Richard paused just outside the drawing room, having overheard Stephanie's voice rising in animated conversation with Georgiana. He was about to enter when a particular phrase made him freeze mid-step.

"And then," Stephanie said, clearly amused, "he just leaned in and kissed me right there, in the middle of the party."

Richard's jaw tightened, his eyes narrowing. A kiss? At a party? Before he could gather himself, Georgiana's soft gasp followed.

"In front of everyone?" Georgiana asked, her voice filled with astonishment.

"Yup," Stephanie replied, clearly unbothered. "It wasn't a big deal. Honestly, it was kind of sweet—"

Richard chose that moment to stride into the room, his expression dark. "Georgiana," he said abruptly, his voice firm. "May I have a moment alone with Miss Williams?"

Georgiana blinked, startled by his sudden appearance, and looked to Stephanie for reassurance. Stephanie offered her a small, calm smile. "Go on, Georgiana. We'll catch up later."

With a hesitant nod, Georgiana excused herself, her skirts rustling as she slipped past Richard, who stood stiffly at the door. Once she was gone, Richard turned to Stephanie, his eyes sharp.

"Miss Williams," he began, his tone clipped, "what precisely were you telling Georgiana just now?"

Stephanie raised an eyebrow, unbothered by his intensity. "We were just chatting"

Richard's face reddened slightly, but his voice remained stern. "I heard you mention a… kiss. At a party. In public."

"Oh, that," Stephanie said, waving a hand dismissively. "Yeah, I was telling her about a guy I dated back in my time."

"Dated?" Richard repeated, the word foreign and clearly suspicious to his ears. "What does that mean?"

Stephanie paused, realizing how unfamiliar the concept would be to him. "It's, uh, when two people see each other socially, like courting, but less… formal."

Richard's expression hardened. "And this 'dating' involves public displays of affection? A kiss, in front of others?"

She tilted her head, noting his obvious disapproval. "Sometimes, sure. Where I'm from, it's not a big deal."

"It is here," Richard snapped, his voice rising. "Miss Williams, Georgiana is a young lady of standing, and such stories—such notions—are entirely inappropriate for someone in her position."

Stephanie's smile faded, her own tone growing firmer. "It was a harmless story, Colonel. Georgiana asked me about life in my time, and I told her the truth. It's not like I told her to go around kissing strangers."

"Harmless?" Richard's eyes flashed. "You underestimate the impact of your words. Georgiana looks up to you, listens to you. What happens when she begins to question the decorum she's been raised to uphold? When she believes such behavior is acceptable here?"

Stephanie exhaled sharply, crossing her arms. "Richard, Georgiana is smarter than you give her credit for. She's not about to go around breaking your society's rules because I told her a story about my life."

"And yet, she might begin to question them," Richard countered. "And that, Miss Williams, could ruin her."

Stephanie stared at him, her frustration bubbling to the surface. "You think I'm going to ruin Georgiana by showing her that people live differently in other places and times? That's ridiculous. She deserves to know there's more to the world than this rigid little bubble."

"She deserves to be protected," Richard said, his voice quieter now but still firm. "You have no idea what it means to navigate this world, to safeguard a reputation, to live under the weight of its expectations."

"And maybe that's exactly why Georgiana needs to hear from someone like me," Stephanie shot back. "Because I don't carry that weight, and I can show her that there's more to life than worrying about what everyone else thinks."

Richard stared at her, his jaw tightening as the tension thickened between them. Finally, he stepped back, his voice low. "You may mean well, Miss Williams, but your carelessness could cost her more than you realize."

Stephanie's shoulders slumped slightly, though her eyes remained steady. "Maybe. Or maybe, Colonel, showing her a little honesty will help her find the strength to live life on her terms."

They held each other's gaze for a long moment, the clash of their worlds palpable. Finally, Richard shook his head, turning toward the door.

"Be careful, Miss Williams," he said, his voice soft but heavy with meaning. "Your good intentions may yet do harm."

With that, he left, leaving Stephanie standing alone, the weight of his words settling over her like a cloud of uncertainty.

As the door clicked shut behind Richard, Stephanie let out a heavy sigh, muttering, "Fuck." The sound of her own voice startled her, and she winced, glancing toward the door as if Richard might suddenly reappear.

She immediately winced, guilt washing over her. "Great, Steph," she whispered to herself. "Way to fit in."

Instinctively, she ran a hand through her hair—only to have her fingers snag painfully on the pins holding her updo in place. "Ow!" she hissed, jerking her hand back and glaring at nothing in particular. "Right. Hairpins. Regency brain, Steph. Regency brain."

With another sigh, she slumped into the chair, the ache of the pins forgotten as guilt bubbled to the surface.

Stephanie spotted Richard pacing through the garden, his steps purposeful yet restless. He looked deep in thought, his face lined with tension. For a moment, she hesitated. Their last interaction had been... awkward, to say the least, and she wasn't sure if approaching him was the best idea. But her phone was in her hand, and the urge to make amends—or at least distract him—pushed her forward.

"Colonel," she called, her voice soft and tentative.

Richard paused mid-step, turning toward her. His expression, though still serious, softened slightly at her approach. "Miss Williams," he said, his tone polite but reserved. "What brings you here?"

