30. Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty
“Well?” the earl demanded as he strode into the study. “I have been receiving reports all night, but I would rather hear it from you. What in Heaven’s name happened?”
The air in the room shifted with his arrival. His heavy footfalls echoed over the wooden floor as he removed his gloves and handed them off to the waiting servant. His gaze swept across the room, landing on each of them in turn, his expression expectant and unyielding.
Darcy shot to his feet. “What happened, Uncle, is that Miss Bennet was abducted under false pretenses, smuggled about the city, and nearly—” He stopped, his hands clenched into fists. His breath came too fast, his pulse hammering in his ears. “She might have been killed! That is what happened.”
Lord Matlock met his fury with an impassive expression, nodding toward Richard. “Give me the details.”
Richard stepped in front of Darcy. “You will not get anything rational out of him just now, I am afraid. We told you that Miss Bennet had disappeared this afternoon, and it turned out that our worst suspicions were true. She was mistaken for some other person and taken to the warehouses where, as you were suspecting, they had been holding French prisoners destined for the cargo holds. And from there, she was moved twice before we found her.”
The earl shook his head. “And then what? A fight? I see no blood on your knuckles. The Runners I sent said nothing of any altercations. They just handed her to you?”
“No,” Darcy said. “There was no one guarding her.”
The earl narrowed his eyes. “They let you take her. Something is amiss.”
“I think not, Father,” Richard put in. “The docks were overrun with your men, and we saw evidence that there had been men in the building mere moments before we arrived. I think you scattered them. It made matters rather clean for recovering Miss Bennet, but somewhat the worse for ratting out the root of the trouble in the future. You know as well as I do this was more than simple piracy. ”
Darcy exhaled sharply. “More than piracy? It was targeted. They thought she was one of them, some contact meant to receive that bloody key and letter.”
“Because someone in Gardiner’s house was a contact,” Richard reminded him. “I think it was a woman. That was how they mistook Miss Bennet in the first place.”
The earl rubbed a hand over his jaw. “So, it was exactly as I feared.”
Darcy turned on him, barely restraining himself. “What you feared? Uncle, you set this entire thing in motion, did you not? You placed Miss Bennet under scrutiny, used her connection to Gardiner to draw the rats out of hiding, and all the while, you knew she was innocent.” His voice dropped, low and lethal. “She was in real danger. And you did nothing to prevent it!”
The earl did not flinch. “I did what was necessary.”
“Necessary?” Darcy snapped. “They might have killed her!”
Matlock sighed in disgust. “Stop it, Darcy. What would you have had me do? Tip our hand too soon? Frighten them into silence before we had enough to act?” He shook his head. “It is easy for you to be indignant now, but I have spent months—years—ingratiating myself to those two-faced diplomats for the crown, setting traps to catch them in a way that will destroy them for good. And you are standing here now, about to ruin all of it because you have allowed your emotions to overtake your judgment.”
Darcy’s breath was ragged. His emotions? His judgment? He forced his fists to unclench, his chest heaving with the effort to steady himself. “Then tell me, Uncle,” he said through gritted teeth, “are your traps working? Have you caught them? Have you ensured that this will not happen again?”
Matlock was silent.
Darcy laughed bitterly. “No? Then forgive me if I do not offer you my congratulations.”
“Enough,” Gardiner cut in, his own voice tight with emotion. “You may squabble about strategies all you like, but my niece is upstairs recovering from this nightmare. I want to know—what is being done now?”
Darcy turned back to his uncle, his anger still simmering. “Yes, Uncle. What is being done?”
Matlock exhaled sharply. “What is being done is what must be done. The election concludes in mere days. That is our priority.”
“Hang the election!” Darcy burst out. “Stanton can take the whole bloody thing! This is my priority. ”
The room grew unnervingly still, the unspoken words lingering in the air between them. Then Richard and the earl exchanged a glance. Richard cleared his throat. “Darcy, we did not mean to tell you in quite this way, but...”
The earl cut in. “Stanton has close ties to the French smugglers.”
Darcy froze. “What?”
