Austentatious

vicinity and could be unearthed simply enough, leaving me free to focus my efforts on an all-out seduction.

The flight was costing me just over nine hundred dollars, not to mention many long coach-trapped hours, but none of it was fazing me—at least not yet. I was excited, thrilled even, eager to fast-forward through two days of waiting until Saturday morning and the start of my big adventure. I used a good chunk of the time to back off my grudge and lose myself in the pages of Emma and Pride and Prejudice, marveling at how elegantly everything in the novels worked out. I definitely had a few things to learn.

I called Beck to give her the news. She was thrilled, of course, and insisted I take a vow of “full disclosure.” Evidently spurred on by my gutsiness (her words), she had decided that she and Gabe should go ahead and “give each other a whirl.” I insisted on an identical vow from her.

Besides the requisite packing and a little chat with my new boss about this impromptu but nonnegotiable vacation, I considered it prudent to call a truce with Fairy Jane, step one being a full pardon and retrieval from the laundry bin. I wouldn’t want her to exact revenge at inopportune moments. That would be bad. So basically I needed to suck up.

I took my time, paging slowly through the notorious little journal, reading over the scattered words of the now-poignant messages left behind. I’d changed a lot since finding that first little scrap of fortune cookie wisdom. I’d been stubborn and close-minded, and a bit of a bitch, but Fairy Jane had been just as stubborn, and she’d won the day. I still didn’t understand it—really any of it—but that part of the picture no longer seemed to matter.

On the cusp of my wild and reckless adventure, I’d take any help I could get, magical or otherwise. Where I was going, what I planned to do, I figured I needed a posse. It couldn’t hurt to go back and read the letter that had started it all—the dedication from Jane herself.

“... I dedicate to You the following Miscellanious Morsels, convinced that if you seriously attend to them, You will derive from them very important Instructions, with regard to your Conduct in Life.”

“Miscellanious Morsels”—wasn’t that the truth! Fairy Jane had definitely stepped in and stepped up when I needed her. With only a few select words, she’d helped me realize that I simply needed to let go, to relinquish my white-knuckled grip on life and go after my best chance for a happily-ever-after.

I could do that. I would do that—no regrets, no looking back.

This whole thing could go down any number of ways, from the downright depressing to the cringingly embarrassing. I preferred not to dwell on those possibilities, let alone write about them. For now at least, I was hopped up on optimism, and in a surprise turnaround, looking for affirmation from my journal. Her banishment days were over—she’d been upgraded to trusty sidekick.

I admit it—you’ve converted me—truly this time. Logic is out; magic is in. On a trial basis. I’m incontrovertibly in love with him, and I plan to give chase, across the pond, to the land of fairies, not to mention kilts and toffee. My flight leaves Saturday, and despite the very real possibility of failure, I’m oddly psyched by the hugeness and spontaneity of it all. Maybe I have a touch of the adventurer in me after all. I have a plan— obviously I have a plan—but it’s simple and straightforward and not likely to go as expected seeing as Sean is just the opposite. The plan is to find him and lure him back—back to Austin would be preferable, but—and here’s a shocker—even that isn’t a requirement. I’m hoping for an Austen ending—my very own happily- ever-after—but with a dollop of scorching sex thrown in.

Obviously I don’t want to jinx it, and I certainly don’t assume it’ll be a cakewalk, but I’m not going to let that get me down. I’m going to play it weird, live juicy, and just do it. How’s that for a strategy? And I’m letting you, Dear Journal, tag along, just in case I need some last-minute advice. Or a little bit of magic ...

I decided to leave Fairy Jane’s reply for a bit of in-flight reading.

We were cruising at thirty thousand feet before I let myself peek. And there it was ...

magic is flighty—find it and don’t let go.

A slow smile snaked across my face, expanding, curling, rounding as it went, until eventually I felt like a goon, grinning at nine little words that two weeks ago would have earned a dismissive scoff from me. I liked it—it summed up my new attitude: motivated and open-minded. And it hinted at the fact that I was not the only one who’d changed. As far as I knew, Fairy Jane had never before had to resort to chopping up words to piece new ones together. I was quite sure I hadn’t used the term “flighty” in my entry (although it certainly wouldn’t have been out of place), but I had mentioned my “flight” on “Saturday.” And judging by the spacing between the “t” and the “y,” she’d spliced as needed. I had to admit to being impressed with her Machiavellian techniques. Reminded me of someone else I knew ...

Letting the journal fall closed and my eyes with it, I tipped back in my seat and let my dreams waft me across the Atlantic.

I slumped off the British Airways plane in Inverness a little bleary-eyed, but focused on finding the ScotRail counter. Wobbly as I was, I felt ready for anything—in a tentative, baby-steps kind of way. I’d made it this far, and that had to count for something.

On the train I watched through the window as spring unfurled across the Scottish countryside. It rained— naturally, it rained—but it was a light drizzle, zigzagging over the windows and making the world just beyond glisten and shimmer. I could imagine Fanny Price, riding out in the rain, cursing her hurt pride and the circumstances of birth. And Elizabeth Bennet, happening to run across Mr. Darcy, only to find herself irrevocably smitten. Clearly I was content to lump Scotland in with England, and Austin in with Austen.

We zipped along the racing River Ness, and I couldn’t help but feel a little disappointed that I’d not be getting a peek at the mysterious waters of Loch Ness, not to mention their infamous occupant. Not that I necessarily even believed that he (she?) existed ... But there were plenty of other very real distractions as we sped past a glistening green blur of mountains and forest, straight into the station at Kyle of Lochalsh.

The trip so far had been a study in logistics, but it was about to get personal real quick. I was closing in, and getting more nervous by the minute. I’d need to somehow find my way to Dornie and, once there, find Sean. Sad to say, but that was pretty much the extent of the formal plan. Still, I figured I had a bit of time yet to work out the details. Right now I was still in big-picture mode, content with simply having made it this far.

Or so I thought.

“I’d like to visit Dornie while I’m here,” I blurted at the check-in desk of the quaint little highland inn I’d picked out on the Internet.

“Naturally,” came the innkeeper’s cryptic reply. I had only a moment to wonder over it, because with her next comment, it made perfect sense. “There are tour buses and guided car tours to take you over to the castle. When were ye wanting to go?” Turning to reach for an enormous binder behind the check-in desk, she kept her eyebrows raised as she flipped through the pages, waiting for my answer.

The “Loched In” castle. Beyond my online infatuation with this photogenic stunner, I hadn’t really given it much thought. But now that my nerves were starting to twitch and fidget, memories of the enchanting castle were enticing me to procrastination. I could rest today, tour the castle and its grounds tomorrow, and then leisurely find my way to Dornie, maybe for lunch—or dinner—in the pub.

“What about bright and early tomorrow morning?” I answered, hearing the question in my voice. Satisfied, she glanced down again, I assumed to scan the schedules for workable options. Three-quarters of the way through my massive sigh of relief, my throat closed up, leaving me to grapple with more of a last gasp. A sudden inexplicable urgency surged through me, heedless of my unpreparedness and outright squeamishness.

“Wait!” I demanded, my hands splayed over the counter. “Is it too late to go today?”

We glanced at our watches in synchronized harmony, and I realized I had no idea what time it was. I’d not yet troubled to set my own watch to adjust for the considerable time difference.

“It’s going on four o’ clock now, so with the drive, you’d have but an hour. Not really enough for a proper tour,