Inside the pub, sheltered from the torrential rain, drunken soldiers sang sleazily and shared their inebriated views on life; and Mr. George Wickham was no exception.

"She said yes?" one of his friends pressed. Wickham shrugged and sighed heavily.

"I honestly can't think of what she said," he reflected as he took another chug of ale, "but—"

"Wickham, you have a visitor." He glanced up to see Georgiana studying him shyly, trying to ignore the lustful hoots and hollering directed towards her.

Their hands connected and he led her into the nearest vacant room. "What are you doing here?" he asked her, placing his hands on her soaked shoulders. Even drenched, she was pretty.

"I came to tell you." She whispered as she tried to seem confident. "I'm coming with you." His face lightened and he laughed, pulling her in for a hug. His lips pressed against hers and they stumbled against the door, closing it entirely. "When should we leave?"

"Depends…when are you to inherit your money?" Georgiana paused.

"I beg your pardon? What does my…inheritance got to do with anything?" suddenly the words came flooding in: …isn't as faultless as he seems… …not a penny to his name… she pushed him away from her. "You don't love me!" she cried. He glanced at her, dazed and confused.

"Yes I do," he tried to persuade her, "I—I—"

"You just want my money…it's what you've been after this whole while! You don't have any other reason to stay with me!" tears stained her face and fell like the raindrops she fled to, racing out of the pub as quickly as possible.

***

Eighty four days.

Twelve weeks.

Three months.

That was how long she chose to believe a lie. She ripped the necklace Wickham had given her from her neck and threw it into the mud. That was how long she chose to ignore her brother—the one who raised her, for the most part—and chose to, instead, follow a penniless lowlife like a lost puppy. That was how long she became so enraptured by this…this man—enough so to desert all her sense.

But Day Eighty Five: that was when she realized her mistake.

She knocked on the front door of Penboston, the house Caroline had rented, wondering what was to happen next.