The morning light poured into the breakfast room, catching the delicate shine of the silverware and making the tea steam in soft, curling wisps. Stephanie reached for a piece of toast, still feeling the drowsy weight of the morning, while Georgiana sorted through the stack of correspondence that had just been delivered. Across the table, Richard flipped through a newspaper, his posture as impeccable as ever, though his gaze occasionally flicked toward Stephanie with an amused glint.

Georgiana's face lit up when she spotted the familiar handwriting on the top envelope. "A letter from my brother," she announced, setting the rest of the pile aside.

"Again?" Stephanie asked, raising an eyebrow as she lazily spread jam on her toast. "Does he write this often when he's away, or are you just his favorite pen pal?"

Georgiana giggled. "He writes often when he's away. He likes to keep me informed."

"Ah yes, thrilling updates on livestock counts and tenant issues," Stephanie teased, biting into her toast. "What a literary treasure trove."

Richard, barely glancing up from his paper, murmured, "You underestimate my cousin's ability to wax poetic on matters of estate management."

Georgiana blushed faintly as she opened the letter, her eyes scanning the page. As she read, a soft, knowing smile crept across her face, one that immediately caught Stephanie's attention.

"Okay, what was that?" Stephanie demanded, setting down her toast. "What's got you all secretive and smiley over there?"

"Nothing!" Georgiana said quickly, though her flushed cheeks betrayed her.

Stephanie leaned forward, narrowing her eyes. "Georgiana Darcy, you are the worst liar I have ever met. Spill."

Georgiana blushed, shaking her head quickly. "He just… mentioned a lady."

Stephanie's jaw dropped, and she clutched her chest dramatically. "You've been holding out on me! He's been writing about a lady? Oh, Georgie, you wicked little thing. You've had the tea this whole time and didn't spill it?"

Richard looked over his paper, raising an eyebrow. "The tea?"

"Sorry, slang. Means gossip," Stephanie clarified with a wave of her hand before fixing Georgiana with a mock glare. "Out with it. What's the story? Who is she?"

Georgiana hesitated, her cheeks pink. "Her name is Elizabeth Bennet. He's mentioned her a few times… casually."

"Casually, my ass!" Stephanie exclaimed, grinning mischievously. "You don't casually mention a lady multiple times in letters to your little sister unless you've got it bad."

"Stephanie!" Georgiana gasped, half-laughing and half-scolding. "Must you be so indelicate?"

"Yes," Stephanie said matter-of-factly. "And you, Georgie, are officially on my list. You've been keeping this to yourself for how long? This is prime teasing material, and you've wasted it."

Richard cleared his throat, though there was a faint smirk on his face. "Miss Williams, I hardly think teasing Darcy about his private affairs is appropriate."

"Oh, please," Stephanie said, rolling her eyes. "If he were my brother, he'd never hear the end of it.

Stephanie sat back, feigning betrayal. "Do you know what I would do my brother Charlie if II found out something like this? Let me tell you."

Richard folded his arms, now fully engaged. "This should be enlightening."

"Oh, it was relentless," Stephanie began, her eyes lighting up with a mischievous gleam. "So, Charlie had this huge crush on my best friend, Olivia, back in high school. Big, embarrassing, 'can't even talk when she's around' kind of crush. So naturally, I invited her to a sleepover."

Georgiana's eyes widened. "You didn't!"

"Oh, I did," Stephanie said with a grin. "She came over and I didn't tell him, and he walked into the kitchen to get a snack in his boxers. Boxers! His undergarments as you would say. He saw her, screamed like he was being murdered, and tried to run out but slipped on the linoleum."

Richard coughed, clearly trying not to laugh, while Georgiana clapped a hand over her mouth.

"And then Olivia, bless her heart, ran over and helped him up," Stephanie continued, shaking her head at the memory. "He was so flustered he thanked her and then ran upstairs to change. When he came back down, he apologized and told her, 'I'm not normally this sweaty.'"

Georgiana burst into laughter, clutching her sides. "That's terrible!"

"Oh, he deserved it," Stephanie said, waving her off. "And you, Georgiana Darcy, deserve some good-natured grief for not telling me Darcy's writing about Elizabeth Bennet. This is the stuff I live for."

Richard chuckled, setting his newspaper down. "Darcy would be mortified to know he's become the subject of such… enthusiasm."

"Well, that's what brothers are for," Stephanie said breezily. "To be endlessly mocked. It is basically a sibling's duty. Georgiana, you've got to keep me in the loop from now on."

Georgiana, still laughing, nodded. "All right, I promise."

Stephanie sat up straighter, practically vibrating with interest. "Miss Bennet? Gimme the detes, Georgie."

Georgiana, cheeks turning pink, glanced at Richard, who was sipping his tea but clearly listening. "It's nothing remarkable, truly," she said, though her tone wasn't convincing. "He mentioned her family's amusing antics during a dinner, and he noted that she has a 'remarkable ability to enliven any room.'"

"Wait, wait, wait." Stephanie waved her hands, stopping her. "Darcy said someone was amusing? Like, actually funny? And—what was that last part? She enlivens a room? That's practically a sonnet coming from him."

