Raising the Stakes (First Impressions)

13. Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Thirteen

Elizabeth’s steps were light as she walked away from the Darcys, her spine straight, her chin lifted just enough to appear entirely unaffected.

But inside?

She was fairly glowing .

It seemed that Mr. Perfect Darcy had a flaw after all—a very human, very unmanageable little sister. Georgiana Darcy might have been quiet and composed at first glance, but her sharp remark had slipped out like a crack in the polished veneer of Darcy’s world.

And he had been mortified.

Elizabeth replayed the scene in her head, savoring the memory of Darcy’s tightly clenched jaw, the faint flush creeping up his neck. It was gratifying, in a strange way, to see the ever-composed Mr. Darcy so thoroughly unsettled. By the look he had shot his sister, that little bit of bad behavior was not unique.

Perhaps he is not as untouchable as he appears.

She almost laughed out loud at the thought.

By the time she neared the park’s outer paths, she was already crafting in her mind how she might recount the story to her aunt. Mrs. Gardiner would be delighted to hear that the illustrious Mr. Darcy had family troubles of his own.

But even as she imagined the conversation, something nagged at her. Was it really fair to mock him for struggling with his sister? After all, Georgiana Darcy was obviously still very young—probably about Kitty's age—and Elizabeth knew better than anyone how difficult younger sisters could be.

Her smile faded slightly. Perhaps it would be better to keep this little discovery to herself.

She was just about to dismiss the whole matter when the faint rumble of carriage wheels behind her caught her attention. The sound grew louder, closer. She stepped to the side of the path, expecting the carriage to pass. But instead, it slowed. Her heart gave a small, inexplicable flutter as she turned.

Of course.

Mr. Darcy.

And there, seated beside him in the carriage, was Miss Darcy, her expression a perfect mirror of her brother’s—rigid, uncomfortable, and thoroughly displeased.

The carriage came to a full stop beside her. Darcy’s gaze met hers, and for a moment, he seemed to hesitate—as if reconsidering whatever had compelled him to halt in the first place. But then he spoke, his voice stiff and formal.

“Miss Bennet, it would be my honor to escort you back to your aunt and uncle’s residence.”

Elizabeth blinked, caught between surprise and suspicion. The honor of escorting her? Since when did Mr. Darcy view anything concerning her as an honor?

“That is very kind of you, Mr. Darcy, but I assure you, it is not necessary.”

Darcy’s jaw tightened, the muscles in his face twitching as if her refusal were a personal affront. “I believe it is,” he said firmly.

Elizabeth tilted her head, studying him with narrowed eyes. “I am quite accustomed to walking, sir. And I find Hyde Park entirely safe.”

“Your comfort does not negate the reality of appearances. A young woman—any young woman—should not be seen unaccompanied in such a public setting.”

The implication in his words was as clear as if he had shouted it. The hair at the back of her neck prickled. “I had no idea Hyde Park was overrun with brigands and scoundrels,” she said, her smile tightening at the edges. “I shall keep an eye out for highwaymen in broad daylight.”

Darcy did not flinch, but his gaze darkened. “You know perfectly well that is not what I meant.”

“Do I?” Elizabeth shot back, lifting her chin. “Because it seems to me that your concern is less about my safety and more about how I might reflect on your impeccable sense of propriety.”

His mouth turned downward into a grimace. “This has nothing to do with me.”

Elizabeth arched a brow. “Has it not? And here I thought we were partners in some grand, public performance.” She crossed her arms loosely over her chest. “Surely, if I disgrace myself, it touches your good name as well, does it not? ”

Darcy’s eyes flashed, but when he spoke, his voice was lower, more strained. “Miss Bennet… whether or not our names are linked, you are the one whose future will bear the heaviest consequences. Your reputation is the one in question. I would not see it damaged further.”

Elizabeth’s retort stalled in her throat. His words were not delivered with his usual superiority. Instead, there was something almost… earnest in them. It was maddening.

Still, her pride bristled under his scrutiny. “I assure you, Mr. Darcy, I am quite capable of managing my own affairs.”

“And yet here we are,” he replied, his voice soft but sharp. “You have been seen in questionable company before. Do you truly wish to risk further scrutiny?”

