Pride and Prejudice: Darcy Conquest Journal

The winds of the Regency era carried the scent of roses straight into my bones. This wasn't an operating room, but the predicament of Pride and Prejudice. A Miss Elliot wasn't even entitled to inherit half an acre of land? What a joke. I was going to tear a hole in the patriarchal law myself.

Disguised as a man under the name “Scholar William,” I infiltrated Darcy's study, Bingley's ball, and even the tea breaks of the aristocratic parliament.

The simulation engine could talk: choose the grapes on the left to expose a loophole in the old lord's will; choose the macarons on the right to make my stepmother's matchmaking scheme backfire. The more I burned through my mental energy, the closer I came to an equal rights bill.

But why had Darcy, who always called me “sir,” suddenly cornered me in my attic on a stormy night?

He tugged off my bow tie, his eyes behind his glasses glowing like red-hot iron. “William Elliot, did you calculate what would happen if you kissed me?

”

Oh, so it turned out that harder than changing the law was getting this “iceberg of Pemberley” to admit that he had already carved the name “Vilan de Elliot” into the very last line of his inheritance papers.