Stephanie sat across from Mrs. Reynolds in the warmth of the kitchen, her fingers fidgeting with the edge of the tablecloth. The housekeeper gave her a gentle but expectant look, setting aside her bundle of herbs.

"Out with it, my dear," Mrs. Reynolds said, her tone soft but firm. "You've got something weighing on you, and you won't feel better until you say it."

Stephanie hesitated, her face flushed. "It's… about Richard," she finally admitted, her voice low. "He kissed me. And now he's avoiding me, barely speaking to me like it never happened. I don't understand what I've done wrong."

Mrs. Reynolds paused, her hands stilling. Surprise flickered in her expression, but she quickly masked it with a calm, understanding gaze. "Ah. I see."

Stephanie leaned forward, frustration and confusion radiating from her. "One minute, he's kissing me like he can't stop himself, and the next, he's avoiding me like the plague. I feel like I'm being punished, and I don't even know why."

Mrs. Reynolds reached out, patting Stephanie's hand. "You've done nothing wrong, child," she assured her. "But the Colonel… he's a man bound by his principles. He's likely in quite the turmoil over this."

Stephanie groaned, leaning back in her chair. "Why, though? In my time, if two people like each other, they just figure it out. Why does everything here have to be so complicated?"

Mrs. Reynolds gave her a small, patient smile. "Because, my dear, he's not just any man. He's an officer, a gentleman, and—while Mr. Darcy is away—the head of this household. In his mind, his duty is clear: protect this home, its people, and you. And kissing you, as passionate as it may have been, likely feels to him like a betrayal of that duty."

Stephanie frowned, her frustration growing. "But I don't need protecting! I know what I'm doing."

Mrs. Reynolds tilted her head, her smile tinged with a trace of humor. "You may know your heart, Stephanie, but he doesn't see it that way. To him, this is about control, respect, and the consequences of his actions. He's likely considered how others would view this—how they'd view you, especially. And then there's the matter of your… unusual circumstances."

Stephanie blinked, the weight of her words settling. "You mean if I… left?"

Mrs. Reynolds nodded. "Imagine the scandal if people discovered you'd been involved, and then you disappeared. It could destroy his reputation, perhaps even harm Mr. Darcy's. The Colonel carries that weight with every decision he makes."

Stephanie sighed, her shoulders slumping. "I didn't think about any of that. I just… I like him, Mrs. Reynolds. And I don't think it's fair that he's shutting me out."

Mrs. Reynolds gave her hand a gentle squeeze. "Feelings are rarely fair, my dear. But he's not doing this to hurt you. He's doing it to protect both of you. Still…" She paused, a slight glint in her eye. "That doesn't excuse his behavior entirely."

Stephanie tilted her head, curious. "What do you mean?"

The older woman's voice softened, but there was a note of firmness. "The Colonel is a man of honor, but he's also human. He kissed you, knowing it might complicate things, and now he's retreating rather than facing what he feels. You might remind him, gently, that avoidance solves nothing."

Stephanie's lips curved into a small smile. "You think I should call him out?"

Mrs. Reynolds chuckled lightly. "Perhaps not so directly. But a kind word, an apology of your own, and a reminder that you're both in this together might help him see sense."

Stephanie nodded slowly, a flicker of determination sparking in her eyes. "You're right. I'll talk to him. I'll let him know I understand, but I won't let him hide forever."

Mrs. Reynolds smiled warmly, patting her hand once more. "Good. And remember, Stephanie—this time is not your own, but love and respect know no era. Whatever happens, trust yourself and trust him."

Mrs. Reynolds regarded Stephanie with a kind but serious expression, her tone soft but deliberate. "Miss Williams, there is one more matter you might not have considered, and it is a delicate one."

Stephanie leaned forward, her brows furrowed. "What is it?"

The older woman folded her hands, choosing her words carefully. "The Colonel is the second son of an earl. Though he does not hold the title himself, his position as 'the spare,' as it were, comes with responsibilities and expectations. Should anything happen to his elder brother, he would inherit the earldom."

Stephanie blinked, sitting back slightly. "Wait… so if something happened to his brother, Richard would become an earl?"