Georgiana's pink deepened. "Stephanie, you exaggerate—"

"I don't think I do." Stephanie tapped the table. "If Darcy is out here admitting a woman makes him laugh and brightens up the place, that's basically him proposing."

Richard choked slightly on his tea, covering it with a cough. Stephanie's head whipped toward him. "Colonel Fitzwilliam, what's that? You clearly know something."

Richard cleared his throat, his expression carefully neutral. "I know nothing of the sort."

"You so do," Stephanie accused, pointing at him with a grin. "Come on, out with it. What are you processing? Spill."

Richard sighed, setting his tea down. "You're insistent to a fault, Miss Williams."

"That's why you like me," Stephanie shot back, smirking.

Ignoring the comment, Richard looked at Georgiana, who was still blushing but gave him a subtle nod of encouragement. "Very well," he said. "Darcy is not a man given to frivolity or unnecessary commentary. If he's remarked upon Miss Bennet's humor and presence, it suggests a certain… preoccupation."

Stephanie's eyebrows shot up. "Preoccupation? You mean obsession."

"I would not go so far," Richard said evenly, though there was a faint glint of amusement in his eyes. "But consider this: he rarely notices the 'antics' of others, let alone finds them noteworthy. And as for describing someone as brightening a room, that is exceedingly high praise from my cousin."

Stephanie gasped, clapping her hands together. "Oh my God, Darcy has it bad for Elizabeth. This is so juicy."

Georgiana laughed, holding the letter close. "I wasn't sure there was anything to tell! He simply… shares his thoughts."

"Shares his thoughts my foot," Stephanie teased. "This is Darcy we're talking about. Sharing his thoughts is like handing someone the crown jewels. And Elizabeth Bennet is clearly living rent-free in his brain."

Richard, who had been observing quietly, finally spoke again, his voice thoughtful. "If I may, Miss Williams, it's also telling that he mentions her family. For a man like Darcy, who values decorum, to willingly subject himself to the chaos of the Bennets is… significant."

Stephanie squinted at him, her lips twitching. "Chaos of the Bennets? Care to elaborate?"

"I suspect he views them as somewhat… unconventional," Richard admitted, choosing his words carefully. "But for all his complaints about propriety, he has evidently chosen to tolerate—or perhaps even admire—them, for her sake."

Stephanie leaned back, folding her arms. "Well, I'll be. Darcy, the stickler for rules, is falling for someone who comes with chaos and a big personality. I need to meet this woman."

"Perhaps you will, in time," Georgiana said, smiling shyly. "But do remember, Stephanie, my brother is not always forthcoming about such matters."

"Oh, I've noticed," Stephanie said, rolling her eyes. "The man's emotionally repressed. This is why we need to gather intel like this—because he'll never admit he's smitten until he's practically at the altar."

Georgiana burst into laughter, and even Richard's lips twitched in amusement. Stephanie leaned forward conspiratorially. "Georgie, I expect real-time updates on this. No more holding out on the juicy stuff. We've got to track this love story in the making."

Georgiana nodded, still laughing, while Richard shook his head, muttering, "You're relentless."

"And proud of it," Stephanie declared, raising her tea cup in triumph. "To gossip, and to a Darcy-Bennet romance!"

A few days later Georgiana as she unfolded another letter from Darcy. Stephanie sipped her coffee, watching her with curiosity, while Richard sat quietly, his attention half on the letter and half on his meal.

Georgiana's expression turned thoughtful as she read aloud, "Fitzwilliam writes that Mr. Collins has joined him and Mr. Bingley in Hertfordshire."

"The parson for Lady Catherine," Georgiana said with a faint laugh. "He is… well, he can be rather tedious, but I suppose he means well."

"Tedious is a polite way of putting it," Richard interjected dryly, setting his cup down. "He's insufferable."

"Harsh, but fair," Georgiana said with a slight smile.

Stephanie paused, lowering her coffee. "And Aunt Catherine is?"

Richard chimed in, his voice measured, "Lady Catherine de Bourgh, our aunt. She presides over Rosings Park with… a certain authority."

"Authority?" Stephanie smirked. "Sounds like a euphemism for bossy." Richard's lips twitched but he didn't deny it.

"Fitzwilliam writes that the Bennet family—Mr. Collins' cousins—are encouraging him to consider one of their daughters for marriage."

Stephanie blinked, her toast halfway to her mouth. "Wait. Back up. His cousins? As in blood relatives?"

Georgiana nodded, clearly not understanding her reaction. "Yes, they are second cousins. It is entirely proper."

"Proper?" Stephanie set her toast down with an incredulous laugh. "Marrying your cousin is proper? That's insane."

Richard raised an eyebrow, his tone calm. "It is quite common, Miss Williams, particularly among families wishing to consolidate fortunes or estates."

"That's disgusting!" Stephanie exclaimed. "Do you people not understand genetics? This is why the Habsburg royal family ended up looking so… I don't know, melty!"

"Melty?" Georgiana repeated, frowning in confusion.

Stephanie gestured wildly, clearly on a roll. "Yes! Because of inbreeding! When close relatives marry, their kids are more likely to inherit all the worst traits. Over time, it gets worse and worse until—bam! You've got someone with a chin so big they can't close their mouth and an underbite that rivals a bulldog."

