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something, Mr. Darcy?”
    “Yes, please,” he answered eagerly, and then sank back into the chair with a sigh of relief. They would not have to talk as long as she was playing.
    “Do you have a request, sir?”
    “Surprise me,” and then he thought of something Elizabeth Bennet had said about what constituted an accomplished woman: “You see, Mr. Darcy, we are of necessity more practical in the country. Jane and I have painted many screens, but when every fireplace has one, we stop. Even the largest house can only hold so many tables, no matter how beautifully painted, and when it comes to the matter of music, many of our friends are talented on the pianoforte. But if the truth be known, most people prefer an air or a jig to a concerto as we love to dance.”
    After thinking about Miss Elizabeth’s comments, he asked, “Miss Montford, something lively, if you will,” and she searched among the music sheets before finally settling on a Scottish air, and while she was playing, he could not help but notice how many painted tables there were in the room.
    While Letitia played, Darcy’s mind was flooded with visions of Elizabeth. How he would love to wrap his fingers around her dark curls while gazing into her coal black eyes and to trace the outline of her face with his fingers. His thoughts of the lady spurred him to action.
    “Miss Montford, I do not recall if I mentioned that Mr. Bingley is hosting a ball at his home in Hertfordshire, and I have promised that I will attend.”
    She showed no sign of unhappiness at his news, and after deciding that the visit had lasted long enough, he rose, bowed, and beat a hasty retreat, and when he got into the hackney, he loosened his neckcloth as he felt as if he was being strangled.

    At supper, after interrogating her brother about his visit with Miss Montford, Georgiana pronounced it to be satisfactory.
    “Since you are gone so frequently, perhaps you might consider writing a poem or love letter.”
    “Please, Georgiana, I am not a romantic.”
    “Flowers?”
    “May we have this conversation after I return from Hertfordshire?”
    “Yes, and I have a surprise for you, Will. I have been feeling guilty about not going to the country with you, so I have changed my mind. I shall attend the ball at Netherfield.”
    Instead of the expected response, her brother put his head back and rubbed his temples as if fighting a headache.
    “Georgie, would you pour a glass of Madeira for me? I have something unpleasant to tell you,” and he advised her of Wickham’s presence in Meryton.
    It had been several weeks after Wickham’s attempted elopement before Darcy could speak to his sister about the events in Ramsgate, and he had only relented because Anne de Bourgh had written, encouraging him to listen to what his sister had to say. Georgiana had successfully convinced her brother that she would never have married without his permission and that she was ashamed of the romantic notions she had harbored.
    “Will, surely, you do not think I would have anything to do with Wickham. I have learned so much from that unfortunate affair, and it has stood me in good stead this past season when I was able to recognize insincere flattery for what it is: an attempt to secure my fortune.”
    “No, it is not that at all. I know he will not come to the ball as he is a coward and will not face me. It is just that the militia is always about in the village, and there is the possibility you might encounter him.”
    Georgiana, whose clothes were made by the finest dressmakers in London, laughed. “I am going to Netherfield for the purpose of attending a ball, not to shop in Meryton.”
    “Forgive me. I am tired. As an aside, you may be interested to know that after the ball, Louisa and Caroline will return to town, and Mrs. Crenshaw will come to keep house for Bingley.”
    “Mrs. Crenshaw and her little band of ruffians! The same ones who put mud in my riding boots? I am convinced that it was Athena