So I thought this story was basically done, but then Jane Bingley decided to hijack the story with her own concerns (I think I am going to have to edit Chapter 7 to have Elizabeth question whether Jane is being entirely honest with her).
Chapter 18: Mrs. Bingley's POV: The Men in My Life Let Me Down
I did not expect my father to arrive at our home two days before his wedding and even more than that, after he was announced and joined me in my sitting room, I did not expect to see his shoulders more crunched down than usual and that he would have a valise clutched in his arms (apparently having declined my servant's offer to take it for him). In my surprise I jumped up and asked him, "Is all well, Papa?"
"Yes, everything is fine." He smiled, but it seemed forced. "I simply thought I might impose upon your hospitality until my wedding day. How better could I occupy my time than with my eldest daughter?" Then before I could make the mistake of trying to answer him, he added, "In this manner I shall avoid all the wedding planning. After all the groom need merely arrive and need not be subjected to fripperies."
Although Papa's tone was light, his face was not animated; his mouth turned down sullenly for a moment before he forced a more pleasant expression onto his face. His white bushy eyebrows stayed still without the quirk and movement that usually accompanied his clever words. It reminded me, just a bit, about what he was like the first time I saw him after Mama died.
I asked, "Did you do something to upset Lady Catherine?"
"No, all is well between us. Never fear, she will not jilt me. You will gain a most august personage as your new mother." His tone was lighter, gently teasing, yet still I felt something was wrong, that he had fled something, but it was equally clear he did not want to speak about it. Perhaps Elizabeth would have pursued the matter further, but as for me I had no wish to confront him about whatever it was, so I left it alone.
Papa cheered up a bit when we went to the nursery and he saw the children, beheld Fran's solemn curtsy, Charlie's enthusiastic run at him with his blond hair flapping, pulled short at the last possible moment, uncertain about the grandfather who had not bent down to greet him with arms opened wide. A moment later, Papa carefully, laboriously, crouched and extended his arms and Charlie bridged the small gap and thrust himself into his grandfather's arms and with a groan Papa lifted him up. I was glad the children were there to offer some distraction, even if his manner with them reminded me of his age when it had not before.
That night when I went to bed, I stayed awake for a long while, not because Charles would be visiting me (he was often tired from addressing estate matters and we had worked out a schedule in which he visited on Sundays and Thursdays), but because I had my father on my mind. I thought about how little I understood my father's mind and my relief that he had declined living with us. Although I loved him, he had a sharp edge to him, a way teasing that could be hurtful if it were to be directed at you. It had been directed at me all too many times.
Although I am known as the serene sister, the one who always sees the best in others, I still feel hurt like everyone else. I simply do not show it, bury it deep inside myself, cover it with white, pristine snow.
I remembered visiting Aunt and Uncle Gardiner in October several years ago. I had only just turned fifteen and our trip to London was both to celebrate my being out and to see my new cousin, little Emma. It was during this trip that in the course of enjoying some entertainment that my aunt and uncle had arranged, that I gained an admirer. Like my mother they thought it their duty to amply entertain their guests and we seldom had a dinner that was only of the six of us as Elizabeth had come on the trip as well and was deemed old enough to join the table.
Mr. Barrington was a thick-set man of about thirty years with medium brown hair, a lighter sandy beard and a ready smile. He was friendly and before long we were conversing, although it was only for him to observe, "It is rather warm for October" and for me to reply, "Yes, quite" and to add, "It makes it easier to enjoy London."
After we had been in company perhaps half a dozen times, Mr. Barrington wrote me a sonnet that was delivered to me via my uncle. My father insisted on reading it aloud to us all and chuckled afterwards, commenting to Lizzy, "He fancies himself the Bard." I can still remember that Mr. Barrington rhymed "blonde" with "fond" and "thee" and "me." But I was not given the sonnet to look at myself; oh no, it was for my mother to grasp it from my father and to exclaim over it (it was never given into my possession at all, for of course an unmarried woman should never receive correspondence from a man, or at least not a man unrelated to her).
Mr. Barrington's action raised rampant speculations by all concerned that he would ask for my hand and it seemed no one could talk of anything else. I remember it was talked about exhaustively at the dinner table and then after an interlude of other conversation, the topic was raised again that evening after Lizzy was already abed. Papa talked to Uncle Gardiner while I talked with Mama and Aunt Gardiner (Emma was asleep on her lap). We were having two separate conversations about my suitor . Doubtless, Papa did not know that I was listening to the men's conversation at all, for Mama was crowing loudly about my conquest, which should have drowned out their more sedate conversation.
