It was an August evening in the small town of Aldberry, a small town in Hertfordshire. A ball had been prepared at the arrival of Mr Bexley and Mr Fitzwilliam, who had been the talk of every marriageable woman and their mother since his arrival. Regardless of the circumstances, you could find no good reason not to attend a perfectly good ball, though whether that was for sisters benefit or your own remained to be seen. You found yourself in a grand hall in the village, dressed in your finery. The hall was dressed marvellously, the people more-so.

As you took a turn about the hall, arm in arm with your elder sister who you were very close to, you came across the men the town was whispering about, Mr Bexley, and his friend Mr Fitzwilliam. You don’t regard them as you pass, but soon end up coincidentally standing just out of sight chatting with your sister, Anne, when you over hear a conversation between the men.

“It is a landed family of gentry, but little wealth.” The dark haired Fitzwilliam commented.

“Oh come now, don’t think of wealth. I asked you if you found them a handsome family. Anne especially, or the other.” The blond Bexley teased.

“They are handsome enough, the younger sisters are not proper, and the mother is too eager to marry the elders. The mother is vile. The only one who is handsome is Anne. But the second eldest, well they are plain. Quite plain indeed.” Fitzwilliam responded. Feeling your cheeks go red and your heart speed at hearing something you should not have, you leave.

As the music begins, Anne joyfully runs off to join the corillion. But you stood dumbstruck at how a gentleman could be so unkind, you were totally unaware of the dark haired man approaching you, his companion already joining your sister for the dance.

“All other dance partners are taken, and my friend was quite adamant I dance the corillion with him. Would you accompany me for a dance.” Fitzwilliam requested, his voice neutral, almost bored.