Mayfair's polished exteriors and cobblestones roads shone as Stephanie walked alongside Richard, Georgiana, and Darcy. The elegant streets, lined with grand townhouses and bustling with carriages, were a world away from anything Stephanie had ever experienced. Yet, despite the beauty of her surroundings, she couldn't shake the unease growing in her chest.
Mayfair was polished, orderly, and filled with men who seemed far too interested in her.
"I swear, I've never been stared at so much in my life," she muttered under her breath, sidling closer to Richard.
"You are quite the novelty," Richard replied lightly, though his sharp eyes scanned the crowd. "A young woman of your beauty and…presence does tend to draw attention."
"I'd rather not," she grumbled, her voice barely audible.
As if on cue, a tall man in an impeccable tailcoat approached them with a polished smile. "Fitzwilliam!" the man exclaimed warmly, his voice carrying the faint trace of aristocratic entitlement. "It has been far too long."
"Cranston," Richard replied, his tone cool but polite.
"And who is this lovely young lady?" Cranston asked, his sharp eyes lingering on Stephanie. "I've heard whispers that Darcy has taken a ward. This must be the very one."
Stephanie stiffened, her discomfort growing as Cranston gave a small bow. "Miss Williams, a pleasure."
"Thank you," she said tightly, managing a polite nod but nothing more.
"You're a lucky man, Darcy," Cranston continued, his smile turning sly. "A fine young lady under your protection. One can only imagine the gossip this has stirred in certain circles."
Darcy's expression hardened, his eyes narrowing. "Miss Williams's position in my household is not a subject for idle speculation, Cranston."
Cranston laughed lightly, as if Darcy's cold tone had no effect. "Oh, come now, Darcy. Surely you expected some curiosity. A beautiful young lady without ties suddenly appearing in Mayfair? Tongues are bound to wag."
Stephanie's stomach twisted at his words, her discomfort boiling into anger. "If curiosity is so pressing, perhaps people could direct their questions to me instead of creating baseless rumors," she said, her voice firm but calm.
Cranston's eyebrows rose, and he chuckled. "Quite spirited. You'll be the talk of London soon enough, Miss Williams."
"She already is," Richard said smoothly, stepping slightly in front of Stephanie and fixing Cranston with a cold stare. "But only in the most favorable terms, I assure you."
The unspoken warning In his words silenced Cranston, who gave a tight smile before bowing again. "Well, I shan't keep you. Do enjoy your stroll."
As soon as he disappeared into the crowd, Stephanie let out a shaky breath. "What the hell was that?"
"That," Richard said grimly, "was the aristocratic art of insinuation."
Georgiana touched her arm gently. "Don't let it trouble you, Stephanie. Cranston thrives on making others uncomfortable."
"Mission accomplished," Stephanie muttered, her arms crossing tightly over her chest. "Is it always like this? The fake politeness, the sly insults?"
"Not always," Richard said, his voice softer now. "But there are men like Cranston in every circle. It's why you must always remain above their provocations."
Stephanie glanced up at him, her eyes narrowing. "And what happens if I don't? What happens if I call them out?"
Richard's lips twitched into a faint smile. "Then you'd give them exactly what they want. A scandal."
She sighed heavily, brushing her hands down her skirts as though to shake off the encounter. "I hate this. All of it. The rules, the games, the fake smiles."
"You're not alone in that," Richard said quietly, his voice filled with an unexpected warmth.
Stephanie glanced at him, her expression softening as she caught the protective glint in his eyes. For all her frustration, she couldn't deny the comfort of having him near. And as they continued their walk, she found herself staying closer to him, grateful for his steady presence in a world that felt increasingly alien.
A few days later in the crisp London evening the theatre was alive with the hum of anticipation. Glittering chandeliers cast a warm golden glow over the richly dressed crowd, while the faint strains of a harpsichord drifted from the pit. Every surface seemed adorned with extravagance—velvet drapes, gold-leafed railings, and a sea of silks and satins worn by London's elite. Stephanie, in her new gown, followed closely behind Georgiana and Darcy, her senses assaulted by the sights and sounds of the Regency era.
