15. Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Fifteen
“I still cannot believe you danced with him willingly this time,” Mrs. Gardiner teased, setting her teacup down with a soft clink. “Twice in one evening! That is practically a declaration in London.”
Elizabeth poked at her untouched toast. “Twice, yes. But who’s counting?”
Her uncle glanced over his broadsheet, his brow raised. “All of London, I suspect.”
Elizabeth rolled her eyes, but the truth of it settled like a stone in her stomach. She had felt the stares last night—the whispers behind fans, the subtle shifts in conversation whenever she passed. But it was not just the dances with Darcy. It was everything. The French diplomat’s lingering gaze, Lord Matlock’s careful watchfulness, even Darcy’s sudden, possessive touch at the small of her back in those moments when she most needed his support.
None of it made sense.
The sharp knock at the door startled her from her thoughts. Wilson went to answer it, his footsteps fading into the quiet of the house. Elizabeth reached for her tea, the porcelain cool against her palms, when Wilson reappeared, carrying a small, unmarked parcel wrapped in plain brown paper.
“For you, Miss Bennet.”
Elizabeth frowned. “For me?”
Mrs. Gardiner’s eyes lit with amusement. “Perhaps Mr. Darcy sends you a token of affection.”
Elizabeth snorted, though her fingers hesitated on the rough twine. “If so, I expect it is a volume on decorum.”
Her uncle chuckled behind his broadsheet, but Elizabeth’s stomach twisted. There was no marking, no seal—nothing to suggest who had sent it. Darcy would have sealed it properly. She pulled the parcel closer, her fingers working the knot free. The paper unfolded with a soft rustle, revealing a folded slip of paper .
A sealed letter, with no recipient named, and a note folded over the outside of it.
Beneath it, a small brass key rested in the folds of the paper, glinting faintly in the morning light. Elizabeth stared at the objects, her pulse quickening. She turned over the letter, then slipped the loose paper off it to search for any clue.
The arrangements are made. You know where to leave it.
Elizabeth’s skin crawled. She had no idea what the letter or key were for—but someone believed she did. And if they were watching, waiting for her to act, any misstep could deepen the suspicions already swirling around her.
“Lizzy? What is it?”
Elizabeth quickly folded the notes and tucked them beneath her napkin. She forced a smile, though her hands trembled.
“Nothing,” she said, too quickly. “Just a little… token from Mama. I think she misses me.”
Her uncle lowered his newspaper, his eyes narrowing. “Oh? What did she send?”
Before she could respond, the door knocker sounded again. Wilson went out and then returned, a sealed envelope in his hand. “A message from Lord Matlock, sir.”
Mr. Gardiner took it, his eyes scanning the contents before he frowned and passed it to Elizabeth. She opened it carefully, her pulse thrumming in her ears.
Matlock House 28 September 1812
Miss Bennet,
I trust this note finds you in good health. You and your relations are cordially invited to luncheon at Matlock House on the 29th instant at one o’clock. I look forward to the pleasure of your company and to discussing recent developments in person.
I remain, Your obedient servant, Lord Matlock
Elizabeth stared at the note. The timing was too perfect.
Her uncle frowned. “Rather short notice, is it not? But I suppose that is the way of such men. What of it, my dear? Have we any other obligations?”
Elizabeth swallowed hard. “I think,” she whispered, “other obligations or not, we had better go.”#
“You are late, Darcy,” Richard called from his seat near the hearth as Darcy and Georgiana were shown into the drawing room.
Darcy handed his gloves and hat to the waiting footman. “It is hardly past the hour.”
Richard grinned. “Late by your standards, then.”
Lord Matlock looked up from the deck of cards he was shuffling, his gaze flicking from Darcy to Georgiana. “I trust your journey was uneventful.”
“As one would expect,” Darcy replied, guiding Georgiana toward the empty chairs.
Lady Matlock poured tea, her movements elegant and unhurried. “How are you finding your new dancing master, Georgiana? I understand he is much in demand by all the finer families.”
Georgiana gave a small shrug, her gaze fixed on the patterned rug beneath her feet. Darcy’s jaw tightened slightly at her lack of response, but he said nothing as he settled into his seat.
Richard leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees. “You have missed some excitement in Derbyshire.”
Darcy arched a brow. “Of what sort?”
Richard’s grin widened. “Stanton’s steward has been busy. He has been seen pressuring the smaller landowners, making promises about tax remedies and land access that Stanton has no intention of honoring.”
Lady Matlock raised an eyebrow. “And the fools believe him? ”
“They are desperate enough to believe anyone who offers relief,” Richard replied. “Stanton listens just enough to keep them hopeful.”
Darcy reached for his teacup. “They will realize soon enough that Stanton’s promises are empty.”
Richard gave a short laugh. “You give them too much credit. Who else is there to listen to?”
Darcy lowered the cup, narrowing his eyes at his cousin.
Richard only leaned forward, sharing a glance with his father. “It is true, though—they are tired of empty words. They want someone who will stand with them, not above them. Father is right. You have an opportunity, Darcy. They are ready to hear you.”
