I was walking on clouds.
They were soft—impossibly soft—and stretched endlessly in every direction, covering the entire sky in fluffy white perfection.
But that wasn’t the point.
The point was that I was holding Mr. Darcy in my hands, and he was purring contentedly, his warm little body vibrating with happiness.
Oh, how I’d missed him. It felt like we’d been apart for years, decades even, though logically it had only been—
I looked down to massage his cute face, to scratch behind his ears the way he liked, when he suddenly jumped from my hands and landed gracefully on the cloud.
Then he stood on his hind legs.
Like a person.
“Mr. Darcy?” I blinked, confused. “It’s okay, baby. Come back.” I opened my hands invitingly, crouching down. “Come here.”
Mr. Darcy—my beloved, normal, cat Mr. Darcy—executed a perfect curtsy.
A curtsy.
“Lady Cruelton,” he said, his little cat mouth moving with disturbing precision.
What?
He repeated the pose, bowing again with one paw crossed over his chest. “Lady Cruelton!” His voice was insistent now, urgent.
I gasped—
—and jolted awake, jumping clean out of the massive four-poster bed that belonged to Beatrice Cruelton.
“Mr. Darcy?” I scrambled to my feet, looking around frantically, my heart hammering. “Mr. Darcy?”
The room was empty. No cat. No clouds. Just expensive furniture and the early morning light filtering through heavy curtains.
“Lady Cruelton?”
Rose’s voice. Not Mr. Darcy’s.
Rose repeated it for what was apparently the third time, her tone shifting from patient to genuinely concerned. “Lady Cruelton?”
Oh. Right.
Mr. Darcy wasn’t here. I’d forever left the world I knew—left my cat, my apartment, my entire life—to be trapped in this ridiculous novel.
The realization hit like a punch to the chest.
“What is it, Rose?” I sighed, running a hand through my tangled hair.
Rose stood at the foot of the bed, her hands clasped in front of her, her expression carefully neutral. “My lady, good morning. Are you perhaps looking for a certain man? A Mr. Darcy?”
I froze.
How do I begin to explain that Mr Darcy was my cat? Apparently I have the predictable taste of someone who binged Pride and Prejudice a little too often.
“Forget it,” I yawned, waving a hand dismissively. “It’s just a dream.” I drawled the last word, trying to sound unbothered.
Rose nodded, though she still looked worried. Then she signaled to two maids standing behind her. They stepped forward in perfect synchronization, presenting a rolled-up paper to Rose with almost ceremonial gravity.
“Wow, a real newspaper?” I gasped, suddenly more awake.
That’s right. This was a 1940s setting. Apart from the central telephone that rich people like the Crueltons could afford, newspapers were the primary means of sharing information. Real, physical, ink-on-paper newspapers that people actually read.
“Yes, mistress.” Rose’s voice was heavy with something I couldn’t quite identify. Sadness? Dread? “And it pains me to say that you’ve made the front page. Again.”
“Again?” I reached for the newspaper eagerly.
“Yes, my lady.” Rose’s lips pressed into a thin line. “But this time is worse. You’ve made the headlines. All of them.”
I unrolled the newspaper and—
Oh.
“CRUELTON HEIRESS ASSAULTS WAR HERO”
“Lady Beatrice’s Champagne Scandal Shocks High Society”
“Has the Cruelton Girl Lost Her Mind?”
“Captain Ashford Responds with Grace to Unprovoked Attack”
The headlines were spectacular. Absolutely, gloriously, perfectly terrible.
There was even a political cartoon—a caricature of me with wild purple hair and demonic eyes, throwing champagne at a heroic-looking Theodore while angels wept in the background.
I bit my lip to keep from laughing.
The familiar blue glow of the System materialized in my peripheral vision:
SYSTEM NOTIFICATION: PLUS THREE THOUSAND HATRED POINTS OVERNIGHT GOSSIP/PUBLIC SCANDAL
CURRENT BALANCE: FOURTEEN THOUSAND NINE HUNDRED AND SIXTY POUNDS EXCELLENT PROGRESS! You’re trending! Literally everyone hates you right now!
I gasped, all traces of sleep vanishing from my eyes.
Almost fifteen thousand hatred points? I could earn points from gossip made about my evil deeds? From people I’d never even met reading about me and getting secondhand offended?
This changed everything.
“Lady Cruelton—” Rose started, her face grim.
But I wasn’t listening. I twirled, unable to contain my excitement.
“You don’t get it, Rose!” I grabbed her hands, my happiness overwhelming. “I’m not gonna die! I’m gonna be rich!”
I rushed to the full-length mirror, admiring my reflection with new found appreciation. Yes, yes, this was perfect. I’d thought it was a bummer that I didn’t personally receive hatred points from Theodore Ashford yesterday—he’d been too calm, too controlled to generate the rage-fueled points I’d been counting on.
But this? This was even better.
As long as I continued on this trajectory, I’d reach my goal in no time! My dream of buying a country house far away from this godforsaken plot was getting nearer and nearer!
Maybe somewhere with a garden. And a cat. A normal cat who didn’t talk in dreams.
He—Mr. Darcy, at least—was probably already being smothered with love by my landlady or one of my friends who’d been waiting years for an excuse to adopt him.
“Lady BEATRICE.”
Rose’s no-nonsense tone snapped me out of my giddy daydream like a bucket of ice water.
“W-What?” I turned, startled. That tone was scary. I almost felt like I was about to get grounded or something.
“This is serious, Lady Beatrice.” Rose’s expression was grave. “Your father is very livid. He came back this morning.”
I straightened, my good mood deflating slightly. “But he went on a business trip, right? That’s why I went to the Ashfords’ yesterday in the first place.”
“He came back very early this morning.” Rose clasped her hands tightly. “He’s gone to visit concerned families and placate them. By the looks of it, a lot of people are angry.”
I glanced at the grandfather clock against the wall. The time was 10 in the morning.
Oh dear.
“Really?”
“Yes, my lady. I suggest—”
The doors burst open with a dramatic flourish.
Two maids led in the same soldier from last time—the one who’d summoned me once before. His face was stiff, his posture ramrod straight, and he looked like he’d rather be literally anywhere else but in my bedroom delivering bad news.
“Lady Cruelton,” he said, his voice clipped and professional. “His Grace has summoned you.”
The maids gasped, their demeanor changing instantly from casual morning routine to emergency protocol.
“Quick!”
“Yes, her bath is ready!”
Two maids grabbed my hands, practically dragging me toward the adjoining washroom.
“Wait—what—I just woke up—”
“No time, my lady!”
I glanced back desperately. Rose nodded at me, her expression saying go, and don’t make it worse.