The truth hit her harder than she expected. As much as she detested his condescension, he was right. She could not afford more gossip, not when her sisters’ futures might be tangled in the fallout. Her pride warred with her practicality, but the latter won, as much as it stung.

After a long, taut silence, she exhaled sharply and gave a curt nod. “Very well,” she muttered, hating how small the words felt on her tongue.

It felt like a surrender.

And she was not entirely sure which of them had just conceded more.

Darcy disembarked, stepping down from the carriage with practiced ease. Of course, he would be the one man in London who could look graceful doing even such a mundane, awkward thing. He extended his hand toward her, his mouth set in grim expectation.

Elizabeth hesitated for a fraction of a second before placing her gloved hand in his. His palm was warm, his grip firm but not unkind as he helped her up. But as soon as she climbed into the carriage—a vehicle designed for only two—she regretted every decision that had led her to this moment.

The space inside was far too snug.

Miss Darcy, who had shifted only minimally to make room, now sat rigidly against the far side of the seat, leaving just enough space for Elizabeth to slide in, but not enough to breathe properly.

Which meant she was now wedged between Mr. Darcy and his sister.

Miss Darcy’s gaze was fixed firmly off in the distance. Darcy cleared his throat but said nothing, his arm brushing against Elizabeth’s with every slight jostle of the carriage.

Elizabeth forced a polite smile, though it felt more like a grimace. “Lovely weather today,” she remarked, her voice overly bright .

Miss Darcy said nothing.

Darcy, predictably, also said nothing.

Elizabeth bit the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing.

Well, she thought wryly, this is certainly the most awkward ride of my life.

And yet, as the carriage rumbled through the streets of London, she could not help but feel a strange, inexplicable thrill. For all his pride and propriety, Mr. Darcy was not nearly as unshakable as he liked to appear.

And she, Elizabeth Bennet—country girl, scandal magnet, and perpetual thorn in his side—was right at the heart of his discomfort.

The moment Elizabeth Bennet settled into the narrow space between him and Georgiana, Darcy regretted everything .

Her shoulder brushed his with every rock and jiggle of the carriage wheels. The proximity was entirely inappropriate, entirely uncomfortable, and yet, there was nothing to be done. Georgiana had at first refused to give way for Miss Bennet, but then, after a moment of jostling, had wedged herself as far against the opposite side as possible—presumably to keep from touching the lady’s slightly soiled walking gown. But it did little good, for there were far too few inches to be had on that seat.

Darcy cleared his throat.

Elizabeth Bennet, of course, seemed perfectly at ease. Worse, that quirk to her lip almost looked as if she were silently laughing. Probably at him.

He could not let this stand.

“You walk often in Hyde Park,” he said abruptly, his voice sharper than intended.

She turned to him, her brow lifting in innocent curiosity. “I do. I find it quite refreshing.”

“Alone,” he clarified, unable to keep the disapproval from his tone.

Elizabeth’s lips curved faintly. “We have canvassed this topic already, Mr. Darcy. I find the solitude most enjoyable.”

Darcy’s jaw clenched. “It is highly improper.”

“I suppose that depends on one’s perspective. I find London society’s obsession with propriety somewhat tedious. ”

His brow shot up. “ Tedious? ”

“Yes.” She met his gaze without flinching. “It seems to me that too much attention is paid to appearances and not enough to substance.”

Darcy could scarcely believe his ears. “Appearances exist for a reason, Miss Bennet. They maintain order in society.”

“Order?” She arched an eyebrow. “Or control?”

He turned to her fully now, ignoring the way their knees brushed as the carriage took a turn. “Control is necessary to prevent chaos.”

“And yet,” she countered, “too much control stifles growth. Progress often comes from those willing to challenge the established order.”

“Progress?” His voice hardened slightly. “Progress without restraint leads to disorder. Look at France.”

Elizabeth’s eyes gleamed. “France? I suppose revolution does frighten those with something to lose.”

Darcy’s eyes narrowed. “And I suppose recklessness appeals to those with nothing at stake.”

