I went to a party, a respectable one, tonight and saw Darcy for the first time in weeks. He was looking very handsome. For a moment I was jealous, for I knew that my own body had started to show the signs of too much drinking and wenching and not enough signs of riding and fencing. I shrugged it off, but when I saw the women hanging on his every word and ignoring me, I knew I must do something about it. To be sure, a lot of it is to do with the fact that he is Darcy of Pemberley, but not all. And I must not forget that I intend to be Wickham of Rosings. It would not do to go to seed before I have my future secure.