HEART AND SOUL: A BECOMING JANE FIC
SUMMARY: There are two times of people in life: people who accept life the way it is or people who make life accept them the way they are. Jane Austen is the later and fate itself will have to bend to her will…
When the fever hits England, London is hit first, but soon, Hampshire becomes a target for disease. The only person able to help is the only one who survived the fever as a child: Thomas Lefroy, who is more susceptible because of it.
AN: For those who don't know… all my stories must have a happy ending. Thus the reason I had to write this!!
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Clenching her jaw, Jane Austen bent forward, forcing her way through the wind which stung her face and the puddles soaking her boots. Her eyes were burning, but she could hardly blame the weather for that.
She would though, for now anyway. Jane was not willing to admit that the tears wishing to leap free from her eyes were because of the pain she still held. That was over now. She had to move on. He was not coming back, and after what she had done, she could not find it in herself to blame him.
Jane had left him. Yes, it was for his family, and yes, it was the sensible, moral thing to do, but the pain in her heart told her that it came at a severe cost. Now, forcing her way through the cold, she knew what she had known the moment his figure had disappeared from view:
She would never again be whole.
The tears began to slip past her protective eyelids. Jane slammed them shut to keep the tears at bay. The last thing she wanted was someone to see her cry. There were enough rumors and whispers about her at Hampshire as it was. If anyone saw her, she'd simply say she was reacting to the weather.
Of course, anyone who knew here would not be fooled, and since the only ones who would ask would be her family, excuses were pointless. They would know the moment they saw her that something was wrong, and worse yet, they would know what.
One year; one year had passed since she saw his face, since those handsome crystal blue eyes met hers. The last time Jane had seen them, they had been filled with emotion. Pain more deep then any weapon could inflict. She could still hear his voice, soft and firm.
No, Jane. No. I will never give you up.
Oh Tom, if only you had been able to keep that promise. If only fate had been so kind.
Don't speak, don't think. Just love me… Do you love me?
Sweet Thomas Lefroy, even after everything, he asked. She had never told him, nor he her, at least, not in those exact words.
I am yours. I am yours heart and soul.
That had been enough. If that did not say he loved her, nothing ever would, but that was over a year ago, months before the last time she had seen him. He had still loved her, the day they had run away together, but now? A lot could change in a year. Jane had changed much.
She had mellowed, or at least that was what her sister said. Her family told her she lived among her books. Jane accepted a portion of this. For in her stories, she could make the story end as she chose. No separate lovers, no loveless maidens, and no rich selfish uncles that did not get judgment. Her characters could love whom the wished, and marry when they chose, whom they chose, and why they chose.
Jane sighed, once again forcing the ache for him in her heart back into its usual spot of neglect. One day she knew she would have to deal with the suppressed longing, but for now, it was just too painful.
As she neared the Austen residence, Jane expected to see the servants in the garden, probably whispering the latest gossip to each other, but she found it vacant. In fact, the font of the house seemed void of all sound, not even the sound of people running through the remaining puddles from yesterday's rain could be heard.
A sense of dread filled Jane and she hurried up the walkway towards the house. She came in through the side door and froze. Her father sat not far away on the bench of the piano, head bowed, hands folded.
Jane rushed to him. "Father?"
Reverend Austen nodded slightly, not looking at her, making a soft hushing noise. "I'm praying, Jane. Perhaps you should do the same."
She bent down, covering his hands with her own, searching his face worriedly. "What is it, father? What's wrong?"
Slowly, his eyes opened to look at his youngest daughter. Great concern clouded his features. "It's the fever."
Jane could feel herself stiffen unconsciously as the words she did not wish to hear came at her loud and clear.
"It has come to Hampshire."