Elizabeth’s smile sharpened. “Oh, I have plenty at stake, Mr. Darcy. I simply refuse to live my life caged by the opinions of people whose approval I do not seek.”

“Then you are fortunate,” he shot back, “to have the luxury of such defiance. Not everyone can afford to disregard society’s judgment.”

“And yet you do,” she said, leaning slightly closer. “You move through the world as though the rules do not apply to you. Or are they only meant for the rest of us?”

Darcy stared at her, the spark of debate igniting something unexpected in his chest. “You would prefer anarchy, then?”

“I prefer freedom ,“ she corrected. “The freedom to think, to speak, to act without constant fear of scandal.”

That was the one notion in all her senseless posturing that he could agree with. Although, he suspected she had said most of it because she knew it would raise his hackles. But despite it all, Darcy found himself… smiling.

It was not a broad smile—he doubted he was capable of that—but the corners of his mouth lifted ever so slightly. “That is a rather romantic notion, Miss Bennet.”

“And yours is rather dull, Mr. Darcy.”

He let out a soft huff, more amused than annoyed. “Pragmatism is hardly dull. It is the foundation of civilized society. ”

“Oh, I do love a good foundation,” she said dryly. “But I prefer when it does not suffocate the house built upon it.”

Before he realized it, the sharp edges of their debate softened, though neither of them fully relinquished the intensity behind their words. There was a spark in her eyes, a glint of challenge that Darcy found—to his utter surprise—diverting.

Georgiana glanced over, her stiff posture relaxing ever so slightly as the tension in the carriage shifted from combative to something else—not quite ease, but no longer brittle.

Darcy caught himself, his lips pressing into a thin line as he tried to reassert the composure that always came so naturally to him. But it was difficult to ignore the fact that, for the first time in recent memory, he felt… engaged.

He had not expected to enjoy their verbal sparring. But now that he had, he was not entirely sure what to make of it.

He was searching for something… more words to provoke her, some way of defending his own thoughts, anything , when Elizabeth suddenly straightened.

“Mr. Darcy, I believe you have passed my uncle’s door.”

Darcy blinked, glancing over his shoulder. Blast , she was right. In the midst of their argument, he had driven them halfway down the street.

He muttered a curse under his breath, flicking the reins to turn at the next street and bring them back round. Heaven only knew how long that would take, and all the while, she was still… very close to his side.

Elizabeth bit her lip to hide another laugh, and Darcy found himself both irritated and oddly pleased by her amusement.

When they finally pulled up in front of the Gardiners’ residence, Darcy disembarked quickly, eager to regain some semblance of control over the situation. He extended his hand to Elizabeth without meeting her gaze, but when her gloved fingers slipped into his, something uncomfortably warm bloomed in his chest.

He helped her down carefully, lingering a moment longer than strictly necessary before releasing her hand. A gentleman walked a lady to her door, and Fitzwilliam Darcy was a gentleman… though his thoughts were something of a riot. He cleared his throat and offered his arm. Only a moment more…

At the top of the steps, Elizabeth turned to face him, her expression unexpectedly soft. “Thank you for the ride, Mr. Darcy,” she said, her tone for once free of the usual teasing.

Darcy inclined his head, about to offer a polite farewell, when the words caught in his throat .

He hesitated.

And then, before he could second-guess himself, he blurted, “I have been invited to a soirée tomorrow evening, hosted by Lady Beaufort.”

Elizabeth’s brows lifted slightly, her lips curving into a knowing smile. “Have you?”

Darcy cleared his throat again, feeling suddenly foolish. “Yes. And… I hope you will be there as well.”

There was a brief pause—a heartbeat where her eyes searched his face, as if trying to decipher the meaning beneath his carefully chosen words. Then, that smile of hers widened just enough to make his pulse quicken. “I do believe I have an invitation to the same soirée.”

Darcy exhaled, though he was not entirely sure if it was from relief or something else entirely. “How… convenient. I shall see you tomorrow, Miss Bennet.” He gave a short bow, stepping back as she disappeared inside.

The door clicked shut, leaving him standing on the Gardiners’ stoop, thoroughly unsettled.

And, to his dismay, eager for tomorrow evening.