Raising the Stakes (First Impressions)

21. Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-One

Darcy had always believed himself a man of unwavering composure.

In business, in family matters, even in the absurd political machinations his uncle dragged him into—he approached each challenge with precision and detachment. His decisions were deliberate, his words measured. Feelings, particularly the messy, irrational kind, were luxuries for lesser men.

Or so he had thought.

But as he stood in the ornate hall of Lord and Lady Matlock’s townhouse, watching the gilded crowd swirl around him, he realized—begrudgingly—that his carefully constructed armor had begun to crack.

It started yesterday.

He had arrived at the Gardiners’ townhouse with no clear purpose, no well-defined excuse. It had been a foolish impulse, one he ought to have ignored. But when the man at the door informed him that Miss Bennet was, indeed, at home, and moreover alone, Darcy felt an inexplicable relief course through him. The ache in his chest—an unfamiliar, unwelcome thing—had eased the moment he saw her face.

He would have despised himself for that weakness, had he the energy to do so. But standing here tonight, with the low hum of conversation and the clink of crystal filling the air, he felt it again—that strange, infuriating ease.

But only when she appeared.

On her uncle’s arm, Elizabeth entered the hall like a beacon in the dim glow of the chandeliers. Mr. Gardiner escorted his wife on the other side, both of them radiating the quiet confidence of people entirely at ease in any company. But it was Elizabeth who held Darcy’s gaze. She wore a gown of silvery-lavender silk, the fabric catching the light with every graceful step. He had been imagining her in that gown all day—after all, he had had a hand in ensuring it adorned her tonight.

It had been a subtle collaboration, a quiet exchange of letters, discreet suggestions… and a bit of coin between himself and the Gardiners. If Elizabeth Bennet was to navigate these treacherous London waters by his side, she needed to be armed appropriately. The silk hugged her figure with understated elegance, the color making her skin glow like moonlight against polished glass.

And it was working.

Gentlemen turned their heads as she passed, their expressions shifting from mild interest to something far more appreciative. Darcy caught the tight-lipped smiles of certain ladies, their eyes narrowing in calculated assessment. The reactions pleased him more than they should have. A private, almost smug satisfaction curled in his chest.

But it was her eyes —those glorious, expressive eyes—that unraveled him.

They danced over the crowd, searching, hopeful. And when they found him—when they lit up with that unmistakable spark—Darcy felt a tightness within him ease, as though the very air in his lungs had been bound and now slipped free without his consent.

How very odd! He was a grown man of seven and twenty. He had never struggled to breathe before. Yet somehow, when Elizabeth Bennet entered a room, the very air seemed to sweeten.

Only when her gaze settled on him did he allow himself to move. With purposeful steps, he crossed the room, the crowd parting instinctively as though sensing the gravity of his intent. “Mr. Gardiner, Mrs. Gardiner,” Darcy greeted with a respectful bow. “It is a pleasure to see you both this evening.”

Mrs. Gardiner smiled warmly. “Mr. Darcy, what a fine gathering this is. Our hosts have outdone themselves.”

“Indeed, my aunt prides herself on her parties,” he agreed before turning to Elizabeth. “Miss Bennet.”

She tilted her head, amusement flickering in her gaze. “Mr. Darcy.”

“You are looking very well this evening. The color becomes you.”

Her smile deepened, though whether in acknowledgment or teasing, he could not yet tell. “How very gracious of you, sir. You must be practicing flattery.”

“Not at all. Only speaking what is true.”

She did not look away as quickly as she might have done before, but rather studied him for a fleeting moment, as if weighing the words. Then, just as swiftly, her playfulness returned, her lips curving once more. “Then, if we are speaking truth, I see your waistcoat is a rather complimentary shade. What a remarkable coincidence, sir. ”

“It is, indeed,” he replied in the gravest tone he could manage. “Might I have the honor of the first dance?” he asked, extending his hand.

She regarded him for a moment before placing her gloved hand in his with deliberate poise. “Well, Mr. Darcy, I suppose I cannot refuse such a request. But I do hope you intend to make it worth my while.”

“I shall endeavor not to disappoint.”

But the musicians had yet to take their places, and the first strains of the evening’s waltz were still moments away. Darcy turned to the Gardiners with a polite nod. “If you will excuse me, I should like to steal Miss Bennet for a moment before the dancing begins.”

Mrs. Gardiner’s eyes sparkled with quiet amusement, while Mr. Gardiner gave a knowing nod. “By all means, Mr. Darcy.”

