Author's Note: I wish I could say I had a good reason for not updating in almost two months, but I don't, so I won't bother trying to lie. I guess it's pretty obvious that I've been both lazy and uninspired when it comes to my fic. However, I know that's a pathetic excuse, so I'll just end this with an apology for my sloth and my occasionally ephemeral attention span as well as a word to the wise that updates may be few and far between from now on. I do want to finish this though, so if anybody wants to stick with me through the end, rest assured I will always admire you for your forgiving nature and unnaturally vast reserves of patience.

Chapter 11: The Green-Eyed Monster

Tom felt a gust of cool air sweep across his face and heard the front door being pushed open. His heart started to pound a little faster, and he swung around only to be disappointed by the entrance of a pair of ladies, neither of whom was the one he was hoping to see. He cursed himself for being so eager and reluctantly went back to the conversation at hand.

"Mr. Lefroy, what seems to be the problem? I believe Miss Paul and I lost you for a moment."

Tom hitched up a smile in response to the good-humored jest.

"Is that the Austens?"

Tom turned to see Mary looking towards the door. So he wasn't the only one anxiously awaiting Jane's arrival.

Mr. Russo let out a hearty laugh. "So I am not enough for either of you? Pray, Miss Paul, what attractions for you can the Austens claim that I cannot?"

Tom watched as a very light blush spread across his fiancées features, but she remained cheerful.

"I met them at the theatre the other evening."

"And you were captivated by the good looks of Henry Austen? Or was it the sophistication of his wife? Or perhaps you saw a sister in Miss Jane."

"They seemed to be very kind people."

"Oh indeed! The best you can find. Of course, I can't say much for Miss Austen knowing so little about her, but she seems to be a marvelous young woman. A wonderful lady for you to befriend."

"Tom assured me that she is."

Tom felt his whole being go rigid, having been thrust into the conversation so awkwardly.

"Did he?"

Mr. Russo fixed his curious gaze on Tom. "I had no idea you were acquainted with Miss Jane Austen, Lefroy."

Tom swallowed and shoved his hands into his pockets. "Yes, I met her last year."

"Last year? Oh! That's right, your banishment to Hampshire! And to think I pitied you Lefroy. Come to find out you were stuck with a charming young creature like that! I can't say I would have minded being exiled if I could have been in your position."

Tom pulled his hands out of his pockets and clasped them behind his back, clearing his throat at the same time. He wanted to look at Mary, but he didn't dare. He knew she was naïve, but he couldn't imagine that she was that naïve.

"She was very pleasant."

Mr. Russo chuckled. "Well, it is of no matter now, is it?" He took a sip from the glass he was holding and smiled. "But that's no reason why you shouldn't say hello."

Tom followed Mr. Russo's gaze over his shoulder and felt the bottom drop out of his stomach.

"I suppose the two of you would like to greet them."

Tom listened to Mr. Russo in a fog, his entire self focused on Jane. She was standing very close to her brother, as a duckling to its mother, and was looking bothered, but perhaps not quite as distressed as she'd looked on his previous encounters with her in London. Her dress looked oddly familiar, and it was with a start that he realized it was the same one she had worn on the night they had first danced.

He pulled Mary's arm through his own, weakly, but could only take a couple of steps before Mr. Russo stopped in front of them. Tom was about to ask why when he saw that the Austen had already been approached and by none other than Charles Beall.

He watched as Jane's face lit into a smile as she curtsied and then developed into a full blow grin. The smile, which should've brought about one of his own, only served to dampen Tom's spirits under the circumstances.

"It appears that you are not the only young gentleman who has found Miss Austen pleasant."

Tom said nothing as the weight on his chest continued increasing. Beside him, Mr. Russo turned to Mary.

"I apologize that I couldn't secure an interview with Miss Austen now, Miss Paul. However, I w ill do everything in my power to seat you near her at the table. Although I suspect that at least one place by her has already been claimed."

Mr. Russo grinned slightly, a twinkle in his eye that brought to mind Saint Nicholas, before clapping his hands together.

"Now, if you'll excuse me." He gave a sweeping bow. "I'll see both of you in a few moments."

Tom tore his eyes away from Jane and Mr. Beall reluctantly to pay Mr. Russo the respect of a bow in return.

"Mr. Beall is very handsome. Do you think…"

Tom glanced down at Mary, vaguely entertaining a strong, albeit purely fanciful desire to hear her release him from their engagement so that she might pursue Charles Beall instead.

"Do you think he is fond of Miss Austen?"

