Saturday 26th September 1812: Mrs Bennet proves herself "ingenious", when her schemes finally leave Jane and Charles alone together in the drawing room.

And then the door closed, and they were alone, alone for the first time.

Neither quite knew what to do.

Jane's mind told her to play hostess; so it was her voice that sounded before his.

"How do you find Hertfordshire, Mr Bingley?"

He was startled by her words, her sweet voice, which silenced his thoughts. Oh such overlapping thoughts: how should I... when should I... will she say yes?

He heard her voice, captured its tone and melody, but his thoughts disallowed him to gather the meaning.

"Sorry Jane – I mean Miss Bennet – I'm sorry I didn't quite catch what you said."

Jane smiled. Her repeated words were serenely spoken, though her hearted fluttered. He called me Jane.

"How do you find Hertfordshire, Mr Bingley? It has been a while since you were last here."

There was a small sunken feeling in his chest. Yes, he had left, had left her. He was all earnest.

"As lovely as ever –"

Jane's formally lowered eyes looked up at such words and happened to catch his. He was looking at her, hoping she saw in his eyes, what he knew not how to say, though he told himself, tell he must.

He looked down himself now, ashamed; yet dare he hope?

Courage, man, courage.

And with a deep breath he began.

"Miss Bennet, I have done you wrong..."

Jane's sweet face expressed protest, for to her he especially was capable of no such wrong. Nonetheless he must continue.

"I should not have left..."

He looked at her most sincerely. She searched his eyes with her own. Did he mean...?

"I should not have left you."

Jane knew not whether to cry or smile.

"Jane, I have been an utter fool –"

With a wet half-smile, quiet but sure, Jane interrupted.

"You are not a fool."

"Oh Jane, only you could think me not." Charles exclaimed.

"I am a fool, a..." He gulped. "a fool in love with an angel."

A signal tear fell and a once small smile now beamed.

Charles heart flew when she smiled so.

"Oh Jane... I do love you so..." Oh lord, please tell me I am not too late. "Could you... Would you..." A needed breath. "consent to be my wife?"

He sat now serious, whilst she sat smiling, smiling with joy. Could she find her voice through so much feeling? Finally, but not before nodding, a simple action which left him with the same such smile.

"Yes... yes."

"Oh Jane." He moved from his seat. He wanted to be near her; so he settled on his knees before her and reached for her hands, which reached for his hold.

"Charles, I..."

She needed to say it.

He looked from their locked fingers to her lovely face.

"Yes, Jane?"

Just breathe.

"I love you."

Three simple small words, three little lovely words, and his eyes were wet too. Other words wouldn't do; so their eyes spoke, and softly, slowly spoke to their lips.

He could bear only removing one hand from her own by placing it instead on a warm cheek.

Her eyes fluttered at his touch. And, when they opened, saw only his, but then also his lips. His fingers sent tiny shivers with tiny strokes. Thus slowly he rose himself towards herself and their heads forward went, until tentatively, lovingly, eyes closed and lips met.

Such sweetness, such softness dwelt in this one bare and special touch.

His hand caressed her blushed face. And soon, though eyes remained closed, forehead came to settle on forehead.

"Mrs Bingley" He dreamed aloud.

To this sigh, she replied with a sound like silver bells.

"Yes, my love?"

But then his dream tinged, and his voice awoke dry.

"I promise I will never leave you again."

The bells quietened their chime, and one of her hands acted to mirror his: she placed lightly four fingers, then palm, upon the side of his sincere face. His eyes opened at her touch, as hers had done at his words. She wanted to make him feel better; it pained her to see him like this.

She smiled to reassure.

"I know. And I do forgive you, though truly," Her smile grew. "there is little to forgive."

She ended her words with a tiny tickle to his cheek, with wispy strokes of her fingers, meaning he had to smile too.

He leant into her hand and closed his eyes.

"How I love you." Sighed Charles in a voice most sure.

Jane watched him, this beautiful man; smiled at his words.

And soon spirited love lent her forward again to, with sweet daring, place a kiss and say:

"And how I love you."

Charles grinned. She kissed me, she loves me.

He steadily sought to stand, bringing his beloved along by the hand. She followed his move naturally.

Now these blessed figures stood close, in front of the hearth's setting glow; hand still holding hand and on each face was placed a ceaseless smile.

"I promised I would never leave you, Jane, but at some point I ought to speak to your father..."

Her fingers tightened oh so slightly on his.

"that is, if you'll let me."

She giggled. "Oh course."

Yet he didn't move from her. He wanted to hold her, pick her up and spin her, so she never stopped her giggles. But more than this, he wanted to kiss her; and he would have done, if the door had not opened.

Elizabeth's unexpected arrival caused each soul to rise to reality's surface. Both faces hastily turned around to her, each of blossoming pink.

Jane swiftly hid her grin behind bitten lips, though still her face glowed and her eyes continued to beam.

No hand was dropped or left, but each parted instinctively, each owner thinking they should be embarrassed.

They retreated from the hearth, and sat as they once did, with Elizabeth next to Jane and Charles opposite.

They sat so without a word: two being too dazed to speak and the other thinking the situation most awkward for herself.

Charles' mind was full of the sweet while he just spent with his Jane. It replayed like a dream in his mind. And then, with a silent chuckle, he remembered: he remembered there was somewhere else his Jane agreed, though first reluctantly, he should be.

He rose suddenly. As politeness dictated the others' act, swift, they stood too.

He looked to Jane to find her eyes already on him, her smile barely hidden. To her he stepped back towards and whispered:

"I will go to your father now, my love."

Again he saw her grinning and nod.

With this happy image secured safely in his memory, finally, so eagerly he seemed to run, he left the room; and left his beloved to awaken lively the next sisterly scene with instant embrace and, most sweetly, expressions of her humble happiness.