"Have you got a moment to talk about…" Mr. Bennet said, looking around him furtively. "Literature?"

His second eldest daughter nodded gravely and followed him into his book room. He closed the door for privacy.

"Did you finish reading the document that I gave you?" Mr. Bennet asked.

"Yes," Elizabeth said.

"What did you think?"

"The notebook is beautifully bound and the handwriting was very even and easy to read but I noticed some misspelled words."

"No, what did you think of what happened?"

"What do you mean? Nothing happened. It was pretty boring and unimaginative as far as books go."

"Boring!? How can you say so?"

"It was just a bunch of people going to each other's houses," Elizabeth said. "The plot might have been enlivened by the addition of some suspense, perhaps a sword fight, a stolen treasure, some masked avengers, or a murder mystery to solve."

"Elizabeth," Mr. Bennet said.

"What? A good gothic novel it was most definitely not, although some characters were perfect nightmares."

"Who in particular?"

"Most of them," Elizabeth said. "To start with the male main character, he is very rude in social situations and cannot stand it if he does not get his way. He is the arbiter of love in his circle and must give his blessing before his friends can marry. But the man himself fell in love with someone who cannot stand him and he has no idea whatsoever. So he is not very smart. He believes himself to be such an august personage that he can just walk up to any unsuspecting woman and propose without giving her any warning of his intentions."

"He did not handle it well, I dare say," Mr. Bennet said.

"He is utterly disdainful of her family but his own family is no better. One of his cousins just sits there, apparently mute and incapable of learning anything, and another is a friendly blabbermouth, full of indiscretion. The family is noble but both of these cousins are fortune hunters so they may have their pockets to let. He has a supercilious aunt who is rude and wants to meddle with everything, just like him, but who is less efficient in her attempts and has no taste in furnishings. His sister is a perfect ninny who has a large dowry yet agrees to elope with a steward's penniless son so she must not have kept the brain that God blessed her with. It runs in the family. Their father was also enamoured with the same scoundrel and the son keeps on giving him money so that man can keep on debauching more silly young girls."

"I rather liked the heroine's love interest but you certainly did not seem to find it a flattering account of the young man," Mr. Bennet observed.

"He is a flawed character for sure," Elizabeth said. "But I suppose the redeeming factor is that he was not reaching above his station. The female main character is no better and may be worse than him."

"How so?"

"She is very judgmental and considers herself quite clever for it. But she is wrong about everything as she always decides too quickly based on superficial characteristics: whether people are handsome, talkative, look friendly, and flatter her vanity enough. This is why the villain of the piece singles her out as the most gullible mark from the very beginning of their acquaintance and she scoffs away all the hints that he may be up to no good."

"There were reasons for her opinions and evaluations."

"Yes but none that justified anything, if taken rationally," Elizabeth said.

"Sometimes it takes a while to see what the rational response is," Mr. Bennet said.

"Right, but several more reasonable people were trying to speak some sense into her and she ignored them and laughed at them all because she is an insufferable know-it-all," Elizabeth said.

"Now, I am sure that is a little too harsh," Mr. Bennet said.

"If she has an opinion, a feeling, or a prejudice she is absolutely sure it must be the truth," Elizabeth said. "No questioning allowed."

"We all tend to believe in what we believe in," Mr. Bennet said. "I am sure that is not so unusual."

"Her family is pretty terrible as well," Elizabeth went on ruthlessly. "Her mother is loud, and grasping, and has no notion of how embarrassing some of her vulgar pronouncements are and how much her transparent attempts to matchmake damage her daughters' chances of ever finding anyone interested."

"Oh, but if some squeamish youth is driven away by an overeager mother, it may be no loss."

"Perhaps but maybe the girls would have liked to have the choice to drive him away themselves," Elizabeth said. "The reader cannot solely blame the mother, however, because her sisters are all very silly. One sister moralizes endlessly and has an overinflated opinion of her own musical skills. Another sister is kind and well-behaved but she exhausts herself making up excuses for everyone's rudeness and pines uselessly after a man who would court her like an excited puppy and leave her as soon as his friends point out things that he knew all along."

