Shall I be capable of simply walking away if she spurns me a second time? What are my available options? Other than abduction and elopement! Listen, you mewling, plume-plucked mammet, should the worst happen, you will hold your head high, walk out that door, never look back, resign yourself to an empty, passionless existence, and accept your fate like a man.

A Darcy’s lot in life is not unenviable. I have Pemberley and all the advantages of wealth and prestige. I have the company of Georgiana, my Fitzwilliam relatives, and friends like Bingley. Perhaps I shall enter a loveless marriage with cousin Anne or some other equally dull prospect. Forgetting Elizabeth will never be possible; but I have lived eight and twenty years already without her. Surely I can continue to do so, although it pains me even to think of it. Gah! Who needs love when it hurts like Hades?

If my vanity had taken a literary turn, this lovesickness would have been invaluable. Stabs have been made at poetry, but I have not the talent which some gentlemen possess of composing pretty verses on their ladies.

Speaking of stabs, would it sway Elizabeth if I eloquently articulated how her arrow has transpierced my psyche and how I am equal parts pessimism and optimism? Such sentiment could, no doubt, be worded beautifully; but I am incapable of expressing my emotions adequately. I certainly proved that at Hunsford.

Although Mrs. Bennet might be delighted with any attempt made at poetry, my stab at verse would surely have Elizabeth heading for the hills. Hold on … the hills. Is it not my fondest wish she settle in the Peak District? Perhaps a lighthearted love sonnet would send her running off toward Derbyshire.