Save me, Elizabeth, from such a destiny. Lay claim to your rightful place in my home as well as in my heart. There can be no other woman in the world for me, no other more deserving of the Darcy name, and none more worthy of bearing Pemberley’s heir. The estate and its future generation will flourish under your love, good guidance, and care; and with you by my side, I shall be happy and whole. You, and you alone, deserve the wealth of love and worldly goods I can bestow. I want … I need to spend my lifetime providing for you, protecting you, loving you, and, hopefully, earning your affection in return. Will you not accept all I have to offer, Elizabeth?

During my silent declaration, the tea room has cleared except for a few hirelings. I would dearly love to remain here, alone with her, but know it would be scandalously improper. I ask if I may escort her to the main room; Elizabeth readily agrees and slips her gloved hand onto my arm. It tingles from her gentle touch, and I never want her to let go; yet I resist the urge to place my hand over hers to secure it there. We walk in silence. This taciturnity, while not quite as awkward as our first amble at Pemberley, is unnatural, even for me.

“Miss Bennet, I would …” Neither my empty brain nor my parched throat agree to cooperate. I fill the first with curses, attempt to lubricate the latter, and quell my itching fingers from reaching for the flask. “Would you … “

The opportunity for which I have been waiting all night has finally presented itself; yet I, a man of sense and education, am suddenly ill qualified to formulate even one coherent sentence. There is, of course, in every disposition a tendency to some particular deficiency — a cockered, shard-borne, pottle-deep deficit — which not even the best education can overcome.

“All evening, I have strived to have you… stand up with me for a set. Every attempt has been frustratingly forestalled, for one reason or another. I would ask for the honour now. But, in truth, I would… rather not.” Oh, brilliant.