janebecomes | Dancing

Entry tags:

canon,
tom

Dancing

Jane found herself moving through the ball with far less joy than she wished as her thoughts seemed to circle ever around what it means to be sensible.

Mister Wisley was a fair dancer but he did nothing to make her enjoy her time on the floor, but she would give him the dances that he asked for.

She knew that it would be sensible and profitable to accept his offer of marriage but Jane was not sure if she truly could.

So she moved around the floor, not truly hearing or seeing simply walking the steps and wondering if perhaps Mister Lefroy had decided he had no wish to attend the ball.

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- ah, no.

(It would be, in fact, that Tom had arrived earlier than she.)

And there he is, suddenly by her side as though he'd always belonged there, his hand over hers, his heart beating quickly, his steps in tune to hers.

It suddenly feels like the world belongs to only them.

When his hand is over hers, Jane suddenly feels as if she might do something foolish, but the music propels her.

She knows that she should speak yet all she can manage is to look at him and realize that if being sensible means he is not in her life than Jane will never be sensible.

The music buys him time.

There are things he wants to say, words he ought to voice to her before -

As part of the dance, he must separate from Miss Austen and return to his original dance partner, and so he does.

(If reluctantly.)

Jane does not wish to return to Mister Wisley, but the music commands it and she feels the heat where his hand rested on hers.

Wisley gives her a thoughtful look that Jane does not even truly see, all her thoughts are on the man who is so close and yet so far from her.

Like the push and pull of the current, the next stanza in Henry Purcell's hornpipe brings them back together.

Soon, he is facing Miss Austen once more for three turns - his eyes never leaving hers.

She should speak to break this spell for it is as a spell as this moment will not last.

True enough.

It doesn't.

Soon the music ends, and they part for the last time - Tom, moving to stand across from his dance partner.

He bows, sparing a quick glance in Jane's direction, before he approaches the other woman - a lady he'd only just met prior to the dancing.

"You dance beautifully," he says to her - when he wishes he could tell Jane, instead.

She remembered to smile at Mister Wisley at the end and allow herself to be introduced though her thoughts were elsewhere.

Slowly, the crowds begin to gather as people mingle after the first dance is - well, danced.

Tom knows he ought to continue as he had before - and engage this group of people in polite, intelligent conversation - but he inclines his head ever so slightly, curious as to Miss Austen's whereabouts.

Luck would have it that her back is to his.

And finally, he can say something to her. (Anything.)

"You dance with passion."

His voice surprises her and sends rather odd shivers through as she hears the question, her answer is full of everyone around her,

"No sensible woman would demonstrate passion if the purpose was to attract a husband."

Jane is truly growing to hate the word sensible, but that is what she must be it seems.

Unfortunately, it is what society demands of women.

(Of men, too, in some cases - really.)

Tom glances from Jane ... up to the incredibly tall man to her left - Mr Wisley is his name, from what he heard.

(And what he's heard among other things ...)

"As opposed to a lover?"

It might explain the hint of a bite in his words.

Her breath catches before she speaks, not sure if she should be complimented or angry,

"Hm. Rest easy, Mister Lefroy. I have no expectation of either."

She knows that she should not, that is the way of the world after all and her thoughts of that dream and what might have been belong to a place outside of time.

"- I did not mean to offend or hurt -" he starts to say, realizing now that it was exactly what he'd meant.

(Or he would not have said it at all.)

"Oh no, no, of course not, your thoughts were on other times and places. Excuse me, I'm just over warm."

Jane does her best to move quickly through the crowd, because she doesn't know what she might do. He cuts to her heart in a way that she had never expected possible yet that does not matter. She must be sensible.

He silently curses himself for his idiocy.

Why did he have to go and -

Turning back to the company he'd gathered around him (deliberately ignoring Wisley's looming form close by) he mutters a polite, "Excuse me" and parts from them.

He wants nothing more than to apologize for his impudent behaviour - but when he reaches the grand hall, he spots John Warren by the bottom steps, he remembers Mr Wisley still within the ballroom, and he remembers that for all of his affection, this - none of this - would ever work.

Outside Jane's thoughts are moving far too quickly and so she almost stumbles upon her brother Henry and the Comtesse planning how she will save him with her jewels.

As she tries to find a place to slip out of the way, Lady Gresham calls for her and Jane steels herself once more.

Somehow she manages to respond and listen to the horrible things that Lady Gresham speaks of, her father's difficulties with money and her own faults of independent thought.

She does not remember if she gave a definite acceptance of marriage or simply that Lady Gresham decided she had either way she was finally allowed to escape once more.

In the garden perhaps she can try once more to find some peace if only for a time. After all, her life is truly not her own.

And in the mean time, Tom must bear even more talk of Jane and Wisley's impending engagement as he later watches her stride out towards the gardens, looking less than pleased.

"Mr Wisley is a good opportunity for Jane," his aunt had said.

"She should accept him at once," Lucy responded innocently. Because it would have made sense, wouldn't it?