Mrs. Reynolds nodded. "Precisely. And with that title comes the need to think carefully about his marriage. A future countess must be above reproach in the eyes of society. Any whisper of impropriety—especially concerning her virtue before marriage—could have severe consequences."

Stephanie's brows knit together. "Like what?"

"The legitimacy of their children could be called into question," Mrs. Reynolds explained gently. "If there is even the slightest doubt about when a relationship began or any suspicion surrounding a timeline, the inheritance could be contested. It would bring shame upon his family and risk the futures of any sons he might have."

Stephanie's mouth opened, then closed as the weight of those words settled over her. "So… even if he wanted to be with me, even if we got married, people would still talk? And that could ruin everything for him? For his kids?"

Mrs. Reynolds gave her a sympathetic smile. "Unfortunately, yes. The Colonel has likely been aware of these expectations his entire life. They are not just his to carry but are bound to his family and their standing. It is a heavy burden."

Stephanie rubbed her temples, exhaling sharply. "This is insane. In my time, no one cares about this stuff anymore. No one's worried about when someone started dating or whether a kid is 'legitimate.' People just… live."

Mrs. Reynolds nodded, her gaze understanding. "And I imagine the Colonel envies your freedom in that. But here, the rules are different. His position, his family, and his sense of duty all weigh heavily on him. He is not just a man but a protector of a legacy that spans generations."

Stephanie slumped back in her chair, shaking her head. "I didn't realize… I mean, I knew there were rules, but I didn't think they were this intense. It feels so unfair."

Mrs. Reynolds reached out, resting her hand gently over Stephanie's. "It is unfair, my dear. But that does not mean the Colonel cares for you any less. If anything, his actions are likely a sign of how deeply he feels. He wants to protect you—from scandal, from whispers, from the very society that binds him."

Mrs. Reynolds's expression softened into a wry smile, her tone lightening just slightly. "And, of course, there's one more thing the Colonel likely fears."

Stephanie looked up, frowning. "What's that?"

Mrs. Reynolds gave her a knowing look, her eyes twinkling with amusement. "What Mr. Darcy would do to him if he suspected anything improper had happened between you two."

Stephanie blinked in surprise, her lips parting. "What? Why would Darcy care?"

Mrs. Reynolds chuckled softly, patting Stephanie's hand. "Because Mr. Darcy brought you here, vouched for you, and made you part of this household. In his mind, that makes you practically a sister. And while Mr. Darcy may be a reserved man, I've seen how fiercely protective he is of those he considers family."

Stephanie's eyes widened as she processed the thought. "Oh… my god. You're telling me that Richard is scared of Darcy?"

Mrs. Reynolds's chuckle turned into a laugh. "I wouldn't say scared, but I doubt he relishes the idea of explaining himself to Mr. Darcy should anything… untoward come to light."

Stephanie groaned, burying her face in her hands. "Great. So now I'm dealing with Regency-era rules and big brother Darcy looming in the background. Fantastic."

Mrs. Reynolds patted her shoulder, still smiling. "It's not an easy path, my dear. But perhaps this knowledge will help you navigate it with a little more understanding—and humor."

Stephanie lifted her head, a reluctant grin tugging at her lips. "Thanks, Mrs. Reynolds. I'll try not to get anyone killed by Darcy."

"That's all I can ask," Mrs. Reynolds said with a wink, her laughter following Stephanie as she stood to leave.

Stephanie wandered through the house, searching for Richard, her steps hesitant as she rehearsed her words in her head. When she found him in the library, standing by the large window and gazing out at the garden, she felt her stomach twist with nerves. He didn't turn as she entered, but she knew he was aware of her presence.

"Colonel Fitzwilliam," she began softly, her voice tentative.

He turned slowly, his expression unreadable but calm. "Miss Williams."

Stephanie took a steadying breath, stepping closer. "I came to apologize."

His brow furrowed slightly, though he said nothing, allowing her to continue.

"I've been… thoughtless," she admitted, her tone heavy with sincerity. "I didn't really consider how difficult all of this is for you—how complicated it must be. I've been acting like none of the rules here matter just because they don't exist in my time. That wasn't fair."