Tom briefly shut his eyes, hardly able to suppress a groan. "Yes, it would appear that he is." The response was meant to be nonchalant, but Tom would've been a fool if he believed even for a second that bitterness had not managed to seep into his voice.

"It looks to me as if she likes him too, do not you think?"

Tom turned on Mary quickly and a little angrily. She had no idea. "I couldn't say."

The words came out as a sigh, without much conviction. Indeed, when he looked back at Jane her countenance was the brightest he'd seen it yet, and she was wearing that teasing expression he was so familiar with. For some reason, Tom hadn't considered the possibility that Jane would move on and pursue a life without him in it- even if that was exactly what he was doing. The thought was a bit depressing and provoked more than a little jealousy on his part.

Disheartened, he sighed and forced a smile. "Shall we make our way to dinner?"

He was rewarded for his determined gallantry with one of Mary's own very sweet and even more artless smiles. He tightened his grip on her arm and led her into the dining room where most of the party was already starting to settle.

"Emily."

Their hostess smiled at them and curtsied, pushing back a stray lock of ink-black hair as she did so.

"Where should we go?"

"You and Miss Paul are just down there, Mr. Lefroy." Emily smiled and looked at Mary. "I have you seated across from Miss Austen."

Tom knew Mary was content, but as for himself, he was wishing away the accommodating nature of the Russos. He had a feeling as he walked to his seat that Mr. Russo's "suspicions" about who would be seated by Jane were not mere suspicions after all, but based in a very definite reality.

No sooner had he helped Mary into her seat than Jane entered the dining room on the arm of Charles Beall. Tom watched with a kind of helpless envy, dry-mouthed and feeling very weak as Charles pulled out her chair and took his place on one side of her. It seemed to be from a great distance that Tom finally registered Eliza's voice in the corner of his mind.

He tore himself away from the painful spectacle with no little difficulty and smiled vaguely at Eliza who he just realized was sitting across from him. "I'm so sorry Eliza, what was that?"

"Nothing really Tom. I was just wondering how you were."

Tom followed her eyes as she glanced down the table to the spot that had so entranced him. He cast his own gaze downward to escape the look he knew Eliza would turn towards him, warning him and yet pitying him at the same time. Eliza knew about everything, and he felt certain that she wasn't missing anything now.

"So how are you?"

Tom looked up again, conscious of the fact that his expression probably still held a semblance of guilt. "I'm fine. Yourself?"

"I'm very well, thank you."

Tom found that despite his best efforts his attention was straying back to Jane who was now engrossed in conversation with Charles and a man on his left.

"Did you enjoy the show the other evening?"

"Oh, yes…" Tom replied with a very obvious display of distraction. "Yes, of course. It was a very good production."

"I agree. I've seldom seen Shakespeare so well performed."

"Nor I."

The feeble attempt at conversation was abandoned with only a trace of regret on Tom's part. Instead, he focused on the soup sitting in front of him rather than the sweet, feminine voice floating towards him coupled with a rather unwelcome, masculine one. Beside him he could hear Mary holding a conversation with Henry. Across from him, Eliza had been more fortunate with regards to socialization in the lady sitting at her right. And Tom suddenly felt extremely isolated.

"Mr. Lefroy, you're a London gentleman."

The address took Tom completely by surprise, and he took no pains to hide the shock as he met the eyes of Charles Beall.

"Certainly you agree that boxing is a perfectly acceptable sport."

Tom raised his eyebrows coolly and glanced at Jane, who was still smiling but now also blushing and scrutinizing her own soup dish as if it had suddenly become an object of intense fascination.

"I do. I am a boxer myself."

"Indeed? Then perhaps you and I should go a few rounds before I leave London."

"Oh Mr. Beall, don't!"

Tom felt his own face flush with anger at the apparent show of concern on Jane's part for Charles Beall. He clenched a fist sitting on top of his thigh and set his jaw.

Charles laughed. "Miss Austen is convinced that the sport is nothing short of barbaric."

"I am familiar with her opinion."

Jane's smile vanished, and Tom felt a twinge of regret at betraying their former intimacy in a fit of passion.

"Are you?"

Tom nodded in response to Charles's befuddled expression and bowed his head, saying no more, knowing he'd already said too much. He felt a slim hand on his arm and looked over at his fiancée.

Her eyebrows were knit and her green orbs were wide and worried. "Tom, you don't look well."

Tom plastered on a cheery smile. "I'm perfectly well. Do not trouble yourself."

The assurance might have been enough, had not a sigh followed the words, completely negating all their intended meaning.