Darcy offered Elizabeth his arm, and she slipped her hand into the crook of his elbow, the warmth of her touch seeping through the layers of fabric. Together, they navigated through the clusters of elegantly dressed guests toward the refreshment table, where silver platters of delicate pastries and crystal bowls of punch glittered under the chandeliers.

Once they were away from prying ears, Darcy lowered his voice, his gaze fixed ahead. “I have given the letter and key to my cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam,” he said quietly.

Elizabeth’s eyes darted to his face, curiosity sharpening her features. “Colonel Fitzwilliam? I have not had the pleasure of meeting him yet.”

“You will. He is here tonight—the earl is his father. I shall introduce you when the time is right.”

She nodded, her fingers tightening slightly on his arm. “Has he discovered anything?”

Darcy exhaled, his jaw tightening with frustration. “Not yet. He is using his connections—more extensive than my own—but the matter is… delicate.”

“Well. That is hardly reassuring.”

“Be easy. If there is something to find, Richard will find it.”

She nodded. “I did not see Monsieur Lapointe or his aide tonight,” she murmured.

“I did,” Darcy said darkly. “They are here.”

Elizabeth inhaled sharply.

“I do not believe they are watching you at this moment,” Darcy added, his voice carefully neutral. “But remain cautious, nonetheless.”

She swallowed and looked up at him, searching his face as if measuring just how much she ought to trust his words. He wanted to tell her—needed her to understand—that trust was not something he would ever ask for lightly. For a moment, the din of the ballroom dulled. The low hum of conversation, the soft chime of crystal glasses, the shifting candlelight—all of it faded beneath the weight of her eyes.

“Miss Bennet,” he said, his voice softer now, meant for her ears alone. “You are not alone in this.”

He felt her fingers flex on his sleeve, just the slightest shift, and the motion sent something resolute through him. Whatever this was—whatever tangle of intrigue she had been dragged into—it was his concern now.

He was still holding her gaze when the awareness of the room returned. He caught movement at the edge of his vision—faces turned in their direction, the keen eyes of matrons, of curious young ladies, of men watching too closely. A few whispers stirred the air.

Of course.

They had been standing too long, too near, speaking too low. A gentleman could not be seen conversing with a lady so intently in a crowded ballroom without drawing speculation. And speculation was something neither of them could afford.

From the far side of the room, Lord Matlock had stepped forward to signal the beginning of the evening’s dances. A hush settled briefly, an unspoken expectation filling the space before the first notes of the musicians’ bows met the strings.

Darcy turned back to her, schooling his expression once more. “Shall we?” he asked, his voice composed again, his hand outstretched.

Elizabeth hesitated for only a fraction of a second before slipping her fingers into his. “We shall.”

As he led her onto the floor, Darcy was acutely aware of the eyes upon them—the shifting attention, the murmurs, the acknowledgment that this dance, between the two of them, was not an insignificant one. He could feel it gathering like the weight of an oncoming storm.

Yet, in that moment, the rest of it—the campaign, the threats, the tenuous game of politics—mattered less than the simple truth unfurling in his mind.

For all his carefully laid plans and strategies, the one thing he had not accounted for—the one thing that unsettled him most—was how entirely Elizabeth Bennet had become his compass in the chaos.

And whether that truth was a threat or a relief… he had yet to decide.

Elizabeth had attended balls before, but none quite like this.

Lord Matlock’s townhouse was ablaze with light, its grand ballroom filled with London’s most powerful figures. The glittering chandeliers illuminated a sea of silks and jewels, the air humming with the delicate strains of a quartet and the steady rise and fall of conversation.

But as grand as the setting was, it was nothing compared to the moment she entered on her uncle’s arm and found Darcy waiting.

He had stood near the far side of the ballroom, tall and perfect in his black coat and crisp white cravat, looking every inch the master of the evening. Elizabeth had no notion of what had compelled her to search for him the moment she stepped inside, nor why the tension coiling in her chest eased slightly when she found him.

He saw her almost at once.

Something flickered in his gaze, something that looked suspiciously like… well, hunger was the nearest emotion she could think of, but that made no sense, so it was probably her imagination. But she had not been imagining how his eyes moved slowly—deliberately—over the gown she wore.

His gaze sharpened, and for the first time since she had met him, a slow, private smile crossed his lips that looked like genuine pleasure. It was gone in an instant, but she had seen it. And that, more than anything, settled her discomfort.

She glanced away quickly, resisting the urge to adjust her gloves.

“Do not fidget, my dear,” Mrs. Gardiner murmured at her side. “You are turning heads already. It would be unwise to let them think you are anything less than entirely at ease.”

Elizabeth arched a brow at her aunt. “And am I to take that advice from someone who conspired behind my back to ensure I had a gown fit for a duchess?”

