janebecomes | Posting a Letter

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Posting a Letter

The road was muddy but Jane enjoyed it even more because she could tramp and tramp on her way to mail the letter to Cassandra.

That horrible, snobbish, infuriating Tom Lefroy, she would not give him the satisfaction of anything.

How dare he even dare think that she thought badly of her home, her home, she would decimate him next time they met.

Not that she wished to meet him of course, the lout but next time, oh next time she would be prepared.

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Well, luck would have it for at least one of them that Tom just so happens to be walking down the main road - properly dressed, cane in one hand, hat atop his head.

Of course, he happens to be grumbling as well.

He hates the mud and he hates the rain in the country. Sure, it doesn't smell like piss (as it does in London), but it makes everything around him so bloody sluggish.

The bottom of Jane's dress is mud and she might even be smiling when she makes the turn and sees his profile.

Her mother would disapprove of the curse that escapes her mouth, Henry taught it to her as she looks for a lane to duck into.

Occupied, Tom shakes a rather stubborn clump of mud from the tip of his cane, not yet noticing Miss Austen.

Then, a moment afterward, he continues onwards into the town.

He hasn't seen her, good though at the moment there is still only one road so she keeps herself at a set pace behind him.

All his thrashing about more than covers her walking and surely there's no reason he would look behind him.

Unless he happens to drop his glove.

Which, he does.

After picking it up, still half-bent over, he spots the hem of a lady's dress.

Jane's dress, in fact.

Straightening, he offers her a curt nod of the head.

Its a rather muddy hem and she gives a small bob,

"Mister Lefroy."

There, politeness shall be satisfied if she could just get past him to the post.

"Miss Austen," he returns with equal politeness.

For a moment, dusting his glove off (and then stuffing it back into the pocket of his coat), he is quiet.

Then, conversationally: "Off to town, then?"

"I have a letter to post to my sister in Plymouth. Are you off to sample the local eating house, Mister Lefroy?"

The edge is there, quite carefully honed for she knows that there is only one public house in Longminster.

Tom's serious expression immediately morphs into one of amusement, bringing along the irritating quality of accepting challenges.

"The shops, actually," he returns easily. "But of course, if you are inviting me to accompany you to such a place, I could not deny a lady's request."

"Who do you shop for? Perhaps I could help you find something for the lady you are engaged to or is it for your sister?"

Its remarkably easy to just elide over all the bothersome things he just said, for if she listens then she will do something.

"I am engaged to none," he tells her - and for a heartbeat, there might have been a bitter note attached to his tone of voice. "And it was not for my sisters than I am here to shop."

He pulls out a slip of paper from his pocket.

"A list of things."

A look of something that might be surprise or relief flies through her eyes as she takes the list and focuses on it,

"I fear Lucy is using you as her errand boy."

He shrugs - nonchalant.

It isn't as though he minds all too much; in the country, there isn't anything better to do anyway. (But he won't admit that to Jane just yet.)

"It gives me a chance to stretch my legs and explore the place you call your home."

"I fear you will find it rather small compared to London."

Her voice is just edging on teasing as she walks towards the town, still with his list. Jane is almost curious how he will react in Longminster and after all she does have a letter to post.

"A good many places are smaller in comparison to London," he reminds her good-naturedly.

Because, whether she wants to deny such a fact, it is true.

He allows Jane to hold onto the list as he walks alongside her. Company, no matter who with, is always a welcome thing.

"Ah yes and we must work to impress our more cosmopolitan guests from London."

Jane has realized she is holding his list and gives it back with a quick bob and hand off,

"Where do you wish to begin, Mister Lefroy?"

He smirks, accepting the return of his slip of paper. He pockets it once more.

"I would not wish to keep you from running your errand, Miss Austen," he says. "What was it you had to do, again?"

Oh yes, there is the anger for the smug Mister Lefroy,

"As I believe I said before, I am posting a letter to my sister in Plymouth."

He bows his head in apology. It isn't his fault he was preoccupied to retain such trivial information!

"Of course," he says. "Shall we do that first?"

"Yes, I believe that would be most efficient."

She can't stamp with him beside her so Jane's steps have a bit of extra pressure as they enter the town and she heads towards the small post office.

"Indeed."

He waves a hand towards the town, very carefully keeping his expression neutral.

"Lead the way, ma'am."

That neutral expression is a clever idea because inside Jane does not feel neutral at all.

At least he is not insulting Longminster and she keeps moving towards the Post Office, passing nods and glances with many in town,

"How have you been spending your days in Hampshire, Mister Lefroy? I do hope you have found some things to amuse yourself with."

Of course he isn't insulting Longminster. If he were to do that, he would prove right then and there that her assumptions of him are correct.

And he cannot let her get away with such false opinions.

"Indeed, I have," he responds nonchalantly. "I have had the opportunity to catch up on my reading, for one. And I even feel slightly better in health."

(Okay, so the last bit may very well be a lie, but it sounds convincing enough.)

"You read? What exactly do you read for pleasure, Mister Lefroy?"

She does her best to stamp on her curiosity, because she should not care at all what he reads though it does slip a little in her voice.

"Miss Austen, I admit I am a little surprised by your intonation," he says amusedly. "Of course I read. I hardly have enough time while I am in the city" - due to his other extra-curricular activities, no doubt - "but here, I find myself with little else to do."

He pokes at a clump of mud with his cane haphazardly.

"Mostly prose, some poetry, and a bit of philosophy as well."

"Pardon me, Mister Lefroy, I just have a small bit of difficulty imagining you reading for pleasure. Philosophy, do you consider yourself a hedonist then, Mister Lefroy?"

"And why is that, Miss Austen?" he asks curiously. "Is your opinion of me so low that you would think me an idiot?"

Really now, Jane.

Of course, Tom has the grace not to look offended in the least. His curiousity however, is plain on his face.

As to her question: "Perhaps. I see nothing wrong with seeking the great pleasures in life. Do you?"

Of course, in reality, this is hardly the case. His life is utterly bound in duty and security - everything else is a mask.

"Never an idiot, Mister Lefroy just perhaps choosing to spend your leisure time in other ways."

Henry is after all her brother and tells her things when she asks,

"I was wondering how you expected me to find the great pleasures here in Hampshire so I could experience them."

"Surely there are things in Hampshire that give you great pleasure," he responds.

If she is trying to bait him into telling her that Hampshire is the most boring of country places, she is likely to be disappointed.

"Oh yes there are, I find great pleasure within the company of my circle of friends and family and in the few books available to me. I just feared that those would not fall under your definition of great experiences."

"You assume much of me, Miss Austen."

Indeed, too much. And mostly of the negative variety.

He smirks.

"Then correct my assumptions, Mister Lefroy."

"Ah. I cannot simply tell you what you ought to think of me," he says. "Getting acquainted with someone requires far more than that."

He nods his head towards the building ahead: the post office.

"Quite true, Mister Lefroy, and would you find such a poor student as myself worthy of your time?"

She asks before walking in to post her letter and leave him thinking.

For a moment, Tom pauses, trying to think of something appropriate to say. He wonders why Jane would come up with such an assumption, and he wonders if he really would give her the time to get to know her.

"Miss Austen -" he starts, promptly catching up to follow her into the building.

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Posting a Letter

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