Gardiner shook his head slowly, the sting of betrayal settling heavily on his features. “She came so highly recommended! I never would have thought—” He stopped himself, pinching the bridge of his nose before turning a keen eye on the earl. “And the others? The men I employ? Are they to be scrutinized in the same manner?”
Matlock waved a hand dismissively. “No cause for alarm. My men have found no reason to doubt anyone else in your household. Naturally, a thorough search is being made of the warehouses and dockyards. We cannot be naïve, for surely there must be others who were complicit, of course, but you may rest assured, I have no intention of casting undue suspicion on your employees without just cause.”
Gardiner’s shoulders relaxed a fraction, though tension still lined his features. “Then you believe the corruption to be limited?”
“For now,” the earl allowed. “Miss Fletcher seems to have been rather careful in her dealings. Certainly, she was not acting alone, but I expect she was only liaising with a small number of associates who have since scattered. I would have you join the search. Your familiarity with the operations will be invaluable, and I would have all possible information without implicating innocent men.”
Gardiner hesitated for only a moment before nodding. “Yes, of course. I should like to be there when your men question her as well.”
Matlock gave a brief, satisfied nod before inclining his head toward Elizabeth. “I say, Gardiner, much of this is all thanks to your niece. She is made of some very fine stuff.”
Uncle Gardiner turned to her at once—first with a proud smile, but his brow furrowed when he saw her face, and Elizabeth straightened under his concern. “Elizabeth,” he said gently. “Are you well?”
Elizabeth lifted her chin, forced a bright smile, and lied. “Perfectly.”
And with that, she took another slow sip of tea.
Chapter Thirty-One
Darcy adjusted the cuffsof his coat and exhaled reluctantly. He was dressed, prepared, every detail of his appearance immaculate, as was necessary for the task ahead. But still, he hesitated.
A hazy autumn glow slanted through the tall windows of his front hall, illuminating the burnished wood of the furnishings and glinting off the chain of his pocket watch as he flicked it open once more. He was not late—not yet—but the steady, rhythmic ticking inside the case taunted him, nonetheless.
No, not late. Far too early, for what he wanted.
His gaze slipped to the stairs, an instinctive movement that frustrated him even as he did it. He should not be standing here, waiting. He should not care ifshewoke to find the house quiet, to find him already gone. It was the rational thing, the necessary thing. Elizabeth needed rest after the ordeal she had endured.
And yet, he remained.
Mrs. Tate entered from the hall, hands folded before her apron. She stopped just short of him, her expression expectant.
“Miss Bennet?” he asked.
“She still sleeps soundly, sir,” the housekeeper answered. “I will see to her personally when she wakes, as you instructed.”
There had been no such instruction—or at least, he had not meant it as one. But Mrs. Tate had taken his concern for what it was, and he could hardly argue with her. He nodded, setting his pocket watch back into his waistcoat. “Very good.”
“She will be well looked after,” Mrs. Tate assured him. “I would not fret too much over her, sir.”
Darcy stiffened slightly. “I do not—”
“Of course not. But all the same, I will ensure Miss Bennet is comfortable in yourabsence.”
Darcy pressed his lips together, forcibly schooling his features. It would not do—none of this would do. He was making a spectacle of himself in his own house. His staff, always discreet, always dutiful, had clearly noticed. That was not a good sign.
With an abrupt nod, he turned toward the door.
Richard was already waiting in the entryway, fastening the buttons of his coat. He glanced up as Darcy approached and grinned. “Good morning, cousin. You look as if you are marching to the gallows.”
Darcy shot him a withering look and strode past him, grabbing his gloves from the table near the door.
Richard chuckled, following at a leisurely pace. “Come now, it cannot be so terrible. You are merely meeting with a handful of men who hold your political fate in their hands.”
Darcy snorted. “Your ability to frame things so optimistically astounds me.”
“It is a talent.” Richard leaned against the wall, crossing his arms. “I suppose it will not help to remind you that you have already won over half of them. Your performance at the ball was precisely what my father hoped for.”
Darcy’s fingers clenched as he finished pulling on his gloves. “I do not care for performances.”