"What do you mean?"

"They tell him that she is a poor nobody, and her family behaves badly, but he always knew that. The man likes pretty girls so he might have been willing to overlook those disadvantages but then his friends tell him that she did not show any symptoms of particular regard towards him. Never mind that nobody with any notion of propriety could expect her to declare herself at that stage of their relationship. What did they expect to see? Was she supposed to fall on his lap and propose to him, babbling about her endless love? By that time they had danced and dined together a couple of times and had she shown her particular regard in any way that would be observable to his friends they would have warned him away because she was a shameless hussy instead."

"There is something to that."

"But not to worry," Elizabeth said. "The family has got the square of shameless hussies covered. The heroine's youngest sisters are crazy about redcoats who might ruin them as soon as they blink. Does their mother correct them? Does she teach them sense or the rules of proper comportment? No, she encourages their wild behaviour. Their father knows all this but could not be bothered to do anything but joke about it."

"It does sound pretty damning when you put it like that," Mr. Bennet said.

Elizabeth went on, without pity. "The estate brings in a respectable income but they have no savings because the parents have frittered everything away, and the women must eventually learn to depend on someone's charity unless their father decides live forever."

"Well," said Mr. Bennet. "I mean… That is…"

"That is no doubt why our heroine has grown up to be a shameless leech. She feels no gratitude, nothing but contempt for many of the people whose hospitality she had accepted. She does not even like many of the people she dines with."

"That is not such an uncommon affliction, I am sure," Mr. Bennet said.

Elizabeth took no heed of him.

"For example, when her sister had to spend the night at a neighbouring estate, the female main character was not invited but follows her there anyway, all muddy and untidy, and contrives to stay as a house guest for several days, forcing them to feed her and provide for her comfort."

"She would do anything for the love of her sister," Mr. Bennet said.

"Her hostesses were understandably a little miffed that she moved in without being wanted, and then she spent her time there needling the man one of them wants to marry. The girl has no idea why they do not like her and believes that disliking her is a sign of an evil temperament. But in truth, they think she and her family are shameless fortune hunters, and that the mother would throw her daughters at any man who ever breathed, and they are quite right."

"Now, wait a minute!" Mr. Bennet said.

"They are quite right," Elizabeth continued mercilessly. "At one point of the book she was very busy trying to throw a daughter at an absurd cousin, for one thing. But I think that if you absolutely must try your hand at inbreeding, you at least ought to start with specimens with some intellect to begin with."

"Good heavens, you certainly do not mince your words," Mr. Bennet said.

"It is a book, and you asked for my opinion about it, sir," Elizabeth said.

"A book about desperate husband hunters?"

"Yes! Just witness the ridiculous plan that the heroine's mother concocted. Who but the most pitiful opportunists would come up with the idea that riding in the rain is a good way to be invited to stay at a bachelor's house overnight?"

"It was a little unconventional, certainly," Mr. Bennet said.

"Any father with any sense would have been horrified at the impropriety of the suggestion and would absolutely refuse to allow it. And any loving mothers would have felt sad and guilty if a daughter got ill after taking part in such scheming. But this character's mother was merely thrilled that her stratagem worked."

"She did not plan for the illness, surely."

"No but she was old enough to know that getting drenched would make the girl miserable," Elizabeth said. "So this scene was a little over the top, in my opinion, and should have been edited out as it decreased the believability of the narrative."

"You are a harsh reviewer."

"I must call it like I see it," Elizabeth said. "I did like some of the humour and the characterizations can be quite amusing. The author has an entertaining way with words even when describing completely unlikable characters. The aunt in Kent brings wonderful comic relief although the monologues of her faithful accomplice, the obsequious parson, tend toward longwindedness."

"Indeed," said Mr. Bennet. "Just like some parsons that we have known."

"Right," said Elizabeth. "Maybe they became clergymen because they like to speak in sermons."

"What else did you think?"

"The settings are rather mundane," said Elizabeth. "Most of it happens in someone's drawing room unless the heroine is taking a walk, which she does often. There could have been more description of the scenery and I would have loved to read more about Dovedale and Matlock. But I understand it was not the purpose of this work."