Darcy did not respond, his eyes flicking to Georgiana, who sat stiffly beside him, her hands folded tightly in her lap.
Richard followed his gaze, and his manner shifted from intense to genial. “Georgie, you have been quiet. Did you miss me at all?”
Georgiana’s eyes flicked to him, then away. “I suppose.”
Richard chuckled, undeterred. “Only ‘suppose?’ I am wounded.”
Lady Matlock smiled gently. “Richard, you must not tease her so.”
“Oh, she can handle it,” Richard said, leaning back in his chair. “She is a Darcy, after all.”
Georgiana’s teacup clattered slightly against its saucer as she set it down with more force than necessary. “Not by choice.”
Darcy felt the familiar tight coil of frustration wind through his chest. “Georgiana,” he hissed, “that is not how we speak in company.”
Her shoulders stiffened, but she said nothing. The defiance in her posture spoke louder than any retort she could have given.
Lady Matlock finally lowered the teapot with a soft clink, her expression carefully schooled into politeness, though the sharpness in her eyes betrayed her thoughts. “We must allow,” she said delicately, “that leaving school has left Georgiana somewhat… untethered.” She smiled thinly. “I am sure she will settle in time.”
The implication was clear. Darcy’s failure to manage his sister was becoming harder to overlook.
He clenched his jaw, resisting the urge to snap. He knew the expectations that hung over him—the weight of his family’s reputation, the constant pressure to maintain control. Georgiana’s behavior was a crack in the facade he had worked so hard to maintain.
Richard’s eyes flicked between Darcy and Georgiana. Darcy knew his cousin too well—he was trying to decide whether to approach the matter with his usual levity or somewhat more gravitas.
To Darcy’s regret, Richard chose the former. “I say, cousin, I suppose the army has a few spare drills if you wish to toughen her up.”
Georgiana’s head snapped up, her eyes sharp and blazing with anger. “I would rather be in the army than here!” she shot back.
The impact of her words hit like a slap. Lady Matlock’s teacup paused mid-air, her lips parting in silent shock. Richard’s playful grin vanished, replaced by a stunned silence.
Darcy felt the heat rise behind his eyes, his composure threatening to shatter. “Georgiana,” he said sharply, his patience fraying, “that is enough .”
But Georgiana merely lifted her chin, her defiance burning bright and unapologetic. She stood abruptly, her chair scraping harshly against the polished floor. “I would rather talk to someone else.” Before Darcy could respond, she turned on her heel and strode out.
For a heartbeat, no one spoke.
It was Lady Matlock who recovered first, her hand poised mid-pour, the teapot hovering over an untouched cup. She exchanged a glance with her husband, her eyebrows arched nearly to her hairline.
Richard let out a low whistle, his eyes still on the door. “Well. That was… novel.”
Lord Matlock set his cards down with deliberate precision. “Where has she gone?”
Darcy’s jaw tightened. “I imagine she will find Charlotte.”
Lady Matlock glanced over her shoulder at the still-open. “Charlotte is in the schoolroom. Georgiana knows she is not to disturb her lessons.”
Richard leaned back in his chair, his expression shifting from amusement to something more serious. “It is not like her to forget herself in someone else’s house.”
Darcy exhaled slowly. “She has been… restless since leaving school.”
“Restless!” Lady Matlock snorted. “Darcy, she is positively rude. A mercy it was only family here, where no one is like to carry tales, or her chances at court would be ruined already.”
“She is fifteen, Aunt. Many girls are sensitive at such an age.”
Lady Matlock set the teapot down gently. “She has always been ‘sensitive,’ but this… this is something more.”
Richard folded his arms, his usual levity gone. “She is angry, Fitz. And not just in the way young girls get when they do not have their way. This runs deeper. ”
Darcy stared at the closed door. “Her companion, Mrs. Younge, has been making suggestions. She believes a change of scenery might help—perhaps Ramsgate.”
“Ramsgate?” Lady Matlock asked, her brow furrowing.
Darcy nodded, though the idea sat uneasily with him. “She suggested it would give Georgiana some independence, a chance to free herself of London’s pressures.”
Richard snorted. “And leaving her alone by the sea is supposed to help how?”
“She would not be alone,” Darcy replied tightly. “Mrs. Younge would accompany her.”
Lord Matlock tapped his fingers against the armrest of his chair. “Perhaps some distance would do her good. London society can be… stifling. Particularly now, when you can ill afford any such public outbursts.” The look he leveled at Darcy spoke more than his words possibly could. Control her—or risk further embarrassment.
Richard watched him carefully. “You are not convinced.”
“I do not know what to think,” Darcy admitted. “She is not the same girl she was a year ago.”
Lady Matlock’s voice was soft but firm. “You cannot protect her from everything, Fitzwilliam. Sometimes, letting go is the only way to help.”
Darcy stared at the flickering fire, the ache of responsibility bearing down on his shoulders. He had spent years shielding Georgiana from the world, but perhaps in doing so, he had kept her from finding her own footing.