"I, uh…" She held up her phone, offering a small smile. "I've got more photos to show you. No arguments this time—just… a glimpse into the world I left behind. Think of it as a peace offering?"

Richard hesitated for a moment, his brows knitting together as though weighing whether to engage. Finally, his curiosity won out, and he inclined his head. "Very well, Miss Williams. I shall endeavor to approach your 'peace offering' with an open mind."

Stephanie smiled, stepping closer and unlocking her phone. "Okay, so this," she began, holding up the screen, "is Winnipeg in the winter. Snow, lights, and everyone bundled up like penguins. It's freezing, but kind of magical."

Richard leaned in slightly, his brows furrowing as he examined the image. "It looks… bitterly cold."

"It is," she admitted with a laugh. "But we survive. We don't have frost fairs, but trust me, it's colder than you'd ever want to experience."

He smirked faintly. "I've endured my share of harsh winters. But I'll take your word for it."

She swiped to the next image—a vast prairie landscape beneath a blazing sunset. "And this is summer. Same place, believe it or not. Prairie skies are amazing."

His expression softened as he studied the photo. "Your land seems… untamed. There's a raw beauty to it. Vast, open spaces that seem endless."

"Exactly," she said, her smile widening. "It's one of the things I miss most."

She swiped again, landing on a picture of her dog sprawled on a couch, his tiny red sweater clashing adorably with his scruffy fur. "And this is Luna. My dog. She's spoiled rotten."

Richard chuckled softly, a rare sound that caught her off guard. "Your companion appears… comfortable."

"Completely," she agreed, laughing. "Especially when I dress her up."

"You dress your dog?" he asked, raising an amused eyebrow. "Only when it's cold—or when I feel like embarrassing her."

He smirked, his amusement deepening. "I'd advise against sharing that idea with Georgiana. She would seize upon it, and our poor estate animals would suffer terribly."

Stephanie burst out laughing, the ease between them dissolving some of her earlier tension. "No dog sweaters for Georgiana. Got it."

She swiped to a photo of her family gathered around a dinner table. "This is my family—my mom, dad, and my brother. I miss them a lot."

Richard's gaze lingered on the image, his expression thoughtful. "They look a close-knit group. It must be difficult to be so far from them."

"It is," she said softly, the wistfulness in her voice genuine.

He nodded, his tone gentle. "It's remarkable, this photography. Capturing moments in time. A shame we have no such thing in our world."

She smiled faintly, warmed by his kindness. "It really is special."

Stephanie swiped again, intending to show him more, but her heart plummeted as an entirely different photo filled the screen. There she was—posed in front of a mirror, wearing nothing but her underwear, her expression playful and confident.

"Oh, shit!" she blurted, fumbling with the phone as her cheeks turned scarlet.

Richard's face shifted instantly, his expression startled as he quickly turned his back to her, his movements sharp and respectful. "Miss Williams!" he exclaimed, his tone tight with a mix of propriety and alarm. "I… forgive me. I did not mean to intrude."

"It's not your fault!" Stephanie stammered, clutching the phone to her chest. "That wasn't meant for you—I swear! It's private!"

"I understand," he said, his voice calm yet measured, his gaze firmly averted. "I assume… it serves a purpose in your time?"

"It's normal where I'm from—people send stuff like that to each other. It's not weird. Well, not there. Here it's… okay, it's completely weird."

Richard stood silently for a moment, clearly composing himself before speaking. "I see. Your world is… indeed very different." His tone was remarkably kind, though he remained facing the garden, his hands clasped behind his back.

Stephanie groaned, covering her face with her free hand. "This is officially the most embarrassing thing that's ever happened to me."

After a beat, Richard's voice softened, a trace of warmth threading through his words. "Miss Williams, there's no need for such dramatics. I assure you, I've encountered my fair share of… similar expressions of admiration in my time."

Her hand fell away from her face as she blinked at his back. "Wait… what?"

He turned slightly, offering her a polite, reassuring smile. "I refer to drawings, of course. Your method is simply… more advanced."

Stephanie's jaw dropped. "You're kidding."

"Not entirely," he replied, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. "But rest assured, your secret is safe with me."

She stared at him, torn between mortification and disbelief as he gave her a slight bow and began walking away.

Later that evening the dining room was a picture of quiet elegance that evening, the flicker of candlelight casting soft shadows on the polished silverware neatly arranged before each guest. Richard sat at the head of the table, his posture impeccable, while Georgiana chatted pleasantly. Stephanie, however, was once again confronted with the battalion of utensils arrayed before her. Her brow furrowed as she tried to mentally map out the rules she had yet to master.

Finally, she broke the polite quiet, her voice teasing. "All right, I have to ask. Who decided that one fork wasn't enough? Was there a meeting where someone said, 'You know what this meal needs? Twelve different forks and spoons, and then we will judge anyone who messes up.'"

Georgiana stifled a giggle, her hand flying to her mouth. Richard, for his part, looked up with a faint twitch at the corner of his lips, though his expression remained composed.

"It's tradition," Georgiana offered, her eyes sparkling with amusement. "Each utensil has a purpose."

Stephanie nodded solemnly. "Oh, of course. Heaven forbid a piece of fish touches the wrong fork."

Richard couldn't suppress a small chuckle, though he cleared his throat quickly to cover it. "The arrangement is a matter of order and utility, Miss Williams. One begins at the outermost utensil and works inward."

