Moving as close to her ear as I dare, I softly speak with the reverence and respect such an avowal deserves. “You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you … still and always.”

When I last uttered such words to her, I was undeserving. To now have the prerogative to make this affirmation fills me with triumph. I have earned her regard, and my reward is the bestowal of a heartwarming smile. Moments ago I thought I did not have a prayer; now I close my eyes and thank God for second chances.

Elizabeth responds to my declaration. “You are evermore allowed to tell me how ardently you admire…” She blushes prettily and hesitates before finishing, “and love me. I have not yet grown weary of hearing you say so and do not believe I ever shall.”

Teasing, pleasing woman! I manage (rather well, if I do say so myself) to tenderly express her importance to me and to avow all I feel, and have long felt, for her. Genteel lady that she is, Elizabeth cannot openly profess her feelings; but I am overjoyed to behold affection in her fine eyes and to know it is for me alone.

We speak of my aunt’s interference, of Elizabeth’s response to it, and of how her ladyship’s scheme rebounded and gave me hope. We sheepishly discuss Hunsford and our incivilities toward one another but agree we have both vastly improved in civility since that time.

Quite startled by Mary Bennet’s interruption, I cannot help but notice my future sister really should smile more. Such an onion-eyed, unchin-snouted expression is most unbecoming; and her preachy admonishment, directed at Elizabeth, is quickly becoming tedious. Yet she is correct. Because our understanding is unknown, in her sister’s eyes Elizabeth has been scandalously engaged in private conversation with me for far too long. Provoked by Mary’s unsubtle castigation, I am struck with spontaneous ingenuity. I wink at Elizabeth and bestow a kiss upon her hand before turning to her sister.

“Miss Mary, would you do the honour of standing up with me for the next set?”

Her sour expression is quickly replaced by those of astonishment, suspicion, and pleasure. She thanks me and takes my proffered arm. I smile at her and realize it shall be an honour, indeed, to stand up with Mary Bennet and to become particularly acquainted with all my betrothed’s family … until we can make our escape, er, journey to Derbyshire.

Afterward Elizabeth and I continue our conversation with a discussion of my letter, her philosophy, and our encounter at Pemberley.

“My object then,” I say, “was to show you by every civility in my power that I was not so mean as to resent the past; and I hoped to obtain your forgiveness, to lessen your ill opinion, by letting you see that your reproofs had been attended to. How soon any other wishes introduced themselves I can hardly tell, but I believe in about half an hour after I had seen you.”

We sit out the next half hour as well to speak of Georgiana and then of what transpired at the Lambton inn. Elizabeth begins to express her gratitude again until the subject becomes too painful for so joyous a night. I find the perfect diversion when the musicians begin to perform a Scottish air. “Miss Bennet, do not you feel a great inclination to seize such an opportunity of dancing a reel?”

“Please do not pander to my penchant for dancing. I know you dislike the amusement, especially the more lively variety. I am quite content to sit here rather than stand up for this reel … really.”

Elizabeth occasionally professes opinions which, in fact, are not her own. I know she longs to dance. “Nonsense! My contempt for the activity has been highly exaggerated. We must scotch these rumours for once and for all. Come, woman!” I stand, smile, and offer my hand. Elizabeth accepts and returns the warmth of my smile tenfold. I still have much to learn about this smiling business, but it is becoming easier and more natural by the minute.

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.”

His surprised delight at such trivial compliments almost makes me ashamed of my former opinion of the man. He is simply a jovial fellow, not unlike Bingley; and I suspect he wishes the same well-being for everyone around him. Sir William walks away with chest puffed and both spirits and chins raised. I am taken aback at how little effort it takes on my part to so positively affect another’s dignity.

I turn back to Elizabeth and am honoured with one of her radiant smiles. The tenderness in her expressive brown eyes nearly bowls me over, and I experience a wondrous epiphany. Further contemplation is forestalled by the arrival of Mrs. Long. My moment of insight flits away as Elizabeth commiserates with the poor woman over the loss of her beloved canary. I join the conversation, nonchalantly inquire where she acquired such a pet, and memorize the London address. Insisting it is no bother, I offer to procure one of the birds on my forthcoming trip to Town and deliver it to her upon my return. Mrs. Long’s eyes well up as she thanks me profusely for my compassion and assistance. Sheepishly, I accept her gratitude as well as another of Elizabeth’s tender looks.

A servant, carrying a tray of refreshments, offers wine to our party. At last year’s assembly, I refused to imbibe what I assumed was inferior vintage. Tonight my throat is parched, due, no doubt, to so much talking, smiling, and, now, resembling the cat that ate the ca … never mind. I graciously accept a goblet and swallow both my pride and a quenching mouthful of robust red wine. It is surprisingly flavourful and satisfying.