“Ramsgate is lovely this time of year,“ the countness added.
Darcy inhaled deeply, the idea settling heavily in his mind. Ramsgate .
He had dismissed it before, unwilling to send Georgiana away, but now… the prospect of removing her from the suffocating gaze of London society felt less like an escape and more like a necessity.
“You cannot possibly believe this is necessary.”
Darcy’s pen paused mid-sentence, the ink pooling against the page as Georgiana’s petulant words echoed through his study. He set the pen down carefully, wiping his fingers on the blotter before looking up. Georgiana stood in the doorway, arms crossed over her chest, her normally gentle features hardened by defiance .
“This is not a punishment, Georgiana. It is an opportunity for you to enjoy the seaside and—”
“An opportunity?” she interrupted, her voice rising. “You mean to say you are sending me away because I embarrassed you in front of Aunt and Uncle.”
Darcy’s jaw tightened. She was not entirely wrong, but it was more than that—more than a single embarrassing afternoon.
“I am sending you to Ramsgate because I believe it will do you good,” he replied, forcing calm into his tone. “A change of scenery. Time away from London. It will give you a chance to… collect yourself.”
Georgiana’s eyes narrowed. “I do not need to collect myself. What I need is for you to stop treating me like a child.”
Darcy leaned back in his chair, folding his hands in front of him on the desk. The irony of her words was not lost on him. This was precisely the behavior that concerned him—this sharp edge to her temper, the unwillingness to engage with the world in any meaningful way.
“I am not treating you like a child, Georgiana,” he said quietly. “But you have made it clear that you are unhappy here, and—”
“I am unhappy because you never listen to me!” she snapped, stepping further into the room. “You parade me in front of people I do not know, expect me to smile and nod, and when I struggle, you send me away like an inconvenience.”
Her words struck deeper than he cared to admit. “I am trying to protect you.”
Georgiana laughed bitterly, a sound that clashed harshly against the refined air of the study. “Protect me from what? From yourself?”
Before Darcy could respond, the door opened again, and Mrs. Younge slipped inside. “I apologize, Mr. Darcy,” she said, glancing between him and Georgiana. “I thought you might be ready to finalize the arrangements for Ramsgate.”
Georgiana stiffened, her glare shifting from Darcy to Mrs. Younge. “I have not agreed to go,” she said coldly.
Mrs. Younge’s smile never wavered. “I believe you will find the sea air refreshing, Miss Darcy. Many young ladies find Ramsgate… liberating.”
Georgiana scoffed and turned on her heel, storming out of the room without another word. The door slammed shut behind her, the sound reverberating through the room like a gunshot.
Darcy exhaled slowly, running a hand through his hair before glancing at Mrs. Younge .
“She is… spirited,” Mrs. Younge observed, moving to stand beside the desk. “But Ramsgate will do her good, I am certain of it.”
“She is angry,” he muttered. “And I am not convinced that sending her away will fix anything.”
Mrs. Younge tilted her head, her expression softening. “Sometimes, distance provides perspective. For both of you.”
Darcy studied her for a moment, then nodded slowly. Perhaps she was right. Perhaps time away would allow Georgiana to find some equilibrium—and give him the space to focus on the increasing demands in London.
He reached for the pen again, signing his name at the bottom of the letter to confirm the arrangements. The wax seal felt heavier than usual as he pressed it into place. Rising from his desk, he folded the letter neatly and turned to Mrs. Younge, who stood waiting by the door with a practiced air of patience.
“These are the final instructions,” he said, handing her the sealed documents. “Everything should be arranged for your departure tomorrow morning.”
Mrs. Younge accepted the papers with a slight nod. “Very good, sir. I shall ensure all preparations are seen to.”
Darcy gave a curt nod in return, though the unease in his chest remained. As Mrs. Younge left the room, the door closing softly behind her, he found himself staring at the empty space she had occupied, wondering if this was truly the right course.
As he was resuming his seat at his desk, the sound of the front door knocker echoed faintly through the townhouse. Darcy frowned. He was not expecting visitors.
He was not kept wondering long, for Benedict, his butler, appeared in the doorway. “Mr. Darcy, Miss Bennet is here to see you.”
Darcy blinked, certain he had misheard.
“Miss… Bennet? “ he repeated, incredulous. That was rather… forward of her. He swallowed and posed another question… though he feared he already knew the answer. “She is with… Mr. Gardier, yes?”
“No, sir. Miss Bennet arrived alone.”
“ Alone? ”
“Yes, sir.”
He blinked dumbly, staring at the wall. What in Heaven’s name was Elizabeth Bennet doing at his townhouse—alone? Was she trying to ruin them both? Oh, the next time he spoke with his uncle …
But he could hardly afford to send her away. How would that look? Worse than receiving her. “Show her in,” he said at last, though his voice felt distant in his own ears.
As Benedict disappeared down the hall, Darcy rubbed his temples, a sense of foreboding settling over him. Whatever brought Elizabeth Bennet to his door could not possibly be good.
And given the day he had already endured, he doubted he was prepared for it.