Darcy’s eyes narrowed. “I beg your pardon?”
Stanton chuckled softly, as if Darcy had made a joke. “Come now, Darcy. You cannot expect us to believe your sudden interest in Miss Bennet is purely coincidental. A tradesman’s niece? It is a rather bold strategy, aligning yourself with such… humble connections.”
The insinuation landed like a blow. Darcy felt a surge of heat rise in his chest, an unexpected, visceral anger at Stanton’s condescension—not just toward him, but toward Elizabeth.
“I align myself with whom I choose,” Darcy said, his voice even, though his hands curled into fists at his sides. “And I do not require your approval to do so.”
Stanton’s smile widened, like a man who had baited the perfect hook. “Of course not,” he murmured, inclining his head slightly. “But the voters might care. You are hoping they will favor some quaint version of ‘authenticity’ over… convenient alliances.”
Darcy’s pulse pounded in his temples. His entire body felt coiled, taut with the effort to maintain control. “And you would know something about convenient alliances, would you not?” he shot back, his voice cold as steel. “Aligning yourself with anyone whose coin jingles loud enough to drown out your inadequacies?”
Stanton’s eyes flashed, but he chuckled, shaking his head. “Come now, Darcy. Let us not pretend this sudden affection for a tradesman’s niece is anything but strategy. It is clever, I will admit, but desperate all the same.”
Darcy took a step closer, his breath sharp. “Desperation is the tool of men like you, Stanton. I do not need to scheme to win support. I rely on integrity, something you would not recognize if it sat on your doorstep.”
Stanton’s grin thinned. “Integrity? Or arrogance? You think you can stroll into this arena with your family name and a pretty face on your arm and expect the world to bow?” He leaned in slightly, his voice dropping just enough to make it personal. “But voters arenot fools. They will see through you, just as I do. You are nothing more than a relic of an old family name, clinging to the illusion of relevance.”
Darcy’s hands twitched at his sides. He could feel the anger rising, pressing against his ribs, demanding release. “Careful, Stanton,” he said quietly, his words sharp enough to cut. “You are mistaking civility for weakness.”
Stanton’s brows lifted, as if daring him to prove it. “And you are mistaking your position for power.”
Darcy opened his mouth, the words forming on his tongue, ready to unleash something he might not be able to take back—
“Mr. Darcy!” Elizabeth’s voice cut through the heated fury clouding his vision like a knife through silk.
Both men turned as she approached, her expression the picture of polite surprise. “I was hoping we would have the pleasure of seeing you this evening,” she said, her eyes flicking disinterestedly to Stanton before returning to Darcy with an easy smile. “I was beginning to wonder if you had fled London for more peaceful surroundings.”
Darcy straightened, his frustration cooling just enough to remember his manners. “Miss Bennet, may I present Mr. Miles Stanton of Derbyshire?”
Elizabeth curtsied. “Mr. Stanton. I have heard your name mentioned often of late.”
Stanton’s smile broadened. “All good things, I hope.”
She allowed a delicate pause, just long enough to suggest otherwise, before replying, “Oh, I find that most things spoken in London society are more entertaining when left ambiguous.”
Stanton chuckled. “A sharp wit, Miss Bennet. I see why Darcy is so… taken with you.”
Darcy felt Elizabeth’s hand slip lightly around his arm, her fingers resting there as if by habit. She tilted her head, her smile soft but perfectly calculated. “Well,” she murmured, her eyes glancing up at Darcy, “he does have excellent taste.”
Stanton’s eyes gleamed with something akin to curiosity, but before he could respond, Elizabeth continued, her voice smooth as cream.
“I wonder, Mr. Stanton, would you excuse us? I am afraid I was hoping to claim Mr. Darcy’s attention. He really is the finest dancer in all the room, and if I do not have some exercise, I fear I shall go distracted.”
Stanton raised his glass slightly, the corner of his mouth lifting. “Of course,” he said, his gaze lingering on them both. “Duty calls, I suppose. But I do hope we shall speak again soon, Miss Bennet.”
“I am sure we shall,” Elizabeth replied.
Darcy inclined his head curtly, offering no further word as he allowed Elizabeth to guide him away. As soon as they were out of earshot, Elizabeth’s hand dropped from his arm, and she exhaled softly. “You were about to say something regrettable,” she murmured, not bothering to disguise her frankness.
Darcy glanced down at her, his jaw still tight, though a flicker of reluctant admiration stirred beneath his irritation. “And you were about to charm him into submission,” he replied dryly.
She arched a brow. “It seems we make a rather effective pair, Mr. Darcy.”
Chapter Fifteen
“I still cannot believeyou danced with him willingly this time,” Mrs. Gardiner teased, setting her teacup down with a soft clink. “Twice in one evening! That is practically a declaration in London.”
Elizabeth poked at her untouched toast. “Twice, yes. But who’s counting?”