"What do you think the purpose of this work was?"

"To convince the reader that a young woman cannot be complete without a man. She can only find her happiness once she has tied her fate to a male, however flawed and uncertain his character might be."

"Really?" Mr. Bennet asked. "That is the interpretation that you came up with?"

"It is right there in the book. The friend who married the parson says it out loud. She openly advocated for marrying somebody, anybody, because she thinks it is better for a woman to be an unhappy wife than a spinster of any persuasion. She would advise her friends to marry a man that they know nothing about, for all men are terrible and it is better to wait and find out their particular defects once it is already too late to back off."

"I had no idea you are such a cynic," Mr. Bennet said.

"Am I? You must admit that it is a pretty big leap of faith for a woman to pledge her fate and fortune in the care of a near stranger and to promise to love, honour and obey someone who may or may not be a cad."

"Here the resolution seemed like a happy ending though," Mr. Bennet said.

"It is a little sappy and the romance is not believable," Elizabeth said.

"Why do you say so?"

"Her most persistent suitor never has any real reason to like her. He had withstood her beauty from early on, and in terms of social status, she has even less with which to tempt him. So it must be her wit, charm, or personality, but we have already established that her personality fails in several respects, and he repeatedly refused to avail himself of the opportunities to enjoy her conversation. They had few amicable meetings in which he might have learned anything of her, and consequently when he makes her an offer he is completely blindsided that she has opinions. He must be in love with a figment of his imagination and the real flesh-and-blood female is going to be a bitter disappointment."

"I found her very lovable in many ways and I respect the main male love interest for seeing that in her," Mr. Bennet said.

"Her father was completely correct," Elizabeth said. "They are both going to have the grief of being unable to respect their partner in life, and the marriage could not be happy nor respectable."

"I disagree," Mr. Bennet said. "I think they will deal very well together."

"You must see that it could not last," Elizabeth said. "She is penniless with no prospects and not as pretty as her sister, yet her arts and allurements gain her two marriage proposals at short intervals, both from men that she absolutely detests. So her manners must have been faulty somehow, too arch and too flirtatious, because both men were convinced that she was expecting their attentions."

"I am certain she did nothing improper," Mr. Bennet said.

"Neither of her suitors knows her well enough to tell what she is thinking, so maybe that is the key to marital success. A girl must flirt madly to get strangers to propose on a whim, and then get married quickly before she finds out their flaws and before they find out the dreadful truth about her."

"There is nothing so dreadful, I am sure."

"She is a rather cruel character I think. There are quite a few instances in which she speaks ill of someone behind their backs. She makes fun of her first suitor but is later happy to take advantage of his hospitality. She dislikes the male main character very much and badmouths him behind his back also. But when he tells her that he is in love with her she is very cruel to his face as well. If she had a knife she would have twisted it."

"The nature of knives," said Mr. Bennet.

"I am sure he would have expected his letter to stay confidential but she blabs all about it to her sister."

"She was distressed and needed to confide in somebody," Mr. Bennet said.

"Later she is crass enough to barge into his house to gawk at his riches, and in a distressing turn of events, she is utterly shocked to find him there, quite unexpectedly trespassing on his own property. Because of course she had the right to expect that she could come and go as she wished, and not meet with such discourtesy. He should never have had the temerity to enter his own house if she was going to visit."

"The nerve of the man," Mr. Bennet said.

"Then she tricks him into issuing a dinner invitation as well," Elizabeth said. "Most decent people would leave rejected suitors be, let them go at peace and bother them no more. But this girl has some sort of a perverted thing for dining with them. Dancing on their graves would be even better. But I suppose that is too impractical if they are not dead yet."

"I did not read it quite like that," Mr. Bennet said.

"It makes sense from a prudential point of view. Even though these men were not good enough for Miss High And Mighty to marry, beggars cannot always be choosers and free food is always going to be good enough."

"I dare say her rejected suitors had their own reasons for inviting her, and would not begrudge the expense of her food," Mr. Bennet said.

"I suppose the man she married would hardly notice the expense. Whicb brings us to her mercenary nature.""Mercenary?" Mr. Bennet asked.