Uncle said, "Mr. Barrington is a good man, a fair man, who is rather clever when it comes to trade and is on his way to being rich indeed. I have never known him to be smitten before, to go so far as to write a woman poetry. My only real concern is that Jane is rather young."
Papa responded, "That is not such a mark against the match, given Jane's young age Mr. Barrington might excuse her lack of knowledge about the world, think that it is just a sign of her youth rather than know for certain that she is as silly as her mother. He admires her pretty face and figure, indeed all the lines in his sonnet focused first on her appearance and second on her gentleness. Another mark in her favor perhaps is her placidness, like the very best of dairy cows she will be content where she is placed, most fit for her purpose."
I remember feeling a sudden hurt, that Papa thought so little of me. Tears threatened but I quickly blinked them away, quickly hiding my feelings like someone might draw curtains across a window. Mama and Aunt had not noticed my reaction to Papa's words. Although I was directly across from my mother, oblivious she droned on, seeing nothing but her imaginings of our whole family's good fortune. My aunt was not looking up at all, choosing to focus on her daughter's sleeping face; likely she had reached her limit in attempting to feign interest in my mother's conversation.
However, Uncle apparently did see my reaction as he gave me a little encouraging nod and tried to temper my father's words. "Jane is not just a pretty face. She is goodness personified, the kindest person one could ever meet. Any man would be lucky to claim her as his bride. My only concern relative to her youth she would not know her own mind or would know but let her desire to please you and Fanny both count for more than seeing to her own happiness."
"She will do well with anyone, be content with any situation," my father replied. "She is quite good enough for Mr. Barrington or rather he is for her, so long as he can be satisfied with a vapid wife. Now if it was a couple years hence and he wanted my Lizzy, well that I would never allow. She is the quickest of her sisters and has a fine mind. Yes, my Lizzy is fit for a handsome man of letters, a university man, not just one who keeps the terms but one who desires knowledge as others desire air, not just a portly man with a fat purse."
I remembered, even hours later as I prepared for bed, being most bothered by Papa's pronouncements and how he saw me as lacking compared with Lizzy, even though at that time I did not know why he was comparing me to a cow or what "vapid" meant, did not learn until I joined Lizzy in the guest bed we were sharing, roused her and then asked, "What is a dairy cow fit for?" (she sleepily told me, "Why having a calf or perhaps several, and then producing milk for the rest of her life until she cannot anymore and then she may be slaughtered for meat.") "What does vapid mean?" ("Dull, without any depth.") But still as always, I did not say a word about my feelings, kept them deep down in the inside, excused his behavior like always.
But long after Lizzy rolled over and fell back into her slumber, I thought about what Papa had said and whether I wanted to become Mr. Barrington's wife. He seemed pleasant enough. I liked his voice; he spoke firmly and calmly. I liked his clear blue eyes which were rather like my own. I liked the care he took to please us all; escorting us a museum, to the theater, inquiring particularly as to what I might wish to see (having no idea of what was on offer or what I would like, I deferred to his greater wisdom).
After the first time we met Mr. Barrington, Uncle Gardiner told us Mr. Barrington's import business was thriving and I firmly believed it the next time we saw him, when he hosted us all for dinner at his home, his mother (a spare, soft-spoken woman), serving as hostess. Immediately upon entering, we saw a number of exotic items in his sitting room. My mother especially marveled, practically shouting, "What plush rugs, what exotic statuary and I see your trade extends to the dark continent!" He had rugs from India, a marble statue of a woman whose assets were barely concealed between marble leaves and vines (he claimed she was Eve after the fall but before the animal skins), a side table made from an elephant's leg whose top was made from a zebra skin, with glass protecting it.
I remember exclaiming, "I cannot help but feel sorry for a three legged elephant."
Mr. Barrington's face looked pinched but he said nothing. My Aunt Gardiner (who had left Emma at home with her wet nurse) quietly whispered to me, "The elephant was killed, its other legs must be tables elsewhere."
I felt horribly embarrassed, said gently, "Oh, I see."