Richard's posture relaxed slightly, though his face remained serious. "Miss Williams…"

"I understand now," she interrupted, her voice quieter but firm. "Your world is different. There are consequences I didn't even think about—things that could hurt you, your family, your reputation. I don't want to be the reason any of that is put at risk. You deserve better than that."

A flicker of something—relief? Gratitude?—crossed his face, but he said nothing, his gaze steady on her.

"I promise to respect your time, your rules," she said, her voice steady despite the emotions rising in her chest. "I won't make things harder for you anymore."

Richard nodded slowly, his lips parting as though to speak, but Stephanie quickly stepped back, signaling she was done. "That's all I wanted to say. I'll leave you to your evening."

She turned to go, her steps quiet against the carpet. As she reached the doorway, however, she muttered under her breath, "Fucked-up society. I should've appeared in France."

Richard froze, and then, against his better judgment, a smile tugged at his lips. He let out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head as he watched her retreating figure.

"That woman," he murmured to himself, a mixture of exasperation and admiration in his voice.

He turned back to the window, but the smile lingered, and for a moment, the weight of his frustration didn't seem quite so heavy.

Richard wandered into the morning room, drawn by the sound of Stephanie and Mrs. Reynolds in conversation. The table was covered with an array of objects, many of which he recognized as commonplace household items, though Stephanie seemed to regard them with a mixture of curiosity and horror.

"What's all this?" Richard asked, his tone light as he approached.

"Miss Williams has requested a lesson in some of the practicalities of daily life," Mrs. Reynolds explained, gesturing to the spread. "I thought it best to acquaint her with the tools we use to maintain a household."

Stephanie glanced up at him, her expression somewhere between fascinated and appalled.

Her hand landed on a small silver implement with a thin loop at one end. She held it up, squinting at it. "And this? Is this a tiny ladle?"

Mrs. Reynolds smiled. "That is an earwax spoon."

Stephanie froze. "A what?"

"An earwax spoon," Mrs. Reynolds repeated patiently. "For cleaning the ears, of course."

Stephanie stared at it, her mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. "Nope. Nope, nope, nope. This is bad. This is very bad. Do not use this."

Richard raised a brow, intrigued. "And why, pray, is it so objectionable?"

"Because you're shoving it into your ear!" Stephanie exclaimed, waving the spoon like it was cursed. "This thing is dangerous. You could push the wax further in, puncture your eardrum—honestly, I can't believe you all haven't gone deaf."

Mrs. Reynolds chuckled softly. "It is quite a common tool, Miss Williams."

"Well, it shouldn't be!" Stephanie shot back. "In my time, doctors tell us not to put anything in our ears. They're self-cleaning for the most part. If you must clean, you use a damp cloth for the outer part. This?" She held the spoon up accusingly. "This is asking for trouble."

Richard leaned against the doorframe, a faint smile playing on his lips. "I can see you feel strongly about this."

"Because it's important!" she insisted, pointing the spoon at him for emphasis. "Promise me you won't use it. Either of you."

Mrs. Reynolds raised her hands in mock surrender, her eyes twinkling with amusement. "Very well, Miss Williams. If it eases your concerns, I shall advise against its use in the household."

Stephanie exhaled, setting the spoon down gingerly as though it might attack her. "Good. Trust me, you'll thank me later."

"And what, then, do you propose we use instead?" Richard asked, his tone teasing.

"Nothing! That's the point!" Stephanie said, throwing her hands up. "Just leave your ears alone. They're fine as they are."

Mrs. Reynolds chuckled. "I will defer to your modern wisdom, Miss Williams. Though I fear I may have difficulty convincing some of the staff."

Stephanie groaned, rubbing her temples. "Just tell them it's doctor's orders from the future."

As she glanced at the other objects she muttered under her breath, "Ear spoons. I swear, this place is trying to kill me."

Mrs. Reynolds set a small, ornate glass bottle on the table. "This is a vinaigrette, Miss Williams."

Stephanie brightened. "Oh, for salads?"

A low, rich chuckle came from behind her. Stephanie turned her head sharply to see Richard laughing.

