“Provided,” the Marquess said gently, his voice tempered with paternal care as he smiled at his daughter, his eyes twinkling with affectionate pride, “that the lady herself agrees.”
Mary looked up at her father, visibly relaxed by his tone, her posture easing as she returned his smile with quiet gratitude. “I should be happy to speak with Colonel Fitzwilliam,” she said softly, her voice carrying a note of sincere interest. “He is a fine-looking man and seems a kind-hearted gentleman.”
Fitzwilliam smiled, his expression warming with genuine pleasure as he bowed slightly in acknowledgment. “Miss Fletcher has an acute sense of humour—a rare quality, and a dangerous one when turned so generously in my favour,” hereplied, his tone light with admiration that drew a soft blush to her cheeks.
The Marquess laughed heartily, a strong, healthy, Homeric laugh that filled the room with robust good humour. “No pair could have been more suitable than these two,” he declared, his eyes twinkling as he regarded them with evident satisfaction. “Where have you kept him, Lady Catherine?”
“As my brother’s second son, he chose a career in arms,” Lady Catherine replied, her voice carrying a note of proud justification. “Now that the war is over, it is time for him to make his own way—at home, with a woman who will understand him, support him, and respect him.”
“Let us hope she can also keep him in check,” the Marquess said, nodding with a large smile, his eyes twinkling with playful insight. “Soldiers are not known for yielding once their minds are made up.”
“Then we are well-matched indeed,” Mary replied softly, her voice gentle yet firm as she met the Colonel’s gaze with quiet confidence, a subtle smile curving her lips that elicited a corresponding warmth in his expression. “For I, too, am not easily led.”
“In that case, if your father consents,” Colonel Fitzwilliam said, his tone sincere and hopeful as he inclined his head toward her with respectful admiration, “I shall consider myself fortunate, Miss Fletcher.”
“My father finds it very difficult to refuse me,” she replied, her eyes sparkling with gentle mischief as she glanced at the Marquess, drawing a hearty chuckle from him, “so you will have to negotiate with me, Colonel.”
The Marquess shook his head, then bowed it as if to admit defeat in the face of a truth, his laughter lingering with fond indulgence as he regarded the pair with evident approval.
Lady Catherine fretted in her chair with barely concealed triumph, her fingers tapping once upon the armrest before stilling themselves. The Marquess, by contrast, remained unreadable, his expression composed and watchful.
“Well?” her ladyship demanded.
Colonel Fitzwilliam bowed with measured courtesy. “I think Miss Fletcher and I may agree that a further acquaintance would be both agreeable and prudent.”
Mary inclined her head slightly. “I should welcome the opportunity to continue our conversation, and to do so without haste.”
Her father regarded her for a moment, then nodded, evidently satisfied. “Then so be it. Let it begin as it ought—freely, and with mutual regard.”
Miss Fletcher glanced at her father, who gave the smallest of nods.
And thus, the first step was taken—not a match, not a promise, but a beginning. One that neither of them had expected, but neither could easily dismiss. And in the world Lady Catherine hoped to orchestrate, that was more than enough.
***
Lady Catherine asked the Marquess of Ashford to stay a few moments more for further discussion, and permitted Colonel Fitzwilliam and Miss Fletcher to return to the assembly.
“We will have to discuss this further, Miss Fletcher,” the officer said, still somewhat bemused, his tone carrying a note of genuine surprise mingled with quiet pleasure as he regarded her with renewed interest.
“I agree—since it is rather a lot to absorb in one conversation,” she said as they moved out of earshot, her voice soft yet laced with gentle amusement that drew a corresponding warmth in his expression.
He chuckled, the sound low and appreciative as he glanced at her sidelong. “Indeed. I arrived prepared to discuss military logistics or the state of the roads—not courtship.”
“An hour ago, I was hoping to sketch tulips in the garden tomorrow,” she replied, her eyes sparkling with shared humour as she met his gaze with quiet confidence. “So we are both unprepared.”
“Do you mind that we are here under such expectation?” he asked, his tone softening with sincere curiosity as he studied her face.
Miss Fletcher considered a moment, her expression thoughtful yet composed as she inclined her head slightly. “I mind only that others presume to speak for my inclinations,” she said gently, her voice carrying a note of firm independence that elicited a nod of quiet approval from him. “But not that I am offered the chance to express them myself.”
Lady Catherine and her father exchanged glances, their expressions reflecting mild surprise that the young pair conversed as though they were not present, the Marquess's eyes twinkling with quiet amusement while Lady Catherine's brows arched in reluctant intrigue.
“You strike me as someone who does so with clarity,” Colonel Fitzwilliam observed, his voice warmed by admiration as he smiled at her with genuine regard.
She glanced at him with gentle curiosity, a faint blush touching her cheeks at the compliment. “And you, Colonel—do you enjoy your current liberty too much to consider surrendering it?”
“‘Surrender’ is not the word I would choose,” he replied, his tone light yet thoughtful as he met her gaze with playful earnestness. “But the military has taught me that some campaigns are best entered with strategy and care.”
“And reconnaissance?” she asked, her eyes dancing with mischief that drew a soft laugh from him.
