“Indeed.” He did not elaborate, but the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth betrayed a hint of reluctant amusement.
The gardens of Ashworth Manor stretched out before them, a riot of late-blooming roses and turning leaves, their colors muted under the pale October sun. It was an ambitious scheme—a garden party on the first of October, but the Ashworth manor, just outside the heart of London, seemed to be a testament to the triumph of Man versus Nature in the seasonal upheaval. Manicured flowerbeds bordered gravel paths, and wrought iron lanterns hung from tree branches, casting soft pools of light that wouldglow brighter as dusk approached. A string quartet played beneath a white silk pavilion, their delicate melody threading through the air like the faintest whisper of civility.
Elizabeth felt the searing heat of dozens of eyes as they crossed the lawn, the subtle turning of heads, the flicker of fans raised just a fraction too late to hide curious glances. Whispers buzzed at the edges of her hearing—speculation, no doubt, about her presence on Mr. Darcy’s arm. She forced her chin higher, her posture straight, but her pulse thrummed in her throat.
Darcy, by contrast, seemed utterly unbothered. His posture remained impeccable, his gaze sweeping over the crowd with the detached air of a man surveying a landscape rather than navigating a social minefield. His calmness should have annoyed her—after all, she was the subject of the whispers, not him—but instead, it grounded her. As much as his rigidity irked her, there was an undeniable comfort in his reliable presence.
“Darcy,” came a familiar voice to their left. Elizabeth turned to see Lord and Lady Matlock approaching. The earl wore his usual air of easy authority as he gestured to Darcy, while Lady Matlock’s gaze settled on Elizabeth.
“My dear Miss Bennet,” Lady Matlock said warmly, taking Elizabeth’s hand and squeezing it gently. “You look radiant.”
Elizabeth managed a polite smile, acutely aware of Darcy stiffening beside her. “Thank you, Lady Matlock. It is a beautiful afternoon.”
“And an important one,” Lord Matlock added, his gaze shifting to Darcy. “Many of Derbyshire’s key landowners are here today. It would be wise to make an impression.”
Darcy inclined his head slightly. “I will do what is necessary.”
The earl chuckled, clapping his nephew on the shoulder. “Good man. And I have support of my own to curate. We shall cross paths later, I am sure.”
As the Matlocks drifted away, Elizabeth turned to Darcy with a smirk. “It seems you are in high demand, Mr. Darcy.”
He shot her a sidelong glance. “Unfortunately.”
They began to circulate, and Darcy wasted no time steering them toward a group of men clustered near the reflecting pool, their conversations punctuated with low laughter and the occasional clink of glasses. As they navigated the edges of the crowd, a tall, broad-shouldered man with sun-weathered features approached them, his expression one of polite interest.
“Mr. Darcy?” the man greeted, extending a firm hand. “I was hoping to see you here this afternoon.”
Darcy accepted the handshake with a nod. “Harcourt. I trust your family is well?”
Harcourt chuckled. “As well as one could hope.”
Darcy turned slightly toward Elizabeth. “Miss Bennet, allow me to introduce Mr. William Harcourt, a respected landowner from Derbyshire. Harcourt, this is Miss Elizabeth Bennet of Hertfordshire.”
Elizabeth inclined her head politely, offering a warm smile. “A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Harcourt.”
Harcourt returned the gesture with a curious but amiable expression. “The pleasure is mine, Miss Bennet. I have heard much about you.”
Elizabeth inclined her head. “I hope only good things, Mr. Harcourt.”
Harcourt chuckled. “Indeed. Your reputation precedes you. I believe half of London is speaking of little else this week but you and Mr. Darcy.”
Elizabeth arched a brow, her smile polite but tinged with amusement. “I hope London has more pressing matters to discuss.”
Harcourt chuckled. “Oh, indeed. But one must take diversions where one can find them, eh? However, I hear we are to have all manner of diversion before us, with an election called.” His eyes flicked back to Darcy. “Speaking of which, what think you, Darcy? Stanton is, of course, standing again.”
Darcy gave a measured nod, his expression neutral. “Stanton will make himself difficult to ignore.”
“That he will,” Harcourt agreed, adjusting his cuffs absently. “Though I wonder if all his promises are as grand as his speeches. There are those who think Derbyshire might soon look for… steadier leadership.”
Darcy’s arm flexed under Elizabeth’s fingers. She wondered if he even realized he was tensing. “Derbyshire has always valued stability.”
Harcourt hummed thoughtfully, his glance sliding between Darcy and Elizabeth. “Yes, but these are restless times. The prime minister's assassination fresh in everyone's memory, the Luddite uprisings, war with France, war with America… Familiar names offer comfort, but only if they bring something new to the table.” He smiled. “Of course, thereistalk in certain circles of a fresh candidate—someone who understands both tradition and the winds of change.”
Darcy inclined his head, offering no further comment.
Elizabeth, sensing the layers beneath the conversation, interjected with a lightness that masked her curiosity. “It seems politics is never far from conversation these days.”
Harcourt chuckled. “Ah, Miss Bennet, when livelihoods and land are at stake, it tends to dominate the conversation. But I shall not bore you with more of it today.” He gave a polite nod. “Mr. Darcy, Miss Bennet. Enjoy the rest of the afternoon.”
