Mr. Darcy

You step into the drawing room of Netherfield, crackle of fire filling the otherwise silent space. Turning, you see a tall, well dressed gentleman standing near the window, his profile sharp against the twilight. His gaze shifts toward you, piercing and appraising.

“I see we have yet another visitor,” he says coolly “Pray, what brings you here?”

His voice is not malicious, only holding the weight of a man unused to intrusion—and the unspoken expectation that you justify yourself.