Richard coughed, trying—and failing—not to laugh. "Miss Williams, you have a most… colorful way of expressing yourself."

"It's science!" Stephanie threw her hands up. "Genetics! When cousins marry, they're doubling down on their shared DNA, and if there are any bad genes in the mix, those get amplified. That's why modern society has laws against this kind of thing. Cousin marriages are a disaster for the gene pool!"

Georgiana still looked perplexed. "But it is considered entirely respectable. And it keeps estates intact."

"Who cares about estates when your family tree looks like a straight line?" Stephanie retorted.

Richard leaned back in his chair, watching her with a faint smirk. "And yet, our society seems to function quite adequately despite your warnings of 'melty' chins."

Stephanie groaned, rubbing her temples. "Oh my God, you people are relentless. Fine. But if Darcy starts talking about marrying a cousin, I'm out."

Georgiana exchanged a glance with Richard before speaking hesitantly, "Well… Lady Catherine has long hoped Darcy would marry her daughter, Anne."

Stephanie froze, staring at Georgiana. "His first cousin?"

"Yes," Georgiana replied, as though it were the most natural thing in the world. "It has been spoken of for years."

Stephanie's jaw dropped. "That's even worse! First cousins? No wonder Lady Catherine is so bossy—her family tree probably doesn't have enough branches!"

Richard chuckled into his tea. "Your indignation, Miss Williams, is unmatched."

"And warranted!" Stephanie shot back. "This isn't just gross; it's a genetic horror show. You do realize that if Darcy marries Anne and they have kids, there's a real chance they'll end up with, like, three thumbs or something?"

Georgiana's eyes widened, and she looked to Richard, who shrugged, clearly unbothered. "Darcy has not agreed to the match," he said. "I suspect he has other intentions."

Stephanie perked up, her curiosity piqued. "Other intentions? You mean Elizabeth Bennet?"

Richard arched a brow. "Perhaps."

"Well, he better steer clear of Mr. Collins," Stephanie muttered. "The last thing Elizabeth needs is that bumbling idiot telling her Darcy's supposed to marry his cousin. She'll think he's part of some weird aristocratic cult."

Richard's lips twitched again, but he kept his composure. "Your imagination is… vivid."

Stephanie crossed her arms. "I'm just saying, if you keep this cousin-marrying tradition alive, you're going to end up on a TLC special."

Georgiana stifled a laugh, and even Richard couldn't hide his amusement anymore. "Miss Williams," he said, shaking his head, "you make a compelling—albeit dramatic—case."

"Good," Stephanie replied, reaching for her toast again. "Because your society needs a wake-up call. I'm officially your genetics consultant now."

Richard set his teacup down, his expression thoughtful as he looked at Stephanie. "Miss Williams," he began, his tone measured, "while I must admit your… colorful explanation was unexpected, I am genuinely curious. You mentioned genetics. Explain it to me. How is it that marriages between cousins can cause such… alarming outcomes?"

Stephanie blinked at him, surprised by his genuine interest. She set her toast down and leaned forward, warming to the topic. "Okay, so here's the deal. Genetics is basically how traits are passed down from parents to their kids—eye color, height, even stuff like whether you're prone to certain diseases. When two people who aren't related have kids, their genetic differences balance things out. But when close relatives, like cousins, have kids, there's a much higher chance that the bad genes they both carry—say, for a disease—will combine and show up in their child."

Georgiana frowned slightly. "But what do you mean by 'bad genes'? Surely not everyone has them?"

"Oh, everyone has them," Stephanie replied, nodding emphatically. "Even the healthiest person carries a few recessive genes that could cause problems if they pair up with someone who has the same ones. It's just that when cousins marry, the odds of those recessive genes meeting double—or triple. That's why you get royal families with hemophilia, deformities, or, you know… the Habsburg chin."

Richard tilted his head, his brow furrowed in thought. "Fascinating. So these 'genes' are invisible traits passed from one generation to the next?"

"Exactly," Stephanie said, excited he was catching on. "Think of them as little blueprints inside your body. Most of the time, they're fine, but if two people with the same faulty blueprint have a kid, the flaws in that blueprint get passed down."

Georgiana's brow furrowed further. "But is it always so dire? Surely not every cousin marriage results in… what did you call it, 'melty chins'?"

Stephanie laughed, holding up her hands. "No, not always. Sometimes you get lucky, and nothing bad happens. But over time, if it keeps happening generation after generation, the risks pile up. That's why we stopped doing it in my time. Well, most of us."

Richard leaned back in his chair, his arms crossed, his gaze fixed on her. "It sounds as though your society has taken great strides in understanding these… blueprints. But does that mean people always follow this knowledge when choosing their partners?"

Stephanie shrugged. "Not always. Love makes people do crazy things. But we at least have laws against marrying close relatives. And, you know, a pretty firm understanding that kissing your cousin is gross."

Breakfast the next day was warm and serene. Georgiana was spreading marmalade on toast, Stephanie sipped her coffee while picking at a muffin, and Richard read a newspaper with a contented air.

The peace was interrupted by the arrival of a groom carrying a slightly damp bundle of letters. "Colonel Fitzwilliam," the groom said with a bow, "these were delayed and misdirected but have now arrived."

Richard nodded, setting down his paper as he took the letters. "Thank you," he said, his voice calm as he began to open the first envelope.

Stephanie didn't pay much attention at first, focusing instead on her coffee, but the atmosphere shifted as Richard's brow furrowed. He swiftly opened another letter, his expression darkening with each line he read. By the third, his entire demeanor had stiffened.

Georgiana glanced up from her toast, her face paling as she studied his reaction. Her eyes flicked between the letters and Richard, and then she looked at him with quiet alarm, as though asking a silent question.

He gave her the briefest of nods.

Georgiana set her toast down, her hand trembling slightly. "Is it… him?" she asked softly, her voice barely audible.

Richard's jaw tightened. "Yes. Wickham is in Hertfordshire."

Stephanie looked up sharply. "Wickham? Who's that?"

Richard didn't answer immediately. He folded the letter deliberately, setting it aside before speaking in a measured tone. "George Wickham. A former acquaintance of Darcy and me. He is a man of… poor character."

Stephanie frowned. "Poor character? That's a polite way of saying he's a total jerk."

Richard didn't respond to her quip, instead focusing on Georgiana, who seemed to shrink under the weight of his words.

"Darcy will join us in town in a few days," Richard said firmly, his tone brooking no argument. "And no one is to mention Miss Bennet to him."

Stephanie, curious but respecting the tension in the room, refrained from asking further questions, though her brow furrowed slightly at the mention of Elizabeth Bennet.

Georgiana's lip trembled as she whispered, "It's because of me, isn't it?"

Richard's sharp gaze snapped to her. "Georgiana, this is not your fault."

"But it is!" Georgiana said, her voice breaking. "If not for my mistake, Fitzwilliam could deal with Wickham decisively. But now—now he has to tread carefully. He can't act freely because of what Wickham knows!"

"Enough," Richard said, his tone softening but still firm. "You were young and deceived. The blame lies with Wickham, not you."

Georgiana's hands trembled in her lap, and she blinked back tears. "I want to tell Stephanie. She'd understand. She might be able to help."

"No," Richard said, his tone turning steely.

"But she would never tell anyone," Georgiana insisted. "She's the only one who might truly understand how it feels to have someone…"

"Georgiana," Richard said, his voice dropping dangerously low, "the more people who know, the greater the risk. Wickham is a master manipulator. Every piece of knowledge is a weapon in his hands."

Georgiana's eyes filled with tears, and she stood abruptly, her voice trembling with anger. "You don't trust her. You don't trust me."

"This isn't about trust," Richard said tightly. "It's about protecting you—and all of us."

Her voice cracked as she said, "I feel like a coward, keeping this to myself. Stephanie's been so kind, and I—"

"Enough, Georgiana," Richard snapped, his tone sharper than he intended.

The room fell into an uneasy silence. Georgiana stared at him, her eyes brimming with hurt, before she turned and fled the room, leaving Stephanie and Richard alone.

Stephanie, who had been silent throughout the exchange, leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms. "I'm not going to push," she said carefully, her voice calm. "But for the record, whatever this Wickham guy did, he sounds like a real piece of work."

Richard exhaled slowly, his jaw still tight. "You don't know the half of it."

Stephanie tilted her head, her tone thoughtful but non-confrontational. "Maybe I don't. But it seems like Georgiana could use someone to talk to."

Richard looked at her, his expression softening slightly but still resolute. "She has me. She has Darcy. That will have to suffice."

Stephanie nodded, respecting his boundaries even as her curiosity burned. "Fair enough."

Richard rose, gathering the letters as he muttered something under his breath, then left the room in the same storm of tension that had swept in with the letters. Stephanie watched him go, her thoughts spinning as she tried to piece together the story behind Wickham, Darcy, and the unspoken weight that had clearly been suffocating Georgiana.

Later that day Stephanie caught Richard pacing near the window, his brow furrowed and his hands clasped tightly behind his back. He seemed deep in thought, his usual composed demeanor giving way to frustration.

Stephanie hesitated for a moment, then approached with deliberate steps, clearing her throat softly. "Colonel Fitzwilliam," she said lightly, trying to break the tension, "do you have a moment?"

Richard turned, his gaze sharp but softening slightly when he saw her. "Miss Williams. Of course." He gestured toward a chair. "Is something troubling you?"

She sat down but leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees. "I think the better question is—what's troubling you? You've been storming around like you're planning to duel someone."

Richard let out a slow exhale, his shoulders relaxing a fraction. "I assure you, my pacing is harmless. Merely… contemplation."

Stephanie raised an eyebrow, unconvinced. "Contemplation that's making Georgiana cry? She's been shutting herself away since breakfast."

His jaw tightened, and he looked away. "It's a complicated matter."

"Complicated or not," Stephanie pressed gently, "she's upset. And honestly, I think she could use some girl talk. Let me help her."

Richard turned back to her, his expression guarded. "This isn't something that can be resolved with casual conversation."

"Maybe not resolved," Stephanie conceded, "but it might help her feel less alone. And I can't do that if I don't know what's going on." Her voice softened. "I know you're trying to protect her, but sometimes talking to someone outside the family helps."

He studied her, his weary eyes searching hers. "You don't understand what you're asking."

