Raising the Stakes (First Impressions)

16. Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Sixteen

This was ridiculous.

Elizabeth paused at the top of the stone steps outside Darcy’s townhouse, staring at the polished brass knocker as if it might leap off the door and strike her for impropriety. Her gloved hand hovered mid-air, trembling ever so slightly—not from fear, of course, but from the sheer audacity of what she was about to do.

You should not be here.

That was the truth of it. She had repeated the phrase at least a dozen times during the carriage ride from her uncle’s house. But here she stood, heart hammering, with a sealed French letter, a brass key, and no earthly idea what to do next.

Lord Matlock might have had answers, but Elizabeth could not shake the feeling that his motives were murky at best. The man had manipulated her life from the moment they met, and she was not inclined to hand him more power.

Darcy, on the other hand…

She exhaled sharply. Darcy was insufferable, proud, and altogether vexing, but he had something the Earl lacked: integrity… or at least, the appearance of it. Moreover, he had been just as much a pawn in all this as she, and seemed less likely to manipulate matters for his own ends.

At least… that was what she hoped.

With a decisive breath, she rapped the knocker against the door before she could lose her nerve.

The door opened far too quickly for her liking, revealing a stoic butler with impeccable posture. “Yes, miss?”

“I—” Elizabeth’s throat felt oddly dry. “I would like to speak with Mr. Darcy. It is… a matter of some urgency.”

The butler’s brow lifted almost imperceptibly, but he did not move immediately. “And may I have your name, miss? ”

Elizabeth hesitated for a fraction of a second, realizing her oversight. “Miss Bennet. Elizabeth Bennet.”

A flicker of recognition—so brief she might have imagined it—crossed the butler’s face. But his tone remained neutral as he stepped aside. “If you would wait here, Miss Bennet, I will see if Mr. Darcy is at home.”

At home … code for “if Mr. Darcy wants to speak with you.” Elizabeth swallowed as she stepped into the cool, dimly lit foyer, her eyes darting over the grand staircase and gleaming wood paneling. The house was every bit as imposing as its master.

She barely had time to adjust her gloves before the butler returned. “Mr. Darcy will see you,” he said, motioning for her to follow.

Oh dear .

The walk down the hall felt longer than necessary, the sound of her footsteps swallowed by the thick carpet. When the butler finally opened the door to what she assumed was Darcy’s study, Elizabeth straightened her spine and prepared for the inevitable disapproval.

Mr. Darcy was standing behind a large oak desk, his posture rigid, his eyes sharp and dark with something between surprise and irritation. “Miss Bennet. I cannot imagine what has brought you here, but I must inform you that this visit is highly improper.”

Elizabeth forced a smile, though her heart was pounding. “Yes, I gathered as much, Mr. Darcy. But you may reserve your scolding for a more deserving moment.”

He blinked, clearly unaccustomed to being dismissed so casually. “I assure you, Miss Bennet—”

Before he could finish, Elizabeth stepped forward, pulling the sealed letter and brass key from her reticule and placing them firmly on his desk. “I believe,” she said, fighting to keep her voice steady despite the chaos in her chest, “that this will explain why I am here.”

Darcy’s eyes dropped to the objects, his frown deepening as he took in the unmarked seal on the letter. His hand hovered over the brass key, then retreated, as if touching it might implicate him in some unspeakable crime.

Elizabeth watched the shift in his expression—from irritation to concern, and then to something far more unsettling: understanding. “Where did you get this?” he asked, his voice low.

“It was delivered to me this morning. No name, no sender. Just the assumption that I knew what to do with it.”

Darcy’s jaw clenched, his gaze flicking back to her. “And do you? ”

“Not in the slightest.”

Darcy finally exhaled, his shoulders relaxing—though only slightly. “You… you should not have come here alone.”

“Yes,” Elizabeth said, lifting her chin. “You mentioned that already. But I thought the scandal of my presence would be preferable to the consequences of doing nothing.”

Darcy’s lips twitched—whether in annoyance or reluctant amusement, Elizabeth could not tell. He gestured to the chair across from his desk. “Sit down, Miss Bennet.”

Elizabeth hesitated, the stiffness in his tone prickling against her already frayed nerves. Still, she complied, smoothing her skirts as she perched on the edge of the chair, refusing to appear rattled.

Darcy remained standing, arms crossed, his gaze fixed on the letter and key as though they might reveal their secrets if he stared long enough. The silence stretched between them, broken only by the faint ticking of the clock on the mantel. Elizabeth shifted in her seat, the urge to fill the void with some sharp remark simmering on her tongue.