Mrs. Gardiner only smiled.

And so, the evening began.

Elizabeth was keenly aware that her presence on Darcy’s arm had been noted by every significant guest in the room. After the opening set, they parted ways, as etiquette dictated, but Elizabeth never quite felt as though she had left the circle of speculation surrounding them.

The evening was a carefully managed affair, a steady flow of introductions, polite inquiries, and the subtle maneuvering of alliances both spoken and unspoken. Darcy was sought after by landowners and men of influence, and Elizabeth found herself in the company of their wives, daughters, and the ever-present whispers of London’s elite.

She was approached early in the evening by Mrs. Selby—a welcome new friend in a sea of strangers. Mrs. Selby, however, seemed determined to turn that sea into a puddle, as she commenced a campaign, introducing Elizabeth to half the room. “I imagine this must all be rather overwhelming,” Mrs. Selby said as she linked her arm through Elizabeth’s. “Finding yourself suddenly so… prominent.”

Elizabeth managed a polite smile. “Overwhelming? Perhaps. But I find it more enlightening than anything. Politics reveals much about a person’s character.”

Mrs. Selby chuckled. “And what do you find politics reveals about Mr. Darcy?”

Elizabeth glanced across the room, where Darcy was deep in discussion with Mr. Harcourt and another gentleman she did not recognize. His posture was as rigid as ever, but his expression—intense, listening, engaged—was different from the detached arrogance she had once assumed of him.

“That he is a man of principle, though perhaps not one who relishes the spotlight.”

That seemed to satisfy Mrs. Selby, who exchanged a knowing glance with Mrs. Linton.

“Not one for the spotlight indeed,” Mrs. Linton mused, taking Elizabeth’s measure with quiet interest. “Yet he is stepping into it now.”

Elizabeth tilted her head. “Do you think him unsuited to it?”

“Not unsuited,” Mrs. Selby said with an arch of her brow. “Just… unlikely.”

Elizabeth knew what was left unsaid. Unlikely, because he had never before sought such attention. Unlikely, because of her. But with ladies the likes of Mrs. Selby and Mrs. Linton at her elbows, perhaps she was not such long odds as she had presumed.

Unfortunately, not all were so welcoming.

Elizabeth soon found herself on the receiving end of Lady Ashworth’s scrutiny—a woman whose own daughter had once been considered an ideal match for Darcy.

“I trust you are finding London agreeable, Miss Bennet,” Lady Ashworth said, her smile as cool as the pearls at her throat .

“Very much so,” Elizabeth replied, unruffled. “It has been a most enlightening visit.”

“Indeed. And you have been quite the topic of conversation.”

“Have I?”

Lady Ashworth’s lips curved. “It is rare to see Mr. Darcy take such an interest in—” she paused delicately, “—fresh company.”

Elizabeth did not bristle, though she suspected Lady Ashworth wished her to. Instead, she let her own smile widen. “Then I hope I provide some novelty to the season.”

Lady Ashworth’s nostrils flared slightly, but she said nothing more, sweeping away with the air of a woman who had expected Elizabeth to falter.

Some while later, Elizabeth was momentarily reunited with Darcy during an interlude between sets. She had only just excused herself from a group of younger ladies when Mr. Harcourt and Mr. Linton passed by, speaking amiably with Darcy.

“…and you are making quite the impression, Darcy,” Harcourt was saying. “There is talk that Stanton’s allies are… concerned.”

“Concerned?” Darcy echoed, his tone carefully neutral.

Linton chuckled. “Do not let their silence fool you. They are watching. They expected you to be hesitant, undecided. But it seems you are taking this campaign rather seriously.”

“Stanton’s position is one of convenience,” Darcy said coolly. “Not conviction. I have no intention of allowing convenience to dictate Derbyshire’s future.”

Harcourt nodded approvingly, but his gaze flicked briefly to Elizabeth. “And the lady’s feelings on the matter?”

Elizabeth lifted her chin slightly. “I assure you, gentlemen, I have no influence over Mr. Darcy’s political ambitions.”

Harcourt chuckled. “Perhaps not. But your presence… reshapes perceptions.”

Elizabeth glanced at Darcy, but his expression remained impassive. And yet, something in the slight shift of his stance, the way his hand curled over the edge of his coat, told her that he had registered the remark.

“Then I hope I do so in a way that benefits him,” she replied lightly.

As Harcourt lifted his glass in silent salute, Darcy shifted beside Elizabeth. With the briefest touch to her elbow, he leaned in slightly, his voice low.

“There is someone I would like you to meet.”