"Then explain it to me," she said quietly, holding his gaze.

Richard sighed heavily and ran a hand through his hair. For a moment, he seemed to wrestle with himself, his sense of duty warring with the desire for someone to share the burden. Finally, he sat down across from her, his movements deliberate but tense.

"George Wickham," he began, his tone clipped, "was the son of Darcy's late father's steward. The two grew up together. For a time, Darcy even considered him a friend."

Stephanie frowned, already sensing the bitterness behind his words. "What happened?"

Richard's jaw worked, his voice lowering. "Wickham is… a scoundrel, Miss Williams. A man who preys on others' vulnerabilities. Some months ago he attempted to… compromise Georgiana."

Stephanie's stomach sank, her breath catching. "Compromise? You mean…"

Richard nodded grimly. "He sought to elope with her. She was fifteen at the time."

Stephanie's hand flew to her mouth. "Oh my God."

"He did it not out of affection," Richard continued, his tone like steel, "but to secure a significant portion of her dowry. Fortunately, Darcy discovered his plan before it was too late."

Stephanie's heart ached for Georgiana. "That poor girl."

"She was young, naïve," Richard said softly, his expression darkening. "She believed he loved her. When Darcy intervened, she was devastated. She felt ashamed, as though she were to blame."

Stephanie's eyes glistened with unshed tears. "She wasn't, though. None of that was her fault."

"No," Richard agreed firmly, his gaze softening. "But Wickham's actions left scars. And now… now he's in Hertfordshire, causing trouble once more."

Stephanie leaned back, the pieces starting to fall into place. "And Georgiana's worried he'll do something to Elizabeth."

Richard's head snapped up, his eyes narrowing. "Why do you say that?"

"Because I'm not blind, Colonel," she said, folding her arms. "Elizabeth Bennet is clearly important to Darcy. I didn't need Georgiana to spell it out for me. If Wickham's in Hertfordshire, and Darcy's been writing about Elizabeth, it's not a huge leap to assume Wickham's stirring the pot."

Richard exhaled sharply, his hand running down his face. "That's precisely what Georgiana fears. She feels responsible because her entanglement with Wickham complicates Darcy's ability to deal with him. The man is a master manipulator, and he thrives on leverage."

Stephanie's brow furrowed. "So she blames herself for Wickham's existence in Darcy's life because she gave Wickham leverage?"

Richard nodded. "Exactly."

"That's insane," Stephanie said, her voice rising slightly. "Darcy would never hold this against her."

"I know that," Richard said wearily. "But convincing her of it is another matter."

Stephanie hesitated, then placed her hand on his arm, drawing his gaze. "Richard," she said softly, "I can talk to her. Maybe hearing it from someone outside your family will help."

His eyes flicked to where her hand rested on his sleeve. He didn't pull away, but his voice was firm. "I'm not certain that's wise."

"I would never betray her trust," Stephanie said earnestly. "You know that."

Richard's gaze lingered on her, torn between his protective instincts and his growing respect for her. Finally, he nodded, though his expression remained cautious. "If you believe you can help her, then I won't stop you. But tread carefully, Miss Williams."

"I will," she promised, squeezing his arm gently before standing. "And thank you—for trusting me."

Richard watched her turn for the door a flicker of something he couldn't quite name tightening in his chest.

Stephanie paused at the door, sensing Richard's hesitation behind her. She turned, her hand resting lightly on the frame. "There's more, isn't there?" she asked softly.

Richard sighed, leaning forward in his chair, his elbows on his knees. His face was shadowed with frustration. "Yes, there's more. Wickham… doesn't just act out of greed or malice. He is cunning, and he knows how to use words as weapons."

Stephanie stepped back into the room, concern etched on her face. "What do you mean?"

Richard's eyes met hers, a storm of anger and regret swirling in their depths. "While in Hertfordshire, Wickham spread lies about Darcy. He painted him as cruel, cold-hearted, and unjust—claims that Darcy, being the private man he is, would never stoop to refute."

Stephanie frowned, her mind racing. "And Elizabeth heard these lies?"

"She did," Richard said grimly. "Wickham presented himself as the wronged party. A charming victim of Darcy's supposed tyranny. And Elizabeth, spirited and sharp as she may be, has no reason to doubt him."

Stephanie sank into a nearby chair, her heart sinking. "So she probably thinks Darcy's a villain."

Richard nodded, his expression darkening further. "Precisely. Wickham knows how to manipulate perception, and Darcy's reserved nature only works to his disadvantage in such matters."

Stephanie let out a frustrated groan, rubbing her temples. "Why didn't Darcy say anything? Why let Wickham smear him like that?"

Richard's voice grew sharper, though not directed at her. "Because Darcy would rather endure the sting of false accusations than risk dragging Georgiana into the spotlight. If Wickham's connection to her becomes public, it could ruin her entirely."

Stephanie's stomach twisted as the weight of it settled over her. "So, he's protecting Georgiana by staying silent."

"Exactly," Richard said, his tone softening as he studied her reaction. "Darcy's sense of duty is his greatest strength, but also his greatest burden."

Stephanie leaned forward, her elbows on her knees. "And Georgiana thinks this is her fault."