Stephanie leaned forward, as if ready to unearth a great mystery. "So, what you're telling me is that this little guy"—she held up a dessert fork—"is somehow more qualified to handle cake than this guy?" She grabbed a dinner fork and waggled them both for emphasis.

Georgiana burst out laughing, while Richard allowed himself the faintest smirk. "It's about refinement. Using the correct tool demonstrates one's respect for the meal—and one's host."

Stephanie raised an eyebrow. "Because clearly, my lettuce needs its own fork. Heaven forbid it has to share with the fish."

Richard sighed, though the corners of his mouth twitched again. "Miss Williams, it is not simply tradition but practicality. The courses are distinct, and so are the utensils."

"Oh, absolutely," Stephanie said, picking up the dessert spoon and holding it up. "I definitely wouldn't want to insult anyone by using this instead of… that one." She gestured vaguely toward the soup spoon as if it were an outcast.

Georgiana finally burst into laughter, unable to hold it in any longer. "Richard, she does have a point," she said, her voice full of mirth.

"Does she?" Richard asked dryly, though the faintest smile betrayed his enjoyment of the banter.

Stephanie concluded "One fork. One spoon. Maybe a knife if we're feeling fancy."

The corner of his mouth twitched, but he said nothing, returning to his meal with a faint shake of his head.

The lighthearted mood shifted slightly as Georgiana, her eyes shining, suddenly sat up straighter. "Richard, I've had the most wonderful idea! Miss Williams told me about something from her time—sweaters for the dogs!"

Richard froze, his fork hovering just above his plate. He turned his head toward Georgiana, then slowly shifted his gaze to Stephanie, who was already covering her mouth, trying to hold back laughter.

"Sweaters," he repeated flatly. "For the dogs."

"Yes!" Georgiana exclaimed, completely oblivious to his growing irritation. "She said they make little garments for their pets—functional and fashionable. Don't you think it would be lovely for Max and Lily?"

Stephanie's laughter bubbled up, and she set her fork down, unable to hold it in any longer. Richard's gaze bore into her, his expression an eloquent mix of disbelief and exasperation.

"Miss Williams," he began, his voice calm but with a definite edge of warning, "I seem to recall specifically requesting that you not inspire Georgiana with such… notions."

"Oh, Colonel," Stephanie said through her laughter, waving him off. "You act like it's the worst idea ever. Imagine Max in a cozy little cable-knit. He'd be dashing."

Richard pinched the bridge of his nose, his patience clearly wearing thin. "Georgiana, I implore you to consider the dignity of Pemberley's dogs."

Georgiana, undeterred, clasped her hands together. "But Richard, they would look so charming. Miss Williams suggested deep blue for Max—it would complement his coat beautifully."

Stephanie leaned back in her chair, her grin widening. "You see? She's got it all planned out."

The days at Pemberley continued, each filled with a curious mix of routines and disruptions brought about by Stephanie's presence. Despite her efforts to adapt, the learning curve of Regency life was steep, and it wasn't always met with her usual humor.

Each morning, Georgiana led Stephanie through the intricacies of Regency manners, a task that seemed simple on the surface but was quickly revealed to be an unending minefield of rules.

"This is the proper way to curtsy," Georgiana explained one day, her movements graceful as she demonstrated. "A slight bend, keeping your back straight, and your head tilted just so."

Stephanie tried to mimic the motion, but her curtsy ended in an awkward wobble that nearly toppled her over. "How is anyone supposed to do this without falling on their face?" she grumbled, brushing her skirt down in frustration.

"It's all about balance," Georgiana said encouragingly. "Try again."

Stephanie sighed, muttering under her breath as she attempted another curtsy. This one was slightly better, but her exasperation was evident. "You know, where I'm from, a handshake does the job just fine."

Richard, who had been reading in the corner, glanced up with a faint smirk. "I can see why. Less risk of injury."

Stephanie shot him a glare. "Very helpful, Colonel. Maybe you'd like to give it a try?"

Georgiana giggled as Richard raised his hands in mock surrender. "I'll leave the curtsying to the professionals."

The most challenging of all, however, was the walking lessons. Georgiana insisted on teaching Stephanie how to glide gracefully, a skill that required more effort than Stephanie thought humanly possible.

"You must lead with your toes," Georgiana instructed as Stephanie clomped across the room, her movements anything but delicate. "And take smaller steps."

"I'm trying," Stephanie snapped, her irritation bubbling over. "But I feel like a malfunctioning robot."

"A what?" Georgiana asked, puzzled.

"Never mind," Stephanie muttered, her cheeks flushed as she stumbled again.

The challenges of Regency life were far from over, but as the days passed, she found herself navigating them with a little more grace—and a lot more determination.

The candles flickered softly in the dining room, casting a warm glow over the polished wood and fine china. It was a quiet evening, with Darcy away, leaving just Richard, Georgiana, and Stephanie at the table. The clink of silverware was the only sound for a time, until Richard set down his glass, his expression thoughtful.

"Miss Williams," he began, his voice calm but curious, "I have been meaning to ask something. Darcy mentioned that you were… insistent upon being declared his ward, under his protection, and that you even had him sign two documents to that effect. May I ask why you felt such a step was necessary?"

Stephanie paused mid-bite, setting down her fork carefully. She glanced at him, then at Georgiana, before leaning back in her chair. "It wasn't about formality, Colonel. It was about survival."