Despite the beauty surrounding her, Stephanie felt an undercurrent of unease. This was her first outing at the theatre, her first real taste of 1812 London's social life, and while she marveled at the grandeur, she was hyperaware of the sharp glances and whispered comments from those who noticed her. They didn't know she was from 2024, but her mannerisms, her hesitations, and her accent made her different. Darcy and Georgiana, to her relief, seemed unfazed, moving with confidence through the crowd.
Richard's absence tonight felt strangely pronounced. Earlier, Darcy had explained that his cousin had a prior engagement with friends. "He's meeting some old military comrades," Darcy had said with a faint smirk. "He claims it will be a quiet evening, but knowing Richard, I doubt it will stay that way."
Stephanie had laughed then, imagining Richard in some smoky tavern swapping stories with fellow officers, his easy smile and charm lighting up the room. But now, as she struggled to keep up with Darcy and Georgiana in the bustling theatre, she wished he had come. Richard had a knack for putting her at ease, his steady presence and gentlemanly manner a comforting counterbalance to the chaos of this unfamiliar world.
The crush of people thickened as they approached the main staircase, and Stephanie's heart began to race. She tried to focus on Georgiana's soft blue gown just ahead of her, but a cluster of chattering patrons shifted suddenly, blocking her view. She hesitated, caught in the swirl of bodies, and in that instant, Darcy and Georgiana disappeared from sight.
The theatre's grandeur faded as Stephanie was swept further from Darcy and Georgiana. The crowd thickened, and the air grew oppressive with the scent of heavy perfume and warm bodies. She pushed forward, trying to keep her companions in sight, but the tide of elegantly dressed patrons seemed to conspire against her.
"Darcy?" she called, her voice swallowed by the din. "Georgiana?"
She turned frantically, scanning the glittering throng for any familiar face, but all she saw were strangers. Her chest tightened as unease gave way to panic. She reached out to steady herself against a gilded pillar, her breath quick and shallow.
"Miss Williams," a low voice drawled behind her.
Stephanie spun, her heart jumping in relief—until her gaze landed on the man before her. His dark eyes gleamed with a predatory light, his lips curling into a smirk that sent a chill down her spine.
"Allow me," he said smoothly, gripping her wrist before she could protest. His hold was firm, unyielding, and it sent a sharp jolt of pain up her arm. "You seem… lost."
"I'm fine," she said, trying to tug her hand free. "Please let go."
"Oh, but I insist," he replied, his tone dripping with false politeness. "I couldn't possibly leave a lady unattended in such a crowd."
Without waiting for her response, he began steering her away from the main hall. Stephanie's alarm grew with every step, her attempts to pull back met with increasing pressure on her wrist. "Where are you taking me?" she demanded, her voice rising slightly.
"Somewhere quieter," he said with a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "You'll thank me, I assure you."
He led her down a dimly lit side corridor, the noise of the theatre fading into an eerie silence. Stephanie's heart raced as she realized how isolated they were. "Let me go," she said again, her voice trembling. "I'll find my way back."
Wickham ignored her, opening a door at the end of the corridor and pushing her inside. The room was small and shadowy, cluttered with forgotten props and dusty furniture. He shut the door behind them with a soft click, leaning against it as he regarded her with a cold smile.
"Why so nervous, Miss Williams?" he asked, stepping closer. "Surely, you've been alone with a man before."
Stephanie backed away, her shoulders brushing against a table behind her. "I don't know what you think you're doing, but—"
"What am I doing?" he interrupted, his tone mockingly light. "I'm merely curious. Darcy keeps you so close, so hidden. A young, unattached woman under his roof? Tell me, Miss Williams, what does he see in you?"
