She told herself, almost aloud. She had to smile, for she was acting like that of a silly young woman who had just fallen in love for the first time. She took a quick look in the mirror, pinned up her long curls and proceeded to run out of the door with such speed that her poor sister hadn't a chance to say good morning.
My the weather is poor today, she thought. But she didn't much care about the threatening clouds above, or the sloppy mud that caked her shoes as she walked. For this would be the day when her life would begin anew, she would have everything she had been wishing for since she was a young woman, a wonderful, handsome and successful man that simply adored her, and the will to write about love again. She would have affection.
She skipped happily along her way, stopping occasionally to admire the beautiful flowers beginning to bloom.
What a wonder it is indeed, she thought. That I might be in such a circumstance. A circumstance in which she never thought to find herself again. In the past twenty or so years she had thought of what he might be doing. If he had fallen in love with another woman, had children perhaps? Unfortunately, she had hurried away so quickly the day before that she hadn't given him the opportunity of disclosing such information. She of course, had heard a few details from his aunt here and there of when he had gotten engaged, it was not three years after they had met.
She had always tried to remain scarce when there was talk of Mr. Lefroy, for she didn't want to endure the agony that her heart would most obviously feel following such conversations.
She thought of that fateful day so long ago, when she had left him to stand in the middle of the street alone, with the most painful and saddening look in his eyes. She wondered, did he know how much hurt that it had caused her as well? For days afterward, she had locked herself up in her room, writing furiously page after page, until there were no words left in her soul. And if her sister hadn't insisted upon dragging her from her bed to get some air, she might still be there today. It never got much easier, just subsided itself into the back of her mind where it would stay hidden away for what she had hoped would be eternity. She had drowned herself in her writing after that. It seemed to her that writing had this mysterious way of helping one to feel better about absolutely any situation. It had a great tendency to clear the mind of everything, and allow one to write freely of whatever they may wish. Most importantly, it allowed Jane to escape her world, and escape the horrible reality of having affection for a man in which she could not have. She did deeply regret though, how much her choices had hurt her family's well being. For years afterward her dear mother, God rest her soul, had tried to marry off her daughters until she drew her last breaths. But her sister Cassandra, had sunk herself into a deep depression over the loss of her fiancée, and had vowed to never marry a man for which she did not love. And that she did. To this very day, her poor sister remained almost unspeaking to anyone but Jane. And though Jane herself had felt much guilt over her decisions, she had stuck with them just as her sister had. Because of this, her dear parents had remained poor until their deaths. And how she missed them so. Her father, always a kind and gentle man had dealt with so much criticism over the choices of his two daughters. Yet, he remained always understanding and diligently by their sides. And her wonderful mother. The woman had worked her fingers nearly to the bone all of her life, in the hopes that her daughters would not suffer as she had.