Darcy’s gaze flicked briefly to his uncle, who sat listening with a satisfied gleam in his eye.
Harcourt continued, “I’ll admit, many expected you to take a more… predictable route. An engagement to Lady Eugenia Fortescue or perhaps Miss Pembroke—both families firmly in Stanton’s camp. Christened as his successor, like enough. It would have been the safest choice, politically speaking. But to openly challenge him, without relying on… shall we say, certainstrategicalliances? No one thought it of you.”
Lord Matlock chuckled, raising his glass. “As you say—safe, but dull. And not half as effective as this.”
“You have surprised them,” Harcourt went on, ignoring the earl’s interruption, “You are charting your own course. And that,” he tapped his glass lightly against the table, “is what is catching attention.”
Darcy remained silent, digesting the words. He knew the truth behind his public appearances, but it was clear Harcourt did not. To Harcourt and the others, Darcy appeared as a man stepping out from under the shadow of his lineage, making choices that were his own.
“Independence, Darcy.Thatis what the men of Derbyshire are looking for. It shows you are not beholden to the same families who have let Stanton’s influence fester. It shows you have your own mind.”
Lord Matlock grinned, clearly pleased. “Exactly what I have been telling him.”
Darcy inclined his head slightly, acknowledging the point without fully conceding. He knew the appearances were a carefully constructed façade, but hearing Harcourt’s perspective planted a seed of something unexpected.Possibility.
“And that Miss Bennet of yours,” Harcourt added with a faint smile as he rose to leave, “seems to carry herself with remarkable poise, despite the scrutiny. My wife was rather taken with her. She reflects well on you, whether you intended it or not.” He made a little mock salute to Richard—Harcourt was a former cavalryman himself—and took his leave.
“What did I tell you, lad?” Lord Matlock grunted after Harcourt had left. “Fully half the voters you need to appeal to are smallholdings men. They want to believe you are one of them. Miss Bennet provides that illusion.”
“I am not interested in illusions,” Darcy said stiffly.
“Then be interested in results,” Matlock shot back.
Before Darcy could respond, Mr. Linton passed by, his expression considerably cooler than Harcourt’s, but he slowed, then lingered, and finally stopped to face them. He was a stockier man, his face weathered by years of managing his estate, and his handshake was as firm as his stare.
“Darcy,” Linton greeted curtly, nodding to the others. “I hear you intend to stand against Stanton. You think the name of Darcy is enough to win over Derbyshire?”
Darcy met his gaze head-on. “I do not assume anything. But I know what Stanton represents, and I know what I offer.”
“And what do you offer? My tenants have been… restless. They hear about the Luddites, they hear other farmers are being fenced out of grazing areas. Squashing them under a boot will not work any longer but London has been slow to heed the warnings. The people want integrity, not another shiny bauble spouting worthless platitudes.”
“The people want stability,” Darcy countered, his voice firm. “They want to know their land and livelihoods will not be gambled away on false promises. Stanton thrives on chaos disguised as progress. I offer continuity with a conscience.”
Richard chuckled, raising his glass. “Continuity with a conscience—I like that.”
Linton, however, was not so easily swayed. He studied Darcy for a long moment, then said, “Stability sounds good in theory. But the people need to see it. Words will only carry you so far.”
“They will see it,” Darcy promised quietly. “Through action.”
Linton nodded slowly, though his expression remained guarded. “Then you might stand a chance.”
As Linton rose to leave, Richard clapped Darcy on the shoulder with a grin. “Look at you, Cousin. Almost convincing. I could almost believe you enjoy this.”
Darcy allowed himself the faintest of smiles, but inside, something shifted. For the first time, he did not just see this as a duty—it felt like a fight he was meant to take on.
Matlock leaned forward, folding his arms on the table. “We need more than just Linton and Harcourt. The smaller votes matter, but the larger landowners—men like Brighton over in Derby and Harris near Chesterfield—they will talk to their neighbors, sway them and tip the balance.”
“Have you calculated how many votes we need?”
The earl nodded. “There are approximately eighty eligible voters in Derbyshire—give or take. Stanton has a firm hold on about thirty of them—men he’s either bribed, threatened, or aligned with through mutual interests. Perhaps ten or twelve young bucks—smallholdings men and a few former merchants—who will vote for you merely based on your age… about fifteen who will vote for anyone but Stanton. And the rest are undecided.”
Darcy absorbed the numbers, mentally sorting through names he knew. “The undecided are the key.”
“They are,” Matlock agreed. “But they will not stay undecided long.”
“Names?”
The earl ticked a few off his fingers. “Ashcombe, Farnsworth, Redgrave…. Now, he might go for Stanton, because his sister married Stanton’s cousin.”