"Your innocence does you honor," Mr. Barrington told me, lightly touching my hand in a gesture that I suppose was meant to be comforting but a cynical part of me felt that he was using this moment for his own purposes. I did not mind it, though. It was pleasant enough, and I found it a bit flattering that he wanted to touch me.
Over dinner I was seated next to Mr. Barrington with Papa on my other side and Mama well down the table. It bothered me how Mr. Barrington's eyes kept looking at me, dipping down to my bosom before he recalled himself and looked up at my face, how between courses he was always rubbing at his sandy bearded face with his thick fingers and the way his belly stretched his too tight waistcoat.
Later after dinner, when he returned after the separation of the sexes, Mr. Barrington was florid and dabbing sweat from his forehead with his handkerchief. He smelled of walnuts, strong drink and cigar smoke. He did not smell like Papa, who always faintly smelled of old books.
As I lay in my bed that night, I imagined Mr. Barrington's sausage-like fingers grabbing me close and being kissed while accosted by his beard and breath. I imagined him doing to me what Mr. Foots had done to Hattie. He would pluck and pinch and caress as he sweated, and push himself against me again and again until he was done. But there would be nothing the matter with letting him have me so long as I was married to him. I imagined my belly immediately swelling with his child, of having a baby boy when I was only sixteen and him praising me for him and giving me a lavish gift as a reward.
These thoughts scared me but the idea of having a different life away from Mama, Papa and all my bothersome little sisters, was also intriguing. I also knew that if Mr. Barrington asked me, Mama would expect me to accept him. I thought about how Uncle Gardiner had worried about me doing just that. I wondered how I could dissuade Mr. Barrington. Being that I am not as quick as Lizzy, I had to think a long time until I arrived at an answer that I thought might do.
The next day, Mr. Barrington called upon us and told my mother, "I should like a moment of Miss Bennet's time."
My mother cried, "Oh how wonderful, she will be so pleased, I am so pleased." And then without another word, she closed me in the parlor with him, banging the door closed.
Mr. Barrington walked confidently to my side (I was standing), grabbed my hand with his and told me, "Miss Bennet, my admiration cannot have escaped your notice. What happy luck placed you in my path." He was standing a respectful distance from me, but earnestly, firmly, rubbing my gloved hand with his own. I found it distracting, both somewhat nice and dismaying. My thoughts were running in every direction like ants that dwell beneath a rock when the rock is removed and I was also quite aware of the fact that his bulging crimson waistcoat was closer than I would want it to be.
I do not know where I gathered the courage from, but I told him, "Do not ask me."
He wrinkled his brow, stroked at his sandy beard with his free hand and asked, "Excuse me?"
"Do not say what you will later wish unsaid. You have been everything kind to me, but I find I am not ready to leave my sisters and my home." I pulled my hand back from his hand.
He gave me a cross look (his eyebrows sweeping together with a deep line forming between them) and then announced, "Why then, Miss Bennet, did you let me waste my time?"
I had no wish to cause him hurt feelings, to disrupt his business relationship with my uncle, but I also did not wish him to continue a pursuit of me. I settled for saying, "I thought, perhaps, I might be ready, but I realize now that am not."
"In a year?" Mr. Barrington asked, once again his eyes caressing my bosom, before they rose again to my face. "I will give you time if that is what you need. I know my heart. You need not fear any inconstancy in me." He lightly squeezed my hand in a gesture that must have been meant to be reassuring, but made me feel as if my hand was trapped in a cage.
"A year may not be long enough, you should not wait. I am sure there are many ladies who would gladly become your wife long before I am even ready for a proper suitor."
"Very well, if you are certain, I will not expect you to change your mind. You may tell your mother that I have business in the North and just wished to call upon you to wish you adieu as I shall not be back before you depart from London. However, should you change your mind, send word through your uncle. I will wait to pursue anyone else for a year, this I can promise. You are worth the wait dear Miss Bennet."
"I thank you for your kindness," I told him and for a moment we looked into each other's eyes. I saw longing and regret there; I do not know what my eyes showed him.
He gave a little bow and promptly left. He had handled everything so kindly, that I half regretted declining him.
