She shakes out the skirts of her dress and, to my dismay, drops the hem down to its proper position. Elizabeth then surreptitiously glances at her bosom while I blatantly do the same. I know what I am about. What is she after?

“I am missing one of my pearl earrings. Do you happen to see it anywhere?”

Most eager to come to her aid, I say, “Can you describe it?”

Casting me an impertinent look, she answers, “My pearl earring is a pearl, one of a pair; and it looks remarkably similar to its mate… the one presently clinging to my left earlobe.”

She is a minx, and I obviously have more hair than wit. But she is not the only brazen one, and I prove it by stepping closer. A fleet survey of the room’s occupants indicates, rather surprisingly, no one is paying particular attention to my position, a singularly odd but most welcome circumstance. I inch even nearer. Standing now almost toe-to-toe with Elizabeth, I am not unaffected by our closeness. Definitely not unaffected. I plainly see the pearl on her delectable lobe; and although disguise of every sort is my abhorrence, I pretend her hair is an obstruction.

“May I?” I tentatively reach toward her. She blushes prettily but, to my amazement, nods consent. I tenderly lift a curl away from her ear and can scarcely believe the unmitigated joy I receive from such a simple but totally unnecessary and highly improper deed. Elizabeth responds with a slight gasp and higher colour on her cheeks, and my heart throbs wildly.

“Exquisite,” I whisper.

“Thank you. They were a gift from my Aunt Gardiner and are quite precious to me.”

I do not amend Elizabeth’s misunderstanding of the compliment. All the while, I am enthralled, transported beyond the room, oblivious to the noise and presence of others. There is, after all, only dearest, loveliest Elizabeth and …

“Mr. Darcy?” she murmurs.