Jane Bennet denied that she had been adversely affected by Mr. Bingley's abandonment. She had enjoyed his company while he was in Hertfordshire but now that he was gone, she was indifferent. Certainly, her heart had never been touched.

That is what she told to anyone, be they family, friend, neighbour, or acquaintance, who carelessly, or with malicious intent, said anything to her about him.

That is what she told her mother on those many occasions, oh so many occasions, that Mrs. Bennet bewailed the fact that her beautiful daughter had been jilted. It seemed that any hint of anything to do with weddings or marriages would set off her maternal laments. Very definitely any mention of the wedding of that 'artful old maid' Charlotte Lucas and that 'treasonous' Mr. Collins would set off Mrs. Bennet on a cascade of keening that would only end on her being led to her bedroom by Hill, and being dosed there with her 'special' tonic.

That is what she told her father on the one occasion he condescended to acknowledge her situation, although his sardonic remark that a girl likes to be crossed a little in love now and then provided cold comfort if, indeed, any was contemplated by that indolent parent.

That is what she told Elizabeth when that fiercest and most loyal of sisters railed against those duplicitous and deceitful Bingleys, including their disapproving friend.

That is what she told her aunt and uncle Gardiner when, concerned that her pallor would be aggravated by her mother's continued wailings to the point where she faded away, they invited her to come with them to town after Christmas.

That is what she told herself after she endured a very cold but civil reception when she called upon Mrs. Hurst and Miss Bingley in January, and after those superior sisters inflicted an even chillier return call on her in February.

No one believed her.

The truth, like a great river flowing to the sea, grinding down its banks as it did so, eventually ground through all of Jane's denials. But it took time. When Elizabeth, travelling with Sir William Lucas and Maria Lucas on their way to Hunsford, stopped in at Gracechurch Street, Jane was still able to tell the lie that only she believed. But it was fraying.

It was a warm spring day, just after Easter, when the lie frayed all the way through, and the truth was out.

That day Jane, accompanied by a nursemaid and a footman, had taken the four Gardiner children to the nearby park. She loved the children; they loved her. She wanted her own children to love. She would be a good mother. It was universally acknowledged in Meryton and surrounds that Jane would be an excellent mother. Jane treasured that compliment more than any compliment relating to her beauty, which after all was ephemeral.

While the Gardiner children shrieked and shouted and ran about playing Jane daydreamed. Of four children, two boys, two girls; four blond, good-natured children; four Bingley children. Jane's eyes snapped open, she bowed to the truth.

Her heart had been attached; she had loved Mr. Bingley. And he had loved her; at least, she had thought he did. Then. He had paid her every attention, to the exclusion of all others. Her expectations had been raised. He had raised them unbearably high. But it seemed that Mr. Bingley was a practiced deceiver. And he had stolen away from Netherfield, leaving her heart in shards behind him. Taking away any chance she had at motherhood.

Jane's temper flared. So seldom used, unlike her sister Elizabeth's temper, which was always close at hand and ready to use, Jane could not remember the last time, if ever, she had loosed her temper on the world. But loose it was and there would be consequences. What, and to whom, would be determined.

Jane called the children together and marched them home. Any protests the children thought to make died when they saw their cousin's stormy face.

It was perhaps unfortunate for him that Jane found Mr. Bingley waiting for her in the Gardiners' drawing room.

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Mr. Bingley smiled at Jane as she entered the drawing room. He stood and bowed to her. His smile faded as she did not curtsey in turn. Rather she glared at him and when he opened his mouth to speak, she forestalled him by holding up her hand.

"I do not want to hear any of your sugary compliments, oh so sweet but with no substance whatsoever. Tell me, do you write them out like my cousin Mr. Collins and practice them in front of a looking glass ahead of time? Were you mayhap perfecting them on me so you could use them on ladies of the ton here in town?"

Mr. Bingley, not recognizing rhetorical questions when they were spit at him, started to protest, but again Jane stopped him.

"Stifle yourself sir! I am not prepared to listen to you. If you have anything to say, go talk to your horses, they'd be much more interested in what you spout than I would be."

Jane glared at Mr. Bingley until he half raised his hands in surrender, then she continued.

"From the first time I saw you at the Meryton Assembly I should have seen the truth about you. All the signs were there that you are nothing more than a feckless puppy. Your oh so superior sisters did nothing but sneer at the good people of Meryton but you did nothing to stop them. Your boorish brother, Mr. Hurst, tried to drink Meryton dry but you did nothing to stop him. Your arrogant friend, Mr. Darcy, insulted my sister but you did nothing to stop him. You did nothing to stop them; you just scampered around slobbering on people.

Then I was ill at Netherfield. While I was there, I should really have seen the truth about you. Your sisters abused the staff but you did nothing to stop them. Your sisters and your friend harassed my sister, Elizabeth, when she came to nurse me, but you did nothing to stop them.

And you boasted to my sister about how illegible your writing is. Really; to be so proud of carelessness. And you told my mother you would quit Netherfield on five minutes notice. How capricious. But that is you, pretty as a butterfly and about as reliable.

But I admit my own guilt - at first, I didn't see the truth. I was blinded by all the glitter surrounding you. But that's all been blown away and now I realize there's no gold, no real gold about you, just fool's gold. And I was the fool, but no longer.

You are a weak little puppy in thrall to your sisters and your friend. Any woman unlucky enough to marry you would be the fifth person in that marriage."

Mr. Bingley mumbled under his breath 'that's not fair" but Jane heard him.

She pointed her finger at him and said "I'll tell you what's 'not fair'. It wasn't fair for you to seek me out at every gathering to the exclusion of every other lady and monopolize my time to the exclusion of every other gentleman. That raised my expectations. It wasn't fair of you to dance the first and super dances with me at your ball. That raised the expectations of my family and neighbours. It wasn't fair of you to steal away the next day without a word leaving me jilted."

Mr. Bingley protested "I didn't …"

Jane interrupted. "Oh, I agree – you didn't declare yourself. As a practiced cad you were very careful not to. You had no honourable intentions towards me, you never even asked permission to call on me, let alone court me. You just wanted a pretty toy to trifle with until the season started in town. But I suppose I should be grateful that you didn't complete your seduction of me – after all tis better to be jilted than ruined."

"I'm not …"

"Oh, you are. You sir, are a cad through and through. And you have left me an object of derision, or what's worse, pity. I have to hide here in town from my mother because ever since you slinked away from Hertfordshire, she has been berating me for not doing enough to secure you.

You have wrecked me as surely as if you had run me down with your coach and four.

You have taught me a bitter lesson – I will no longer be able to always see the good in everyone.

I wish you had never let Netherfield, never even heard of Meryton, never even gone to Hertfordshire. If you hadn't, I'd be married now to Mr. Collins. I'd be mistress of my own home, perhaps expecting my first child. I'd …"

Mr. Bingley interjected "Collins? He's a fool."

"A fool, maybe, but an honourable one. He went to Hertfordshire to find a bride and he found one. You went to Hertfordshire to dally with a naïve country miss and you found one. He acted with honour; you did not.

I no longer want to know you Mr. Bingley. I wash my hands of you. I want to never see you again."

Mr. Bingley waited to see if Jane was finished speaking and when it was clear she was he said "I fear that you have long desired my absence. I apologize for the wrong I have done to you." He bowed and turned away from Jane. Halfway to the door he turned back and said "Miss Bennet, I pray the Lord grants you the happiness that you deserve. Goodbye." He bowed again and left.

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Although badly beaten down Mr. Bingley managed to walk to his carriage with his head up and without stumbling.

He had much to ponder; the lady said no.