"She is the worst sort of a hypocrite, when it all comes back together. She is so disdainful of several other characters who make decisions about marriage bearing financial considerations in mind, but just look at how her own change of heart came to be. Bachelor number two is the last man in the world that she could be prevailed upon to marry but in the end all it takes is for him to be rich and give some of it away. When she sees his spectacular house with splendid gardens she loves him much better and when she finds out that he threw money at her stupidest sister so the silly chit can marry the aforementioned scoundrel she is finally convinced of his goodness."

"That is quite an extreme interpretation," Mr. Bennet said.

"She is a fortune hunter just like everyone else whose choices she despised, only not as likable."

"I liked her."

"Her suitors should be grateful that she refused their offers. Bachelor number two would have dodged a bullet there, but he made bad choices. The parson was more intelligent than him as he moved on and found a better wife very soon."

"I saw her as fallible and very human, but she already knew that the man was rich when she rejected him. She did not reconsider her opinions about the man because she found out that he was richer but when she got more evidence of his character."

"More evidence could only hurt them, I think," Elizabeth said. "Granted, his house is large but not large enough to completely avoid one's spouse all the time, and eventually they would learn enough about each other to resent and regret the union until death does them part."

"On the other hand, they might learn to love and honour each other in sickness and in health," Mr. Bennet said.

"What do either of them know of such things?" Elizabeth asked. "I understand the male main character was quite young when one of his parents died and the female main character's parents rarely see eye to eye and tend to taunt and vex each other more than support each other. So neither of them has seen a lot of happiness in a marriage."

"Is that how you feel?" Mr. Bennet looked at her seriously.

"Yes, well," Elizabeth said. "His instincts always told him to stay away from her, and so did hers. Then a momentary impulse temporarily overcame his perfectly rational fears, and she fell victim to the illusion that a man with a nice house must be a nice man. But none of the reasons for their initial misgivings have disappeared. She is still the product of her family, and he was expecting his wife to be something else."

"Are you talking about the main couple or her parents?"

"Does it matter?" Elizabeth shrugged.

"It might."

"She does not like proud, silent, withdrawing men," she continued. "She was wrong about some false information about him but this is still a problem. He changed his behaviour and was more chatty and jovial for her while she visited his estate but it could not last very long. If he is introverted by nature I do not believe that he can change his true temperament, and he would eventually hate her for forcing him to. He would wish to be loved unconditionally for who he is and as he is, but she wants him to change into somebody else."

"I thought his desire to make changes was quite romantic," Mr. Bennet said. "He was willing to fight for her, and fix himself."

"Yes, very romantic," Elizabeth said. "But she would rightfully hate him if he told her that he loves her ardently but only if she fixes all of her flaws and changes into a completely different person. It was somewhat moving that he was willing to love her, warts and all. But she does not seem to feel the same about him. Sure, she finds him useful upon occasion. But when she says she loves him it is only valid if he constantly strives to be someone he is not."

"But she loves her family despite all their imperfections," said Mr. Bennet. "Does she not?"

"Right, but they were what she was born into," Elizabeth said. "A spouse is someone you can choose, so it makes no sense to marry someone and then wish they were someone different."

"They are who they are," said Mr. Bennet.

There was a momentary silence, before Elizabeth went on.

"Both of them fell in love because they thought the other was unattainable. He is used to getting everything he ever desired and having everything he did not want thrown at him regardless. And he only wants her because he cannot have her. He was pining for her when he thought her too lowly to propose, and later he pined because she said no and did not want him."

"You said both."

"Yes, both. She did not want him when he was willing and readily available but when she thought that he had given up his suit and she could not have him, that is when she suddenly decided to be in love with him."

"Oh, I did not think like that."

"When they are married and available all the time the attraction will soon fade away."

"Some attractions might fade," Mr. Bennet said. "But do you not think that it might be so flattering to be the object of such a man's affection that it might also engender tender feelings?"

"Is it really her responsibility to love him back merely because he decided to want her?" Elizabeth asked. "He has all the power in that situation. He can decide who to love and when to ask. If it is her duty to oblige his desires and to say yes whenever he chooses to propose she has no choice, no autonomy, no personal freedom."