But when he finally spoke, the gravity in his voice stole the words from her mouth. “I believe,” Darcy said at last, “that you have stumbled into something far more serious than you realize.”

Elizabeth stiffened. She had expected condescension, perhaps a lecture on propriety or another veiled warning about her reputation. But his tone held none of that. It was… something else. Concern, perhaps. Or something bordering on it.

“And what,” she asked carefully, “do you suggest I do about it?”

Darcy did not answer immediately. Instead, he picked up the letter again, his brow furrowing as he examined the unfamiliar handwriting. The key gleamed dully in the dim light, its presence on his desk both absurd and ominous. “This key,” he said, tapping it lightly with one finger, “as you have no doubt concluded already, was meant for someone who knew what to do with it. And the fact that it found its way to you suggests that someone—French or otherwise—believes you are involved in matters of… diplomatic delicacy.”

Elizabeth’s heart gave an uncomfortable jolt. “Diplomatic delicacy?” she repeated. “Mr. Darcy, I assure you, I have never been less diplomatic in my life.”

His gaze flicked up, sharp and assessing. “This is not a jest, Miss Bennet.”

“I am aware,” she snapped, then forced herself to inhale slowly. “But surely you cannot believe I am mixed up in whatever… nonsense this is. I am not a diplomat. I am not a spy. I am a gentleman’s daughter with no more intrigue in my life than the occasional unruly bonnet.”

“I do not believe you are complicit,” he said quietly. “But that does not mean you are safe. Someone else is undoubtedly waiting for this, and when it is discovered that it came to you, instead…”

Elizabeth swallowed hard, her throat suddenly dry. The absurdity of it all—the idea that someone, somewhere, believed she was involved in espionage or smuggling! And yet, the key lay there, solid and undeniable.

“My uncle,” Darcy continued, his tone growing darker, “has been monitoring certain French diplomats. He believes they are using trade routes and diplomatic immunity as a cover for something more nefarious—smuggling messages, perhaps even prisoners.”

Elizabeth blinked. “And you think they believe I am part of this?”

Darcy hesitated. “I believe… they think you have access to something—or someone—they need. Perhaps they mistook you for a courier. Perhaps…” He trailed off, his frown deepening. “Perhaps it has something to do with your uncle’s business.”

Elizabeth’s breath hitched. Uncle Gardiner . He dealt in imports and exports, but he was as honest as the day was long. The idea that his business could be tied to something illicit was unthinkable.

“My uncle is a respectable tradesman,” she said stoutly. “There is no way he would involve himself in anything illegal.”

Darcy inclined his head slightly, as though conceding the point—but not dismissing the possibility entirely. “Perhaps not knowingly,” he said. “But if his ships or warehouses have been used without his knowledge…”

Elizabeth shook her head, unwilling to entertain the idea. “No. That is impossible. He built that business—he and my aunt. They know every detail of it. Why, my aunt still does all the cloth ordering, though she no longer needs to. They could never miss something like this.”

Darcy’s eyes softened just slightly. “I hope you are right.”

Elizabeth stared at the key. She had come here hoping for answers, but all she had found were more questions.

Before Darcy could say more, a sharp knock sounded at the door. His gaze flicked toward it, his expression darkening. “Enter.”

The butler stepped inside, holding out a sealed note on thick, cream-colored paper. “A message from Lord Matlock, sir.”

Darcy took the note with a terse nod, but Elizabeth saw the flicker of something in his eyes—apprehension, perhaps, or reluctant understanding. Whatever was written in that note, she had the sinking feeling it would not ease the tension knotting in her chest.

Darcy opened the note, his eyes scanning the contents swiftly. His face hardened with each line. Elizabeth watched the transformation, feeling a strange mix of curiosity and apprehension.

“Well?” she prompted when he remained silent.

Darcy folded the note slowly, his gaze distant. “Parliament has been dissolved,” he said quietly. “An election has been called.”

Elizabeth blinked. “And what does that mean for you?”

Darcy’s eyes met hers, and for the first time, Elizabeth saw something akin to vulnerability behind the steely facade.

“It means,” he said grimly, “that I am as much at the mercy of the prevailing winds as you are.”

For a long moment, the room felt unnervingly quiet, save for the faint ticking of the mantel clock and the distant clatter of carriage wheels outside the townhouse. Darcy’s eyes lingered on the folded note from his uncle, its neat, controlled script bearing the weight of inevitability.

