As the music begins, I gristbite my teeth and try to pay heed to Miss Linville. She is, I suppose, comely, light-footed, and elegant; yet I do not enjoy her company. The woman has, without warning, become an unmuzzled, flap-mouthed flirt-gill. While we move through the steps of the dance, I halfheartedly listen to her prattle on, with great energy, about tonight’s wondrously romantic moon.

Am I crying for the moon? Is Elizabeth Bennet as unattainable as that celestial body?My mind is preoccupied with awareness of her. I swear she is sitting in the exact position, next to her sister Mary, as when I uttered my initial asinine impropriety. I dearly wish I could turn back the hands of time and regulate that churlish, ill-nurtured clack-dish of a mouth that spoke within her hearing that night… or, at least, back to when I could ask her to stand up with me for this set instead of Miss Creant.

I gaze in admiration as Elizabeth lovingly tucks a stray curl behind her sister’s ear and tenderly coaxes a smile from her. My reaction mirrors Mary’s. Dearest, sweetest Elizabeth! She would be a caring and supportive sister for Georgiana and an accomplished, lively wife for any man. Not for any man, for me! If I can but see Elizabeth Bennet, no, Elizabeth Darcy happily settled at Pemberley, I shall have nothing for which to wish.

All my life I have been spoiled, granted whatever suits my fancy, and given everything my heart desires. Until Elizabeth. My younger self might have pouted at such deprivation; but I am, after all, a grown man. Instead of childishly protruding my lower lip, I tauten my already stiff upper one in a gentlemanlike manner… which makes it rather difficult to smile … which is what I am supposed to be doing. Gah! Why can I not be inherently amiable like Bingley? I mean, really, how hard can it be if he has it down to a fine art?