Richard nodded, his jaw tightening. "She blames herself for Wickham's continued presence in our lives. And now, with Elizabeth caught in the crossfire, her guilt has only deepened."

Stephanie sat back, exhaling slowly. "That's a lot for her to carry. No wonder she's been so upset."

Richard hesitated, then added quietly, "Darcy has written that Wickham's lies have already begun to influence Elizabeth's opinion of him. Georgiana fears that any chance Darcy may have had with her is slipping away."

Stephanie looked at him sharply. "Wait. You think Darcy loves her?"

Richard's lips pressed into a thin line. "I think he admires her greatly. Whether it is love or not, I cannot say. But if he does care for her…" His voice trailed off, and he shook his head. "It would make Wickham's interference all the more damaging."

Stephanie folded her arms, her expression determined. "This Wickham guy sounds like the absolute worst."

Richard let out a humorless chuckle. "You've no idea."

Stephanie's gaze flicked back to Richard, her curiosity still sharp. "Wait. If Darcy really cares about Elizabeth, why hasn't he just… I don't know, gone for it? He's Darcy, right? Super rich, super eligible, everyone loves him—except for maybe Wickham."

Richard's expression darkened slightly, his jaw tightening. "It's not that simple, Miss Williams."

Stephanie folded her arms, leaning back in her chair. "Why not? What's holding him back?"

Richard hesitated, clearly choosing his words carefully. "Darcy has… mentioned in his letters that he finds Miss Bennet's family situation to be… unsuitable."

Stephanie blinked, frowning. "Unsuitable? What does that even mean? Is this about money?"

"In part," Richard admitted, his voice steady but reluctant. "Elizabeth Bennet's family does not possess the wealth, status, or connections that Darcy's position would demand in a potential match. It's a matter of societal expectation."

Stephanie stared at him, her brow furrowing deeply. "So, what, her family isn't fancy enough for him? That's ridiculous."

"It may seem so to you," Richard said carefully, "but in our world, these things matter. A great deal. A union like that would raise eyebrows, invite speculation, and—most importantly—invite criticism of Darcy's judgment."

Stephanie's lips pressed into a thin line, frustration simmering in her chest. "So he's just supposed to marry someone he doesn't love? Someone who checks the right boxes on a list?"

Richard leaned forward slightly, his gaze firm but not unkind. "Darcy's responsibilities extend far beyond his personal feelings. He must consider his family, his estate, his future children—everything. His choices carry weight not just for him, but for all who depend on him."

Stephanie let out a frustrated sigh, running a hand through her hair. "That's so messed up. Love isn't even part of the equation, is it?"

Richard's expression softened, a flicker of sympathy crossing his face. "For some, it is. For Darcy… it complicates things. Miss Bennet's family situation only makes it more difficult. Her mother's behavior, her sisters' impropriety—it all reflects poorly on her, fairly or not."

Stephanie shook her head, her frustration giving way to a softer kind of sadness. "That's not fair to Elizabeth. None of that's her fault."

"No," Richard agreed quietly. "But fairness rarely plays a part in these matters."

"So that's it?" she snapped. "Darcy just gives up because Elizabeth doesn't have the right family or money? That's what all this legacy stuff boils down to? He loves her, but it doesn't matter because she's not 'good enough'?"

Richard's jaw tightened, his voice measured but laced with tension. "It's not about what's 'good enough.' It's about what's expected. About the responsibilities we carry, the people depending on us—"

"Oh, don't start with the responsibility bullshit," she interrupted, throwing her hands up. "You and Darcy think you're so noble, sacrificing your happiness for this 'duty.' But for what? Pemberley's a pile of rocks in my time! Your name? Your sacrifices? They mean nothing."

Richard straightened, his composure slipping, a flicker of anger in his eyes. "That's easy for you to say. You don't understand the weight of it—the history, the survival of what generations before us built."

Stephanie laughed bitterly, stepping closer, her voice rising. "Oh, I understand it perfectly. You're sacrificing everything real—love, happiness—for something that doesn't even last. Name one aristocratic family from your time that anyone remembers in mine. You can't. No one cares! Except the royal family—and even they're barely holding on."

His face darkened, his fists clenching at his sides. "You think this is easy? You think we don't feel it, every single day? Darcy and I—"

"You and Darcy," she interrupted, her voice trembling with frustration, "are killing yourselves to uphold a system that's rotting from the inside. No one cares about your sacrifices, Richard. No one appreciates this so-called duty. It's all bullshit, and you're too stubborn to see it."

The air between them grew heavy, the tension suffocating. Richard's breathing quickened, his usually calm demeanor cracked wide open. For a moment, he looked like he might say something, his lips parting, but then he stepped back, his expression shuttered.

Stephanie took a shaky breath, the heat of her anger giving way to something rawer. "In 150 years, no one gives a shit about your duty or your legacy. You're not that important."

Her voice cracked, and the words landed hard. Richard's gaze flicked to hers, and for a fleeting moment, she thought he might relent, that he might admit she was right. Instead, his jaw clenched, his expression hardening as if to protect himself from her words.

The silence stretched unbearably before she turned abruptly and strode toward the door, slamming it shut behind her.