Richard tilted his head, intrigued but skeptical. "Survival? Surely you exaggerate."

"No," she said firmly. "I don't."

He frowned, his curiosity sharpening. "Go on."

She took a deep breath, her voice steady but tinged with gravity. "You have to understand, Colonel, when I arrived here—however that happened—I had nothing. No family, no friends, no money. I wasn't wearing the right clothes, I didn't have the right manners. I was alone in a world that doesn't tolerate women like me."

Richard's brows drew together. "Women like you? You mean modern women?"

"Women with no status, no protection," she clarified. "What do you think happens to a woman like that in 1812?"

He hesitated, clearly uncomfortable. "Well, she would struggle, certainly, but there are charities, kind individuals who—"

"Be serious, Colonel," she interrupted, her voice sharper now. "The best-case scenario for someone like me would be domestic servitude—if I was lucky. But more likely? I'd be accused of being an unnatural woman, sent to Bedlam, or forced into prostitution."

Georgiana gasped softly, her face paling. "Surely not!"

Stephanie's gaze softened as she turned to Georgiana. "It's true. Women without protection in this time are incredibly vulnerable. And I knew I didn't fit in. Imagine me, showing up with my phone, my ideas, my clothes. People would think I was either insane or dangerous."

Richard's expression darkened. "Miss Williams, you do our society a disservice. This is an age of reason, of science. You make us sound like we burn witches."

She let out a bitter laugh. "Oh, come on, Colonel. Maybe not here in England anymore, but it wasn't that long ago. And even if I avoided that, Bedlam was still a very real possibility."

Georgiana looked between them, confused. "What is Bedlam?"

"It's a madhouse," Stephanie explained, her voice dropping. "A place where people—especially women—are sent if they don't conform. They're beaten, starved, chained up. They call it treatment, but it's torture. And worse? They're put on display for entertainment. Wealthy people pay to come and gawk at them, laugh at their suffering."

Richard's mouth tightened, his knuckles whitening as he gripped his fork. "I find that hard to believe."

"Well, believe it," she said bluntly. "And if I avoided that fate, what was left? Becoming a prostitute? Starving in the streets and selling my teeth? The reality for women in this time is brutal if they don't have someone to protect them."

Georgiana's eyes shimmered with unshed tears. "It sounds… horrible."

"It is," Stephanie replied softly. "That's why I made Darcy agree. I wasn't going to take chances with my life."

Richard's voice was quiet, but there was a hint of steel in it. "And if Darcy had refused?"

Stephanie held his gaze, her expression serious. "I would've killed myself."

The silence that followed was deafening. Georgiana let out a small gasp, covering her mouth with her hands, while Richard stiffened, his face a mix of shock and anger.

"That is an appalling thing to say," he said, his voice trembling slightly.

"It's the truth," she replied, unflinching. "I wasn't going to live in a world where every door was slammed in my face. Where my only options were misery or a slow death. I knew Darcy was a good man, someone who wouldn't leave me to rot. But if he hadn't stepped in…"

Her voice trailed off, and she looked away, her jaw tight.

Richard leaned forward, his voice sharp. "Do you truly believe your life here would have been so hopeless? That there are no avenues for compassion, no kindness in our time?"

She met his gaze again, her eyes fierce. "Kindness isn't enough, Colonel. I needed guarantees. I needed safety. Because this world isn't built for women like me. It's built for people like you."

His face softened slightly, but he remained defensive. "You think us so backward, so heartless?"

"I think your world is what it is," she replied. "And I think I did what I had to do to survive in it. You asked why I negotiated with Darcy? That's why. It wasn't about pride. It was about living."

The silence that followed was heavy, the air in the room thick with unspoken tension. Georgiana dabbed at her eyes, her expression stricken, while Richard sat back in his chair, his face pale but contemplative.

Finally, he spoke, his voice subdued. "I see. And I… I cannot fault your logic, however grim it may be."

"Thank you," Stephanie murmured, her tone soft but resolute.

As the conversation faded, the three returned to their meal, though the weight of Stephanie's words lingered in the air. Richard couldn't shake the unease her story had stirred in him, nor could he deny the painful truth behind her perspective. For the first time, he truly saw the world through her eyes—and it left him deeply unsettled.

The room was heavy with silence after Stephanie's somber declaration.

The dining room was steeped in quiet, the clinking of cutlery and the faint crackle of the fireplace the only sounds. Richard sat at the head of the table, his posture rigid, while Georgiana toyed with her food, her earlier brightness dimmed by the gravity of their conversation. Stephanie sat across from them, her eyes fixed on her plate as though avoiding the growing tension in the room.

Finally, Richard set his fork down with deliberate precision, his voice cutting through the quiet. "And what of your time, Miss Williams?" His tone was low but steady, carrying a hint of restrained anger. "What happens to unprotected women in 2024? Surely things are… different."

Stephanie glanced up at him, her face softening, but her eyes still shadowed with thought. She exhaled slowly and set down her glass. "It's different," she admitted. "But not different enough."

Richard's brow furrowed, his sharp gaze never leaving hers. "Explain."

She shifted in her seat, her arms crossing as though to shield herself. "In my time, women have more rights. We can vote, own property, work jobs that used to be exclusive to men. But for unprotected women—poor women, women without support—it can still be brutal."

