“Holy crap.” Jane stared at me with big eyes and an open mouth. “Wickham seemed so nice.”

“I know,” I replied, setting down my breakfast bowl of ice cream on the counter to add a little more chocolate sauce. I needed chocolate after last night.

Lydia was off at her photo-shoot this morning, so I’d told Jane about the letter. I only told her the part about Wickham, though. Telling her that she’d lost the love of her life because Mr. Darcy thought she was a gold-digger wasn’t going to do her any good.

Jane shook her head before going back to scrubbing the oven. Jane claimed she was over Charles, but the fact that our kitchen was the cleanest it had ever been since the 1970’s said otherwise. He wasn’t answering her calls or messages. She said it wasn’t a big deal, but I didn’t believe her. She’d even gotten a toothbrush out to clean the grout between the kitchen tiles. She’d already done it to the bathroom. Twice.

If I told her that this was all because of Mr. Darcy’s misunderstanding, she’d have to go on another cleaning bender. And, in this little apartment, we were running out of things to clean.

“I checked out Mr. Darcy’s story about him,” I said. I pulled out my phone and handed the search results I’d found to Jane.

“Holy crap,” she repeated, looking through the images.

Everything about Wickham that Mr. Darcy said was true. Searching for George Darcy brought up hundreds of images of him partying and living it up. He’d apparently even capsized a million dollar yacht in Belize.

Then came the pictures and articles of him declaring bankruptcy. The pictures went from fun and expensive to sad and poor quicker than I had expected. He had inherited a lot of money.

“It’s actually kind of sad,” Jane remarked, handing me back my phone. She pushed some hair out of her face before returning to the oven with her scrub brush.

“Yeah,” I agreed. “But what do I tell Lydia?”

“What can you tell her?” Jane asked, leaning thoughtfully against the oven door. “Even if you give her the letter and all the evidence, she won’t let him go. He’s her agent. She’s signed contracts, and honestly, he’s the only thing she talks about.”

“I know,” I replied, taking a big spoonful of chocolate sauce. “It’ll destroy her.”

Jane nodded, and I sighed.

“At least she doesn’t have much money,” I said after a moment. “She keeps telling him she does, but he’ll figure out the truth sooner or later. She can’t be of much use to him.”

“Yeah,” Jane agreed. “And don’t worry, I’m not lending her any more money. Not if it’s just going to go to that scumbag.”

“Wow, Jane,” I said impressed. “I rarely hear you say anything negative about anyone.”

She shrugged. “You just haven’t heard what I say about you when you aren’t around.” She looked up and winked at me with a laugh.

I rolled my eyes at her and chuckled. I took another bite of ice cream and a bigger bite of chocolate.

“We’ll tell her after New Years,” I said, thinking out loud. “He won’t hurt her, and there’s not much he can do to her. I mean, what’s the worst that can happen? If he thinks she has money, he’ll be good to her.”

“New Years is good,” Jane agreed, nodding. Her blonde ponytail bounced up and down with the motion. “New Years will be a fresh start for all of us.”

My heart ached a little at the way she said it. Charles had hurt her, and it was Mr. Darcy’s fault, though done with the best intentions. The whole situation made me sad, so I ate some more ice cream and chocolate.

Jane went back to cleaning the oven, and I looked over the images and articles I’d found on Wickham. I was scrolling down when an article caught my eye. It had caught the name Georgiana Darcy up in my search for George Darcy. I only hesitated a second before clicking on her name.

Georgiana was Mr. Darcy’s younger sister. I remembered him saying something about her, but now I knew her name. She was much younger than I expected, nearly half the age of her older brother. I could see why he would be protective of his teenage sister.

I clicked further down to find a picture of Mr. Darcy and Georgiana standing in front of a St. George’s Hospital when they opened up a new wing last year. She was so thin and frail next to him, yet so many of their facial features were shared.

I read further. Mr. Darcy had donated the entire wing. It was to be a cancer center with a specialty in leukemia. I looked back at the picture of the thin, frail girl that smiled like Mr. Darcy and felt my stomach twist.

“What’s wrong?” Jane asked, looking up at me. “You gasped.”

“Mr. Darcy’s little sister had leukemia,” I replied, reading the article as quickly as possible. The more I read, the more I knew I had pegged him wrong. “He not only donated a whole hospital wing to St. George’s, but he also added a new surgery center, and he runs a charity for kids who can’t afford their cancer treatments.”

“That sounds like a lot of money,” Jane replied.

“Yeah,” I agreed. I closed my eyes and banged my head on the counter twice before looking over at her. “I called him a selfish pig.”

“Ouch,” Jane winced. “You okay?”

“Am I okay that I called one of the leading cancer philanthropists a selfish pig?” I shrugged and then banged my head again. “I’m an idiot.”

“We’re all idiots in love,” Jane replied softly. My head went straight up, and I looked straight at her.

“What?”

“Oh, not you,” Jane clarified shaking her head. “The expression just popped into my head. I was thinking about selfish pigs. I know you slept with him, but that doesn’t mean love. That’s lust. Apparently, lots of men confuse the two.”

I raised my eyebrows, waiting for her to admit that she was thinking about Charles and how he was a selfish pig for letting her go. She just looked at me and shrugged.

“So what do I do?” I asked her. “I’m in the wrong here.”

Jane thought for a moment. “Do you plan on spending time with him?” she asked. “Do you want to sleep with him again?”

“God, no,” I answered a little too quickly. My body did, but I knew it wasn’t going to happen. This time, Jane raised her eyebrows at me. “I mean, it was good, but, I don’t like him or anything. Lust, remember?”

“Then just stay out of his way,” Jane advised. “If you do see him, apologize then. But, you two don’t exactly run in the same social circles, so I don’t see that happening.”

“Yeah,” I agreed, staring into my ice cream. “I’m beneath him.”

“Hey, I didn’t say that,” Jane replied firmly. “Money isn’t everything.”

“You should tell him that,” I told her. I took a bite of ice cream.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Jane asked. “You seem really upset over this, especially if he doesn’t mean anything to you.”

“He doesn’t,” I assured her. I hated that my stomach twisted as I said it. “Why would I? He’s a spoiled, arrogant little rich boy.”

“You forgot hoity-toity and Richy McRich pants,” Jane replied dryly. “I think those are the words you used last time.”

“And British,” I added. “He’s so British.”

Jane chuckled and stood up to hug me. She smelled like oven cleaner. “You’ll be fine.”

“You’re right,” I told her after she squeezed me. “I’m not likely to run into him again, so it’s not something I need to worry about.”

Jane nodded, then paused. “What about the Christmas party?”

“The hospital one?” I asked. I shrugged. “He won’t be there. It’s the wrong hospital.”

“You’re right,” Jane agreed. “He wouldn’t go unless he likes to torture himself.” She thought about it for a moment. “He’s not that kind of billionaire, is he?”

We both dissolved into a fit of giggles.