The earl tapped ash from his cigar, his gaze sharp and assessing. “There is every likelihood that Parliament will be dissolved within the next few weeks. I expect a general election will be called before the end of the year, and very likely sooner rather than later.”
Darcy straightened. “You expect? Or you know?”
The earl gave a faint shrug, his expression inscrutable. “Let us say that I am well-informed. The political climate is ripe for change, and certain conversations have made it clear that preparations are already underway. The Prime Minister’s assassination has left gaps that must be filled, and Derbyshire cannot afford to have its interests ignored.”
Darcy exhaled slowly, his reluctance simmering just below the surface. “And you would have me be the one to fill those gaps.”
“I would,” the earl said simply. “You are well-positioned to unite the fractured interests of the county. Stanton’s influence must be broken, and you are the only man with the resources, connections, and integrity to do so.”
Darcy shook his head. “I have no desire for such a position.”
“And yet,” the earl said, his voice hardening slightly, “it is a position that may fall to you whether you desire it or not. Sometimes, Fitzwilliam, we do not choose our responsibilities—they choose us.”
Darcy leaned forward, flexing his palms and studying them as he spoke. “You speak as though the voters would flock to my banner the moment I declare my intentions. I told you last night they will not. Stanton has spent years cultivating mistrust in nearly everyone of adequate resources to challenge him. I am hardly the man to counteract that.”
The earl regarded him for a moment, puffing on his cigar in silence. Then, instead of responding, he checked his watch and leaned back in his chair.
“You are avoiding my question,” Darcy pressed, his frustration edging into his tone. “What was the purpose of last night’s charade? Why introduce me to Miss Bennet, and why insist upon such a public display?”
The earl smirked faintly, his expression maddeningly opaque. “Patience, Fitzwilliam. All will become clear.”
Before Darcy could ask more, the door opened, and the butler announced, “Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner, and Miss Elizabeth Bennet.”
Darcy turned, his irritation briefly forgotten as the three guests entered the room. His gaze settled on Miss Bennet first, almost involuntarily. As before, her gown was modest—this one pale green muslin with no ornamentation, save for a simple gold ribbon at the waist—but it flattered her figure in a quiet, unassuming way. There was a wrinkle near the hem and a slight crease at the bodice, signs of slipshod preparations that made her seem all the more out of place in this setting. Her hair, pinned loosely at the back of her head, was far from the polished perfection he was accustomed to seeing in London drawing rooms, though a stray curl framed her face in a way that was unintentionally fetching.
But it was not her attire or her figure that caught his attention. It was her expression—an uneasy mix of uncertainty and defiance that seemed entirely at odds with her otherwise unremarkable appearance. Her dark eyes darted around the room, clearly taking everything in, and when they briefly met his, he caught a flicker of something unexpected: an obstinance that burned beneath the surface. It was not the look of a woman accustomed to elevated company, but neither was it the look of someone entirely cowed by it.
She curtsied when the earl greeted her, the motion practiced but stiff, and the faint tightness of her smile betrayed her discomfort. Yet, even in her obvious nervousness, there was something in her posture—a refusal to be reduced to the shrinking figure she might have been expected to present—that made Darcy pause. What was the earl’s purpose in bringing her here? She was not polished, not strikingly beautiful, not the sort of woman who would command attention in a room like this. And yet, Darcy found it difficult to look away.
“Ah, excellent,” the earl said, rising to his feet. “Come in, all of you. Please, be seated.”
Darcy resumed his seat, his mind churning with questions as the Gardiners and Miss Bennet settled into the chairs provided. Whatever his uncle’s plans were, it was clear he intended to keep them close to his chest for a while longer.
Chapter Seven
Elizabeth’s back was ramrodstraight as she sat in the earl’s study, hands clasped tightly in her lap to keep from fidgeting. The room felt stifling despite its size, the heavy air made worse by the earl’s calm, deliberate tone as he addressed them. Mr. Darcy sat across from her, silent and inscrutable, though she could feel his gaze flicking toward her now and then.
“Miss Bennet,” the earl began, exhaling a faint stream of cigar smoke, “I expect you are unaware of the full consequences of last evening’s... misstep.”
Elizabeth’s cheeks heated to scalding, but she held her chin high. “I am aware that it caused you inconvenience, my lord, and for that, I have apologized.”
“It was rather more than an inconvenience, Miss Bennet. You were observed mingling with the French minister and his entourage, speaking with Lapointe himself, and later intercepting a note that contained highly sensitive information. All of this occurred in a room full of witnesses, many of whom are not as inclined as I to believe in coincidence.”
She tried to swallow, but failed. “I told you, Monsieur Lapointe spoke to me, not the reverse. Was I to run the other direction screaming when another guest opened his mouth and said words to me? And I have explained the matter of the note—it fell, and I—”
“You picked it up,” the earl finished for her. “Yes, I am aware. And yet, appearances, Miss Bennet, are often far more important than intentions. The appearance of a young woman in your position speaking to a French dignitary at such a moment, then handling a note with the words ‘prisoner exchange’ written on it, is... problematic.”
Uncle Gardiner cleared his throat, his face tight with restrained anger. “My lord, I must protest. My niece is an innocent young lady. Surely no one would seriously believe—”
The earl held up a hand, silencing him. “I do not question your niece’s innocence, Mr. Gardiner, but it is not my opinion that matters. Others—those who witnessed the events—are less charitable. Whispers have already begun, and while I may investigate the truth—a matter I have already undertaken—I cannot control the tongues of others.”
Elizabeth gripped the fabric of her gown tightly, her knuckles whitening. “What do you mean, ‘investigate the truth?’”
The earl flicked some ash from his cigar. “Your father, Miss Bennet.”
She blinked. “Whatof my father, my lord? You have saidIam in a precarious position. Are you suggesting that my father—myfamily—have done something to invite suspicion?”
The earl leaned back in his chair, regarding her with a faint smile that made her blood simmer. “Your father,” he said, “has been investigated.”
