“Do I detect any jealousy there, my flagpole-like friend?” Nobley said. “Still upset that you weren’t cast as a gentleman? You do make a very good gardener.”

Martin took a swing. Nobley ducked and rammed into his body, pushing them both to the ground. The brunette squealed and bounced on the balls of her feet.

“Stop it!” Jane pulled at Nobley, then slipped. He put out an arm and caught her midfall across her middle.

“Here, let me . . .” Nobley tried to give her a hand up and push Martin away at the same time.

“Get off me,” Martin said. “I’ll help her.”

He kicked Nobley in the rear, followed by some swatting of hands. Jane planted her feet, grabbed Nobley’s arm, and pulled him off. Martin was still swiping at Nobley from the ground. Nobley’s cap fell off, then his trench coat twisted up around Martin, who batted at it crazily.

“Cut it out!” Jane said, pushing Nobley back and putting herself between them. She felt more like a teacher stopping a school-boy scuffle than an ingenue with two brawling beaus.

“M-m-martin’s g*y!” Nobley said.

“I am not! You’re thinking of Edgar.”

“Who the hell is Edgar?”

“You know, that other gardener who always smells of fish.”

“Oh, right.”

Jane raised her hands in exasperation. “Would you two...

A stuffed-up voice over the PA announced preboarding for Jane’s flight. 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 want to be let back in the house. She felt very sure of herself just then, tall and sleek and confident.

“Well, they’re playing my song, boys,” she said melodically.

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.

“It’s been a pleasure. Truly.” She started to turn away.

“Jane.” Nobley placed a hand on her shoulder, a desperate kind 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 back through security, to the gate, down the jetway. Though pure fantasy, it was exactly the finale she’d hoped for.

She liked the way it had ended, had enjoyed her last line. Tallyho. What did that mean, anyway? Wasn’t it like, the hunt is on, or something? Tallyho. A beginning of something. She was the predator. The fox had been sighted. It was time to run 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 snuggled into her seat and stared out the window at the dwarfish 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 Pembrook Park had been real? Any of it? Even herself? The absurdity bubbled up inside her, and she laughed out loud. The woman next to her stiffened as if forcing herself not to look at the crazy person.

“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 beside Jane. “My girlfriend and I 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 a crazy woman dating a man in Regency clothes.

The man who was Mr. Nobley sat beside her. He lifted his hand to remove his cap, discovered it’d been dislodged during the scuffle with Martin, and then 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, but that wouldn’t be in keeping with the. . . wait, they were on a plane. There were no more Rules. There was no more game. She felt her hopes rise so that she thought she’d float away before the plane took off, so she pushed her feet flat against the floor. She reminded herself that she was the predator now. Tallyho.

“This is a bit far to go, even for Mrs. Wattlesbrook.”

“She didn’t send me,” said Nobley-Henry. “Not before, not now. I sent myself, or rather I came because I ... I had to try it. Look, I know this is crazy, but the ticket was nonrefundable. Could I at least accompany you home?”

“This is hardly a stroll through the park.”

“I’m tired of parks.”

She noticed that his tone was more casual now. He lost the stilted Regency air, his words relaxed enough to allow contractions—but besides that, so far Henry didn’t seem much different from Mr. Nobley.

He leaned back, as if trying to calm down. “It was a good gig, but the pay wasn’t astronomical, so you can imagine my relief to find you weren’t flying first class. Though I’d prefer a cargo ship, frankly. I hate planes.”

“Mr. Nob—uh, Henry, it’s not too late to get off the plane. I’m not writing an article for the magazine.”

“What magazine?”

“Oh. And I’m not rich.”

“I know Mrs. Wattlesbrook outlines every guest’s financials along with their profiles.”