“There, Darcy, look! The Bennets are finally arriving. Smashing!”

Neither Bingley’s jovial announcement nor his impudent and powerful elbow-jab to my ribs was remotely necessary. Apart from the occasional and, I daresay, compulsive glance at a timepiece, my hungry eyes have been riveted on the assembly room’s entryway since the moment I discovered her absence and strategically planted myself in this position. I had momentarily considered standing by a window to have advance intelligence of the Bennet carriage’s arrival; but, thanks to quickness of mind, I realized such standoffish behaviour might be misconstrued as unsociable.

Oh. It has just occurred to me I should have employed my time much better by interacting with the locals instead of standing here in this stupid manner. What an awkward, artless arse! Well, there is nothing to be done for it now. Henceforth I shall be diligent and demonstrate only improved conduct. The tide of my unpopularity must be turned. ‘Tis easier said than done, though, in this sea, a cursed crush of exuberant Merytonites. The insipidity and yet the noise, the nothingness and yet the self-importance of all these people! Furrowing my brow, I contemplate oddly familiar words and wonder whether I have uttered or heard them before.

“Did you hear me before, Darcy? I said the Bennets have arrived. Shake a leg, man!”

As we inch our way into the crowd, I well-nigh retch from the miasma of stale, cloying perfume and unwashed bodies. Certain members of this herd could benefit from an introduction to soap and water and a subsequent application. Even Queen Elizabeth apparently took a bath once a fortnight, whether it was necessary or not.

In a trice, an image of Elizabeth (definitely not good old Queen Bess) in a tub of soapy water has pervaded my susceptive mind. Delightful daydreams of the winsome woman are a weakness; but this concupiscent vision must be regulated … at least until later when it can be elaborated upon and fully appreciated privately in my chambers at Netherfield. Here and now is neither the time nor place for prurient thoughts whilst wearing snug breeches and a cutaway coat. Begone, sweet torment!