Georgiana's brow knit face looked up in puzzlement. "But surely there are laws to protect them?"

Stephanie nodded, her tone heavy. "There are. And sometimes they work. But laws don't stop people from taking advantage of women. There's still violence, assault, exploitation. Women are still trafficked, still raped, still harassed—every single day."

Richard's jaw tightened, his hands resting stiffly on the table. "But surely… society doesn't condone such things?"

"No," she said softly, shaking her head. "But society doesn't always stop it, either. Women get blamed. People ask what they were wearing, why they were alone, why they didn't fight back. And the systems that are supposed to help? Sometimes they fail."

Richard leaned back slightly, his arms crossing. "Fail how?"

Stephanie's voice dropped, her tone growing heavier with each word. "In my time, women can go to shelters if they're abused or homeless. But those shelters are overcrowded and underfunded. They can report assaults, but justice isn't always served. Sometimes evidence is ignored, or the perpetrator walks free. And if a woman doesn't have money or a support system? She can still end up on the streets."

Richard's voice rose slightly, his indignation unmistakable. "You claim your society is more advanced, more just, yet this… this persists?"

"It's not perfect," Stephanie admitted, her voice steady but tinged with frustration. "It's better than here, but it's not perfect. For women who are unprotected, who don't fit into neat little boxes, the risks are still there. And while I'd take 2024 over 1812 any day, there are still too many women who fall through the cracks."

Georgiana's voice was small, trembling. "Do women… die?"

Stephanie turned to her, her face softening, her tone gentle but firm. "Yes, sometimes. And that's the worst part. No matter how far we've come, there are still women who are forgotten."

Richard's hands tightened into fists at his sides, his composure slipping. "I find it intolerable. That a society claiming to be so advanced could still allow such… horrors."

Stephanie met his gaze evenly. "It's intolerable. And I hate it. But that's the reality for unprotected women, no matter what time you're in. The difference is that in my time, we're fighting to change it."

Richard's expression darkened further, his voice quieter but no less intense. "And what would you have us do in my time? If the injustice persists even in yours, what hope do we have?"

Stephanie leaned forward, her voice growing firmer. "You can start by acknowledging it. By seeing the women in your society who are invisible. By protecting them when no one else will. You and Darcy already do that in your way, by helping me, by being kind to your staff. But it has to go beyond individuals—it has to be systemic. That's the fight we're still having in my time."

Georgiana wiped her cheeks, her voice trembling but determined. "I don't want to live in a world where women are treated like that—here or in your time."

Stephanie's expression softened, and she reached across the table to touch Georgiana's hand. "Then be the change, Georgie. Use your kindness, your privilege, to make the world better. That's all any of us can do."

Richard sat back, his anger tempered by a deep, unsettling sadness. "It seems, Miss Williams, that progress is never as swift or as complete as we'd like to believe."

"It's not," Stephanie agreed quietly. "But it doesn't mean it's not worth fighting for."

The silence that followed was heavy but thoughtful, each of them digesting the enormity of her words. For Richard, it was a stark reminder that injustice transcended time, and though his world felt firmly rooted in its ways, the hope Stephanie carried from hers ignited something unexpected—a resolve to see and to do better.

Georgiana reached out, touching Stephanie's hand gently. "You're very inspiring, Stephanie."

Stephanie froze at Georgiana's gentle words of praise. The warmth of Georgiana's smile, the admiring tilt of Richard's head—it all felt too much, pressing down on her like a weight she didn't deserve.

"I'm not… inspiring," she said softly, setting her fork down with deliberate care. Her voice grew tighter as she looked between them. "You're acting like I've done something extraordinary. I haven't."

Georgiana frowned, confused. "But, Stephanie, everything you've said—"

"What have I said?" Stephanie cut in, her tone sharper than she intended. "That women deserve rights? That life's unfair? None of that's revolutionary where I come from. I sound so great to you because I'm from the future. If I were from this time…" She swallowed hard, her voice trembling. "I probably wouldn't be any different than the rest of you."

Richard straightened in his chair, his brows knitting together. "You don't believe that."

"I do," Stephanie said, her hands tightening into fists on the table. "The truth is, if some ruffian showed up at my door in 2024 asking for help, I'd probably call the police and lock the door. I wouldn't be some selfless saint saving people from the horrors of the world. I'd just… go about my life."

Georgiana's voice wavered. "But surely you—"

"No, Georgie," Stephanie interrupted, her tone harsh. "I come from a good family. I had a good home. I was about to start a good job. I've never had to fight for anything. I'm not brave or special. I'm just… lucky."

Richard leaned forward, his expression turning serious. "Miss Williams, luck or not, you've shown us truths we were blind to. That is not insignificant."

Stephanie let out a bitter laugh, shaking her head. "You think I'm a hero? The truth is, if I lived in 1812, I'd probably be just like everyone else, letting women rot in Bedlam or on the streets because it was easier to look away. I'm not special. I'm not inspiring. I'm just… normal."

Her voice cracked on the last word, and she stood abruptly, her chair scraping against the floor. "So stop praising me," she said, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. "I don't deserve it."

Without waiting for a response, she turned and walked out of the dining room, leaving Georgiana staring after her in stunned silence. Richard sat motionless, his expression unreadable as the door swung shut behind Stephanie.

