Although he was excited about the arrival of his daughter that evening from Ireland, Tom couldn't help but be a bit disappointed at the way he had left things with Jane. Maybe he should have tried harder to explain his affections, or perhaps she just didn't have the same feelings anymore. He sadly shook his head at the thought of what they might have had all of those years before in the countryside. He could see it as though he were in the moment.
They would have the most beautiful sprawling property, surrounded by the paths and creeks she so adored. Little children running about, playing a game of tag while his dear Jane would be perched at her writing table, deep in thought. He would stand, surrounded by the tall whispering trees, and the wonderful pinks and purples of new spring flowers admiring the marvel that was his wife. A mischievous smile would cross his face as he knelt to gently pick a flower for her hair. He would run into that writing room, pick her up so swiftly that it would make her heart quicken, and make love to her as if it were the first time.
Tom closed his eyes. If he could not have her, he certainly loved to think of her. With thoughts of Jane still roaming his mind, Tom fell soundly asleep, a small smile on his face.
Jane wrote feverishly as she sat at her writing table, pausing only briefly to have look out of the window. Why the nerve of that awful Mr. Lefroy! She thought. How dare he come upon me out of nowhere, share such ridiculous affections and then leave just as abruptly as he had come. What sort of woman had he supposed she was? Perhaps the sort that enjoyed being taken by surprise in the middle of the woods, vulnerable and unnerved. Well vulnerable she was not.
As she continued to write, her anger seemed to calm and she smiled a bit, at her foolish thoughts. It is not Tom Lefroy with whom I am angry. Why I can be angry at no one other than myself for being so foolish as to think that we might be able to reconcile after so long. I let him get the best of me that day in the woods, but how could I not? For he is still as handsome and as charming as he once was. Maybe even more so. And the manner for which I behaved is absolutely embarrassing to say the least. Then to abruptly change my mind and go running to him like a woman half insane? She shook her head. I am far too old for such games. She began to write again, vowing to herself to push the thought of him out of her head for good. If anything, he had given her the will to write again.