Stephanie raised an eyebrow, sensing Darcy's irritation but deciding it was best to stay quiet for once. She watched as Richard followed Darcy into the study, the door closing firmly behind them.

Inside the study, Darcy stood by the window, his hands clasped tightly behind his back. For a moment, he said nothing, his posture rigid and his gaze fixed outward. Richard leaned casually against the edge of the desk, waiting.

Finally, Darcy turned, his expression tight. "What exactly was that display outside?"

Richard tilted his head, his easy demeanor a stark contrast to Darcy's tension. "A bit of laughter, Fitzwilliam. I wasn't aware that was a punishable offense."

Darcy's brows drew together. "It's not the laughter itself. It's the lack of decorum. Georgiana is impressionable—"

Richard interrupted gently but firmly. "She's also happy. Lately, she smiles more, laughs more. Stephanie's influence has been a gift."

Darcy's mouth pressed into a thin line. "I understand Miss Williams' personality. I allowed her into Georgiana's life because I believed her presence would be beneficial. However, there are limits, Richard. You, above all, should ensure those limits are maintained."

Richard straightened slightly, his tone measured but resolute. "And I have. But Fitzwilliam, you must understand—Stephanie treats Georgiana as an equal. Not as your fragile sister or a girl who needs constant guarding. She's given her a chance to simply be herself."

Darcy's jaw tightened. "And if that openness leads to whispers? If her reputation is compromised?"

Richard's gaze hardened. "Stephanie would never put Georgiana in harm's way. You know that as well as I do."

Darcy sighed, his stance relaxing just slightly. "I know Stephanie's heart is in the right place. But her modern perspective can be… reckless. You must ensure that Georgiana remains protected."

Richard gave a slight nod, though his tone remained steady. "I'll ensure it. But you need to trust that not everything Stephanie does is a threat to propriety. Sometimes, Fitzwilliam, you need to allow Georgiana to live."

Darcy's lips pressed together, his expression softening just a fraction. "I do trust her. And you."

Richard's smile was faint, but genuine. "Good. Because they both deserve your trust."

Darcy inclined his head, a subtle acknowledgment of the point. "Very well. But ensure there are no more… spectacles."

Richard smirked, his tone light. "I'll see what I can do. Though, you might want to consider joining us next time. You could use a laugh."

Darcy leaned back against his desk, his arms crossed, his sharp gaze fixed on Richard. "And now, a proper account of how the household has fared. How has Miss Williams adapted? Are her interviews progressing? Has she learned anything about life in 1812 beyond the bounds of her own curiosity?"

Richard gave a small chuckle, tilting his head. "Ah, Fitzwilliam, where to begin? Miss Williams has certainly come a long way since you left her here as a fish out of water. But I would not describe her adaptation as… traditional."

Darcy's brow furrowed. "Explain."

"Well," Richard began, "Georgiana and Mrs. Reynolds have taken your directive seriously. They've taught her how to navigate household expectations—how to address the staff, basic etiquette, the works. Stephanie, however…" He trailed off, his smirk widening. "She tends to approach everything with a modern flair, questioning nearly every convention."

Darcy exhaled slowly, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I expected as much. And the book?"

Richard's expression softened slightly. "She's been diligent about her interviews with the staff. You should see her with Mrs. Reynolds—it's as though she's adopted her as a second mother. Mrs. Reynolds has been patient, explaining everything from hygiene to the logistics of running Pemberley, often with a mix of amusement and exasperation."

Darcy nodded, his expression thoughtful. "Good. Stephanie needs that guidance if she is to gain any real understanding of our time. I take it Mrs. Reynolds has been thorough?"

"Oh, she's been thorough, all right," Richard said, leaning back in his chair. "Stephanie now knows more about Regency-era ear spoons and vinaigrettes than she likely cares to."

Darcy raised an eyebrow. "Ear spoons?"

Richard laughed. "You should have seen her reaction. I think she forbade anyone in the household from ever using one again."

Despite himself, Darcy's lips twitched slightly. "I see she's taken her usual approach to adaptation."

"Indeed," Richard said, nodding. "As for the book, she's genuinely interested in the lives of the staff. She listens, asks insightful questions, and takes great care to understand their perspectives. Georgiana has been particularly helpful in bridging any gaps of understanding."

