Oliver ripped his gaze away from the other boy. He wasn’t here for Darcy. And Bingley wasn’t here either. With a sigh, he turned on his heel. He’d just faced the door to leave when a voice stopped him. “Can I help you, Miss Bennet?” Oliver closed his eyes. That address coming from Darcy felt like taking a boot to the stomach. It wasn’t that he hadn’t grown accustomed to being referred to as Miss Bennet, but it felt different now—worse somehow—coming from Darcy after hearing him use Oliver’s true name. Worse still that it had been days since he’d been able to be himself. With every passing
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