This evening simply must allow us an opportunity to enter into something more of conversation than the mere ceremonious salutation attending her family’s arrival. Every expectation of pleasure has thus far been snatched away, and my frustration is reaching a degree that threatens to make me uncivil. My well-being, not only during this evening but for a lifetime, depends on her regard. I shall not surrender without a valiant struggle.

I escort my atrociously ignored partner, Miss Linville, back to her parents and valiantly struggle through the reeking rabble. Pertinacity leads me toward Elizabeth. I will not be gainsaid. She will stand up with me for this next set, or I shall surely lose what is left of my gleeking, beef-witted mind. OOF! But first I must apologize profusely to Mrs. Phillips, with whom I have just collided. Can people not watch where I am going?

I remind myself to smile pleasantly at Elizabeth’s aunt and to unclench my jaw whilst doing so. This time I shall put forth a concentrated effort. Certain ladies of the ton have practically swooned upon receipt of my dimple-bracketed smile. It is only fair to caution you, madam, the full force of my beam is about to be unleashed.

“I beg your pardon, Mrs. Phillips, my sincerest apologies. I was obviously not attending. Have you been injured?” I am all solicitousness. Perhaps she will put in a good word about me to her niece.

The stupefied woman staggers slightly, adjusts the feathered contraption upon her head, and says, “I am fine.” Still a bit unsteady, she looks up at me in confusion. “But you, sir … You are unwell?”

“I am quite well, thank you, madam.”

“Oh. Well, good. I assumed you were grimacing in pain.”

It is blatantly evident Mrs. Bennet’s poor sister is in desperate straits and cannot afford a blasted pair of blasted spectacles. I politely bow, make my escape, and helplessly watch as Elizabeth accepts Mr. Morris for the blasted upcoming set. The temptation to stomp my blasted foot in frustration is great, but I stoically resist exposing myself to ridicule. Bloody, bloody, bloody hell! Must she stand up with every puking, pottle-pocked pumpion that bloody-well asks her?