Darcy's expression softened at the mention of his sister. "And Georgiana? How has she fared with Stephanie's influence?"

"She's flourished," Richard replied without hesitation. "She laughs more, speaks her mind more readily, and seems… lighter. Stephanie has a way of drawing people out of their shells."

Darcy's gaze sharpened slightly. "And what about life in 1812? Has Stephanie gained a deeper appreciation for it?"

Richard tilted his head, considering his response. "She's learned quite a bit—more than I think she expected. The staff have shared their stories, Mrs. Reynolds has imparted her wisdom, and Georgiana has been a patient teacher. But Stephanie still struggles with some aspects."

"Such as?"

"She's… vocal about what she finds outdated or unjust," Richard admitted. "Your emphasis on duty and propriety, for instance. She questions it. Challenges it."

Darcy sighed, his expression faintly exasperated. "That does not surprise me."

"No," Richard agreed, his tone softer. "But perhaps it's not a bad thing. Stephanie brings a unique perspective—one that has, in some ways, been refreshing for all of us."

Darcy's gaze lingered on Richard, his expression unreadable. "And for you?"

Richard hesitated, then shrugged lightly. "She's... difficult to ignore."

Darcy's lips pressed into a thin line, but he nodded. "Thank you, Richard. Your account is thorough, as always."

Darcy leaned back in his chair, his expression contemplative as he regarded Richard. The fire crackled softly in the background, casting warm light across the room. "And how has Miss Williams fared with her project? Has she adjusted to her role and the process? Any particular challenges?"

Richard hesitated, his posture stiff as he considered how to answer. "She's… dedicated," he said finally. "More so than I expected. But the process has been an emotional one for her, especially in light of one specific interview."

Darcy straightened slightly. "And what interview was that?"

"She spoke with Samuel," Richard said, his voice weighted.

Darcy's expression darkened slightly. "Samuel's story is not an easy one to hear."

"No, it isn't," Richard agreed, his tone grim. "She handled the interview itself with grace. Samuel wouldn't have noticed a crack in her demeanor. But afterward, she fell apart. Completely."

Darcy frowned deeply. "What do you mean?"

Richard's gaze dropped momentarily before returning to Darcy's. "She was overcome, Fitzwilliam. She sobbed as though she were carrying all of the pain Samuel endured. And when I stayed to console her, it became clear that her reaction wasn't just about what Samuel went through—it was about her own understanding of it. Her knowledge is… deeper than anything you or I could truly grasp."

Darcy's brow furrowed. "Deeper in what way?"

"She's studied it," Richard explained, his voice low but steady. "Unlike you or me, who understand the slave trade in abstract terms or from what little we've encountered in law or discourse, Stephanie has read extensively. She's immersed herself in accounts, documents, and personal stories from her time—records of atrocities we can only begin to imagine. She knows exactly what happened to people like Samuel in Virginia. The whippings, the beatings, the labor… and worse."

Darcy's expression turned grave, his jaw tightening as Richard continued.

"She spoke of the women," Richard said, his voice heavy. "Of what they endured—rapes, the selling of their children, lives lived entirely at the mercy of others. She described it with a clarity that… it made me ill to hear it, Fitzwilliam. And she carried that knowledge into Samuel's story, knowing what he must have lived through. It's no wonder she was overwhelmed."

Darcy exhaled sharply, his fingers steepled in thought. "I had no idea she was so well-versed in the subject."

"She is," Richard said firmly. "And that depth of knowledge has given her a perspective that neither you nor I possess. She doesn't just see the injustices of our time—she connects them to those of her own. She spoke of modern-day slavery, of sweatshops and child labor, and the guilt she feels for benefiting from it while doing nothing to stop it."

Darcy looked at him, his expression unreadable. "She holds herself accountable?"

"More than anyone I've ever met," Richard replied. "She called herself a hypocrite for judging us when her own world is guilty of exploitation. She's carrying the weight of injustices spanning centuries, Fitzwilliam. It's breaking her."

Darcy's gaze softened, a flicker of guilt crossing his features. "And you comforted her?"

"I did what I could," Richard said simply. "But her knowledge… it's a burden. She's seen too much, read too much. And unlike us, she knows how these stories end. The sheer weight of that understanding—it's crushing."