Georgiana looked at Richard, her voice small. "Did we… upset her?"

Richard exhaled heavily, leaning back in his chair. "No," he said quietly, his gaze fixed on the empty doorway. "She upset herself."

The weight of her words hung in the room, and for the first time, both Georgiana and Richard found themselves questioning not just their world, but the complex woman who had come from another.

The morning sunlight streamed through the windows of the breakfast room, highlighting the stillness in the air. Stephanie sat at the far end of the table, nursing a cup of coffee that she had requested in lieu of tea. Her eyes stayed fixed on the dark liquid as though it could somehow swallow the embarrassment she felt from the night before.

Richard entered first, his boots clicking softly against the polished floor as he made his way to his seat. He inclined his head politely toward Stephanie. "Good morning, Miss Williams."

"Morning," she muttered, barely glancing up.

Georgiana followed shortly after, her steps lighter, but the hesitation in her movements made it clear she was still thinking about the previous evening. "Good morning, Stephanie," she said gently.

Stephanie offered a weak smile. "Good morning."

The room settled into an awkward quiet as the three began their meal. The clink of cutlery against plates filled the silence, and Stephanie found herself hyperaware of every sound she made. Her grip on her coffee cup tightened, and finally, she couldn't take it anymore.

"So…" she began, her voice breaking the tension but not in the way she hoped. "About last night—"

"Please," Richard interrupted, his tone calm but firm, "there's no need to—"

"No, I need to," Stephanie said quickly, setting her cup down harder than she intended. "I'm sorry. For… all of it. I was way out of line."

Georgiana, ever gentle, tilted her head sympathetically. "Stephanie, you don't have to apologize. We understand—"

"No, you don't," Stephanie cut in, her words spilling out in a rush. "I made it sound like I'm some kind of… hero. Like I have all these big, noble ideas about fixing your world, and that's not true."

Richard's brows furrowed, and he set his fork down with deliberate care. "I don't recall you presenting yourself as a hero. You spoke with passion, yes, but—"

"But that's just it," Stephanie said, her voice rising slightly as she leaned forward. "I'm not passionate about these things because I've lived them or fought for them. I haven't done anything. I've never had to."

Georgiana frowned. "Stephanie, you've shared so much with us. That's not 'nothing.'"

Stephanie let out a frustrated sigh, pushing her chair back slightly. "I come from a good family. I had a safe home, a solid education, and a future all laid out for me. I've never had to claw my way out of anything. And here I am, sitting in your world, pointing fingers and acting like I'm better because I come from a time where things are better for some people. It's hypocritical."

Richard regarded her carefully, his expression unreadable. "I don't believe anyone here has accused you of hypocrisy."

"Maybe not," she said, her voice quieter now, "but it feels that way. And the truth is, if I were in your world, I probably wouldn't be any better than anyone else. I wouldn't be helping women in Bedlam or pulling people off the streets. I'd be just like everyone else, going about my life and pretending it wasn't my problem."

Georgiana looked stricken, her eyes wide. "Stephanie, don't say that. You're not—"

"I am," Stephanie said sharply, standing abruptly. Her chair scraped loudly against the floor, making Georgiana flinch. "The truth is, if some poor woman knocked on my door back home, asking for help, I'd probably just call the police and lock the door. I wouldn't risk myself for her. I'm not this amazing person you think I am."

The silence that followed was suffocating. Georgiana looked down at her plate, her hands trembling slightly, while Richard's gaze remained fixed on Stephanie, his face unreadable.

"You're being unfair to yourself," he said finally, his voice quiet but firm.

"No, I'm being honest," Stephanie shot back, her tone defensive. "And the fact that you don't see it just makes it worse."

She grabbed her coffee and turned toward the door, her movements stiff. "I need some air."

With that, she left the room, the door swinging shut behind her. Georgiana glanced at Richard, her eyes filled with worry. "Do you think… she meant all of that?"

Richard leaned back in his chair, exhaling deeply. "I believe she's grappling with more than she cares to admit. Give her time."

Georgiana nodded reluctantly, but the tension in the room lingered, heavy and unresolved.

The following days at Pemberley settled into a strained rhythm. Life continued, but the easy camaraderie between Stephanie and Richard had cooled. Where Richard had once been teasing, with a dry humor that seemed to delight in Stephanie's blunders, he now remained distant, his politeness a barrier rather than a bridge.

Breakfast was the quietest time of day now. Stephanie would arrive late, cradling her coffee cup and mumbling her greetings. Georgiana would try to fill the silence with pleasant chatter about her music or the dogs, but Richard rarely engaged beyond a few nods and murmured replies.

This morning was no different. Stephanie stirred her coffee absently, the spoon clinking against the porcelain in the heavy quiet. Richard glanced up from his paper, his gaze flicking to her briefly before returning to the headlines.

"Anything interesting in the news, Colonel?" Stephanie asked, her voice light but tentative.

"Not particularly," he replied, not looking up. His tone was polite but clipped, leaving no room for further conversation.

Stephanie pressed her lips together, her shoulders tightening. She glanced at Georgiana, who gave her an encouraging smile but didn't intervene.

Stephanie's lessons with Georgiana continued, though Stephanie's usual humor had dimmed. Richard would occasionally pass through, observing from a distance but rarely commenting.

