In all of the years that had passed, however slowly, he had never left her thoughts completely. Her one true love, the one for which would be the reason that she never married. Sitting alone in the modest garden in which she had used to drown her despair many times before, she thought back to their brief encounters, one by one.
In the beginning, she had regarded him with such disgust that she thought he may never stand to live in the same place in which she did. She saw him as a disgrace of sorts, a man who lived too freely, never bound by duty or obligation. He had come to live with his aunt for a short while, a punishment sought fit by an overpowering uncle in London. With him, had come a reputation for which her mother and father would never agree. She had been giving a reading, not that she had wanted to, but was pushed endlessly by her father, a doting and loving pastor.
He walked into the room as if he were the king of Scotland, arriving several minutes late and to her despair disrupting her words so much so that she had to read over the entire page. Giving a look of utter distaste, she continued on, only to be discouraged of her writing abilities in the end. Not more than a few words had passed between them that day.
It was not until she was walking along with her thoughts one day that they were to meet again. He had gotten himself lost in the wood while taking a similar stroll, only to come upon her without warning after nearly killing himself on a steep hill. She said nothing, only continued to walk on her way as if he weren't there. But he would press her until she could no longer be silent. After a brief and disconcerting encounter, she would leave him there on that path while walking quickly away in anger. She sort of had emotion for him then. A feeling she had never been allowed to feel, not like this. She dismissed it as a part of her anger, and would try from that day to never think of that man again.
Fate would not allow it.
Again, they would meet, this time at a dance. Not allowing themselves the pleasure of even the slightest stare, the emotions would take hold without warning.
And for Jane, she knew she could only marry one man, the man for which she held affection.
The simple thought of a marriage with affection was utterly absurd in her culture, not to mention her mother's disapproval would be the end of such an idea. Tom Lefroy? You simply cannot marry that man that has come into our lives with such misfortune and a reputation. You will not marry a man with a reputation. Her mother would be aghast.