The earl nodded. “I have known for nearly a year. He has been a link—one of many, no doubt—between the 'diplomats' and the men hiding escaped prisoners all over the country. My men confirmed it, and I placed informants to watch him. The original plan was to ruin him politically—to build up enough evidence and then expose him at the precise moment that would make him untouchable in polite society.”
Richard crossed his arms. “But then something changed.”
Matlock nodded grimly. “Yes. Stanton caught wind of our interest in him. He severed certain ties, cleaned up his trail. It is not enough to prove his innocence—he is guilty, and we know it—but it is enough that I cannot expose him the way I intended. Not yet. Not unless we can tie him directly to the smuggling operation in a way that cannot be dismissed as circumstantial.”
Darcy inhaled sharply, his mind working. “And you thought… what? That I could remove him by winning the election? Nice and clean, eh?”
Matlock gave him a sharp look. “You will remove him by winning the election. At all costs, Darcy, he must not win the seat.”
Darcy turned away, bracing his hands against the desk. His shoulders rose and fell, frustration clawing at his ribs. He wanted to argue. To insist that there had to be another way.
But he already knew what his uncle would say.
Without control of the seat, they could not be sure Stanton would not wield influence in the future. If they let him remain, unchallenged, even now, it would be impossible to remove him later.
Darcy snorted and scrubbed his hands over his face. His rage had not dimmed, but reason forced itself over his emotions. Slowly, he turned back. “So be it,” he said flatly. “What is the next step?”
His uncle relaxed slightly. “There is a regular gathering of prominent gentlemen at Jonathan’s Coffee House on Wednesday mornings. You have most of the necessary votes, but not all. We need to secure the final support.”
“And I suppose you expect me to smile and be charming? ”
“You need to ensure they are confident in their choice,” Matlock corrected. “You cannot appear as a man embroiled in scandal. We will let certain things be known after the election is won. Until then, this matter remains between us.”
Darcy’s jaw clenched, but he nodded once.
“Good,” Matlock said, his tone final. “Then you will be at Jonathan’s tomorrow morning.”
Darcy sighed. “Very well.”
Matlock studied him for a long moment. “And Darcy?”
Darcy looked up.
His uncle’s voice softened—just slightly. “I will see to it that they pay for what they have done to Miss Bennet.”
Darcy’s throat was tight, but he only nodded. Because that was not a promise his uncle needed to make.
Darcy would see to it himself.
Elizabeth awoke to the soft creak of the door opening. Sunlight streamed through the heavy curtains, casting a golden glow across the elegant chamber. For a brief, blissful moment, she did not quite remember where she was.
Then it all rushed back.
She sat up sharply, pressing a hand to her forehead as the events of the past day settled into her bones. She was at Darcy’s house. She had been taken—rescued. And now?
Mrs. Tate stood near the door, a small, approving smile on her face. “Ah, you are awake, Miss Bennet. I took the liberty of letting you sleep longer, as you were in some need of it. Mrs. Gardiner has not yet risen, either.”
Elizabeth hesitated, still feeling the lingering exhaustion in her limbs. “Thank you, Mrs. Tate.”
The housekeeper nodded, then turned toward the hallway and gestured for a lady’s maid to step inside. “This is Alice. She will assist you in dressing.”
The blue gown had been altered overnight, the seams adjusted to fit Elizabeth more comfortably. It still felt indulgent, slipping into something that was not hers, something that had once belonged to Miss Darcy. The fabric was soft beneath her fingers, the light embroidery delicate but understated. The gown was finer than anything she had ever worn to breakfast, and the guilt of it made her cheeks hot as Alice fastened the buttons at her back and then moved on to style her hair.
But very soon, she was not thinking about the gown, or the ornate curls Alice wrought of her unruly hair. Her heart pounded with an anticipation that was both foolish and impossible to ignore.
Mr. Darcy.
Was he awake? Would he be at breakfast? She wanted— needed —to see him. To thank him properly, to speak to him before the rest of the world intervened.
Mrs. Tate, who had been studying her with a knowing glint in her eye, stepped forward and adjusted a stray curl at Elizabeth’s shoulder. “There,” she said briskly. “You look very well this morning, Miss Bennet. Breakfast is laid out downstairs, if you wish, or I can have a tray brought to you in here.”
Elizabeth did not hesitate for even an instant before nodding. “I will go down.”