"I fail to see what is so funny," Stephanie said, narrowing her eyes at him.

Richard stepped forward, his tone maddeningly smooth. "Miss Williams, a vinaigrette in this time is not a dressing for food."

Stephanie glanced at the bottle, confused. "Then what is it for?"

Mrs. Reynolds, trying to stifle her own amusement, explained. "It is used to carry vinegar or scented oils to mask unpleasant odors or to revive oneself in case of faintness."

Stephanie stared at the little bottle in disbelief. "So, instead of fixing the smell, you just sniff vinegar?

"Yes. Now speaking of sniffing, there is this, snuff." Mrs Reynolds placed another small box on the table.

Stephanie eyed the small box of snuff on the table with suspicion, her curiosity warring with common sense. "So you just… sniff it?" she asked, glancing at Mrs. Reynolds.

"Precisely," Mrs. Reynolds replied in her usual calm tone. "It's meant to invigorate the senses, clear the mind, and provide a bit of stimulation."

Stephanie squinted at her. "Sounds like a fancy way of saying, 'this is going to mess you up.'"

Richard, standing near with his arms crossed, suddenly straightened. "Miss Williams, I strongly advise against—"

But Stephanie had already pinched a small amount between her fingers and brought it to her nose, inhaling sharply before anyone could stop her.

The effect was immediate and catastrophic.

She shot out of her chair like she'd been struck by lightning, clutching her face as her eyes watered uncontrollably. "OH, MOTHERFUCKER! What the actual fuck is that?! SATAN'S COCAINE?" she bellowed, stumbling back and waving her hands wildly like she was trying to exorcise the sensation.

Richard froze for half a second before doubling over in uncontrollable laughter, his deep voice ringing through the room. "Good God!" he managed, gripping the back of a chair for support. "I warned you!"

"Warned me?! Warned me?!" Stephanie shrieked, her voice a full octave higher than usual. "You didn't warn me that this shit would set my nose on fire! What the fuck! Who the fuck uses this for fun?!"

Mrs. Reynolds, entirely composed, stepped forward with a handkerchief. "It does take some getting used to, Miss Williams."

"Getting used to?! Are you all psychopaths?!" Stephanie yelled, snatching the handkerchief and blowing her nose furiously. "This is not a stimulant! This is a war crime!"

Richard was bent over, his shoulders shaking with laughter. "Your face—" he choked out. "Your face, Miss Williams—it was—"

"Don't you fucking dare, Colonel!" she snapped, rounding on him. Her eyes were red, her nose was running, and she looked half-crazed. "You're enjoying this, aren't you?! Laugh it up, asshole! You try snorting Satan's favorite party drug and see how you do!"

Richard had to brace himself against the wall, laughing so hard that tears streaked down his face. "I… I cannot—this is beyond anything I imagined—"

"I'll tell you what's beyond anything I imagined!" Stephanie roared, pacing like a woman possessed. "Inhaling fucking gunpowder! This is worse than tequila, and tequila is evil!"

Mrs. Reynolds raised a hand to her mouth, clearly trying not to laugh. "It is certainly not for everyone, Miss Williams."

"Not for everyone?! It's not for anyone! Holy shit, I think my brain's leaking out of my nose!" Stephanie sneezed violently, doubling over before straightening and glaring at Richard. "You think this is funny? Fine! Next time, I'm bringing ghost pepper hot sauce and forcing it down your throat! Let's see who's laughing then, Colonel!"

Richard could barely breathe, his laughter deep and rumbling, his face red from exertion. "I'll admit… I underestimated you, Miss Williams. Truly… an unforgettable moment."

Stephanie plopped back into her chair, glaring at the snuff box like it had personally offended her. "This is why people die young in your time. This shit. You're all insane. Insane!"

As Richard finally began to recover, wiping his face with a handkerchief, he looked over at her, his grin wide and unrepentant. "I'll treasure this memory forever."

Stephanie rolled her eyes, still sniffing into her handkerchief. "Great. I'm so glad I could fucking entertain you."

Mrs. Reynolds, ever the diplomat, offered a small, amused smile. "Perhaps it is a lesson best learned once."