Her stomach churned, and she took another step back, her calves bumping against a chair. "Whatever you think, you're wrong," she said, her voice trembling.
Wickham's smirk widened as he closed the distance between them. "Wrong? Come now. A man like Darcy doesn't extend his protection without expecting something in return. Tell me, are you his secret? Or his plaything?"
His hand reached out, brushing against the neckline of her gown. Stephanie recoiled, her heart pounding in her ears. "Don't touch me," she said, her voice sharp despite her fear.
"Oh, but you don't really mean that," Wickham said, his hand sliding down to her collarbone. "A woman like you doesn't find herself in Darcy's care by accident. What's your secret, Miss Williams? Or should I say… your price?"
Stephanie's mind raced. Her instincts screamed at her to shove him away, to call for help—but she hesitated. The rules of 1812 loomed over her like an invisible cage. To scream would mean scandal, and scandal would destroy not only her but Darcy and Georgiana as well. She felt trapped, helpless in a way that was utterly foreign to her 2024 sensibilities.
Wickham's grip on her wrist tightened as he leaned closer, his free hand brushing her exposed shoulder. "Tell me," he murmured, his voice a dangerous whisper. "How long have you been warming his bed?"
Something inside her snapped. Without thinking, she let her legs go limp, her full weight dragging them both downward. Wickham staggered, his balance lost, and they tumbled to the hard wooden floor. Pain shot through Stephanie's hip and elbow as she landed, the impact jarring and sharp.
"Damn you!" Wickham hissed, scrambling to regain control. He lunged, grabbing her ankle and pulling her toward him.
"You're not going anywhere," he growled, his face twisted with anger.
Stephanie kicked out wildly, her heel connecting with his shin. He cursed under his breath but didn't release her. Tears stung her eyes as she clawed at the floor, trying desperately to crawl away.
Then, like a clap of thunder, a voice rang out, sharp and furious. "WICKHAM!"
Stephanie froze, her head snapping up just in time to see Darcy barreling through the doorway. His face was a mask of unbridled fury, his eyes blazing as he took in the scene.
In an instant, he was upon them, grabbing Wickham by the collar and hauling him to his feet. The force of Darcy's movement made Wickham stumble, but Darcy didn't let go. He slammed Wickham against the wall with a force that made the shelves rattle.
"You dare lay a hand on her?" Darcy roared, his voice shaking with rage.
Before Wickham could reply, Darcy's fist shot out, connecting with his jaw. The sickening crunch of impact echoed in the small room, and blood spattered against the wall. Wickham's smirk was gone, replaced with a grimace of pain.
Stephanie lay on the floor, her chest heaving, her whole body trembling as she watched. Her wrists throbbed where Wickham had gripped her, and the ache in her side where she'd hit the floor radiated sharply with every breath.
"Darcy!" Georgiana's voice came from the corridor, trembling with fear. She appeared in the doorway, her face pale as she took in the scene. "Stop!"
Darcy's chest heaved, his knuckles bloodied and his jaw clenched. With a final glare, he released Wickham, letting him crumple to the floor.
"If you ever come near her again," Darcy growled, his voice cold and deadly, "I will kill you."
Wickham stumbled to his feet, clutching his jaw. Without another word, he fled, his retreating footsteps fading into the corridor.
Darcy turned immediately to Stephanie, kneeling beside her. "Are you hurt?" he asked, his voice thick with worry.
She nodded shakily, tears streaming down her cheeks. "I—I think so," she managed, though her body ached from the fall.
Darcy helped her to her feet, his grip steady and protective. Georgiana rushed forward, wrapping Stephanie in a trembling embrace. "I'm so sorry," she whispered, her voice cracking. "I should never have left you."
"It's not your fault," Stephanie murmured, her voice hollow. She leaned heavily on Darcy as they made their way back to the carriage, every step a reminder of the terror and vulnerability she had just endured.