One afternoon, Georgiana was showing Stephanie how to write invitations. The quill, as always, was a source of frustration.

"Like this," Georgiana instructed, her hand guiding Stephanie's over the parchment. "The strokes should be light and even."

Stephanie sighed, her fingers cramping as she tried to mimic Georgiana's perfect lettering. "I'll never get this right. Just send me a typewriter or something."

Georgiana giggled, but the sound faltered as Richard entered the room. He glanced at the messy parchment before looking at Stephanie.

"Perseverance will serve you better than shortcuts, Miss Williams," he said mildly, his voice carrying none of the teasing warmth it once had.

Stephanie looked up sharply, his tone stinging more than she wanted to admit. "Thanks for the advice," she said tersely. "I'll keep that in mind."

Richard nodded curtly and left the room without another word. Georgiana bit her lip, her gaze darting between them.

"Stephanie," she said gently, "I think he's just… being himself."

"No," Stephanie muttered, crumpling the ruined parchment.

Stephanie took to walking the grounds in the afternoons, hoping the fresh air would clear her head. One day, as she wandered through the gardens, she spotted Richard speaking with a gardener. His expression was calm, his tone measured as he gave instructions.

When he noticed her, he inclined his head but didn't approach.

"Lovely day," she ventured, her voice hesitant.

"Indeed," he replied, his politeness as chilly as the breeze. "I trust you're finding the gardens agreeable."

Stephanie hesitated, her frustration bubbling beneath the surface. "I'm trying to, yes. Though they're quite… expansive."

"They require much care," Richard said, his tone neutral. "As does everything of value."

Before she could respond, he turned back to the gardener, effectively dismissing her. Stephanie clenched her fists, muttering under her breath as she walked away.

Dinner had become a stilted affair. Stephanie sat at one end of the table, Georgiana in the middle, and Richard at the other. Conversations were minimal, with Georgiana doing her best to keep things pleasant.

Stephanie reached for the wrong fork again, an act that once would have elicited a playful remark from Richard. Now, he said nothing, merely raising an eyebrow before returning to his plate.

The silence stretched until Stephanie couldn't bear it anymore. "You know, Colonel," she said, forcing a light tone, "I think I'm finally mastering the art of offending every piece of cutlery here."

Georgiana giggled nervously, but Richard merely nodded. "Practice makes perfect," he said blandly, offering no more.

Stephanie's smile faltered, and she focused on her food, the weight of his indifference settling heavily on her chest.

That night, Stephanie sat in the drawing room with Georgiana, the fire crackling softly in the hearth.

"He hates me," Stephanie said abruptly, breaking the silence.

Georgiana looked up from her embroidery, startled. "Richard? Oh, no, Stephanie, he doesn't hate you."

"Could've fooled me," Stephanie muttered, hugging her knees. "He barely talks to me anymore, and when he does, it's like he's just tolerating me."

Georgiana set her work aside, her expression thoughtful. "I don't think he hates you. I think… he's unsettled. By what you said the other night."

The quiet morning air of Pemberley was shattered when Richard caught sight of a figure running through the grounds at an unusually fast pace. He pulled his horse to a halt, narrowing his eyes to make sense of the scene. A woman—her skirts trailing slightly as she moved—was running with a speed and purpose he had never seen before.

His heart leapt, alarm surging through him. Was she fleeing something? Was she in danger? Without hesitation, he urged his horse forward, closing the distance quickly.

"Miss Williams!" he called sharply, his voice cutting through the stillness. "What's the matter? Are you being pursued?"

Stephanie slowed, her pace easing into a jog before she finally stopped, hands resting lightly on her hips. She glanced up at him, her chest rising and falling as she caught her breath, her cheeks flushed from exertion. "Pursued? No. I'm fine."

Richard dismounted, his boots crunching softly on the gravel path as he strode toward her. "You're running as though someone is chasing you. What are you doing?"

Stephanie, still breathing heavily, wiped a strand of hair from her face. Her dress was slightly damp from the morning dew, but otherwise, she looked composed. "I'm running," she said simply, her voice still breathless.

"I can see that," Richard replied, dismounting his horse and walking closer. "But why?"

"For fun," she panted, before correcting herself, "and to clear my head."

He stopped a few feet from her, his brows knitting together. "Running for exercise?"

"straightening up and brushing a damp strand of hair from her face. "I used to run track back home. Long distance, mostly, competitively"

Richard looked her over, his disbelief evident. "And yet here you are, running as though there's a finish line somewhere in these woods. Why on earth would you do that now?"

"Because I need it," she said simply, shrugging. "I need something that feels normal."

He tilted his head, watching her more intently now. "You've done this often, then? Competing in these… races?"

"Yeah," she said, her tone casual but with a hint of pride. "I mean, I wasn't great or anything. I was pretty far down in the rankings. But it wasn't just about winning. It was about the way it made me feel—free."

Richard's gaze lingered on her, taking in her flushed cheeks, the light sheen of sweat on her brow, and the way she stood there with an unshakable confidence. Despite the absurdity of her explanation—or perhaps because of it—he found himself both baffled and oddly fascinated.

"You find freedom in this?" he asked, gesturing to her dress, which clung slightly to her legs. "Running in cumbersome attire, in conditions wholly unsuitable for such an activity?"

