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"What if we just... leave? Get out of Kent entirely?"

Darcy tested the idea. His feet immediately locked in place. "Can't. Tried. The narrative won't let me leave until after the scene plays out."

Jane tested her own feet. "Mine will not move either." Jane looked down at them. "I've brought them all the way from Hertfordshire. I should like some say in where they go next."

Darcy could offer her nothing better than a sympathetic look. He moved his notebook clear of the patch of rainwater beneath her cloak.

Jane drew her chair nearer the table. Elizabeth moved the candle so that both could see the page.

Mr. Collins was still hovering in distress. "But Lady Catherine⁠—"

"Is probably brewing another complaint about Elizabeth's corrupting influence," Charlotte finished. "Yes, dear. We know. Perhaps you should go write her a letter of apology."

"An excellent idea!" Mr. Collins fled to his study.

Elizabeth sat down next to Bingley. "How are you holding up?"

"I am trying to accept that I may be fictional."

"That's progress."

"I should still like to propose to Jane. I need not settle the whole question of existence before asking what she wishes."

"That's very Bingley of you."

"Thank you. I think." He watched Jane asking Darcy to distinguish another observation from a guess. "Do you think Miss Bennet will still want to marry me now that she knows we're not real?"

"She took your hand when you left her free to do so. I should ask her what she wishes next."

Bingley smiled, a genuine smile this time. "Then I'll propose. As soon as the narrative lets us back to Hertfordshire and her father."

"When will that be?"

"According to Darcy's timeline analysis? Chapter 16."

"He's calculating chapters now?"

"He's very thorough."

From across the room, Jane asked Darcy for a fresh sheet. They had agreed on a small experiment: each would choose a book from the shelf beside the window, and see whether they could finish a page.

"No predictions?" he asked.

"Not until we have tried."

He wrote the question at the top and gave her the pencil.

Jane chose a volume of travels. Darcy selected a history. A sermon collection lay beside Jane's elbow; she moved it to make room for the book she had chosen. She reached the bottom of the first page, held up a finger when Darcy began to ask about it, and turned to the second.

Elizabeth watched her sister read. For the moment, at least, Jane had found something she wished to finish.

CHAPTER 16

Two mornings later, the narrative came for them before breakfast. Elizabeth felt it the moment she woke up: the familiar pressure, like invisible hands pushing her toward a specific location. Her feet wanted to walk to the Hunsford grove. Her mouth wanted to say specific words.

Here we go, she thought. Major Plot Point time.

She had exactly enough agency to take a loose sheet from beside Darcy's notebook and scribble a note to Charlotte, leaving both on the table: