Nine

Any names you did not already recognize are my creations. I will say though that they are meant to be a sort of caricature of some of the characters in Jane's stories. It's my attempt to show some possible sources of inspiration.

William Stout was a simple, congenial man. He had tried on many occasions to befriend the reclusive Tom Lefroy. No matter how cordial or easy he was in manner the other young man never seemed to notice. Every attempt to draw him into conversation had failed and at length William had decided it was no longer worth his time. For Tom Lefroy seemed to be a hopeless case, he had few friends and even less humor. Or at least that was what William believed until he heard an unmistakably jolly laugh coming from his neighbor.

He looked over the see the man in question holding a letter and shaking with laughter.

"You all right there?" he asked. Almost afraid Tom would snap at him for asking.

He didn't seem to notice William had said anything for a moment. Then suddenly he looked up with shining eyes and said "Yes. Everything is exactly right." Before turning back to his letter.

Tom knew he must have looked ridiculous but couldn't bring himself to care. She was just so...Jane. He didn't know how else to describe it. He couldn't imagine anyone sending him a letter so to the point. He could envision her frowning at his hastily penned letter from last week. Of course Jane would have had to remind him that she would be waiting for his explanation. He couldn't help the laughter that escaped him with her words.

My Dear,

It better be great.

Love,

Jane

Short, to the point, and completely Jane. It made his day, no it made his week. She was no doubt annoyed with him, but it would have to wait. He didn't want to tell her his news until it was all settled. It was also the truth that his time was not his own. The work with his uncle was tedious and time consuming. He was accustomed to it though and managed with little trouble. The real constraint to his time was the work he was doing on the side with Kensington.

They had worked together on a case recently and found that their personalities were well suited for partnership. Kensington had been doing law consultation for hire in his spare time. It didn't make much money but they thought that between the two of them they had the tenants for a working business. Their plans gave him reason to hope for the future. A future where he could be dependent on himself. These lofty dreams required work though. Which is why he was exhausted enough to laugh loudly while surrounded by his colleagues. No doubt poor William was still reeling from his uncharacteristic outburst.

He muttered a hasty 'excuse me' before returning to his work. He would need to skive out early from the office today and didn't want to leave any cause for the Judge to rail about. There would be no work left upon his desk.

The tavern was well lit and nicely appointed. Tom wasn't completely pleased that they were having such an important gathering in a local tavern but their options were limited. He could not expect Kensington to entertain them in his humble dwelling and having their meeting under the Judges roof would be madness. So they would make do with what was available to them. He spoke quickly to the serving girl and procured a clean table closest to the fire where he sat to wait however impatiently for his comrade to appear.

He resisted ordering a drink and instead occupied himself with rehearsing his notes and straightening his jacket. Smoothing out the dark green wool he smiled knowingly. It wasn't the velvet he previously preferred but the color was just as rich. Idly he wondered if Jane would like it.

Frank Kensington was a tall man who was as lean and gangly as a newborn colt. Watching him walk would inevitably put you off from wanting to know him. But his warm and friendly nature quickly overrode that instinctual response. His unimpressive looks carefully disguised his keen mind. The subterfuge was something Tom recognized and admired. Both men were very alike in that way. Neither were really what they presented to the world. Tom had to admit that it was enjoyable to have a friend again.

"Fancy meeting you here." Kensington quipped while folding himself, quite ungracefully, into the short backed wooden chair.

"Small town." Tom couldn't help bantering with him.

"Ha, right you are old man. So any last words before we sell our souls?" Kensington asked in a joking manner but with a hint of truth. It was a good approximation of what they were about to do. If this deal went through, both theirs lives would be intrinsically tied to this plan.

Tom folded his hands behind his head in a brutish display of confidence. It was a gesture he had used frequently since childhood. He mulled over the thought of last words for a minute then decided against uttering any. Last words were for endings; tonight, he hoped, would be about beginnings.

"We won't settle for anything longer than a three month turn over."

Tom had been walking the fine line between persistent and pushy for the last hour of negotiations. Kensington had been approached by one Mr. Charles Barnes attorney, about the sale of his rather profitable business. Mr. Barnes had no children was a confirmed bachelor for all of his sixty years. His partner had passed away last year and he complained constantly of being too old to carry on running the firm on his own.

So rather than tracking down some obscure relative to inherit all his hard work he devised a plan to overturn ownership and retire profitably in Surrey of all places. Neither Tom nor Frank had the capital to purchase the firm out right, but that's what this meeting had been for. They were fairly confident, that between the two of them, they could negotiate something with the man.

"And I say six months is more than reasonable." The old man was driving a hard bargain.

"Why don't we meet in the middle and saw four and a half?" Kensington, the softer voice of reason said.

"If that's the only condition left to agree on I have no problem accepting four and a half." Tom conceded.

"So what do you say Barnes? We have a deal?"

Both younger men stared at the older from across the table. There was a slight twitch in his left eye but other than that his face was unreadable. For a few minutes none of the party spoke a word and Tom began to worry that they had pushed their luck too far.

But eventually the older man's face seemed to soften and his lips twitched up into a sad excuse for a smile. "I still think you're asking for too many concessions but I like you both. Let's just get this over and done with. I'd like to be out of this god forsaken city by next summer."

"You most certainly shall. If you are available we could write the contract up and have it ready to sign by the end of the week."

Bolstered by the agreement they had reached Tom quickly tied up all the loose ends and spoke the required pleasantries. I wouldn't do to have their new business associate think they were completely bereft of manners. Even if said manners weren't obviously present during the previous hour.

"I look forward to working with you gentlemen, but now I fear I must retire. These late hours are not kind to my aged constitution."

"Certainly sir," Tom said taking the man's hand in a firm yet clammy handshake.

"I think congratulations are in order," he said after Kensington had made his goodbyes and Mr. Barnes was safely out of earshot.

Giving his trademark lopsided smile, Kensington took a deep flourishing bow. "Your congratulations are most heartily accepted." He gave the shorter man a solid slap on the back before propelling him towards the bar.

"This calls for a least a few drinks, if not a barrel."

Tom fixed him with a glare before his friend quickly allied his fears.

"Do not worry so Lefroy. I shan't keep you out passed your bed time."

"How kind." Tom responded but without any real sarcasm. He rather felt like a drink himself. He had been diligently keeping sober over the last few months, since Jane had come back into his life. Tonight would be an exception to the rule though. For as much as he knew it would be irresponsible to write to her when he was spirited, he couldn't pass up the opportunity to celebrate the one thing he'd manage to accomplish that might bring him closer to her.

It was some time later that he stood pacing his rooms, pen in hand but mind empty of the right words. He was almost too excited to explain himself on paper. All he had managed to convey so far was a sparse retelling of facts. She would not appreciate that. Especially not after his last disappointing letter to her. He grabbed at his hair in frustration with himself. This would not do.

Resigned to the fact that wearing a hole in his floor wouldn't be any assistance to his current dilemma, he sank heavily into the warm leather armchair that sat closet the hearth. Having one last idea he closed his eyes and imaged Jane in this very room with him. He imaged her a chair to match his own as they sat quietly before the fire enjoying each other's company.

He stared openly at her in his imagination, appreciating the way the soft light from the fire made her eyes dark and her hair shine. The shadows that ebbed and flowed across her pale skin would highlight the hollow of her throat and the soft curve of her collarbones. His dream Jane would give him a mischievous smile, as if she knew exactly what he had been thinking.

God how he loved her. The woman was a lesson in dichotomy; equal parts innocence and temptation, all wrapped up in a soft and warm package, and decorated with a captivating wit. In other words designed to be almost irresistible to one Tom Lefroy. A traitorous voice in the back of his mind questioned why he would have resist her. After all it was his imagination, what was to stop his dream self from reaching out, pulling her into his lap, digging his fingers deep into her silky hair and claiming her mouth in a kiss.

"Hell!" He said loudly, jerking upright in his chair, eyes wide open, trying to adjust to the light. He must have been indulging in that train of thought longer than he intended. Maybe he should put off writing until tomorrow. Heaven knows he couldn't afford to let his thoughts drift that way twice in one night. He might just wake up and find himself on the road to Hampshire with every intention of stealing her away, and then where would they be.