Darcy must overhear Jane because his brow furrows. He climbs off me and strolls in all his naked loveliness to retrieve his phone from his jacket. When he looks at the screen, his shoulders fall. “Shit.”

“He’s talking to his lawyer now.” Jane’s words are fast and uneven. “We’re out next month.”

“What?”

“Andrea’s beside herself. Has she tried calling you?”

“Maybe. My phone’s on Do Not Disturb until nine on weekends. How’s Charles handling it?” I turn to Darcy as he joins me on the bed. “Meryton’s changing hands in a month.”

“I don’t understand how this happened. And Charles isn’t picking up.”

“He’s talking to his lawyer.” I go back to Jane, who’s repeating my name. “Just catching Darcy up. I’m putting you on speaker.”

“Charles is disappointed, but there’s bigger shit at work here. Bennet.” His tone grows insistent as his voice erupts from the speaker. “How much do you know about Wickham?”

Darcy lets out a sharp, “Fuck!” that has me cocking my head. He scrubs his palm down his face.

“Wickham?” I repeat—the name-drop is totally random to me.

“Because that’s who Meryton went to!” says Jane. “He’s the goddamn nephew.”

The news cuts across my gut like a blade. “What? How did we not know that?”

“There’s so much more to this, Ben. He has Ginn.”

“What?”

“He has Ginn under contract.”

The air rushes out of my lungs. Wickham’s stolen the venue. Now Ginn, too? I’m about to ask how but instead say, “Tonic?”

“Nope. Just Ginn.”

“They’re inseparable!”

“Not anymore.”

They let him come between them? “How binding is this contract?”

“I don’t know, but, Bennet, that’s not the worst of it. Did—” He takes in a long breath. “Did you show Wickham your Meryton designs?”

A chill slithers up my spine. Darcy’s hand goes to my knee. “No. Wh-why?” The word leaves me slowly, churning awkwardly on my tongue. The cold spreads, the ghost of old trauma curling around my rib cage. “Jane.” I struggle for calm. “Why are you asking?”

Darcy’s grip on my knee tightens. Jane sighs, and I know what’s coming, even though I don’t know how it’s possible. I look at my palm, the fine white scar from the sandstone, and the familiar sensation of falling washes over me. It’s happened again.

“Some wires got crossed in the email chain and Charles was forwarded pages of Wickham’s proposal.” Jane’s voice is heavy with apology. “His concept? The big idea he used to get his uncle to hand it all off to him? It’s one of yours.”