Richard stayed rooted in place, his chest heaving with suppressed frustration and something else he couldn't name. He raked a hand through his hair, staring at the closed door. Finally, under his breath, his voice dripping with bitterness, he muttered, "Fucking Wickham."

Stephanie found Georgiana in the music room, seated at the pianoforte but not playing, her fingers hovering over the keys as if unsure whether to press them. The younger woman's face was pale, her usual brightness dimmed. Stephanie hesitated for a moment before walking in, her steps deliberate but soft.

"Georgie," Stephanie said gently, sitting beside her on the bench, "you okay?"

Georgiana gave a small, almost imperceptible nod, her fingers tracing a slow line across the keys. "I was thinking," she murmured, "about everything. About Mr. Wickham."

Stephanie leaned back, folding her arms, watching Georgiana carefully. "Yeah, I figured as much. You've been quiet since breakfast."

Georgiana glanced at her, her eyes filled with a mix of shame and worry. "It's hard not to think… if I hadn't… if I hadn't been so foolish, maybe none of this would be happening. Maybe Elizabeth wouldn't have to endure his lies. Maybe my brother—"

"Stop," Stephanie interrupted firmly, placing a hand over Georgiana's to still her fidgeting fingers. "None of this is your fault, Georgiana. Wickham is a grown man who made his choices. He didn't do this because of you; he did it because he's a manipulative asshole."

Georgiana's eyes widened, her lips parting at Stephanie's bluntness.

Stephanie sighed, softening her tone but keeping her grip steady. "Listen, I get it. You think you should've seen through him or been stronger or smarter, right?"

Georgiana nodded, tears gathering at the corners of her eyes.

"Well, here's the thing," Stephanie continued, her voice steady. "Guys like Wickham? They're professionals at this crap. They know exactly what to say, how to act, how to make you feel like you're the only person in the world who understands them. They don't target people because they're weak—they target people because they're kind and trusting. And that's you, Georgie."

"But I let him—" Georgiana began, but Stephanie cut her off again.

"You let him nothing," Stephanie said firmly. "He took advantage of you. It's not the same thing. And honestly, you were fifteen. You shouldn't have even had to think about people like him. That's on him, not you."

Georgiana looked away, her tears spilling over. "But now he's ruining Elizabeth's view of my brother. And my brother… he deserves better."

Stephanie smiled softly, squeezing Georgiana's hand. "You know, in my time, we have a saying: hurt people hurt people. Wickham's just bitter and angry because he didn't get what he thought he deserved from Darcy. He's using you and Elizabeth and whoever else he can to try and get back at him. It's not about you, Georgie, and it's not about Elizabeth. It's about his stupid, fragile ego."

Georgiana blinked, her tears slowing. "You think… he won't win?"

Stephanie shrugged. "Oh, he might win for a while. People like him usually do, because they're good at playing the long game. But eventually, they trip over their own lies. Trust me, I've seen it happen. And besides," she added with a small grin, "your brother's not exactly someone who gives up easily, is he?"

Georgiana's lips curved into a faint smile. "No, he isn't."

"Exactly," Stephanie said, giving her a little nudge. "So don't waste your energy blaming yourself for Wickham's garbage. He's a professional scam artist. You're a sweet, sheltered girl who got caught in his net. That doesn't make you foolish—it makes you human."

Georgiana blinked rapidly, clearly trying to hold back tears. "But I should have known better. He… he made me feel special, like I was the only person who understood him, and I believed him. How could I have been so foolish?"

Stephanie shook her head, squeezing Georgiana's hand. "You weren't foolish, Georgie. You were groomed."

"Groomed?" Georgiana repeated, frowning. "What does that mean?"

"It means," Stephanie explained carefully, "that Wickham didn't just show up one day and convince you to run away with him. He built trust with you first. He made you feel important, safe, and understood—like he was someone you could rely on. That's what predators like him do. They're not obvious; they don't act suspicious. They're charming and attentive, and they make you think they care about you."

Georgiana's gaze dropped to her lap. "But I should have seen through him."

"Georgie," Stephanie said firmly, "you were fifteen. You didn't have the life experience to know what to look out for. And you shouldn't have had to. That's the thing about people like Wickham—they don't just trick you, they manipulate you into doubting yourself. He took advantage of your kindness, your innocence, and your trust. That's on him, not you."

Tears welled in Georgiana's eyes, but she didn't pull away. "But if I hadn't fallen for his lies, maybe Elizabeth wouldn't…"

"Stop right there," Stephanie interrupted, her tone sharp but not unkind. "This isn't a domino effect. Wickham would've found a way to hurt Darcy no matter what. He's angry, bitter, and vindictive. If it hadn't been you, it would've been someone else. His grudge against Darcy isn't your burden to carry."

Georgiana wiped her cheek with her free hand. "But I feel so guilty. If not for me, my brother wouldn't have to tread so carefully now. And Wickham might not be trying to poison Elizabeth against him."

Stephanie gave her a small, encouraging smile. "I get why you feel that way, but you can't hold yourself responsible for the choices Wickham made. You didn't force him to lie about Darcy. You didn't force him to be a total garbage human being."

Georgiana let out a shaky laugh, a faint smile breaking through. "Garbage human being?"

