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CHAPTER 28

Eighteen months after the wedding, the first Annual Gathering of Aware Austen Characters began with a disagreement about whether the word annual had been approved.

"We agreed to one afternoon," Darcy reminded his aunt.

"A title is not an obligation," Lady Catherine said.

"I shall keep that sentence," Elizabeth told her.

The library doors stood open. On a table inside lay the books through which their guests had been invited. Each volume bore a card naming the visitor, the hour agreed, and the page by which the visitor might return. Darcy had tested the arrangement twice. Bingley had supplied cushions for anyone alarmed by arriving beside a bookcase rather than through a front door.

For the gathering, Darcy had taken the agreed weather tables out of their drawer and left the private notes behind. Elinor Dashwood came first, composed until she saw the stack, when she requested a room in which no one intended to discuss rain. Emma Woodhouse arrived shortly afterward and immediately proposed a more efficient arrangement of the chairs. Charlotte, who had helped arrange them, handed her three spare chairs and a very narrow space.

"You are welcome to try."

The chairs defeated Emma before the conversation did.

Elizabeth found herself enjoying the gathering. It was odd to meet people whose sentences she had once believed she knew in advance. They had opinions of their own about those sentences, and no hesitation in correcting her recollections. Marianne Dashwood and Anne de Bourgh were discussing whether an atmospheric event could be both manipulative and aesthetically satisfactory. Anne had brought her spaniel book as a safeguard against the discussion becoming too improving.

Wickham stood near a window, explaining his paper to a gentleman who had not yet agreed to hear it. Lydia arrived beside him and removed the pages from his hand.

"He asked where to put his hat, George."

"It was a natural opening."

"Then let him finish opening it."

She brought the gentleman to Elizabeth, who directed him and his hat to the hall. Lydia looked pleased with herself. Marriage had not converted either of them into an example of wisdom, but Elizabeth had received more ordinary letters from her sister that year than in all their previous lives together. She knew when Lydia was vexed, what she had bought, and when she wanted advice rather than admiration. Elizabeth had learned, after one unfortunate reply, to inquire which before giving it.

Their father appeared with a gentleman whose resemblance to him was both marked and disconcerting.

"Lizzy, this is another Mr. Bennet. He comes from a version dated 1940."

Elizabeth looked toward the book table. An unfamiliar illustrated volume lay open beside a card bearing precisely that information.

"You were invited?"

"I was," the other Mr. Bennet assured her. "I thought it best to establish that before your father claimed I had arrived to improve his dialogue."

"He has brought several excellent complaints," her father said. "I find we agree on the disadvantages of being expected to make the same joke indefinitely."

They retired together to inspect the refreshments. Elizabeth watched them go, then sought Darcy. There were limits to the number of fathers she wished to manage without assistance.

He was rescuing a program from beneath Lady Catherine's chair. She had placed her foot upon it to stop it curling, and continued demanding it while keeping her shoe firmly on the corner.

"We are named on the final page," he told Elizabeth.

"As hosts?"

"As a possible discussion, subject to consent."

Lady Catherine extended her hand for the recovered paper. "Well? Will you speak?"

Elizabeth considered the room. Jane was explaining a general account of their early experiments to a small circle, using only the notes Elizabeth and Darcy had agreed could be shared. When Elizabeth had refused permission to quote her letter, Jane had simply written about her roses. Elizabeth had been particularly fond of those roses ever since. Bingley was distributing copies to those who wanted them, and quietly taking one back from a guest who preferred cake. No private proposal had been converted into a performance.

"For five minutes," Elizabeth said. "And we shall answer questions only if we choose."

"A very short keynote," Lady Catherine observed.