“I see.”

She will not look at me. Still I know, beyond a shadow of doubt, her brow is furrowed, her lips pursed, and her opinion skewed.

“No, Miss Bennet, you do not understand. I would gladly embrace … I would be more than happy to stand up with you, and perhaps there may still be a chance to do so before the assembly concludes. For now, I would rather propose … I mean … what I would prefer … that is, would you be agreeable to sitting out this next set?”

“You are correct, sir; I do not understand. Are you actually asking me not to stand up with you?”

We have reached the main room… and the end of my rope, with which I am forming a noose, apparently with which to hang myself. Ever mindful my mouth is capable, at times, of operating independently of my brain, I compress my lips so thoughts cannot haphazardly escape. The precaution is taken not a moment too soon, as my mind immediately begins to rant. I do not want to bloody-well dance with you now, woman! I just want to get you alone, in public, so we can converse in a meaningful manner instead of resorting to pribbling, pottle-deep, piffling prattle!

An explanation of my motives is due, and I have not the smallest objection to explaining them calmly. “Miss Bennet, as much as I do not care to give credence to the opinions of a particular person of our mutual acquaintance, I must agree with her in this instance and say I should like tonight’s ball infinitely better if it was conducted differently. It would surely be much more convenient if conversation, rather than dance, was the order of this assembly.” Bloody-well right. That calmly explains everything.

Elizabeth arches a brow and says, “Much less lively as well; and it would not be near so much like a ball, nor near so enjoyable. I do dearly love to dance.”