Jane believed that all people were not only basically good, but actually good, and if their rude actions could not be easily explained, there must be some sort of great need that only they knew of that caused them to behave in such a way. She only ever had kind motives herself, and she simply could not comprehend how some people were vicious, or mean, or unkind on purpose; that some people actually meant to hurt others, or that they were unfeeling and selfish, doing what they wanted, when they wanted, without a thought about others affected by their actions. She was sure that they must simply have not realized what they were doing, that no one had ever taught them how to do right, that they were unaware of the consequences of their heedless decisions.

Her father had had many discussions with her over the past few months about the nature of people, using literature as a guide, impressing on her that not all could be trusted and that some were actually purposely dishonest while having all the appearance of goodness. Jane had not wanted to believe him, indeed had argued with him that there could be some sort of misunderstanding, but her father had been firm and without realizing it, Jane had learned something of the darker side of life. She was not at all pleased by it, and the disturbance of her mind was great.

If all in the world was not bright and clear, what was it?

So it was with great surprise and trepidation that she turned around at the small ball at Mrs. Pearson’s only to come face to face with Mr. Bingley.

“Miss Bennet!” he cried, surprise all over his face.

“Mr. Bingley.” Jane was no less shocked. She colored and looked to the floor.

“What brings you to London?” he asked.

“I am visiting my aunt and uncle.” She glanced quickly behind her at the stylish looking couple talking to Mrs. Pearson’s parents.

“Ah.” Bingley seemed to run out of things to say and looked about awkwardly until Mr. Walker approached and reminded her that their set was next. She curtseyed to Mr. Bingley and left gratefully, her heart thudding in her chest.

Bingley walked the perimeter of the dance floor, not talking to anyone, simply watching Jane Bennet dance. She wondered what he was about, staring at her so. He had never looked at her like that in Hertfordshire. Would he ask her to dance? Would she accept?

Two sets later, Jane and Bingley stood across from each other. The dance was a sedate one, leaving plenty of time for conversation and cross examination. The first few minutes were spent in silence, each looking around them or at the floor, but never at each other.

“How do you know the Pearsons?” he finally asked.

“Mrs. Pearson has lately become a friend,” she answered. “And you?”

“Pearson and I were in Cambridge together.”