"Oh, so this is about the day Mr. Jones and Mr. Fawkes visited?" Mr. Bennet said. "You are still angry that I made you promise that you would not refuse Mr. Darcy's proposal."

"Excuse me for wishing to have a choice about my future," Elizabeth said. "I wanted to marry for love but I am quite accustomed to my mother trying to pawn me off to men that I do not want by now. What I did not expect was my father championing forced marriages."

"I think even if you married reluctantly, you would still have a choice about your future," Mr. Bennet said. "You could choose to make it a happy one."

"That must be why life at Longbourn is such neverending bliss."

"Your mother and I have made many mistakes that I am sorry for," Mr. Bennet said. "But please do not walk away from your own happiness because of us."

"I am not trying to do that," said Elizabeth. "I am simply not convinced that my happiness is to be found with Mr. Darcy."

"But what if it is?"

Elizabeth did not deign to respond.

"Look," her father said. "I know you want a love match but have you ever thought that it would save time for you to fall in love with someone who is already in love with you? You could always start from scratch and fall in love with some adonis who does not know that you exist but unrequited feelings are unpleasant and convincing him to love you back might be an uncertain and unwieldy project."

"I think we are in danger of making some unwarranted assumptions here," Elizabeth said. "The book Darcy is in love with the book Elizabeth. But in real life, he has said no such thing and might be quite appalled to hear us speaking like it is a fact."

After a moment's silence, Elizabeth changed the topic.

"In any case, I thought that the promise to marry him was so urgent because the character who looks most like you dies if the character who looks most like me refuses Darcy's proposal. But in this story there was a refusal and no death so it does not seem to be inevitable."

"There are several other stories with deaths," said Mr. Bennet. "I chose this one for you to read because of the verisimilitude I perceived. As far as I can tell, it is a pretty faithful account of me up to the Netherfield ball. But is the story a true account of you? Is it you having those conversations with the Bingleys, and Mr. Darcy, or Charlotte Lucas? Did Collins really tell you that you would never get another offer? Did you think all of those thoughts?"

"Yes, a lot of the dialogue seemed very familiar," said Elizabeth. "I do not remember every thought I have ever had. Let us say there was nothing I might not have thought. So reading the book certainly seemed oddly self-referential."

"I find discussions of literature to be always so fascinating," Mr. Bennet said. "People read the same story and come out with such different interpretations. It teaches you such a lot about how they think."

"It is a tale with a lot of interesting perspectives," Elizabeth said. "Even more so when it seems to be about you."

"Have you ever spoken of books with Mr. Darcy?"

"If you read this book you know every single word that I have ever exchanged with him," Elizabeth said.

"So I may have guessed right," Mr. Bennet mused. "I found only one copy of most of the other texts but several copies of this one. So I think this is somehow special, and I wonder if it is the most accurate rendition of our story."

"The others are different?"

"It varies," Mr. Bennet said. "There are accounts that change something in the past and it changes the present. In others, the past seems to have run parallel to ours but something changes in the future."

"But suppose the book represents our future, will it change now that we know the ending?"

"Will it change your interactions with Mr. Darcy?"

"Goodness gracious, I can never look him in the eye again!" Elizabeth shuddered.

"I do hope that I can prevent Lydia from running away with Mr. Wickham. It would be a miserable future for her, no doubt. But if it does not happen, will it ruin something else?"

"That is a good question."

"I think it is very eerie to find oneself on the pages of a book by an unknown author."

"It says it was written by A Lady, but maybe Mr. Darcy wrote it. Who else has a motive to cast Mr. Wickham as the villain? He is the only person besides me who would know that we once sat in the library alone for so long without speaking a word, and no one else could have heard all of our conversation while dancing."

"Yes but Mr. Darcy would not know what we spoke of at Longbourn while he was not there."

"Unless Hill is his spy."

"Hill could not be everywhere either."

"He might have more spies."

"He might," said Mr. Bennet. "But he could not read my correspondence, let alone read your thoughts, as the events on the latter pages amply demonstrate. And would he put his sister's folly in writing?"

