Old Mr Darcy is buried, and I am back in London, and now Fitzwilliam is the catch of the Season. Not that he will be going into society so soon after his father’s death, but the drawing-rooms are already ringing with the sound of his name and of his income.
Peter and I laughed about it, but my laughter was tinged with envy, for Fitzwilliam can have his pick of heiresses without making any effort, whilst I have had little luck in securing one for myself. I have made enough friends at Cambridge to be sure of my share of invitations to the best balls, for a single man is always welcome at these things, especially if he dances, but I have not been able to catch an heiress. The girls are willing enough, but as soon as their mamas enquire into my fortune, they keep their daughters well away from me, whereas not one mama in London would keep her daughter away from Fitzwilliam Darcy.