiana.

“Unless you remember the way,” she heard him whisper.

Georgiana’s eyes widened in delight. These two were clearly smitten.

But Clara wasn’t so sure of his intentions.

His quiet mannerisms might just be a facade.

Lord Edling had to have several bad qualities and skeletons in some closet somewhere in this immaculate and palatial house.

Clara would make sure to look out for them the whole night.

Her own husband had had spending habits that he’d kept hidden for far too long.

Plus, if Georgiana’s decision took more time, Clara could earn more as a chaperone and collect more money on her holdings. Since posting her letter, she’d been waiting to hear from her solicitor to see if he’d figured out a way to save her finances.

And then, there was the option Matlock had hinted at yesterday, but she didn’t want to think about that one right now. His suggested possibility unnerved her.

“Mrs. Hughes,” Lord Edling interrupted her thoughts as he spoke over his shoulder. “Every year we have a taste-testing around the date of my late mother’s birthday. It was one of her favorite traditions, and we’ve kept it up even after her death. Each year the theme is different.”

Georgiana placed her second hand on his forearm. “Do tell us what this year’s theme is!”

“Seafood.”

“An excellent choice,” Clara said. A little bit of light fish she could manage despite the unease in her stomach.

But as the door opened, it wasn’t just a few dishes. Huge, tiered platters covered the table, and no less than fifteen different plates and chargers held several elaborate offerings from the sea.

Lord Edling must have been watching their faces because he turned his head toward Georgiana. “We invite a few friends, and then when we’ve had our fill, we invite all the servants to come through and try it all. It was my mother’s way to give a present to others on her birthday.”

For one moment, Clara caught the look between those two, and she couldn’t help but respond with her own smile.

For the first time, she realized why Lord Edling might be drawn to Georgiana.

His mother had been a good and kind influence, and clearly that was the type of woman he wanted, too, and his judge of character toward Georgiana was well-informed.

Clara found she couldn’t fault him for that.

“Who else is coming?” Georgiana asked, when the spell between them had seemed to break.

“Oh, my aunt and uncle, Mr. and Mrs. Cherry, who are in town for the Season, my sister and her husband and a few of their relatives. We always invite our next-door neighbors, the Hales. And, of course, I felt like I should include the colonel since he is one of Miss Darcy’s guardians, in case he heard me talking to you about it yesterday. ”

Georgiana smiled, but the unease in Clara’s stomach started swimming. Could she not get rid of that man? How was he everywhere?

But wait . . . She scanned the tables. Oh, this would not do.

Mussels. Clams. Shellfish in copious amounts.

Eel and squid, too, if she guessed right.

She’d already seen a servant bring in other steaming chargers of new items. She sniffed the air.

The smell was far too pungent. The small hint of curry and maybe some rosemary did not fully mask the fishiness that accompanied the room.

Lord Edling and Georgiana had fallen into conversation, and though she knew it was shirking her duty, Clara made her way to the door they had just come through.

Another group of people came in, and Clara guessed by the strong family resemblance that it was the sister and relations. Still, she did not stop.

She was nearly out of breath when she saw the colonel come through the front doors. Luckily, no other guests trailed in after him.

“You came to greet me? How fortunate am I!”

He did always manage to flirt with her. Usually, she hated flirting. Yet his words didn’t grate on her as much as usual. She flung her arms out to the side.

“I came to do nothing of the sort.”

“Then, what the devil are you doing in this entryway, arms extended? I do not think we are on terms where we can hug, Mrs. Hughes.” The wrinkles around his eyes spoke of teasing, his mouth showing a warm, wide smile.

Here he was again with the insinuating comments.

Her mouth hung open, and she couldn’t form words.

“And alone in the corridor?” He tsked. “My goodness, we should not make this a habit.”

But unlike last time, he didn’t move closer to her. Neither did he grab her hand like yesterday.

Her mind told her she wished he would.

What kind of thought was that? She was here with a purpose, one that did not involve getting close to him . . .

“You must listen to me, Colonel.”

He shook his head. “Benj. Or Fitzwilliam, although that one is confusing around Darcy . . .”

“Pardon me?” She stared at him.

“Stop calling me Colonel. It’s so formal. I’d prefer you call me something else.”

“Well, Something Else , I need you to stop right there.”

“Ha, very witty.” He took two steps toward her, and she quickly sidestepped to cut him off.

His brow furrowed, and he dropped his voice. “I know you don’t like Edling, but I’ve accepted his invitation, and I’m going in there—”

Again, he tried to walk around her. Thrusting out one hand, she straightened her palm against his chest. “Stop!”

Touching him was a bad decision. Her hand could feel his definition despite his jacket and waistcoat, and it did funny things to her mind.

A charge flooded up her arm.

She never felt this way when she first met her late husband. Or even when her late husband had first touched her hand. She had liked feeling cared for, while it lasted in the beginning, but that hadn’t felt like this.

Her hand had finally had the stilling effect she desired because he stopped moving. His eyes met hers, and after a moment, his own hand clasped her fingers and gently moved them away.

She watched as his eyes seemed to drain of color. He shook his head and dropped her hand. “Why do you keep doing this?”

“Stopping you?”

“Yes.” One shoulder lifted. “In a way,” he muttered.

Another group of people came through the door, and they moved to the side. The happy party was deep in an ongoing conversation, huddled together, and they didn’t even acknowledge them. Footmen opened the doors to the main room and the smell tumbled out into the corridor.

“Oh.” The colonel’s—or should she say Benj’s—eyes went wide. That was all it took. He placed one hand against the wall, bracing himself. He tried to stand taller and gulped in some air via his mouth.

“I have fought in many battles, Mrs. Hughes.”

“We can settle on Clara.”

“Ah. Lovely. I like it.” He withdrew a handkerchief from his waistcoat and mopped his forehead. “So, Clara, I’ve directed men, seen a great many horrors, protected our country . . .” He itched at his cravat, and then swiped at his brow again. It was amazing how swiftly this man perspired.

She lifted one brow in his direction. “But I have found your one weakness despite all your bravery.”

He eyed a chair a few feet farther from the door and moved to sit down. “So it would seem,” he managed to say as he braced his hands on both knees, attempting to swallow.

“I was trying to protect you from the scent, the steam . . .” She glanced over her shoulder. “I know your aversion to shellfish and seafood.”

He tugged at the cloth around his throat.

“I feel as though some of that eel in there has come back to life and is choking me.” His cravat was nearly half untied now.

“I’ll write to Edling and tell him I was sorry to miss.

” He drew another breath and stood up, managing a smile in her direction.

“Thank you for saving me from more humiliation.”

“Of course, Benj.” She managed a small smile, wishing there was something more she could do.

He made his way outside, and she lingered a minute in the corridor smiling in spite of herself. Even though Benj Fitzwilliam was a complete ninny, she found she already missed talking with him.