"He did write the letter, if we believe the book. Or he will."

"He might not," Mr. Bennet said. "Now that he knows that you know."

Elizabeth sighed exasperatedly. "This gets so complicated."

"That it does," said Mr. Bennet.

"I do not think it is Mr. Darcy's handwriting," Elizabeth said. "I saw him writing letters at Netherfield and it was different I think."

Then Mr. Bennet remembered that he had received a letter from Mr. Darcy.

"There was nothing about you but he said he had read several of the documents I gave him and forwarded Mr. Bingley the Gracechurch street address. And he confirmed he had plans to travel to Kent."

They compared the letter to the notebook and found that it did not match.

"But it must have been written by someone we know."

"Maybe just someone who knows us," Mr. Bennet said. "My theory is that our future is being written as we speak."

"By the destiny?"

"Yes," said Mr. Bennet. "Or the Providence. Whatever we wish to call it, it knows all the ways our future might play out, and has given us a warning."

"Why?"

"I am not entirely certain," said Mr. Bennet. "But I think I am meant to make sure that I do not die soon, you do not spurn your chance of happiness in a fit of pique and that Lydia does not throw her life away on that scoundrel Wickham. And if I survive Easter it might not be too late for me to start saving money either."

"Do you think it is true about Mr. Wickham?" Elizabeth asked.

"He is pretty consistently the villain in most of these accounts," Mr. Bennet said. "And Mr. Darcy said that he is not to be trusted."

"So you have spoken of this with Mr. Darcy?" Elizabeth said.

"Yes, I needed to hear his opinions, and I thought there were some things he needed to know."

"You told him? How could you?"

"Easily enough," Mr. Bennet said. "He doubted me at first but he was courteous and I left him some reading that might convince him."

"So now he knows about…" Elizabeth gestured at the book in some distress. "About the things that are in there."

"If he read it, he does."

"That settles it," Elizabeth said. "I can never see him again. How embarrassing it would be."

"Well but he already knows all the events that he was there for, and if he wrote the book, as you say, he would already know everything else as well."

"He would not know anything about the future so if anything else about the book comes true he is not to blame."

Mr. Bennet shrugged. "Unless he tells people what to say. He must have read the book by now."

"Did he say anything about me when you spoke with him?"

"He was very careful not to mention your name," Mr. Bennet said. "What do you make of that?"

"I think I had best cancel my trip to Kent," Elizabeth said. "Truly, it would be very awkward to accept my cousin's hospitality after I refused his marriage offer."

"Nonsense," Mr. Bennet said. "Mr. Collins has moved on and married someone else, he invited you very graciously, you miss your friend Charlotte, Sir William and Maria Lucas would no doubt love your company on the journey, and I depend upon you to report to me whether Lady Catherine de Bourgh is really such a delight."

"If Mr. Darcy is going to be there I should not be. And I definitely should never go to Pemberley. The poor man should be able to visit his relatives and to go home without anyone unrequited putting themselves in his way."

"I think he was happy to see you," Mr. Bennet said. "Will be. Would be."

"What?"

"The grammar of past events set in the potential futures is confusing," Mr. Bennet said. "Anyway, I think he will be glad to see you at Hunsford, and it would be good for you two to talk. I understand there is a grove that would afford you some privacy."

"But I thought Mr. Jones and Mr. Fawkes said it would be dangerous for you if I went to Hunsford."

"Yes, so they said," Mr. Bennet admitted. "But I have been doing more research and I am not sure about that. You went to Hunsford in that book you read, and I did not die."

"You did not die? So you are sure it is you in the book?"

"As good as," Mr. Bennet said. "As much as I would love it to be someone else, after your comprehensive overview of the characters and their flaws, it feels very much like me. And I recognize descriptions of familiar people, and how they think."

"That is just it," Elizabeth said. "I recognized so many people and events, and I could swear that it is a biography of me, up until the ball or thereabouts. But then suddenly Mr. Darcy's proposal is like a crashing dissonant sound. I was not expecting that. At all."

She shuddered.

