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realtor in New York. They make the perfect pair; they both go after what they want.”
    Refusing to dwell on the rather incongruous image of Darcy as a hustling New York realtor, I offered my congratulations as Izzy stuck out her left hand for us to admire her ring.
    “So tell me more about you,” Izzy said to me after we finished oohing and ahhing over the large diamond. “What do you do for a living?”
    “Well, you might say I’m unaffiliated right now.” I explained that until recently I was an editor for a small newspaper, but when my boss decided to blame the failure of his pet project on the untimely death of my relative and hold me accountable, I’d quit. “I guess you could say that I realized that I could no longer be intimidated into anything so wholly unreasonable,” I added with a laugh.
    Izzy regarded me wide-eyed. “So you just quit? Wow. What are you going to do now?”
    Before I could answer, Aunt Winnie chimed in. “I’m trying to convince her to open up a detective agency, as she seems to have a knack for catching criminals.”
    Aunt Winnie was teasing, of course, but the truth was that I’d had some odd experiences over the last few years, and they included being involved in three murder investigations. Although I did not purport to be some kind of Nancy Drew—not out loud, anyway—I had been able to provide real assistance to the police in all three investigations. And while the experiences were a tad more scintillating than ensuring proper subject-verb agreement, I wasn’t really seriously thinking of a career change.
    “A detective!” exclaimed Izzy, her eyes bright with interest. “How exciting! But how do you expect to meet your Mr. Darcy if you’re off chasing criminals?”
    I laughed. “First of all, you should know that I’m not a detective. My aunt is prone to hyperbole. And second, I think I’ve already met my Mr. Darcy. His name is Peter. We’ve been together for about two years now.”
    “And is he The One?” asked Izzy.
    I paused. It was a question I’d been asking myself a lot lately. Just before Aunt Winnie and I left for this trip, Peter had asked me to move in with him. I’d said no, but it wasn’t a decision I’d come to lightly. I love Peter, but in addition to just having quit my job, I’d been forced to move in with my pregnant sister, Kit, and her family thanks to a rampant mold problem in my apartment. I didn’t want to move in with Peter because I was desperate. And trust me, jobless and living with Kit—pregnant or not pregnant—was enough to make anyone desperate. When Peter and I took our relationship to the next step—whatever step that was—I wanted it to be because it was the right decision for us, rather than the most convenient decision for my personal situation.
    Or, to paraphrase Jane Austen, I didn’t want to be accused of pursuing a man merely for the sake of a situation.
    Peter was disappointed but said he understood. I hoped that was true, but I had a horrible feeling that I’d blown something. That’s about when Aunt Winnie called and told me we were going to Bath. Since then I’d let myself be distracted with travel details.
    “I think so,” I said to Izzy now.
    “Well, then, you should take a page of advice from dear Jane Austen and show more affection than you feel if you are to secure him,” Izzy advised teasingly.
    I laughed. “Somehow, I don’t think Austen meant for us to take that remark seriously,” I replied, taking a sip of tea.
    “Oh, but I think she did,” exclaimed Cora. “Remember, Charlotte Lucas gave that advice for Jane Bennet. And if Jane had initially shown more affection to Bingley, then his sisters and Darcy wouldn’t have been able to convince him that her heart was untouched!”
    “Well, yes,” I conceded, “but then Charlotte took her own advice regarding Mr. Collins and ended up married to one of the stupidest men in all of England.”
    Cora shook her head. “But she was finally settled,