“Very well, Mr. Darcy, you have my permission and may proceed.”

What… proceed? “I beg your pardon?”

“I am allowing you to say how nice I look this evening. You may continue to do so, sir.”

Nice? Did I truly just say she looks nice? By God, I am ninny-hammer! For clarity’s sake, why not just reiterate that ghastly utterance about being tolerable but not handsome enough for temptation? I wish to say something sensible but know not how. Care must be taken since there is, apparently, no viable connection between my brain and my unruly tongue whenever I deign to speak in her presence.

I wonder what would be Elizabeth’s reaction, though, if I spoke the truth aloud? Good God, woman, you look luscious enough to eat; and I am absolutely ravenous. Come, let me sample the delicious feel of you in my arms and the succulent flavour of your lips. Let me taste your flawless skin as I lick my way…

“… and Mr. Darcy, any friend of Mr. Bingley’s will always be welcome at Longbourn to be sure.”

Yow! Her mother’s voice, like a bucket of frigid water poured over my head, douses wayward thoughts. Thank you, madam, for successfully diverting a perilous proclivity.

“Thank you, madam. It would be my pleasure to visit Longbourn again.”

While Mrs. Bennet claims my divided attention, some dog-hearted rattle-pate slinks in and claims Elizabeth for the upcoming set. Gah! I am left to helplessly gawk as the currish, fly-bitten lout leads her away. What a gorbellied dunderhead! Whether I am referring to Elizabeth’s partner or myself, I cannot say.

As they take their place in line, I notice with satirical eye that Bingley and his angel amuse themselves by, respectively, making mooncalf and cow eyes at one another. Speaking of eyes, the gimlet variety is presently being cast in my direction by Mrs.