She smirked, though her chest still heaved with exertion. "It's not ideal, I'll admit. Back home, I'd have running shoes, shorts, a tank top. But you work with what you've got."

Richard's lips pressed into a thin line, his disapproval mingling with something else—something he couldn't quite name. "You could have injured yourself or caused alarm"

Stephanie laughed lightly, though there was a tinge of exasperation in it. "I'm fine, Colonel. I wasn't running to escape anyone or anything. I was just running."

He studied her for a long moment, his confusion giving way to a begrudging sort of respect. "And this is how you clear your mind?"

"It works," she said firmly. "When I'm running, everything else just… fades. It's like I'm in control of something, even if it's just my own two feet."

Richard's expression softened slightly, though his voice retained its edge of formality. "It's unusual, to say the least."

She grinned, her humor breaking through. "You mean completely insane."

"Perhaps," he admitted, his tone lightening. "But it's… intriguing."

Stephanie raised an eyebrow, clearly caught off guard. "Intriguing? That's not the reaction I expected."

Richard's eyes gave away his curiosity clearly not yet satisfied.

"So, Miss Williams," he called, his voice tinged with bemusement, "how often do you… partake in this strange activity?"

Stephanie glanced at him with a faint grin, her breathing even. "Depends on the week. Back home, when I was training, I'd run six days a week. Sometimes twice a day."

Richard blinked, his expression a mixture of surprise and disbelief. "Twice a day? For what purpose?"

"To train for races," she replied, her tone casual, as if it were the most normal thing in the world. "Long-distance track events. I wasn't elite or anything—more middle-of-the-pack—but I was competitive enough to stick to a schedule."

He frowned, still trying to wrap his mind around the concept. "And what does a 'schedule' for such a sport entail?"

She smiled, clearly enjoying his confusion. "Okay, picture this: Mondays were for recovery runs—easy miles, just to loosen up from the weekend's long run or a race. Tuesdays were for speed workouts on the track. Something like eight repeats of 400 meters, fast but not sprinting, with a little rest in between."

Richard's brow furrowed. "Running in circles repeatedly? That sounds… tedious."

Stephanie chuckled, shaking her head. "It's about building speed and endurance. Wednesdays were medium-distance runs, maybe six to ten miles at a steady pace. Thursdays were tempo runs—basically, running just below race pace for a few miles to build stamina."

"And you enjoy this?" he asked, his voice laced with skepticism.

"Most of it," she admitted. "Fridays were either really easy runs or rest days—those, I definitely enjoyed. Saturdays were the big long runs, anywhere from ten to fifteen miles, depending on what I was training for. Sundays were cross-training or full rest."

Richard shook his head slowly, his voice quiet but incredulous. "And you chose to do this?"

"Yep," she said, popping the "p." "I wasn't the fastest, but I loved the challenge. Plus, races were fun."

He tilted his head, studying her with a mix of fascination and exasperation. "And how long would these races last? Surely not an entire day?"

"Depends on the distance," she explained. "A 5K would take me around twenty-four minutes. A 10K, maybe fifty. For a half-marathon, I'd be out there for about two hours."

His jaw tightened slightly, his disbelief evident. "And you call this… entertainment?"

Stephanie laughed, brushing a strand of damp hair from her face. "It's more than that. It's about pushing yourself, testing your limits. It's not just physical—it's mental. You learn what you're capable of."

Richard fell silent for a moment, his gaze lingering on her determined stride. There was something undeniably captivating about the way she spoke—her confidence, her passion for something so foreign to him.

"And you willingly subjected yourself to this schedule?" he asked finally.

"Willingly," she said, nodding. "It kept me grounded, gave me structure. Honestly, it was one of the most rewarding things I've ever done."

As Stephanie resumed her steady stride, Richard urged his horse alongside her, his usual skepticism giving way to a quieter tone. "Miss Williams," he began, his voice thoughtful, "I confess, as strange as your sport seems to me, I understand the desire to push oneself."

Stephanie glanced up at him, her steps faltering slightly as she slowed. "You do?"

"I do," he said, nodding. "Though my experiences are vastly different. As a soldier, one is constantly tested—physically, mentally. You must train, endure, and press forward, even when your body and mind protest. There is… a satisfaction in knowing you've overcome those limits."

She stopped jogging entirely, her hands resting on her hips as she caught her breath. "That's… not too different from running, actually. You push through the pain, the exhaustion, because you know it'll make you stronger."

Richard dismounted, holding the reins loosely as he stepped closer. His expression was serious now, his usual guarded demeanor slipping. "Since my return from the Peninsula, I've struggled with that. This injury—" he gestured to his leg, his tone edged with frustration, "—has made me feel… restless. Weak, even. I am accustomed to action, to having a purpose, and now I am confined to recovery."

Stephanie's gaze softened as she straightened. "That sounds… really hard. I mean, you've spent your life as a soldier, right? Always moving, always doing something important."

"Precisely," he admitted. "And now, I find myself idle, unable to perform even the simplest drills without discomfort. It is… disheartening."

Stephanie tilted her head, her voice gentle but firm. "I get that, Colonel. I mean, not the soldier part, but the restlessness? The frustration of feeling like you're stuck? That's why I run. It gives me some control, some way to feel like I'm doing something—even if it's just for me."

Richard regarded her thoughtfully, his gaze lingering.