You must think me the villain, gentle reader.
You must think me the scoundrel; the ingrate who tried to snatch Georgiana Darcy away from her loving brother. You must think me the rogue who seduced and tried to run off with Lydia Bennet, and a thousand other felonious things besides.
I blame all of these untruths on Darcy. His misrepresents me most appallingly time and again.
And so, gentle reader, I feel it proper to regale you with an exploit or two where I have been nothing but good to Fitzwilliam Darcy. You will doubtlessly be new to these accounts; I cannot imagine Fitz to have told them to anyone. But why should I be forced to play the villain without having had my say?
And so, without further ado, gentle reader, if you will remain- do sit down and drink a glass of port with me! We have all the time in the world- I shall relate a choice anecdote of the childhood of Fitz and myself.
I recollect there was that time with the pond...