Elizabeth glanced at him, surprised by the quiet insistence in his tone, but she nodded.

In a clearer tone, he bowed to the other gentlemen. “Excuse us, please. ”

He placed her hand on his arm, guiding her across the ballroom with a deliberation that suggested this introduction was not entirely a whim. They wove through the glittering throng, past clusters of elegantly dressed ladies and gentlemen, past the scrutinizing gazes that still followed them. Elizabeth was beginning to suspect that no moment of this evening would be without observation.

Darcy brought them to a stop before a man of military bearing, his red uniform standing out among the sea of dark evening coats. His face bore a resemblance to Darcy’s in the sharp line of his jaw, though his expression was far less severe.

“Miss Bennet,” Darcy said, “allow me to introduce my cousin, Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam.”

The colonel’s smile was broad and charming, his eyes bright with interest as he gave a gallant bow. “So, this is the infamous Miss Bennet. I have heard much about you.”

Elizabeth tilted her head. “And yet, I know so little of you, Colonel. I wonder if that gives you the advantage.”

He laughed. “I doubt it. My cousin does not often speak at length about anyone, but he broke protocol in this instance. I think he was trying to give me some sort of warning.”

Elizabeth cast a sidelong glance at Darcy, whose expression remained impassive. “Oh, I doubt that. I think our Mr. Darcy is, instead, a man of many secrets.”

“You have no idea,” the colonel said, his tone conspiring. Then, with the ease of a practiced charmer, he extended his hand. “Miss Bennet, I would be honored if you would dance the supper set with me.”

Elizabeth parted her lips to reply, but before she could, Darcy cut in, “I am afraid that particular set is already spoken for.”

Elizabeth blinked, turning toward him. “Is it?”

“It is.”

The colonel, who had clearly not expected interference, lifted his brows and looked between them. “I see,” he mused, clearly enjoying the exchange. “How unfortunate for me.”

Elizabeth bit back a smile. “Quite,” she said, before glancing at Darcy. “I daresay I shall have to find some way to bear it.”

“Indeed,” Darcy murmured, his lips pressing together as though he were resisting some response of his own .

The colonel exhaled dramatically, shaking his head. “I suppose I must content myself with an earlier dance, then.” He turned back to Elizabeth. “What do you say of joining this present set, Miss Bennet? Before Darcy quite spirits you away?”

Elizabeth laughed. “Very well, Colonel. I suppose I must give you some chance to make an impression.”

Darcy inclined his head slightly, excusing himself as Fitzwilliam led her toward the dance floor.

The moment they stepped into the set, his demeanor shifted slightly, the gleam of humor still in his eyes but his tone becoming more purposeful. “I am glad Darcy arranged this moment alone, Miss Bennet.”

Elizabeth looked at him curiously. “Oh?”

“I have been looking into that little… mystery of yours.”

Her breath hitched slightly. “And?”

They turned, partners changing briefly, but when they came back together, the colonel’s voice was lower, more cautious.

“I do not have many answers yet,” he admitted, his voice dropping lower, “but I can tell you this—the key is not ordinary. It is not a household key, nor a bank key. It is something more specialized—perhaps military, or linked to a private club, though I have not yet confirmed where.” He paused, watching her reaction carefully. “And as for the letter—there have been murmurs of other coded correspondences intercepted elsewhere, all linked to French sympathizers.”

Elizabeth’s breath hitched. “So, it is not just a mistake?”

His expression darkened. “No, Miss Bennet. Whoever left those for you did so with purpose. And whoever was meant to receive them will not be pleased by the delay.”

“Well, of course not!” she nearly snapped. “So, this means someone truly thinks I am a…” She glanced around, then cut all volume to her voice and mouthed the words, “ French sympathizer? ”

Fitzwilliam’s jaw tightened slightly. “That depends. If it was a simple mistake, then the one expecting it may assume an error and try again through other means.” His eyes flickered across the ballroom, as though casually assessing their surroundings. “But if they suspect discovery, or interference…”

Elizabeth did not finish his thought. She did not have to .

The colonel sighed, his voice softening. “Darcy asked me to do what I can to find out more. But Miss Bennet, I must urge you—do not take risks with this. If anything feels wrong, you must tell him immediately.”

Elizabeth studied his face, seeing the same protectiveness in his gaze that she had seen in Darcy’s. The same concern, the same resolute determination to shield her.

“I understand,”

The colonel nodded, and they said nothing else of import. By some unspoken agreement, they smiled and laughed until the dance drew to a close. As he led her from the floor, her eyes immediately found Darcy’s across the room.

And she knew, without a doubt, that he had been watching her the entire time.