Darcy braced himself.
"Well, I'll be damned," the Earl roared, a genuine smile breaking across his craggy face. "You're the man who secured that shipment of '98 rum! The one settling the embargo dispute with the Portuguese!"
The tension in the box didn't just break. It shattered into a thousand confused pieces. If Darcy had been asked to predict the outcome of this meeting, "The Earl of Matlock bonding with a warehouse owner over vintagespirits" would have ranked significantly lower than "Spontaneous combustion of the theatre."
And yet, here they were.
"The '98 was a difficult acquisition, my Lord," Mr Gardiner was saying, his tone modest but knowledgeable. "The weather in the Atlantic that year played havoc with the shipping lanes, but we managed to secure the casks before the price inflated."
"Managed? You performed a miracle!" The Earl clapped Mr Gardiner on the shoulder, ignoring social protocol entirely. "Lord Liverpool has been trying to get his hands on a case for six months. I told him he didn't know the right people. Apparently, neither did I, until this moment."
The Earl turned to his wife, his face flushed with the specific joy of an Englishman discussing alcohol. "My dear, this is Gardiner! The man who imports those spices you like. And the brandy—the good one."
"I am aware of the quality of our cellar, my Lord," his wife replied, though her eyes were dancing with amusement. She turned to Mrs Gardiner, her manner shifting from inquisitor to gracious hostess. "It seems, Mrs Gardiner, that your husband is a celebrity in our household. The Earl values his port more than his children on most days."
"I understand the sentiment, my Lady," Mrs Gardiner replied with a calm smile that instantly won Darcy's admiration. "Mr Gardiner is equally passionate about his work. Though I try to remind him that one cannot converse with a cask of brandy."
"One can try," Robert interjected. "I have had several deep conversations with a bottle of claret. It was a very good listener."
Miss Bennet laughed softly at that, and Robert looked as if he had just been awarded the Garter.
Darcy watched the scene with a sense of dislocation. He had spent days—months—worrying about the Bennet connections. He had nearly lost Miss Elizabeth because he feared what his family would think of Cheapside. And now, his uncle, a Peer of the Realm, was looking at Mr Gardiner with more respect than he had ever shown any of the idle baronets in Darcy's circle.
"You must tell me," the Earl was saying, effectively cornering Mr Gardiner against the velvet railing. "The situation with the silk imports from the East. Is the blockade going to hold? I have investments in textiles that are looking shaky."
"The blockade is porous, my Lord," Mr Gardiner replied, shifting easily into a discussion of global trade dynamics. "But the overland routes are becoming viable again. If you have interests in raw silk, I would advise holding them until spring."
"You hear that, Robert?" the Earl barked. "Hold until spring. Stop gambling away your inheritance and listen to a man who knows what he's doing."
"I am all ears, Father," Robert said, though his eyes were fixed entirely on Jane Bennet's profile.
Darcy moved slightly, stepping closer to Miss Elizabeth. He needed to share this absurdity with someone.
"I apologize," he murmured near her ear. "I fear my uncle is about to ask your uncle for a job."
She turned to him, her eyes bright with suppressed laughter. "I think they are getting along famously, Mr Darcy. You should always lead with therum."
"I shall remember that for the future," Darcy whispered. "Alcohol and trade routes. The keys to the Matlock heart."
While the Earl was busy discussing the economics of the West Indies, his wife was engaged in a far more subtle, and far more dangerous, pursuit.
She was gathering intelligence.
She stood with perfect poise, engaging Mrs Gardiner in polite conversation, but her peripheral vision was doing the work of a dozen spies. She saw everything.
She saw the way Robert was standing. Her eldest son—the rake, the wanderer, the man who treated debutantes like obstacles on a steeplechase course—was hovering over Miss Bennet like a puppy waiting for a pat. He was holding her fan. He was leaning in to catch her softest words. He looked utterly, hopelessly domesticated.
Finally,the Countess thought with a surge of vindictive glee.He is caught.
For years, she had endured the pitying looks of other mothers."Poor Lady Matlock,"they would say. "Her son is so... lively. Will he ever settle down?"Robert had dodged every trap she had ever laid. He had charmed his way out of engagements and laughed his way out of responsibilities.
But looking at Miss Bennet—a girl of obvious beauty and gentle breeding, regardless of her address—she saw the steel trap springing shut. Her son wasn't trying to escape. He was trying to climb inside.
"Your niece is very lovely," she remarked to Mrs Gardiner, keeping her voice low.
"Jane is the best of us," Mrs Gardiner replied with simple honesty. "She has a heart without malice."
"A dangerous quality in London," the lady noted. "She will need a protector."
