Raising the Stakes (First Impressions)

36. Epilogue

Epilogue

Pemberley, June 1818

Sir Edmund Gresham had barely settled into the chair across from Darcy’s desk before he launched into his purpose. “Darcy, we need you to stand.”

Darcy groaned, rubbing his temple. He had known this conversation was inevitable. With the new election approaching and Sir Edmund eager to retire, his name was bound to be put forward again.

“No,” he said simply.

“Come now,” one of the other gentlemen—Mr. Lawson—protested. “We all know you never wished for it before, but that was six years ago. Times have changed. You have changed.”

“Indeed,” Sir Edmund added, leaning forward. “And Derbyshire would be well served by a man of your principles.”

“My principles,” Darcy said dryly, “are the very reason I will not stand.”

The men exchanged looks. “Darcy,” Gresham sighed, “at least consider—”

The study door creaked open, and Darcy barely had time to register the small footsteps before his son Bennet—his strapping young heir, at all of five years—strode in as if he owned the place. Well, he rather did.

Bennet marched up to his father’s chair and tilted his chin up with the perfect confidence of indulged youth. “Papa,” he announced, “Mama said I may have ginger biscuits.”

Darcy swallowed a chuckle. “Did she?”

His son nodded solemnly.

Sir Edmund looked vaguely horrified, while Mr. Lawson’s mustache twitched as if unsure whether to scowl or smile .

“Well,” said a new voice, “that settles it.”

Darcy looked up as his uncle, the Earl of Matlock, stepped inside, his gaze sweeping over the assembled men before landing on his great-nephew. The earl picked up the boy with ease, settling him against his hip. “Gentlemen, I should think it obvious that you are wasting your time.”

Gresham frowned. “Come now, Matlock—”

“No, you come now,” the earl interrupted. “You lot have come to Pemberley, disturbing a man perfectly content in his role as husband and father, when there is a far simpler solution to your problem.”

“And what solution is that?” Lawson asked.

Matlock smirked, sliding Darcy a knowing glance. “Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam.”

Lawson’s brows lifted. “Fitzwilliam?”

His uncle inclined his head. “My second son, in case you have forgot. He has recently inherited a rather comfortable estate through his marriage to Emilia Harcourt—an arrangement that rather suits him. That estate makes him eligible to stand for the Derbyshire seat.”

The men exchanged looks of interest.

“You cannot be serious,” Sir Edmund muttered.

“On the contrary,” Matlock said. “I am very serious. You have spent a quarter of an hour trying to convince Darcy of something he has no interest in doing. Meanwhile, my son has been looking for precisely such an opportunity.”

“I can vouch for his integrity,” put in Darcy. “If you think I might have been zealous for honesty and speaking for Derbyshire’s interests, my cousin will be doubly so, I assure you.”

Mr. Lawson pursed his lips, but his expression suggested he was already considering the earl’s words. Sir Edmund leaned back in his chair. “We will speak with him,” he allowed at last.

Matlock nodded, satisfied. “Then I would say this has been a productive morning.”

The gentlemen took their leave, muttering to one another as they departed. Darcy stood, watching them go, then turned toward his uncle. “And what, precisely, brings you here beyond interfering in my affairs?”

Matlock grinned. “I would say this particular interference was in your favor.”

“Hmm.” Darcy shook his head, reaching for his son. The boy went willingly into his arms, resting his head against Darcy’s shoulder .

Matlock adjusted his cuffs. “Tell me, is Mrs. Darcy about?”

Darcy narrowed his eyes. “What mischief are you planning now?”

The earl placed a hand over his heart. “Nothing untoward, I assure you. In fact, Lady Matlock herself asked me to speak to your wife when she learned I was coming to Pemberley.”

Darcy sighed, already resigned. “It does not appear I have much choice in the matter. She is likely in the garden.”

“Excellent,” Matlock said. “Shall we?”

Darcy said nothing—just turned on his heel and strode toward the arboretum, his son still clinging to him.

Afternoon's warm light filtered through the trees, casting golden hues over the plants and the woman seated among them. Elizabeth was on the ground with their daughter, laughing softly as the child attempted to pluck petals from a particularly stubborn rose.

As Darcy approached, Elizabeth glanced up, immediately catching sight of their son. “Ah, and where have you been, young man?”

The boy lifted his head. “With Papa.”

“I see.” She stood, brushing off her skirts, and reached for the child, taking him from Darcy’s arms. “You were not troubling the gentlemen, were you?”

“Of course he was,” Matlock said before the boy could answer. “And he did a fine job of it.”

Elizabeth arched a brow. “Uncle?”

Matlock dipped his head in greeting. “I come on business, my dear.”

Darcy crossed his arms. “Your ‘business’ has already been concluded. Whatever other nonsense you bring, I have yet to learn.”

Matlock chuckled, but turned his attention back to Elizabeth. “Lady Matlock is hosting a charity ball in a fortnight’s time. She was most insistent that I extend a personal invitation to you—not merely as a guest, you understand. She was hoping you would take an active role in the thing.”

Elizabeth’s eyes flickered toward Darcy knowingly. “Is it me you want, Uncle, or my husband?”

“Difficult to fool, as always, Mrs. Darcy. Both of you, naturally. You are a formidable pair.”

Darcy sighed and met Elizabeth’s gaze. He lifted one shoulder, as if to say, “Whatever you think. ”

Her expression was thoughtful, then—at last—she nodded. “Very well,” she said. “We will help.”

Matlock grinned in triumph. “I knew I could count on you.” With that, the earl took his leave, striding back toward the house.

Darcy watched him go, then turned to Elizabeth, shaking his head. “I do not know how you always let him win.”

Elizabeth smiled, adjusting their son in her arms. “Because I know when a battle is worth fighting. And because one or two of his ideas were not that horrible. One of them, in fact, was positively inspired.”

Darcy chuckled, leaning in to press a kiss to her temple. “Remind me to never get on your bad side.”

Elizabeth’s laughter rang through the arboretum, filling the space with warmth.

And Darcy could not imagine a life more complete.

Love Darcy the hero? Catch more swoonery in Better Luck Next Time!