The Jane Bennet that returned to Longbourn a fortnight later was different than the one that left. I knew I could not be like my sister Elizabeth, but if I could not be the clever sister, I could be the one who was "goodness personified" as my uncle had said. I decided that a woman who was "goodness personified" could never think ill of anyone, not her father, not her mother, no one. When I had bad thoughts about anyone, I no longer complained. I put on a pleasant face as others put on a new dress, I hid my bad thoughts deep inside.
I thought about Mr. Barrington as that year went by and a month or so after the trip even talked to Charlotte about the matter, telling her of Mr. Barrington's good points and his bad. She told me most earnestly, "Jane, it sounds like he would be a pleasant life companion and you might have a life of ease. Him offering you that time shows a devotion and constancy that is most pleasing. Look around us at Meryton. There are very few suitable single men and a woman's bloom only lasts so long. You might be doing well in a few years to be the second wife of a widower and to be raising his children and heir, with your own sons forced to seek a trade and your daughters forced to seek a life of service. As for me, I would gladly take an offer from a widower now rather than risk being left on the shelf, but I fear that I might never marry. I do not wish to live always with my mother and be a burden to my family. Truly, I think you should send word through your uncle before it is too late."
I thought about Charlotte's words very carefully and considered further. I wondered, had I made a terrible mistake? I might be young for marriage, but I could have been content, of this I began to be sure. I saw now that Mr. Barrington had given me an opportunity to escape from my embarrassing mother, from my littlest sister who always broke my things, whose latest mischief had gotten ink stains on my best gloves which earned her no consequences from our mother and even as I seethed inside I only said, "Oh Lydia, you must try to be more careful. I know you did not mean to do it" (even though I suspected she knew it would stain my gloves when she used them to squish raspberries). I might avoid hearing my middle sister's attempt to learn the piano forte, never have to stop myself from saying, "It sounds as if you are killing the music," as I suffered through her endless jangling discordant practice, even as I told her, "I admire how dedicated you are to your practice." I would no longer suffer all the attentions I received from Elizabeth, who had to be reassured, "You are most lovely no matter what Mama says," while simultaneously resenting that Elizabeth was so much smarter than me, but repeatedly wounded me (unintentionally of course) by making me feel most foolish indeed and stealing the affection I might have from Papa if she did not exist.
As time went on, I began to be more certain that when Christmastime came and my uncle and aunt visited, that I should then ask my uncle to tell Mr. Barrington that I had reconsidered, that I was ready to accept his suit and to marry by the following summer. When they visited after the initial exchange of pleasantries Mama began one of her tirades, "Brother, sister, it was so lovely to have your hospitality in London. What a fine time we had, if only it could have ended with my Jane betrothed. A man who writes such pretty verses raises expectations and Mr. Barrington used our whole family ill indeed by failing to offer for Jane."
I managed to edge in, "Have you word of Mr. Barrington since then?"
My uncle wrinkled his brow. "I heard a few days ago that he is lately married, to a woman of three and twenty. I have met the new Mrs. Barrington before; she is blonde like you Jane, but is not nearly as sweet as you in temperament. However, she came with a handsome dowry."
"Oh, that is terrible news!" My mother moaned. "I had hopes that we could visit you again soon and that he might resume his courtship of Jane."
I felt my recently formed hopes crumbling, but let not a hint of how I was feeling escape. I responded, "I hope they shall be very happy together." I knew he did not owe me anything, but still I felt betrayed.
In the years that followed, a time or two I felt a half-imagined admiration for one man or another. I would tell Elizabeth about them, but usually she would tell me how foolish I was being in liking such stupid men. This felt like she was pouring a bucket of cold water upon me and soon enough any attraction I had for them faded.
Oh how my heart soared when Mr. Bingley came to reside at Netherfield and it seemed like he might be someone whom my sister would find acceptable. I had never enjoyed dancing half so much as when I danced with him at the assembly. Finally it felt like perhaps I had a future to look forward to again, but I did not want to get ahead of myself. Afterwards, when I tentatively communicated my admiration of him to Lizzy (he was, after all, much superior to all the men I had hope might admire me after Mr. Barrington), I was pleased when she gave me her permission to like him.
In Mr. Bingley was someone who rivaled Mr. Barrington's wealth, but in a more pleasing and respectable package. When I thought of what the marital act entailed, I imagined that I would enjoy doing my duty with Mr. Bingley. I also liked that his sisters were women of breeding and style, and that he was not nearly so much older than me compared with Mr. Barrington.