Elizabeth’s uncle, Mr. Phillips, joins our group. The attorney explains he has just arrived, having been detained by an overload of paperwork at his office. Like others have done tonight, he remarks on Hertfordshire’s extraordinarily balmy weather and the county’s immense moon. Perhaps it is the combination of brandy and wine ingested, but I am in too blithe a frame of mind to inform him the orb is the same one currently shining on Derbyshire.

Seen through the eyes of requited love, the Meryton assembly has taken on a dreamlike quality. Wine has never tasted half so ambrosial as the elixir being served this evening. Musicians have never played half so skillfully as those currently performing, and their lively reels are entirely in tune with my jovial mood. Boisterous voices have never sounded so merry, and unrestrained laughter has never been so amusing. Elizabeth’s parents and younger sisters never seemed so … Well, the Bennets are much the same as always; but they are soon to be my family, so I have decided to accept them, warts and all.

Although I have led a privileged life for eight and twenty years, tonight, for the first time, I truly understand what it is to be granted a privilege. Elizabeth Bennet has bestowed upon me the very great honour of becoming her husband; and although it would not take much effort to swagger and strut like a proud peacock, I opt for a less pompous stride as we take a turn around the room.

There is too much to be thought, felt, and said here and now, in the midst of a boisterous country assembly; and I yearn for a moment or two of seclusion. Others have been waxing lyrical about the magnificent harvest moon which presides over the town tonight, so I profess a great curiosity to see this lunar singularity. Elizabeth consents, and I am… over the moon.

Smiling and nodding the whole time, I escort Elizabeth through the assemblage of Meryton merrymakers. As we pass the pier glass in the hall, I hardly recognize the man therein with the tomfool smile plastered across his face. Practice has paid off handsomely; exercised facial muscles neither protest nor become fatigued. I am all cheerful countenance and happy heart as we exit the building, ostensibly for a breath of fresh air and astronomical enlightenment. Whether I have an ulterior motive, I will not say.

The night air is invigorating and charged with excitement. I am exhilarated and awed by the nonpareil sphere suspended before us. Has there ever been a full moon so close or shining so brightly as this one? Rather than inducing lunacy, this luminous night has brought sense, joy, and harmony to my life.

Has there ever been a more idyllic setting for romance? I had not noticed previously, but Meryton is quite an enchanting little town. Even the rowdy drunkards in the street are entertaining. I toss my flask, still three-quarters full, to a poor man who appears in need of a good, stiff drink. Raising my voice to be heard by him, I say, “Keep it, my good man; but do not look therein for answers or solace.” He doffs his cap and makes a leg. I have come outside without my beaver hat, but I mimic his exaggerated actions; and Elizabeth laughs at our antics. With this woman as my bride, I know I shall have no further need of strong spirits to chase away the blue devils.

Ah, yes, I shall have a strong, spirited spouse and solace from blue devils. Elizabeth does look devilishly good in that blue dress, and I am already tempted to seek comfort in her arms. Silently I recite Proverb 7:18, ‘Come, let us take our fill of love until the morning: let us solace ourselves with loves.‘

Patience, man! I take a deep, satisfying breath of aromatic Hertfordshire air. It is, of course, her fragrance which fills my senses, tantalizing and arousing me. I rein in inappropriate, visceral desire, however natural and just, and conjure something less sweetly redolent than lavender. “Onions.”

“Onions, Mr. Darcy?”

By God! Either my future spouse is a mind-reader or I have mistakenly spoken aloud. Had I a choice, I suppose the latter would be infinitely preferable.

Guided by the light of the moon, I steer Elizabeth around the corner of the assembly hall and stall for time by whistling tunelessly through my teeth. Shall I lie through them as well? She pulls away and stands facing me. Her amused, expectant expression makes me grin despite vexation. Onions. Of all the clay-brained, idle-headed hogwash to utter, I had to bloody-well blurt onions. I furrow my brow, dither over aversion of the truth, and pray for inspiration.

“Pray, sir, what has inspired both grin and grimace? Shall aught remove your scowl? Honestly, such pungency could make one weep. Why, yes, I do believe a teardrop is about to leak from my eye.”

“Miss Bennet, our engagement is not yet common knowledge. I may have to rescind my offer if you insist on peppering your speech with pungent puns. No more talk of dankish shallots, or fly-bitten leeks, or damned, rump-fed, reeling-ripe, bloody onions!”

Oh, blast it! I close my eyes and bite my insolent tongue. And I thought her mouth was possessed by demons? God’s teeth, man! I swear the pollution of my vocabulary is the direct result of extensive reading plus spending formative years in company with George Wickham and adult ones with an army officer cousin. The latter’s tutelage was certainly enriching.