Darcy could still feel the weight of other men’s eyes upon him, measuring him, waiting to see how he would react.
Harcourt studied him over the rim of his own glass. “A word of caution,” he said quietly. “The men in Derbyshire who are undecided will be watching you, whether you like it or not. A show of reluctance may be taken for indifference.”
Darcy’s shoulders tensed, but he said nothing.
Harcourt drained the last of his brandy, gave Darcy a considering look, then stood. “Good evening, Darcy.”
Darcy did not reply. He simply stared into his untouched port, his appetite for leisure well and truly gone.
By the time Darcyarrived at Matlock House, irritation was pulsing through his veins like a slow burn. His uncle had set this in motion. He had been maneuvered into placelike a chess piece, and it was only now—when he was already deep in the game—that he was beginning to recognize the strategy behind it.
A footman admitted him and led him toward the study, where the earl sat behind a heavy mahogany desk, puffing on a cigar with no small amount of satisfaction. “Ah, Fitzwilliam. I wondered how long it would take before you darkened my door again.”
Darcy closed the door behind him with more force than was necessary. “You have been meddling.”
The earl exhaled a slow stream of smoke. “Oh, I have been doing far more than that.” He gestured to a nearby chair. “Sit.”
Darcy did not. Instead, he stalked to the desk, bracing his hands on the edge. “Harcourt approached me at Brooks’s today. Stanton’s people are already moving, spreading the idea that I am either unwilling or afraid to challenge him.”
The earl tapped his ash into a tray. “Good. That means the right people are talking.”
“I have not agreed to anything!”
The earl merely smirked. “And yet here you are.”
Darcy exhaled sharply, pacing to the fireplace. “Even if I wished to stand, which I do not, you know as well as I do that my name alone is not enough. All your posturing and scheming is not enough, either.”
The earl studied him for a moment, then gave a short nod. “You are correct. That is why you need to begin showing yourself—immediately.”
Darcy stilled. “…Meaning?”
The earl flicked a glance toward a stack of correspondence. “Lady Matlock has arranged for you to attend several events in the coming weeks. You will be expected to make an appearance, to engage, to be seen. And, of course, you will need to be seen in excellent company.”
Darcy’s stomach dropped. He did not like where this was going.
The earl took another long drag of his cigar before adding, “Starting with Miss Bennet.”
“What?”
“You will need to call on her. Publicly. And then you will take her driving.”
Darcy’s entire body stiffened. “I will do no such thing.”
The earl raised a single brow. “Will you not?”
Darcy turned away, running a hand down his face. “You overreach, Uncle.”
“I do nothing of the sort. Miss Bennet’s presence in your company will shift public perception, just as we discussed. And besides, it is the polite thing to do. You did, after all, dance with the girl.”
Darcy nearly growled. “Under duress.”
The earl laughed, leaning back in his chair. “Fitzwilliam, you make it sound as if I forced you into the ballroom at gunpoint.”
Darcy ground his teeth. “You might as well have.”
The earl waved a hand. “The point is, the match must look plausible. I do not expect you to marry the girl—I merely expect you to behave as if youmight.”
Darcy exhaled heavily, staring out the window. He had known—of course he had known—that this scheme was not over. But it was another thing entirely to hear it spoken aloud, to have his uncle dictating the next step with such casual authority.
