Darcy smoothed the front of his coat, squaring his shoulders before stepping inside. His gaze immediately sought Elizabeth. She stood near the window, her posture composed, though he noticed the slight tension in her jaw—the same tension he had seen at their last meeting. Their eyes met briefly, and in that fleeting glance, Darcy saw the same mixture of reluctance and understanding reflected in her gaze. They both looked away almost at once.
Lord Matlock stepped forward, his expression warm but laced with the usual strategic calculation that colored all his interactions. “Miss Bennet, Mr. Gardiner, Mrs. Gardiner—thank you for joining us.”
Elizabeth curtsied, her chin lifted in what Darcy thought looked like polite defiance. “Thank you for the invitation, my lord.”
The earl gestured toward the table set for luncheon, and as they all settled into their seats, he wasted no time cutting to the heart of the matter.
“I assume you have heard the news by now,” Matlock began, his gaze sweeping over them all with measured precision. “Parliament has been dissolved. The election is imminent.”
Mr. Gardiner exchanged a glance with his wife, both clearly understanding the significance of the announcement, though it was Elizabeth who spoke first. “And what does this mean for Mr. Darcy?”
His uncle’s smile was thin, almost predatory. “You toy with me, Miss Bennet, but if you intend to hear it spoken plainly, it means Mr. Darcy will be standing for Member of Parliament for Derbyshire.”
Darcy felt the weight of every eye in the room shift toward him. His gaze met Elizabeth’s, and though he had prepared himself for this moment, he felt an unwelcome pang of resignation as her eyes lingered on his, questioning, searching.
“And what does that mean forme?” she asked quietly.
The earl’s smile deepened, as though he had been waiting for that very question. “It means you will be seen by his side. Beginning tomorrow, at Lady Ashworth’s garden party. There will be a handful of prominent Derbyshire men present, along with their wives, Miss Bennet—which is where you come in. The voters must see Mr. Darcy not only as a leader but as a man of the people—someone who understands their values and aspirations. But more than this—he must talk, as he is seldom wont to do. I trust you will be a valuable asset in this regard.”
Elizabeth’s brows rose, though Darcy could not tell whether it was amusement or irritation that caused it. Likely both. He fought the urge to roll his eyes in solidarity.
“I certainly seem to be capable ofprovokinghim, though I do not know if that is the same thing. And you believe I represent those values you mean to appeal to?” she asked, her brow arching in polite skepticism.
“I believe you represent exactly what the voters need to see,” Matlock replied. “A woman of integrity and intelligence, not to mention a clever wit, unconnected to any whiff of an association with Stanton's circles.”
Darcy could feel his aunt, Lady Matlock, watching him from across the table, though he kept his gaze on Elizabeth. Her eyes met his again, and for a brief, unguarded moment, there was a flicker of shared dread—a silent acknowledgment of the absurdity of their situation. But then, she nodded slowly, her posture relaxing just enough to signal reluctant acceptance.
“Very well,” Elizabeth said, her voice soft but resolute. “But if I am to play this role, Mr. Darcy, I expect you to tell me before I put my foot in it.”
Darcy inclined his head. “You have my word, Miss Bennet.”
Lord Matlock cleared his throat, drawing their attention back to him. “Now, to the matter of appearances. The garden party tomorrow will be your first joint public outing, but it will not be the last. You will be seen at assemblies, dinners, and public events. The goal is to present yourselves as a united, respectable pair.”
Darcy’s jaw clenched. “We are not courting, Uncle. I would prefer not to mislead anyone beyond what is necessary. Miss Bennet must still have a reputation when this is over.”
The earl waved a dismissive hand. “No one expects a proposal tomorrow, Fitzwilliam. But appearances matter. You will escort Miss Bennet. You will converse with her in public. And yes, you will likely dance with her, showing amarkedpreference for her company. Am I understood?”
Darcy’s gaze flicked to Elizabeth again, and he was startled to see the barest glint of amusement in her eyes. As if she relished the idea of seeing him squirm through a dance.
Before he could dwell on it, Elizabeth subtly lifted her hand from her lap, curling her fingers in a slight motion—a silent inquiry about the key she had shown him the previous afternoon. Darcy’s expression remained impassive, but he gave the slightest shake of his head. Now was not the time.
Across the room, he noticed Lady Matlock and Mrs. Gardiner watching them closely, their interest far less focused on the political strategy being laid out by the earl and far more on the unspoken exchanges passing between him and Elizabeth.
It was infuriating.
“As for your rhetoric,” Matlock continued, oblivious to—or perhaps deliberately ignoring—the subtle shifts in the room, “you must address the voters’ concerns without appearing out of touch. The farmers may not have the vote, but their voices carry weight in their communities. They speak to the landowners, influence their opinions, and their unrest is contagious. You already hold their respect, Fitzwilliam—the Darcy name is synonymous with fair treatment and good stewardship. But it is the landowners you must win over.”
He paused, his sharp gaze locking onto Darcy. “The landowners are not fools. They see the cracks forming beneath the surface. They hear the grumblings of the tenant farmers, the whispers of discontent. What they fear is not losing their land but losing control—losing the order that has kept society intact. Stanton promises stability, but his methods stir the very chaos they dread. You will position yourself as the alternative: a man who understands the value of tradition but also recognizes the necessity of measured progress. You must convince them that you are the bulwark against radicalism without being another relic of the old guard. Show them that you respect their positions but are not beholden to the same narrow interests Stanton protects. If they see you as both approachable and reliable, they will follow.”
Darcy absorbed his uncle’s words. This was no longer just about standing for Parliament—it was about walking the fine line between reform and tradition, between trust and authority. And somehow, his uncle thought Elizabeth Bennet was to be the key to that delicate balance.
Darcy exhaled sharply. “And how do you propose I convince them of that, beyond merely standing next to Miss Bennet?”
“That should be simple enough. You will speak of your work at Pemberley, your management of the estate, your support for local farmers. And you will appear as a man who values character over connections.”
Elizabeth’s brow furrowed slightly. “But will they not see through such a transparent display? People are not so easily manipulated.”
Darcy allowed himself a brief, admiring glance in her direction. Her skepticism mirrored his own.