"Then he was firmly rejected and I thought that was the last that I would see of him. But then suddenly he is a good man and I am suddenly supposed to be in love with him."

"And you resent that."

"It seems impossible, it does not fit anything that I thought before."

"Thoughts may change," Mr. Bennet said.

"Yes but…"

"You might have been wrong about him," Mr. Bennet said. "You have been wrong before, you know."

"Horrid thought!" Elizabeth exclaimed. "Out, damned spot!"

"What if the information about Mr. Wickham is accurate?"

"Then I was most definitely wrong about him." Elizabeth said. "I should not hold his story against Mr. Darcy unless he has some proof."

"I imagine he is not likely to bring forth any."

"But if we suppose the book to be a true account about the people who are not us, then it seems to confirm that Mr. Darcy thought and said some very disparaging things about our family."

"So did you," said Mr. Bennet. "I was here, I heard your scathing book review a moment ago."

"Right…" Elizabeth was quiet for a while. "I do love all of you, I hope you know that."

"I do."

"Sometimes I get so frustrated."

"I know, dear."

"But the fact remains, our backgrounds are hardly compatible. I am from my family, he is from his, and that will never change. Even if we fell madly in love, as absurd as it sounds, it would never work. He would always resent my people and I would resent him for resenting them."

"You reserve the right to resent them yourself."

"Perhaps."

"Look, Elizabeth, here is the thing," Mr. Bennet said. "Families are never perfect."

"Probably not."

"Our family is not perfect. Mr. Darcy's family is not perfect, if the book is to be trusted. If you marry him, or anyone else, the family you create will not be perfect."

"Right."

"But it will be family," Mr. Bennet said. "Your family. I think you should go to Hunsford and talk to him."

"But what about your deaths? What if you die while I am there?"

"Yes, there are several reports in which I died while you were at Hunsford. But I looked into more documents and there are also several accounts in which you went to Hunsford and I was fine, as well as those in which you did not go to Hunsford, yet I died."

"If you read enough variations, perhaps they eventually cover every possible permutation of alternatives."

"Perhaps," Mr. Bennet said. "But it seems like often I died because something had gone wrong in your relationship with Darcy, and my death was a way for the universe to fix it."

"I do not think philosophy is good for you, Papa."

"You are supposed to meet him and marry him, I think."

"I do not like this predestined muddle, I would like to have a choice about my life."

"Sometimes you have already had a choice, and after you made it, you lost the choice to undo it."

"Quite often, in fact," Elizabeth said. "Undoing things is notoriously difficult."

"Like that time you travelled with your embroidery project," Mr. Bennet said. "Earlier, you had had a choice to fix the ends better or to store the threads more safely. But you chose to put your sewing supplies on the floor without closing the lid."

"I remember."

"So the Gardiner cat got into your sewing basket, and all the threads got so badly tangled that you never could unravel them afterwards."

"It was such a hopeless mess," said Elizabeth. "But what has it got to do with any of this?"

"You may have had your choice earlier," Mr. Bennet said. "Your choices led to your soul getting entangled in his, and now it may be too late to reverse that decision."

"I hate it when that happens," Elizabeth said. "I had no idea the cat was even in the room."

"Go to Hunsford, talk books with him, see what happens," Mr. Bennet said. "I dare say you will find him very agreeable."

"Heaven forbid! That would be the greatest misfortune of all! To find a man agreeable whom one is determined to hate! Do not wish me such an evil."

"Somehow I knew you would say that," Mr. Bennet said.

"It was there in the book," Elizabeth said.

"I hope you have not said anything about these texts to anyone," Mr. Bennet said. "Not even your mother or sisters."

"Especially not my mother or sisters," Elizabeth said. "Mamma's nerves would never recover if she thought for a moment that this was true. To think of me refusing someone even more eligible than Mr. Collins!"

"To think of you marrying him," said Mr. Bennet. "The jewels and the carriages! His uncle is an earl!"

NOTE: Thank you so much for everyone who has reviewed. Reviews are an inspiration. "Just a bunch of people going to each other's houses" is from a funny one-star review of Austen's P&P that became a meme. And of course, "Out, damned spot!" is from Macbeth.