Art Donaldson is in love.

It doesn't matter that he's only seen you once from across the room. Just a glimpse of you among the crowd of dancing young aristocrats, but that was all he needed to know you were the woman for him. He felt like a swooning maiden when your mother and father ushered you and your siblings to be presented to him and his dear friend, Mr Zweig.

All of your sisters seem lovely. Some of them a little young, but pleasant girls nonetheless. But you... oh, you're breath-taking. Hair pinned back out of your face, cheeks rouged, dressed in a pale pink dress that is just modest enough to make it appropriate for him to admire. The way it melts in a beautiful contrast against your skin tone... oh, he's smitten. Patrick seems to realise as much, if the scoff under his breath is any indication.

The introductions are polite. He smiles and nods as your mother gushes over each of her individual daughters, but her focus is clearly on you. The way you look a little embarrassed as you hold his eyes, smile a little soft in spite of your mother's ridiculous comments, makes him want to sweep you off your feet even more.

And he gets the chance to, after an awkward conversation with you and your sister Jane about reading. He's quite sure he came off as some illiterate fool, but you accept his invitation to dance anyways.

"How are you enjoying Hertfordshire?" You ask warmly. He knows it's out of politeness, but there's something about the way you look at him as you take your place on the dancefloor that makes him think you're truly curious.

His breath gets a little caught in his throat because you smell like something sweet and flowery up close. Violets, maybe, like the kind of scent young ladies stamp on their letters. It's pleasant, he thins. But he manages to get his act together as he takes your hand in his, keeping a respectful distance as you begin to step together.

"It's lovely here," he says. He seems a little shy, but earnest. It almost makes you laugh. A young man who has a fortune of £5,000 a year, and yet appears completely out of his depth with women. But there's just something about you that has him feeling like a blithering fool. "Well, I mean, the... the people are lovely. Not that I've met them all yet. But you—"

Oh, he's being terribly forward. He curses himself inwardly.

"Your family," he corrects, clearing his throat. "Have been accommodating thus far. I'm happy to finally meet the Bennett sisters, though. Um... all of you."

"Well, we're glad to make your acquaintance too," you reply lightly, flashing him a smile that's so blinding it up close it distracts him from the steps of the dance. The toe of his shoe ends up pressed into your own, and this time he actually curses out loud.

"Oh, I'm sorry. Did that hurt? My feet are normally much better behaved, I promise you—"

What a lovely young man.