He caught sight of her from across a crowded assembly room, her hair twisted and piled on top of her head, held in place with tiny flowers. She looked like a goddess, he turned to look where Charles was, and then back to see her, but she was gone. The room was aglow with candles, filled with chatter and noise; in the corner a quarter of players were dragging themselves through a tune as a cotillion of dancers finished with a flourish of bows and curtseys. His new jacket felt stiff, and the leather dancing pumps had obviously shrunk since he last wore them and were rubbing the back of his heel. Fitz had missed the beginning of the season due to being tied up with matters pertaining to his father's will, and this was his first official event of the year. Caroline was dressed in a mustard yellow dress with a shimmery gold turban perched atop of her fashionably curly hair, she looked like a rather elegant head of wheat towering above the other girls; Louisa was in blue, which brought out the colour of her eyes, and next to her the newly acquired husband, who she had married barely a week ago at the church in Hanover Square by special license.

"Fitz," she waved over to him, "how on earth are you? We were wondering when you would make an appearance."

Her husband, a lofty broad man with blonde tufts of hair that sprouted out in all directions, did a customary bow.

"Fitzwilliam Darcy of Pemberley," he said, in a blustery voice, "what a damned pleasure it is to make your acquaintance, I mean I have heard of you, of course. Terrible business with your father, I am sorry to hear it. He was a good man."

Fitz look surprised, "you knew my father?"

"Yes," Mr Hurst said, downing his glass, "we were at Oxford together, lost touch after I went to the Caribbean, of course. You must excuse me, Mr Darcy, I've just seen Lady Colthurst and I must pay my respects."

Mr Hurst walked over to a short, round lady with a hefty bosom, on which she was displaying a copious amount of diamonds, Louisa turned on Fitz immediately.

"Have you heard the latest on Charles's little sweetheart?"

"Which one? Miss Purcell? I have not… would you care to oblige?"

"Charles is distraught. He was meant to be in attendance tonight, but –"

"Louisa… what happened with Miss Purcell?"

"She is engaged to another, an officer with the King's Own Regiment."

"Engaged this whole time?"

"Yes, apparently so. All of her affection towards Charles was merely a harmless flirtation, he had no idea of it and let himself fall for her like the lovestruck buffoon he is."

"Louisa! I cannot have you speak of Charles like that…" she caught his eye and they began to laugh between themselves in the loud roar of Almack's, where the cream of London society was gathered for entertainment, dancing and gossip.

"He is such a fool for a pretty girl, you have to care of him this summer, Fitz, or else he will end up wed to a beautiful farmer's daughter with lovely eyes and no manners."

"Oh, I will take a care of it, Mrs Hurst, you have no worry about that."

"Don't call me Mrs Hurst, it makes me sound like a frightening grand old dame."

"I suppose that's what you are now!" He was teasing her, she liked it. Louisa was concerned that her marriage would alter her friendship with Fitz, who she counted as one of her closest confidantes, but as they fell back in their easy manner with each other, she understood that nothing had really changed at all.

"You are vile, Fitzwilliam Darcy," she laughed, "anyway, have you spied the future mistress of Pemberley in the throng here this evening?"

"Louisa, you know I am not looking for a wife."

"Darcy, as a single man of fortune it is your duty to marry and have a son, you know this as well as I, whatever you may tell your sister to the contrary," she arched an eyebrow at him and turned her face back to the crowd, "there is a lady of my acquaintance who I think you would very much like to meet."

"Are you matchmaking, Mrs Hurst?"

She grinned, "not at all. But the lady in question in very accomplished, very beautiful, and I think of the perfect height to match you."

"When did my height become important?"

"Oh Fitz, hold your tongue for a moment," she said, " I could be telling you about the love of your life and you are teasing. If you like, I will introduce you."

"Alright," he said agreeably, "lead on to this earthly Venus of delights."

"Don't be so vulgar, Fitzwilliam," she said, and he considered himself told off indeed as they made their way through the gathering, stopping to say hello at acquaintances and friends as they walked past.

And there she was again in the crowd, the woman with the flowers in her hair, he wanted to stop again, be introduced to her – or to hell with it, he would introduce himself and be damned with conventions – but Louisa pulled him away again. Another glimpse, and she was gone.

"Mrs Hurst, can we please just - "

Louisa stopped, "here we are. Fitzwilliam Darcy, may I have the pleasure of introducing Miss Jemima Chandon…"

Fitz looked up, it was her. She curtseyed and held out her hand, "the pleasure is all mine, Mr Darcy."

When she spoke, it was as a choir of angels sang, her voice was the nectar of the heavens itself and he realised what Bingley had felt, how it was overwhelming and wondrous all at once. He recovered himself of sorts and took her hand.

"Miss Chandon, how delightful to meet you. Would you care to dance?"

She nodded and he led her onto the dancefloor feeling absolutely certain that if the world ended now, he would die a happy man knowing that he had met her.