Stephanie groaned. "Yeah. Lesson learned: never trust anything that comes in a tiny, innocent-looking box. Especially in 1812. Fuck me, that was awful."

Richard chuckled again, his amusement finally subsiding, though his eyes still danced with mirth. "You've certainly livened up the morning, Miss Williams."

She glared at him one last time, muttering under her breath, "Fucking Satan's cocaine," as she slumped back in her chair, her nose still twitching.

Stephanie leaned forward, her eyes lighting up with curiosity as Mrs. Reynolds laid out a shaving kit on the table. She picked up the brush, turning it over in her hands.

"So this is what men use to shave?" she asked, glancing at Mrs. Reynolds and then at Richard, who was leaning casually against the doorframe.

"Yes, Miss Williams," Mrs. Reynolds said. "Shaving soap, a brush, a razor, and a strop to sharpen it. A gentleman must be properly groomed."

"Oh, that's perfect!" Stephanie said, setting the brush down. "I've been meaning to ask about shaving supplies."

Mrs. Reynolds raised an eyebrow. "For Mr. Darcy, I presume?"

"No," Stephanie said with a laugh, waving her hand. "For me! I need to shave my legs and, you know, other places."

The room fell into an immediate, stunned silence.

Mrs. Reynolds blinked. "Pardon me?"

"For my legs. And under my arms," Stephanie explained, her tone casual. "I haven't seen a razor since I got here, and it's driving me crazy."

Richard straightened, his casual posture evaporating. His brows knitted together in disbelief. "You're telling me… women in your time shave their legs?"

"Well, of course," Stephanie said, frowning slightly at the question. "And their armpits. And sometimes other places."

"Other places?" Mrs. Reynolds asked faintly, her voice barely above a whisper.

Stephanie paused, sensing the tension but still confused. "Wait, are you telling me shaving isn't a thing here?"

"Certainly not," Richard said, his voice sharp, though his tone betrayed his disbelief. "What you're describing sounds… unnecessary."

"It's not unnecessary," Stephanie countered, her brow furrowing. "It's standard! Smooth skin is just part of being… presentable. People don't like body hair."

"For what purpose?" Mrs. Reynolds asked, her composure wavering.

"For appearance!" Stephanie exclaimed, as if it were obvious. "It's about looking good. Men don't want to see body hair, and women don't either. It's considered gross."

Richard scoffed. "Gross? You're saying men in your time are so fragile they're repelled by something natural?"

"Well, yeah," Stephanie said with a shrug, finding their reactions increasingly funny. "And shaving is just the beginning. There's waxing, laser removal, and creams that literally melt the hair off."

Mrs. Reynolds pressed a hand to her chest. "Melt it off?"

Stephanie grinned, thoroughly enjoying their shock. "Oh, you haven't heard the half of it. There's waxing. Hot wax is spread over the hair, a cloth is pressed on, and then—rip! All gone."

Richard winced visibly, his hand moving reflexively to his jaw. "That sounds barbaric."

"It gets better," Stephanie said with a mischievous twinkle in her eye. "People go to salons to have it done. For a Brazilian wax, you lay there with your legs wide open while someone waxes… everywhere."

Richard made a choking noise, his face going crimson. Mrs. Reynolds let out a shocked gasp, fanning herself furiously.

"Miss Williams!" Richard finally managed, his voice strangled. "Surely you're exaggerating."

Stephanie leaned back, laughing. "Not at all! It's completely normal. And it's not just women. Some men do it too—chest, back, even… down there."

Mrs. Reynolds groaned audibly. "This world of yours, Miss Williams, is pure madness."

Richard was staring at her, his jaw working as if trying to form words but failing miserably. Finally, he muttered, "I… need a drink."

As he turned and strode out of the room, Stephanie burst into laughter, clutching her stomach. "You should've seen his face! Oh my god, priceless."

Mrs. Reynolds shook her head, still fanning herself. "Young lady, if you wish to survive here, you'd best keep such… vivid descriptions to yourself."

"Noted," Stephanie said, still grinning. "But come on, that was worth it."