Raising the Stakes (First Impressions)

3. Chapter Three

Chapter Three

Darcy stood by the window of his uncle’s study, the faint hum of the party filtering through the thick oak door behind him. The Earl of Matlock had spared no expense in designing this room—a fortress of polished mahogany and leather-bound books, its deep green curtains framing a view of the moonlit gardens. Darcy had always admired its quiet dignity.

Tonight, though, it felt suffocating.

The door opened, and the earl strode in, his movements brisk and his expression faintly amused. “You look as though you are about to be tried for treason, Darcy. You could have joined the party.”

Darcy turned, offering a shallow bow. “I apologize for interrupting your evening, Uncle. I offered to return at a more convenient time, but your butler insisted.”

The earl waved this off, crossing to the sideboard and pouring himself a glass of port. “Nonsense. This is an excellent time. There are several gentlemen here tonight whom I would very much like for you to meet.”

Darcy’s lips pressed into a thin line. “I suspected as much.”

The earl glanced at him over the rim of his glass. “And yet you came anyway. Progress.”

Darcy did not reply. He had come, but only because Richard had worn him down with his endless arguments about duty, unrest, and the threat of revolution. And because, deep down, Darcy knew he needed guidance—though he doubted he would like the answers his uncle would give him.

The earl settled into the chair behind his desk, gesturing for Darcy to take the seat opposite. “I assume this is about Stanton.”

Darcy inclined his head. “Miles Stanton has turned the tenants against him with his abuses. His steward is raising rents arbitrarily, fencing off land, and accusing honest men of poaching. Sir Frederick has been doing what he can to mediate, but his influence only goes so far. The farmers are at their breaking point.”

The earl frowned, setting his glass of port down on the desk with deliberate care. “And yet Stanton holds his seat. Why?”

“Because he knows how to wield fear,” Darcy said. His voice grew harder as he spoke, each word weighted with disgust. “He whispers of disorder, of chaos, of what happens when men abandon tradition. He paints himself as the bulwark against anarchy, and it is enough to keep those who hold the vote in his corner. The farmers may hate him, but the merchants and the landowners who fear losing their stability do not.”

The earl leaned back in his chair. “It is not just the farmers, Darcy. You know as well as I do that Stanton’s corruption extends far beyond the fields.”

Darcy’s jaw tightened. “I have heard rumors.”

“Rumors?” The earl gave a low, humorless laugh. “Do not tell me you think I have been urging you to this only because of rumors. Stanton has made a mockery of his position. His hands are in every crooked deal in the county. Smuggling operations through Derbyshire’s less-traveled roads and waterways have tripled under his watch, and do you know why? Because Stanton ensures that the right palms are greased to turn a blind eye. Contraband comes in by the cartload, and not just tobacco and brandy. Weapons, Darcy. Guns.”

Darcy’s fingers gripped the arm of his chair. “Weapons?”

“Yes,” the Earl said grimly. “Stanton feeds the very unrest he claims to stand against. And then, when violence inevitably breaks out, he demands more power, more authority to suppress it. All the while lining his pockets.”

Darcy’s mind reeled. He had known Stanton was corrupt, but this… This was a deliberate strategy to destabilize the region while enriching himself. It was not just greed—it was manipulation of the worst kind. “Why has he not been exposed?”

The earl arched an eyebrow. “And who, pray, would expose him? The magistrates? Half of them owe him favors or fear his retribution. The other half are too cautious to act without undeniable proof.”

“And the voters? They are caught between their distrust of him and their fear of upheaval. Stanton thrives on division.”

“Are there any who are not swayed by fear?” the earl asked. “Surely there are men of sense among the voters.”

“They are there,” Darcy admitted. “The younger landowners, the merchants, the gentleman farmers—they are beginning to question Stanton. But they are the ones who distrust the old families just as much as they distrust him. The well has been poisoned. They think we are all the same.”

The earl leaned back in his chair, his expression thoughtful. “Then what they need is someone who is not the same.”

Darcy stiffened. “If this is where you suggest I stand for MP—”

“It is not a suggestion. It is a necessity.”

Darcy shook his head. “You are asking the impossible. Stanton has spent years convincing the voters that men like me cannot be trusted. They will not believe me any more than they believe him.”

“That is precisely why it must be you,” the earl countered. “You have the resources, the connections, and, most importantly, the integrity to counter Stanton’s lies.”

Darcy drummed his fingers on his thigh. “How?”

“We will find the proof. There are men in London who suspect Stanton’s dealings—customs officials, traders who have suffered at his hands. If you stand for MP, you will have the platform to bring these matters to light.”

“I… I do not…”

“I can rally the old guard to your side, and you can inspire the younger generation to believe that change does not have to mean chaos.”

Darcy sighed. “I would inspire nothing but resentment. An unmarried man with only a young sister for family? They would see me as unstable, unreliable—someone who could be swayed by the interests of whichever family I might eventually marry into.”

“Be that as it may, you are the only man in Derbyshire with the influence to bring these factions together. The farmers trust you, Darcy. They know you have protected them where you could. The landed merchants and gentleman farmers are disillusioned with Stanton, it is true, but they will not turn to a revolutionary.”

“You have not been hearing the same rumors I have, apparently.”

The earl grunted. “All talk. No one truly wants anarchy. What they need is stability—someone who can promise change without threatening the foundations of their livelihoods.”