Parliament dissolved. An election called.

The words were simple enough, but they settled in his heart like a stone.

He glanced back at Elizabeth Bennet, still seated in the chair across from his desk. She was watching him closely, her brows drawn together, her expression a mixture of curiosity and concern. It was a look he had not grown accustomed to seeing from her—as though she were genuinely trying to understand him, rather than start an argument or find fault.

And for reasons he could not fully comprehend, that unsettled him more than his uncle’s letter.

“You look as though the world is about to end,” she said quietly, her voice breaking the heavy silence.

Darcy arched a brow. “In a manner of speaking, it is. ”

She tilted her head, her eyes narrowing slightly. “I gather this means your uncle’s plans for you are… progressing?”

Darcy exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. “There is no longer a plan. It is now a certainty. A thing already set into motion.” He gestured to the note. “Parliament has been dissolved, and my uncle expects me to announce my candidacy immediately.”

Elizabeth’s eyes widened. “I see,” she murmured. “And you are going to do it?”

“I do not appear to have much of a choice,” he muttered, his tone edged with bitterness.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. Darcy’s mind churned with the implications—his sister’s defiance, the looming political campaign, and now Elizabeth Bennet’s inexplicable entanglement in a dangerous game neither of them fully understood.

Finally, Elizabeth spoke, her voice softer this time. “And what of this?” She gestured to the letter and brass key still resting on his desk. “Do I have a choice in what comes next?”

Darcy’s gaze flicked back to the items. Whatever this was, it was no coincidence. “There is certainly more we must learn, and rapidly. And I believe you are right to be cautious of my uncle.”

“Is he dishonest, then?”

Darcy’s brow furrowed. “No—not in the way you assume. That is, I have no cause to think his machinations are in any way malicious, but there is certainly a deal he has not told either of us. That is the way of his station, perhaps—keeping his circle of friends close and his enemies even closer. And that ,” he said with a curl to his lip, “is why I have never desired to join the ranks of politicians, for fear I might become like them.”

“With all respect, sir, I think your uncle is mad.”

He raised a brow. “How so?”

She gestured toward him. “ You. I doubt you could prevaricate or mislead anyone if the fate of the nation depended upon it. You think your emotions are a vault, but I tell you, they are printed like the acts of a play, all over your face. What is Lord Matlock thinking, urging you , of all people, into the world of intrigue and back-room deals?”

He grimaced. “You are imagining things. I have been told I display far too little of my thoughts, not the reverse.”

“Only for people with no imagination. You, sir, are a walking signboard.”

He shook his head. “You are free to think as you please, I suppose. But if I mean to protect my tenants, my lands, then my uncle is right. I must challenge Stanton, for there is no one else to do it. And as for you… ”

He sighed as he took in her pale face—the eyes too luminous; the lips pursed into a tight bow, the cheeks flushed brightly. For the first time since she entered his study, he saw the fear beneath her bravado.

“And what would you suggest, Mr. Darcy?”

Darcy leaned forward, resting his forearms on the desk. “We have no choice but to work together.”

Elizabeth blinked, clearly surprised by his directness. “Together?”

“My uncle may have his own agenda, but he also has resources. If we can determine what this letter and key are connected to, we may find a way to protect you—and your family.”

Elizabeth’s eyes softened slightly at the mention of her family, but she quickly masked it with a wry smile. “And in return?” she asked. “What do you gain from this arrangement? You can hardly relish the notion of your name being linked to mine.”

Darcy hesitated, considering his answer. It would be easier to dismiss her question, to claim it was mere obligation or convenience. But he found he could not. “In return,” he said slowly, “I gain an ally. Someone who is not part of my uncle’s world. Someone who can see things… differently.”

Elizabeth stared at him for a moment. Then, to his surprise, she sucked in a breath and nodded slowly. “Very well,” she said softly. “We will work together.”

A strange sense of relief washed over Darcy, though he could not say why.

Finally, Elizabeth stood, smoothing her skirts with a steady hand. “It seems we both have much to consider, Mr. Darcy.”

Darcy rose as well, moving around the desk to escort her to the door. But as they reached the threshold, he hesitated. “Miss Bennet, if you receive anything else—letters, messages, anything—do not hesitate to come to me.”

Elizabeth turned to face him, her eyes searching his for a long moment before she nodded. “And if you need an ally, Mr. Darcy,” she replied softly, “you know where to find me.”