I placed much hope in Mr. Bingley's admiration leading to marriage before too long. He was so kind to me after I became ill at Netherfield and when I was well enough to venture down, he always looked at my face far more than the rest of me.
I remember how much I had anticipated the Netherfield Ball, always modestly correcting my mother when she pronounced to anyone who would listen, "It is as good as a declaration, clearly it is given in my Jane's honor!" Yet, still, there was hope in my heart that it might just be true.
And then we had danced (as the host he should not have danced at all and instead entertained his guests) which was most glorious. Later, I danced with other men with a light heart, because almost always I spotted Mr. Bingley watching me spin, whirl and promenade.
After the ball had concluded, Mr. Bingley and I were waiting for the Bennet carriage to arrive. We were quietly conversing a little apart from the others. Mr. Bingley told me, "I am so glad you were able to attend tonight, dear Miss Bennet." He lightly squeezed my gloved hand with his own for emphasis.
"I am also quite glad to be in your company." I replied, modestly looking down, admiring his muscular calves in his stockings.
"Just now, or could perhaps you wish it extended longer?" He pressed my hand a little tighter and I looked back up at him. His eyes held mine, searching, seeking, hoping (at least I thought). It was a look not unlike Mr. Barrington's look when he was on the verge of proposing. I could not help but compare Mr. Bingley as being superior to Mr. Barrington. I did not wish to lose him. I thought about Charlotte who had told me that I needed to show Mr. Bingley my admiration so as to encourage him to be in love with me.
I squeezed Mr. Bingley's hand back and took a chance, being more forward than I had ever dared to be. "For always, should you wish it and ask it of me."
"Truly?" He held my hand more firmly, lifting his eyes to look at me with his light eyes. "I do wish it, Miss Bennet. But there are some things I must do, before." He was so earnest, I had no fear, only a wild swelling hope, a delight. I was not sure if he loved me or I him, but it felt that love could surely come.
Just then, it was announced that our carriage had arrived. As I walked away, I glanced back to look at him. There was a promise in the look that he gave me, or so I thought.
But then there was his sister's letter and him nevermore returning, the coldness of Miss Bingley when I went to London and called upon her. When I was sure I had lost him, well it was then that I knew my heart. I had loved and lost. I did my best to conceal my feelings, but somehow Lizzy still knew how I felt.
I was scared to trust Mr. Bingley those many months later when he returned to Netherfield after having abandoned me so thoroughly. I also had a deep seated resentment that I kept deep down inside. I thought we understood each other at the conclusion of the Netherfield Ball and it had hurt so much when he proved fickle.
But Mr. Bingley was so very gentle with my heart then, and freely confessed the error of his ways, that I could not help but let my heart rule over my head. Lizzy said I was in danger of being just as in love with him as before, and of course she was right. I could not help but accept when he asked for my hand.
I kept secret my resentment of his prior action in leaving and not returning. I never confronted him for not trusting the words of devotion we exchanged at the Netherfield Ball. But it was there between us, an invisible wall dividing us.
I do not think he noticed this, or understood. We talked of many things, such as whether Elizabeth would accept Mr. Darcy's hand when he was brave enough to offer it to her. I had long seen his admiration of her, even while she insisted that he only looked at her to find fault. It was not right that once she accepted him they became happier than I was with Charles. I felt our happiness was a faded version of theirs, like a faded, smeared drawing that had been crumpled up and straightened, compared with a crisp drawing, colored over with ink.
Perhaps I should have attempted to talk my feelings of betrayal through with Charles before we married, but I had not the bravery. I let Lizzy demand an early date, did not oppose Charles in his wish that we should marry when they did. Charles, Lizzy and Mr. Darcy were so eager for our joint wedding to take place and must have thought I felt likewise.
Although I was rather horrified by my mother's wedding night talk, I did feel that it prepared me. The act was over almost before it began and I was just left with a little ache and a strange wetness between my legs. He told me, "Thanks you, dear Jane," gave me a kiss upon my brow and left to sleep in his own room.
In the morning he was back and spent some time viewing my nude body in the light of day while I blushed and tried to conceal myself with my hands. He plucked them away and told me, "Jane, I am your husband now. Let me look at you."