"It's what we call people like him in my time," Stephanie said with a grin. "If it makes you feel better, I can start a whole list of other names for him."

That earned a real laugh from Georgiana, who shook her head but looked a little lighter. Georgiana sniffled, looking away. "Darcy and Richard treat me like I'm so fragile. Like I'll break if they tell me the truth. It makes me feel… helpless."

Stephanie exhaled slowly, sitting back slightly. "That's because they've grown up in a world that doesn't think women can handle hard truths. They think they're protecting you, but it's really about control. They see women as something to be sheltered, not someone who can face life head-on."

Georgiana frowned, her tears momentarily forgotten. "You think Darcy and Richard are… controlling?"

"Not in a malicious way," Stephanie said. "But their version of protection isn't helping. It's holding you back. You're strong, Georgie, stronger than they give you credit for. Women can handle shit, but only if they're trusted to."

Unbeknownst to the two women, Richard was standing just outside the door. He leaned against the frame, his arms crossed, his expression a mix of mortification and guilt as he listened to Stephanie's words.

Stephanie continued, her voice growing more resolute. "Men like Darcy and Richard think they're doing the right thing. But keeping women in the dark, treating us like we're too delicate to face reality? It just makes everything worse. If they really wanted to protect you, they'd give you the tools to fight back."

Georgiana stared at her, the weight of Stephanie's words sinking in. "You really think I can fight back?"

Stephanie smiled, squeezing her hands. "You already are. Just talking about this, even with me, is a huge step. You're stronger than you think, Georgie. And the more you realize that, the less power men like Wickham will ever have over you."

Georgiana's lip quirked into a small smile. "I wish you'd been here back then."

"I wish I'd been here too," Stephanie said, her tone lighter now. "But hey, I'm here now. And I've got your back."

Georgiana chuckled softly, her tears finally drying. "Thank you, Stephanie. I don't think anyone has ever spoken to me like this before."

Stephanie grinned. "Well, someone had to break through the bullshit, right?"

From outside the door, Richard closed his eyes, exhaling slowly. Her words had struck deeper than he wanted to admit. His thoughts were heavy with the realization that perhaps Stephanie was right—and that he and Darcy had been going about protecting Georgiana all wrong.

Georgiana's hesitant fingers tested the keys. Stephanie leaned against the instrument, watching her with a quiet, encouraging smile. The conversation they had just shared weighed heavy in the air, but Stephanie refused to let it end on that note.

"You know what you need?" Stephanie said, her voice breaking the tension. "You need some catharsis. Something loud. Something angry. Something unapologetically girl power."

Georgiana tilted her head, curious. "Like what?"

"Some Taylor Swift. Trust me. It'll do wonders."

Georgiana tilted her head, curiosity piqued. "Taylor Swift? Who is she?"

"A goddess," Stephanie declared dramatically. "A warrior of heartbreak, revenge, and empowerment. And today, you're getting a full performance. Move over, pianoforte—you're about to witness a pop masterpiece."

Georgiana giggled, sliding off the bench as Stephanie cleared space in the room. With a determined breath, Stephanie straightened, tapped an imaginary microphone, and launched into "Look what you made me do" with infectious energy.

Stephanie's voice was surprisingly strong, her movements sharp and commanding. She stalked forward with deliberate steps, her hips swaying as she mimicked the choreography she and her friends had long since memorized. She snapped her fingers dramatically on every beat, twirling in place with the flair of a seasoned performer.

Georgiana gasped softly, clapping along as Stephanie's energy filled the room.

Stephanie spun around, her finger pointing to the imaginary crowd, her intensity building with every word. She leaned into the emotion of the lyrics, her gaze fierce and unrelenting.

By the chorus, Georgiana had been pulled fully into Stephanie's world.

Georgiana clapped in rhythm, her laughter bubbling up as Stephanie stomped her foot and struck a pose. Stephanie leaned closer to her, pointing dramatically during, "I don't trust nobody and nobody trusts me…"

Georgiana's giggles turned to full-blown laughter as Stephanie grabbed her hands and twirled her around the room, the two of them spinning and stomping like rebellious schoolgirls at their own private concert.

Then Stephanie dropped dramatically to her knees, sliding onto the carpet with a flair that made Georgiana gasp and laugh in surprise. Leaning back, she arched her body, her arms sweeping in time with the beat as she writhed and twisted with a controlled sensuality that matched the pulse of the imaginary music.

Her hands moved over her head and her body undulating with a confidence that spoke of pure defiance and empowerment. Stephanie's face was alight with focus and playfulness, and she seemed completely lost in the moment.

Georgiana's laughter turned to awe as she leaned forward on the bench, mesmerized. "Stephanie, that's… incredible!"

Stephanie flipped her hair back dramatically as she leaned on one arm, striking a pose that could have belonged on a stage. "Georgie," she said breathlessly, "this is what you do when you have a message to send. Full drama, no holding back."

Georgiana giggled, clapping enthusiastically. "I've never seen anything like it! You're like a… a warrior of music!"

Stephanie laughed, standing up and brushing herself off, her energy still palpable. "That's the idea! You don't just sing a song like this—you live it."

Listen to Swift, Taylor. "Look What You Made Me Do." Reputation, Big Machine Records, 2017.