Jane was far too proud to admit, even to her own sister, that she dreaded meeting Mr. Bingley again. Not so much for what he would do or say, but for herself. The previous night had been an ordeal, and she had felt on the verge of tears when confronted to his indifference. For this man, she had worn her heart on her sleeve - she still did. She felt embarrassed and humilliated, betrayed by her own feelings. But life was a difficult affair and she was glad enough for her sister finding love; her own heart should wait until she became an aunt to be filled with joy again.

She also accepted this invitation because they would be far from alone in Mr. Darcy's box. The pervading light of the stage and the auditorium allowing the prying eyes of the occupants of the pit below and the other boxes to inspect and observe them, somehow made it easier to put on a mask and go on with the performance.

Jane sat between Elizabeth and Charles and perused her copy of the program with excessive interest. Unfortunately, there were only so many times one could read a one page program and she soon found herself looking at the seams of her gloves.

-"Have you seen this play before, Miss Bennet?", Mr. Bingley's voice interrupted such endeavour.

She looked up in surprise at first but forced her eyes to continue their route primly until finding a spot above his eyebrows.

-"I'm afraid I have not. I have read the book, though," she replied quietly looking to the stage and fanning herself.

They were silent. Their companions would talk to each other sparsely, in hushed tones. More than once she felt Mr. Bingley's casting a sideways glance in her direction and she hoped her choice of dress that night complimented her, but she then chastised herself for such thoughts.

During the intermission her sister stood up and so did Mr. Darcy. Mr. Bingley stayed on his seat, quiet, and she wondered if he was asleep.

He wasn't. He caught her eyes and held them captive, challenging her not to look away. She didn't. They looked at each other for what felt like an eternity, not saying anything. Finally Mr. Bingley's r¡ght hand, the one farthest from her, reached out for her in an entreaty.

-"Would you like to come out to the corridor?", he asked softly.

She shook her head.

-"No, thank you."

A servant passed with a tray with refreshments.

-"Would you like something to drink?", Mr. Bingley asked now standing up.

Jane was very thirsty but declined.

The second part was going to start so her companions sat back in their seats. The play went on as the first one did, but this time Jane was certain that Mr. Bingley was looking at her. She thought she heard him sigh more than once, but of this, she wasn't too sure.

-"Did you enjoy last night's play, Miss Bennet?" Mr. Bingley asked not looking at her. They were seating on a bench in Hyde Park; they had come with Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth but they walked too much for her tired feet, and now she was resting.

-"I did. The star crossed lovers' was a favourite book of my father, and he knew several passages by heart," replied Jane.

-"Is that so?", he asked with polite interest.

-"Yes," she replied quietly. "Mercucio was his favourite character, and my father liked to say that his demise at the hands of Teobald while defending Romeo seemed the first of a long chain of misunderstandings."

-"Do you believe 'Romeo and Juliet' to be about misunderstandings?" he asked now frowning, and looking at her.

-"I suppose it can be seen as such," replied Jane not quite meeting his eyes. "Romeo mistakenly believes Juliet dead and commits suicide; the knot of the tragedy is based on a wrong assumption," she finished.

-"But aren't all tragedies so?," he mused aloud. "Isn't it the misunderstanding of the other's intentions what leads us on to wrong beliefs and unreasonable hopes?" he continued while chopping a blade of grass.

-"I do not know what you mean," Jane replied frowning. He was silent.

-"I loved you" he said suddenly, "I loved you and believed you to return my feelings," he added lowering his face until the chin touched his chest, but then raised it and met her eyes. "But it was obvious to everyone but me that it wasn't so," he added shaking his head and looking over the path. "Sometimes we're not made to inspire the same feelings we experience," he finished weakly and after a few moments looked back at his silent companion.

Jane was biting her lips and frowning, all her face scrunched; she covered her eyes with her gloved hand but a tear escaped and ran freely down her smooth cheek. He looked at her sadly and offered her his handkerchief from his front pocket. She accepted it and hid her face behind it.

There was a soft autumnal breeze; the birds chirped and squawked calling each other from the trees. Children's laughter and nursemaids calling were heard, but the only sound he heard was her strangled sobs from his beloved Jane.

-"Please, Miss Bennet, don't cry," he said softly. "I am sorry I upset you, it was very selfish of me," he added.

-"Mr. Bingley, I... I don't..." Jane attempted to talk but it wasn't easy to find the right words. "I am quite shy, Mr. Bingley, but you were not mistaken," she said and more tears moistened her face. "I am so sorry," she shook her head.

Mr. Bingley was not known to circumvent the rules of propriety, but extreme action was needed right there and then. He approached Jane's face, still downcast, and whispered into her ear:

-"Then tell me it is not too late, Jane. Tell me you still love me, allow me to make amends for the time we've lost. My heart has only loved you, and I don't deserve your forgiveness," Jane's face was up but still covered by her hands, "but if you tell me all hope is not lost, my sweet Jane, I would do whatever it takes."

Slowly the hands lowered taking his handkerchief along. Her face was bloated, her eyes were red, but the very little smile on her lips and the light in her eyes was enough reply.