As we finish the spirited dance and find a relatively private place to continue our conversation, people begin to take notice of our togetherness. Rumours are being whispered, but I care not. Elizabeth’s spirits soon rise to playfulness again, and the minx wants me to account for having fallen in love with her and to pinpoint the onset. My answer neither satisfies her curiosity nor dampers down her enthusiasm for coaxing more compliments from me.

She smiles and says, “My behaviour to you was, at least, always bordering on the uncivil; and you, sir, may be a little whimsical in your civilities.” Her teasing tone turns serious as she continues. “But then your great men often are; and, in every sense of the word, you are a great man, Fitzwilliam Darcy… the best man I have ever known and the only man in the world whom I could ever be prevailed on to marry.”

After Hunsford, I became cognizant of many truths. One harsh reality was that Elizabeth would only plight her troth for the deepest of love; and I dreaded the specter of her devotion to some villainous, shard-borne vassal. Now I am the only man in the world whom she could ever be prevailed on to marry. By such an avowal, Elizabeth has all but professed her wholehearted love; and I just may go distracted. The urge to pick her up, twirl, and laugh with total abandon becomes very, very hard to resist. I am, however, a Darcy; and we do not go about lifting ladies, spinning, or in any way exposing ourselves to ridicule — at least in public. But by God, when I get her alone …

The assembly’s self-appointed host passes by and stops short when I hail him. “Sir William, thank you for your hospitality this evening.” I impulsively reach out and heartily shake his hand, utterly astounding us both. “Your thoughtfulness is always appreciated; and although we may not meet at St. James’s, I shall look forward to continuing our association here in Hertfordshire whenever I visit, which I hope will be often.”