She would not ask the housekeeper if Mr. Darcy was awake—she was too embarrassed to—but she could certainly take her time descending the stairs, just in case she happened to pass him. She stepped into the hallway and made her way down, only to pause as she heard the front door open. A deep voice drifted through the corridor, asking questions, giving orders. Was that…?
Elizabeth turned the corner just in time to see the Earl of Matlock handing his gloves off to a footman. His gaze flicked up at her approach, and he offered her a nod of greeting.
“Miss Bennet,” he said, stepping forward. “It is good to see you looking well. I was here last night, but I understood you were in no condition to receive visitors.”
Elizabeth forced a polite smile, though she was growing less inclined to be cordial to the man who had maneuvered her into this tangled mess. “That was considerate of you, my lord.”
The earl studied her with the sharp gaze of a man who missed little. “I had hoped to speak with you this morning.”
Oh, bother . She had been hoping for another conversation—one with someone tall and brooding and far more consequential to her heart. She forced her disappointment aside and nodded. “Of course, my lord.”
The earl gestured toward the hall. “I am certain there is a fine breakfast laid out, and you must be famished. ”
Elizabeth was hungry, but she hesitated. If Mr. Darcy was awake, he might already be in the breakfast room. Or—she glanced toward the corridor again—perhaps still in his study?
The earl’s eyes gleamed slightly, as though he had caught her looking. “My nephew will return in a couple of hours,” he said. “He is attending to important matters this morning.”
Elizabeth froze, feeling an inexplicable twist of something—something very much like crushing disappointment—settle in her stomach. She had wanted to see him before any of this, before she had to put on the armor of propriety, before the demands of politics and duty swallowed him up again.
Instead, she would be spending the morning in the company of the Earl of Matlock. The man who had got her into this mess.
With no further excuse, she allowed him to escort her into the breakfast room. The table was set with fresh bread, ham, eggs, and fruit, a spread fit for a household belonging to one of Darcy’s standing. The earl looked about, saw the room was empty before their arrival, and directed a footman to fetch news of Mr. Gardiner.
“Sir?” The footman returned quickly. “Mr. Gardiner is dressing and will be down soon.”
The earl nodded in satisfaction before turning his attention fully to Elizabeth. “Now, Miss Bennet,” he said, watching her across the table as she hesitantly took a bite of fruit. “Let us speak plainly. Who did you see yesterday?”
Elizabeth straightened slightly. “I do not know many names, my lord.”
“Then describe them.”
She set her fork down carefully. “I know one name—perhaps it is a name, at least. The man who got into my carriage called himself Temple. He claimed to work for my uncle, and it was he who brought the note to my uncle’s home that alarmed me into seeking Mr. Darcy.”
The earl nodded. “Anyone else?”
“There was the man who seemed to be in charge. He had a French accent,” she said, watching him carefully. “I did not hear his name, but he was at the ball. He was with Monsieur Lapointe.”
Matlock’s eyes darkened, but he did not look surprised. Instead, he leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers. “Séverin Montreuil. I know him rather too well.” The earl took another sip of his tea. “What did they want with you? ”
Elizabeth swallowed, then answered with perfect honesty. “They wanted to know what I had told Mr. Darcy.”
“And?”
“I told them that Mr. Darcy was a selfish dolt who would be perfectly worthless as any sort of rescuer.”
Matlock laughed so suddenly and so heartily that he nearly choked on his breakfast. As it was, he had to clear his throat several times before he could speak. “You are a sharp one, Miss Bennet,” he managed between coughs, still laughing. “I had thought so before, but now I am certain.”
Elizabeth arched a brow. “You sound pleased that I insulted your nephew, my lord.”
“I am.” He set his cup down, his voice growing unexpectedly warm. “You have proved your mettle these past weeks. You have helped many matters, in more ways than you can know.”
Elizabeth stiffened slightly, wary of what favor such praise might precede. “I was hardly given a choice.”
“Perhaps not,” Matlock acknowledged. “But you played your role better than I could have hoped. Which is why I mean to see that you are properly settled.”
A chill ran through her. Settled?
The earl cleared his throat and continued, as though she should be flattered. “And of course, you will be well compensated when all of this is over.”
