Suddenly, he looked up to find a small, brown haired woman crying softly while sitting on the banks of the creek. She looked to be a bit older, but with the slender form and pale ivory skin of a girl half her age. He looked again. Her beauty was unmistakable. Could this woman be his Jane? He placed a hand over his mouth to muffle the cry that he felt building quickly in his throat. "Hello Jane." Jane stood abruptly, and turned. "Mr. Lefroy, why it certainly is a surprise to find you here." She curtsied politely. He spoke softly, "Yes, I am visiting my aunt as I had mentioned in the letter, I thought you were on business in London." "Unfortunately, Mr. Lefroy I'm afraid that I might have been a bit untruthful in my letter." She lowered her head to the ground. "You see,... "she began to explain her actions. Tom interrupted "My dearest Jane, I do understand your weariness in seeing me once again." And with that, a single tear welled up and started to roll down his cheek. "My, you have only grown more beautiful with age. " Jane spoke quietly, but with abruptness. "Why thank you, Mr. Lefroy. I must say it has been a pleasure to see you once more, but please accept my apologies. I must be getting on my way. Goodbye, sir."
She turned and began to hurry away.
"Ms. Austen, please wait!" Tom called after her. But she had already disappeared into the deep woods, and down the dirt path to her home. He stood briefly, in that spot until he could no longer make out her figure. He regretted a little, that he had been so forward with his advances. Perhaps he should have said nothing at all. But why had she left in such a hurry?
Tom began the long walk back to the home of his aunt. I must see her again. I know that I can make our love what it once was again. I simply cannot leave without my dear Jane. Perhaps aunt was speaking the truth of Jane never taking a husband, shrinking away into solitude in that lonely old house with her sister. He had to know why such a talented and beautiful young woman would not find happiness in life. For she was the great Jane Austen, the writer of some of the most wonderful love stories ever written by an English woman.
Unfortunately for Mr. Lefroy, he was due to return to London in the morning. He returned to the home of his aunt, and went abruptly to his room, speaking to no one. Jane lie awake through most of the night, and into the early morning wrestling her thoughts. "He was just as I remembered him, Cassandra. "She shook her head while talking to her poor sister whom she had kept awake half of the evening. "So handsome. Of course, he has aged a bit, but I dare say it becomes him. " "What would you do, Cassandra?" "Well, if it were my Robert I wouldn't go another minute without him. " She sadly bowed her head, remembering her dear fiancée that had passed many years before on expedition in the West Indies.