Jane raised her hands in exasperation. “Would you two—”
A chime went off, announcing the top of the hour, and she didn’t dare tempt the gods of airport security with any further delays.
She pointed up as if toward the sound of the clock and said, “They’re playing my song, boys.”
The brunette made an audible moan of disappointment. Martin struggled to his feet with a hand up from Nobley, and they both stood before Jane, silent, pathetic as wet dogs who wanted to be let back in the house. She felt very sure of herself just then, sleek and confident, like a predatory animal who fears nothing and no one.
“Well, it’s been a pleasure,” she said.
Martin’s tall shoulders slumped as he sulked, and his long feet seemed clownish. Nobley had no trace of a smile now. She looked at them, side by side, two men who’d given her Darcy obsession a really good challenge. They were easily the most scrumptious men of her acquaintance, and she supposed she’d never had so much fun pursuing and being pursued. And she was saying no. To both of them. To all of it. Her skin tingled. It was a perfect moment.
“Truly it has,” she said softly. “A pleasure.” She turned to leave.
“Jane.” Nobley placed a hand on her shoulder, a desperatekind of bravery overcoming his reserve. He took her hand again. “Jane, please.” He raised her hand to his lips, his eyes down as if afraid of meeting hers. Jane smiled and remembered that he really had been her favorite, all along. She stepped into him, holding both his hands down by her sides, and lightly pressed her cheek against his neck. She could feel him sigh.
“Thank you,” she whispered. “Tell Mrs. Wattlesbrook I said tallyho.”
She sauntered away without looking back. She could hear the men calling after her, protesting, reaffirming their sincerity. Jane ignored them, smiling all the way into the security line. Though pure fantasy, it was exactly the finale she’d hoped for.
She approved of her last word.Tallyho.What did that mean, anyway? Wasn’t it like,There’s the fox! Let’s go get it, or something? Tallyho. A beginning of something. She was the hunter. The prey had been sighted. And now she was free to chase it down.
Okay, Aunt Carolyn, she said in a little prayer. Okay, I’m ready. I’m burying the wishful part of me, the prey part of me. I’m real now.
She took a deep inhale. But on exhale, her breath caught. A sob shook loose. She held her breath and tried to swallow it. But halfway through the security line, it broke free anyway, and hard sobbing hammered her chest. So many emotions fought inside, her torso felt like a battlefield. She put a hand against her forehead, trying to shield her face from the travelers in line around her, but it was pointless. Her sobs were audible, and the feeling so deeply consuming, she soon stopped worrying about her public humiliation.
All the warring emotions settled into a cohesive feeling of grief, though she wasn’t sure what exactly she was grieving.But as she sank even deeper into the racking sorrow, she noticed beneath it a surprisingly deep well of peace. That glimpse made her feel more confident that however she changed from this battle, whatever way she emerged after, it would be a victory.
After a time, when she could breathe evenly again, she was able to look inside herself to ask what this grief was for. All she found was a powerful desire to believe that he had loved her. Not Martin. He’d been briefly entertaining, that was all. No, she was shocked to realize she was mourning Nobley. A considerable part of her must have been hoping that the actual man behind the character had felt the same connection she’d imagined between them. That . . . could she admit it? . . . that he’d fallen for her. That he had loved her. That she was lovable. There at the end, he’d seemed to imply that her fantasy was actually possible. At last, she really had faced her truest, sincerest, most unrealistically perfect lifelong desire, and then she’d walked away. No wonder she felt cut in half and scooped out. How was she still standing?
After she lifted her bag onto the belt for screening, she patted her pockets to make sure she hadn’t forgotten her phone. And then she kept patting, her middle, her sides, marveling to realize that she could still be whole after all that. Her tears had stopped, and she was relieved to realize that she felt no regret. No shame. Just a kind of wonder.
As she waited at the gate, the wonder remained. She didn’t even turn on her phone, wasn’t tempted to call Molly to make herself feel less alone, or scroll news to distract herself. She found that she was able to just be.
Hello there, she said to herself. Hey, it’s been a while.
On the plane, she snuggled into her window seat and staredat the neon-vested people on the tarmac, waving their orange-coned flashlights as though desperate to get her attention. She relaxed, and her mind wanted to puzzle over things. Which parts of Austenland had been real? Which parts of her own self were true? The absurdity of the past few hours bubbled up inside her, and she laughed out loud. The woman next to her stiffened as if forcing herself not to look at the loon.
“Excuse me.”
The sound of the voice flattened Jane against the back of her seat as though the plane had taken off at a terrifying speed.
It was him. There he was. In the plane. Vest and cravat and jacket and all.
“Holy cow,” she said.
“Pardon me, ma’am,” Nobley said to the woman in the middle seat next to Jane. “We don’t have tickets together, and I wonder if you would mind switching. I have a lovely seat on the exit row.”
The woman nodded and smiled sympathetically at Jane as though pondering the sadness of this loon who dated a man in Regency clothes.
The man, who was Mr. Nobley, scooted awkwardly past the aisle-seated elderly man and squished into the middle seat beside Jane. And she stared, her eyes so wide, she forgot how to blink. He lifted his hand as if to remove his cap, discovered it was still gone, and so inclined his head just as Mr. Nobley would have.
“How do you do? I’m Henry.”
So he was Henry Jenkins.
“I’m still Jane,” she said. Or squeaked, rather.
He was trying to fasten his seat belt and his look of confusion was so adorable, she wanted to reach over and help, butthat wouldn’t be in keeping with the . . . Wait, they were on a plane. There were no more Regency Rules. There was no more game. She felt her hopes rise so that she thought she’d float away before the plane took off. She pushed her feet flat against the floor again and reminded herself that she was the predator. Tallyho.