Darcy leaned forward, his voice quieter. "And what does she hope to achieve with this project?"

"She hopes to bear witness," Richard said. "To document these lives, these stories, so they aren't forgotten. But she's grappling with the futility of it, Fitzwilliam. She knows she can't change the past. And that knowledge eats at her."

Darcy sighed deeply, his fingers tapping lightly against the desk. "She is an extraordinary woman."

"She is," Richard agreed, though there was a flicker of something in his tone—admiration, frustration, something unspoken. "But she's carrying too much. She feels too deeply."

"More than anyone should," Richard said, his voice raw. "She tore into me about Britain's role in the slave trade and colonization. She called it monstrous—said our empire was built on stolen land and stolen lives. She said the effects of what we started are still being felt centuries later in her time."

Darcy's lips pressed into a thin line. "And how did you respond?"

Richard looked away, his jaw tightening. "What could I say? She's not wrong, Fitzwilliam. Our country profited from the suffering of millions. But hearing her say it, with so much anger, so much heartbreak—it was like she was cutting me open." His voice broke slightly, and he clenched his fists. "She said we sit in our grand estates, sipping tea and pretending we're civilizing the world. And, God help me, Fitzwilliam, she wasn't wrong."

Darcy's expression softened, but his voice remained firm. "She doesn't understand the complexities of our time."

"Doesn't she?" Richard shot back, his voice sharper than intended. "She might not live in our world, but she knows its horrors better than we do. She doesn't just feel the weight of it—she sees it. She called us blind, Fitzwilliam, and in that moment, I couldn't disagree with her."

Darcy studied him, his gaze probing. "She's affected you deeply."

Richard exhaled shakily, his composure crumbling further. "I've been through battles, Fitzwilliam. I've seen men broken in ways I thought couldn't be matched. But this—seeing her so devastated, knowing what she carries—it's haunted me. And when she turned her anger on me, when she blamed Britain for everything, I wanted to defend us. I wanted to fight back. But I couldn't. Because she's right."

Darcy leaned back, his expression conflicted. "You've never been one to shy away from hard truths."

"This wasn't just a hard truth," Richard said, his voice trembling. "This was the entire foundation of our world being called into question. She forced me to confront things I've spent my entire life ignoring. And then she turned it on herself, called herself complicit, said she was no better. I've never seen someone so determined to shoulder the weight of the world, Fitzwilliam. And it's breaking her."

Darcy leaned back in his chair, arching a brow as he observed Richard's faint smirk. "Has she at least made progress in adapting to our time? Georgiana and Mrs. Reynolds have been diligently teaching her, I trust."

Richard cleared his throat, his smirk deepening despite himself. "She's... learning. Slowly. But I'm not sure I'd call it progress in the traditional sense."

Darcy's gaze sharpened. "What happened?"

Richard leaned forward, his fingers interlacing as he suppressed a laugh. "I happened to walk in on one of Mrs. Reynolds' lessons. She was demonstrating various items—practical things Stephanie might encounter in everyday life. One of them was a snuff box."

Darcy frowned. "Snuff? Surely Mrs. Reynolds didn't suggest she try it."

"She didn't have the chance to discourage her," Richard said, his voice filled with dry amusement. "Stephanie, being Stephanie, decided she had to experience it for herself. Before anyone could stop her, she took a pinch, inhaled deeply, and…" He trailed off, his lips twitching as the memory replayed. "It did not go well."

Darcy tilted his head, his frown deepening. "What do you mean?"

Richard's composure cracked, and he chuckled. "The moment she inhaled, she shot out of her chair like a cannonball. She started coughing uncontrollably, tears streaming down her face, and then she began swearing."

Darcy's brow furrowed. "Swearing?"

"Oh, Fitzwilliam," Richard said, leaning back, his laughter bubbling up now. "Not just swearing. She called it 'Satan's cocaine.' Declared us all 'psychopaths,' and demanded to know who thought putting powdered fire up their nose was a good idea."

Darcy blinked, clearly torn between disbelief and irritation. "She swore? In front of Mrs. Reynolds?"

"Repeatedly," Richard confirmed, his tone dry but amused. "And it didn't stop there. She informed Mrs. Reynolds that snuff was an invention of a deranged society, promised never to touch it again, and then issued a formal warning that if she ever saw an ear spoon again, she would 'take matters into her own hands.'"