It was so incredibly simple, this logic, that even a girl as young as cousin Lucy could figure it out.

(So why can't he?)

Despite all better judgment, only moments after his relations leave for refreshments, Tom finds himself in the gardens as well.

His steps are quiet, and he soon finds Miss Austen by the fountains, alone.

When she hears footsteps, Jane isn't sure who she expects and seeing Tom hurts far more than she expected.

So she turns towards the fountain since she doesn't know what he hopes or thinks.

He strides up to her, keeping a comfortable distance from her.

Out of respect for her, really. But also: there is (as always) the matter of propriety.

Still, he feels the need to clear a couple of things up. There are questions he must have answers for before he leaves for London in the 'morrow.

"I have learned of Mr Wisley's marriage proposal," he starts, before swallowing the bitterness in his throat. "My congratulations."

His words hurt, finding the ache in her heart as she says quietly,

"Is there an alternative for a well-educated woman of small fortune?"

Her words hurt, too.

(And the ache in his heart - it could easily match hers.)

Before he can control himself, he blurts out, "How can you have him?"

He can't look at her; not yet. He stares across at the water gurgling before them.

"Even with his thousands and his houses - how can you, of all people, dispose of yourself without affection?"

"How can I dispose of myself with it?"

Her voice is small as she finally turns to look at him,

"You are leaving tomorrow."

He is so close and yet so terribly far away and Jane wants to forget for a time how to be sensible.

Now, he turns to her.

How did she know he was leaving? He hadn't exactly told her. (But it occurs to him, that news in the country spreads quickly.)

He frowns and says nothing.

The guilt, the apology - it's all there.

(I'm sorry.)

The look in his eyes makes it worse, he doesn't realize how much he says when he doesn't speak and she closes the distance between them. One step and she can feel his velvet jacket on her bare arm.

What would she dare if no one made her be sensible?

The sudden shortening of distance between them surprises him a little. He hadn't expected such boldness from Miss Austen -

(and suddenly, he realizes he admires it - her - all the more)

- nor did he expect to feel the warmth of her breath so close to his mouth.

He knows this is entirely out of bounds - but then, when had he ever followed rules?

(And when did Jane, for that matter?)

Before she can talk herself out of it, Jane kisses him since all her words are gone.

His lips are so warm and she wants this moment to never end.

He almost doesn't believe this is real.

(Because it can't be.)

But the touch of her lips against his is no trick of the mind, certainly no fantasy. It's real and it's causing every last scrap of logic to disappear as though it never existed.

A hand reaches up to graze her jawline with the barest of touches.

He returns the kiss earnestly, hungrily, but all the while - gently.

When his hand touches her face, Jane realizes what she has done and breaks the kiss as she whispers,

"Did I do that well?"

They're not the words she meant, but in a way they are, she wants him.

"Very - very well," he says, finally managing to let a breath out.

(For she had, in the most cliche of ways, quite stolen it from him.)

Jane isn't sure whether she should laugh or cry, so she smiles with relief and says,

"I wanted, just once, to do it well."

He returns the smile.

It's likely the first genuinely happy one he's managed to make in a long time.

His hand slowly moves down to graze tenderly at her neck. There are consequences to this, but right now he could not be forced to care.

The sound of a group of men chattering beyond the distance makes him turn - just briefly - towards their direction.

Decisions must be made.

He turns back to Jane, a hopeful smile on his face. His hand moves to take hers and he starts off - away from the fountain and the approaching men.

"I have -" he starts, "no money, no property. I am entirely dependent upon that bizarre old lunatic, my uncle."

He leads her towards the trees, excitement and joy rising in his voice.

"I cannot yet offer you marriage. But - you must know what I feel.

"Jane, I'm yours."

He can't believe that he's confessing this; and yet it is exciting to admit it.

"God. I'm yours. I'm yours - heart and soul."

He watches her expression, half-joking as he concludes with, "Much good that is."

His torrent of words surprises her and she doesn't look anywhere but his face as they move deeper into the garden.

She wants to laugh and that joy slips into her voice,

"Let me decide that."

Then she tightens her grip on his hand for she will not let him go.

He would not fight to let go, either.

"What will we do?" he asks, because though he'd laid his heart out for her to see, he didn't exactly think beyond it.

Now she does laugh though its full of desperation before she finally says,

"What we must."

Its so easy to lean her face upon his shoulder and feel that silly green coat,

"I think now I understand the allure of a man's velvet coat slightly better."

He laughs too.

It's relieved and happy, and there's a little bit of disbelief thrown in too. Because whatever it is they must do, they'll do it. He'll do it.

"Do you?"

"Yes, it does call rather too much attention to you, but it has a softness to it,"

Gently she moves her hand to his lapel and looks up at him,

"Which suits you."

How could this not be an invitation to bring her face towards his for another kiss?

Never mind that there are parties within the Gresham Manor awaiting them. Never mind the looks he will receive from his relations later.

When he kisses her this time, he thinks he understands - more than ever - why his parents did what they did.

(They married for love.)

(He can too, can't he?)

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Dancing

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