Darcy shook his head. “And yet they will see me as more of the same. To them, I am just another man of wealth and privilege—one of the largest landowners in Derbyshire, who could not possibly understand their concerns. Stanton has made certain of that. They will assume that I will serve my own interests as he does.”

The earl’s gaze followed him, his expression thoughtful. “Then we must make you more than a name. We must make you a man they trust. Someone they can imagine standing among them, rather than above them.”

“And how do you propose we do that? Paint me in softer colors? Issue apologies for being born an earl’s grandson?”

“You marry.”

Darcy stopped in his tracks, staring at his uncle in disbelief. “Marry?”

“Of course. You said it yourself. An unmarried man is a liability. You must present yourself as a stable, trustworthy family man. Marriage eliminates one of Stanton’s greatest weapons against you—your youth.”

Darcy let out a low, humorless laugh. “That is your solution? To marry for appearances? And who, pray, would you suggest? Anne?”

The earl’s expression flickered with faint amusement. “I doubt you would find Anne a suitable match. Or, for that matter, that she would tolerate you for more than an hour.”

Darcy’s lips twitched despite himself. “Precisely.”

The earl took a measured sip of his port. “If not Anne, then someone else. You need not marry for love, Darcy—though I would not dissuade you from it if the opportunity arose. What matters is stability. Trustworthiness. A sense of permanence.”

Darcy leaned back in his chair, his gaze fixed on the decanter of port. “I am not the man you want for this. There are others who would suit the role better.”

“Who?”

“John Brierly,” he began, “owns a modest estate in the south of the county. He has spoken openly against Stanton’s enclosures and has the respect of many of the smaller landowners.”

The earl waved a hand dismissively. “Brierly? A man who barely keeps his own accounts in order? He has respect, perhaps, but no influence. The merchants would eat him alive.”

“Sir Edmund Gresham. He is a good man. Father always urged him to stand, and so have others.”

“Sir Edmund's wife is ill.”

“ Was ill,” Darcy corrected. “She is well enough now.”

“Forget it. He will not put himself forward. I have asked before. Moreover, he has not your connections.”

Darcy frowned but continued. “Then there is Thomas Ainsworth, a merchant in Bakewell who was able to purchase an estate worth about two thousand pounds last year. He has a thriving wool business and connections to several prominent families through trade.”

“Indeed,” the earl said dryly. “And how many of those connections would vouch for him if his dealings with that scandalous silk trader in Manchester came to light? No, Ainsworth is a risk we cannot afford.”

Darcy pressed on. “Samuel Houghton, then. A gentleman farmer near Matlock. His lands are modest, but he is well-liked and level-headed.”

The earl gave a low chuckle, shaking his head. “Houghton? The man barely speaks above a whisper. Do you imagine he would hold his own in Parliament? He would be devoured before he reached his second speech.”

Darcy set his jaw, frustrated. “Edward Langley, then. A landowner with a good reputation. His tenants speak highly of him, and he has a solid grasp of local politics.”

“Langley has the reputation of a saint, true,” the earl said, leaning forward slightly, “but his brother does not. The debts that man has racked up would be enough for Stanton to destroy him before the campaign even began. A good name only goes so far when your family is a liability.”

Darcy hesitated, his mind cycling through the list of other possibilities. Each name felt weaker than the last. He mentioned two more men—a retired colonel respected in local circles and a prominent baker’s guild member—but the earl dismissed them just as quickly.

“Do you see the problem now, Darcy?” the earl said finally, folding his hands on the desk. “Each of these men may be admirable in their own way, but none of them have the combination of integrity, influence, and capability to stand against Stanton. The field is too fractured, and the voters are too wary to rally behind a weak candidate. Stanton would destroy them before they even made it to the ballot. It must be you, Darcy. The voters will not trust you immediately, but they will see your actions, your character, and they will come to understand that you are the leader they need.”

Darcy opened his mouth to protest, but before he could speak, a sharp knock echoed through the room.

The earl’s brow furrowed. “What now?” he muttered, rising to his feet.

Darcy sighed and sat back. “I am keeping you from your guests,” he apologized. “I had not meant to monopolize your evening. I will come back—”

“You stay where you are. I have not done with you yet for the evening. Bloody impatient,” the earl grumbled as another knock sounded. “Hang it all, I am hosting a party, not holding court!”

He crossed to the door and pulled it open, revealing his butler, whose usually impassive face bore a hint of unease. Behind him stood a young woman—her dark eyes wide with a mixture of terror and indignation. Her cheeks were flushed, and her gloved hands were clenched at her sides as though she were holding herself together through sheer force of will.

Darcy’s gaze flicked to the woman, his brow furrowing. He did not recognize her, but something about her posture—defensive, yet fiercely determined—made his breath catch.

The butler cleared his throat. “My lord, I apologize for the interruption, but there has been… an incident.”

The earl’s eyes narrowed. “What sort of incident?”

The butler hesitated, his gaze darting briefly to the young woman and a man behind her whom Darcy recognized as Greaves before returning to his master. “One that requires your immediate attention.”

The earl sighed, casting an apologetic glance at Darcy. “It seems our discussion must be postponed. For the moment.”

Darcy’s gaze lingered on the young woman as his uncle stepped into the hall, his curiosity prickling as he watched the Earl speak briefly with the butler. The young woman did not move, her gaze fixed on some distant point as though she refused to acknowledge either man.