Darcy closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Good God."

"Mrs. Reynolds handled it admirably," Richard added with a shrug. "She even tried to explain the appeal of snuff, but Stephanie was too busy pacing the room, alternating between laughter, outrage, and muttered curses."

Darcy exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "Leave it to her to turn a simple lesson into a spectacle."

Richard's smirk softened into a faint smile. "She's trying, Fitzwilliam. In her own way. She may never fit into our world entirely, but she's learning more than you might think."

Darcy gave him a skeptical look. "And the swearing? The dramatics?"

"She's modern," Richard replied simply. "It's part of her charm—or her chaos, depending on your perspective."

Darcy sighed, though there was a flicker of reluctant amusement in his eyes. "I'll take your word for it. But I trust you're keeping her... antics in check."

Richard leaned forward, clearly bursting at the seams. "Fitzwilliam, I've been dying to tell you this. I couldn't say a word to Georgiana, and certainly not Mrs. Reynolds, but you… you're the only man who knows."

Darcy arched an eyebrow, setting down his tea. "This sounds ominous."

"Oh, it's worse than ominous," Richard said, grinning like a schoolboy with a secret. "It's about shaving."

Darcy frowned. "Shaving? What could possibly be—"

"Everything," Richard interrupted, unable to hold back. "They shave everything in her time."

"Everything?" Darcy repeated, his voice laden with confusion.

"Yes, Fitzwilliam," Richard said, leaning closer. "Women shave their legs, their underarms, and their… private areas."

Darcy's teacup paused midair, his expression frozen in utter disbelief. "Their private areas?"

Richard nodded solemnly, though his lips twitched with barely contained laughter. "And that's not all. If shaving weren't enough, they use something called waxing."

Darcy set his teacup down a little harder than necessary. "Waxing?"

"Yes. Waxing," Richard said, his voice dropping for dramatic effect. "Hot wax is poured onto the hair they want gone. Then, they rip it off."

Darcy flinched visibly. "Good God, that sounds like torture."

"Oh, it is," Richard said with a grin. "But it's entirely normal in her time. She said they go to salons—places specifically for this—and have it done."

Darcy's brows knit together in a mix of horror and fascination. "And they willingly subject themselves to this?"

"Not just willingly—they pay for it," Richard said, leaning back in his chair. "She even mentioned something called a Brazilian wax. Apparently, women lie there, legs wide open, while every bit of hair is removed."

Darcy blinked, clearly trying to process this. "And this is… desirable?"

"Apparently," Richard said with a shrug, though his grin hadn't faded. "Oh, but there's more. Some men do it too."

Darcy sat straighter, looking genuinely alarmed. "Men?"

"Yes," Richard said, holding up a hand. "Their chests, their backs, and—brace yourself—sometimes the same places as women."

Darcy ran a hand over his face, visibly shaken. "What madness is this?"

Richard chuckled darkly. "It gets better. She mentioned a cream—yes, a cream—that melts the hair off."

Darcy froze. "Melts?"

"Melts," Richard confirmed. "She called it hair removal cream. You apply it, wait, and the hair disintegrates."

Darcy stared at him, visibly disturbed. "The future sounds like a terrifying place."

"Oh, it's absurd," Richard said, shaking his head. "And to think, she calmly explained all of this to Mrs. Reynolds. But Fitzwilliam, the way she talked about it—she said men in her time are repulsed by body hair on women. That it's all for appearance."

Darcy leaned back, his frown deepening. "And this is… normal?"

"Apparently," Richard said, his tone incredulous. "Though she also said men do it for the same reason—appearance. She mentioned some even remove hair permanently with lasers."

Darcy's eyes widened. "Lasers?"

Richard nodded. "Yes, though I didn't press for details.

Richard leaned forward, laughing. "Oh, Fitzwilliam, you'd have lost it. The way she said it so casually, as though it were the most natural thing in the world. I've been holding this in for days. I needed to tell someone before I exploded."

Darcy shook his head, still reeling. "You've truly outdone yourself, Richard. I'll never be able to look at a shaving kit the same way again."

Richard raised his teacup with a triumphant grin. "Welcome to the future, cousin. It's horrifying and absurd in equal measure."