Elizabeth narrowed her eyes. “C… Compensated? ”
“Quite.” He took another bite of ham. “A handsome settlement.”
“A… a settlement, my lord?”
“I think ten thousand pounds—honest money, Miss Bennet. I know you are a lady of principles… no, perhaps fifteen, for Darcy told me of your concern for your sisters. I warrant you would divide it with them, leaving yourself next to nothing.”
“My lord, I…”
“Miss Bennet.” Matlock gave her a probing look before offering a genial smile, as though he were imparting good news. “I understand that all of this has been… rather unexpected for you. You have been placed in an unusual position—nay, a rather dangerous one—and yet, you have conducted yourself with great poise. That is something I do not take lightly.”
Elizabeth said nothing, her spine straight as she waited .
The earl continued, his tone as smooth as polished silver. “It is only right that you should be properly settled after all this. You are known in society now, and we cannot simply have you disappear. No, no, that would hardly do justice to a lady of your caliber. And to that end, I have given the matter some thought. There is a gentleman of my acquaintance—Ambrose Whitby—who would make a most suitable match for a lady of your intelligence and spirit. A barrister of fine reputation, from an upstanding family. He has ambition, Miss Bennet, and the means to rise in the world. You would complement him nicely.”
He paused, watching her reaction carefully, then added, as if it were some great generosity: “I believe he would be very glad to make your acquaintance.”
Elizabeth felt something in her die.
The earl had spent weeks maneuvering her into a role she had not asked for. He had used her, manipulated her, watched her, and now he expected her to be grateful? She stared at the table, her heart numb, her fingers tightening imperceptibly around her teacup.
The door opened. “Ah, Gardiner,” the earl said, rising to his feet as her uncle entered. Though dressed for the morning, Mr. Gardiner still bore the unmistakable weariness of the previous night’s ordeal. He carried himself with the quiet composure of a man determined to take everything in stride, but his gaze immediately sought Elizabeth.
She straightened instinctively under his scrutiny and forced a smile, for she had no wish to cause him further distress.
Before she could reassure him, the earl spoke. “You will be pleased to know that my men located Miss Anne Fletcher early this morning. She was apprehended just outside of London, traveling toward Kent—no doubt intending to board a ship across the Channel before the trail grew too warm.”
Gardiner stiffened, his jaw tightening. “Kent?” He exhaled sharply. “Then, it is certain. She was involved.”
“There can be little doubt,” Matlock replied. “Her papers were examined, and she was found carrying a substantial sum in French currency. We have her in custody, and soon, I expect we shall know more of her employers and their precise designs.”
Gardiner shook his head slowly, the sting of betrayal settling heavily on his features. “She came so highly recommended! I never would have thought—” He stopped himself, pinching the bridge of his nose before turning a keen eye on the earl. “And the others? The men I employ? Are they to be scrutinized in the same manner? ”
Matlock waved a hand dismissively. “No cause for alarm. My men have found no reason to doubt anyone else in your household. Naturally, a thorough search is being made of the warehouses and dockyards. We cannot be na?ve, for surely there must be others who were complicit, of course, but you may rest assured, I have no intention of casting undue suspicion on your employees without just cause.”
Gardiner’s shoulders relaxed a fraction, though tension still lined his features. “Then you believe the corruption to be limited?”
“For now,” the earl allowed. “Miss Fletcher seems to have been rather careful in her dealings. Certainly, she was not acting alone, but I expect she was only liaising with a small number of associates who have since scattered. I would have you join the search. Your familiarity with the operations will be invaluable, and I would have all possible information without implicating innocent men.”
Gardiner hesitated for only a moment before nodding. “Yes, of course. I should like to be there when your men question her as well.”
Matlock gave a brief, satisfied nod before inclining his head toward Elizabeth. “I say, Gardiner, much of this is all thanks to your niece. She is made of some very fine stuff.”
Uncle Gardiner turned to her at once—first with a proud smile, but his brow furrowed when he saw her face, and Elizabeth straightened under his concern. “Elizabeth,” he said gently. “Are you well?”
Elizabeth lifted her chin, forced a bright smile, and lied. “Perfectly.”
And with that, she took another slow sip of tea.