He must have liked what he saw as he crawled onto my bed, undid his fall and proceeded to do the marital act again. Again I was glad for my mother's advice, to know that this time it would take longer. I felt more pleasure this time as he kissed me and caressed my breasts as he moved within me. I let him. I was rather passive, letting myself be more of an object than an active participant.
Still, as the days went by, I gradually took a more active role in our interactions and found more pleasure in them. I enjoyed being married, mostly, but for the fact that my mother was always coming over to Netherfield without an invitation.
Mama first arrived the afternoon after my wedding day and insisted on having a conference with me. "Jane, how did it all go?"
I blushed and refused to answer.
"Ah, I suppose it went well enough, then. I hope it went well enough for your sister, too. I cannot wait to be a grandmother. Do try to make sure you have daily interactions and soon enough you will become with child. If he is having trouble rising to the occasion, you may urge him on with the touch of your hand or by suckling his member with your mouth. He will like that, to be sure; all men do. But do not let him take his pleasure this way, when you are not coupled, not until you are with child."
I duly told her, "Thank you for your advice, Mama." Fortunately after that, she went away.
But it seemed that she could not stay away. The following day she arrived in the afternoon again and asked, "Have you coupled yet today?"
I nodded.
"Ah, you are doing well child. Make sure to encourage him to take his pleasure of you at least once a day."
It was like this almost every day and it was driving me to distraction, but I said nothing to deter her visits. A woman who was "goodness personified" would not be cross with her mother.
However, I finally had enough when she asked me almost three weeks after the wedding, "Now Jane, have your courses arrived yet? It occurred to me that they were due two days ago, although of course the stress of the wedding and becoming a wife could delay them. Of course it is not unheard of for a woman to catch right away."
I told her, "Mother, now that I am now longer living in your home, when my courses do or do not arrive is between me and my husband."
"But did they? Please tell me Jane!" Mama reached over and placed her hand upon my abdomen. I shied away. The truth was that I had been spotting and I was badly cramping, a sure sign that my courses might start in earnest at any moment. I wished to retreat to my chambers and apply a warmed brick to my middle.
"Yes they did; now let me be." I tried my best to keep my tone even and polite.
"Well why ever did you not tell me so? Tell me, does Charles still want to engage in the marital act when you are wet with blood? You must let him decide whatever he wants about this. This may be a good time to pleasure him in the other ways that I have described."
I got up and said in the most pleasant tone I could muster, "Good day mother. I do not feel well and I wish to be abed."
"Alright Jane. I will see you tomorrow."
I left then.
That night, when Charles came to visit me in my bed, I had to inform him as to the state of my body. He was already opening his fall when I told him, "Charles, can you wait a moment?"
He paused, hands upon his buttons, "What is it, Jane?"
"I am indisposed in the manner that occurs for all women."
He did not seem to understand what I was trying to tell him.
I tried again more bluntly. "My courses are upon me."
Still, no understanding crossed his face.
"It is my monthly."
Still nothing.
"I bleed."
This garnered a quizzical expression. "Dear Jane, what is it that you are trying to tell me?"
Then, to my great mortification, I was forced to explain the details of how a girl becomes a woman, the cyclical nature of a woman's cycle and what it consists of, and that a woman may be with child if her bleeding time fails to come.
Oddly enough, that discussion and the frankness with which I was forced to speak, seemed to bring us closer. It almost felt as if that wall between us was thinning out. However, for reasons that even now I do not fully understand, Charles then confessed something to me that made that wall impossible to breach.
He confessed, "Dear Jane, there is something that I must tell you. While I was away in London, despairing over losing you, well I did not act in the way that I gentleman should. It has been eating me up inside not to tell you the truth. You see," here he looked away from me and studied yellow and white striped wallpaper of my chambers most intently, "a time, or two, or three, when we were apart, I enjoyed the company of paid women."
My breath made a sharp sound as I sucked in air. I felt I could not breath. I knew that the world could be an ugly place. I knew what had happened to Harriet and her sister, even though her sister was blameless. I knew Bingley could have visited Miss Watson's place when he took residence of Netherfield, had he been so inclined.
Charles took up my hand, stared into my eyes and said, "Believe me, Jane, I only thought of you and all I thought I had lost, but in doing so clung onto needing physical comfort. A friend suggested it might help me to get over you." He seemed to think this would excuse his behavior. I said nothing, I do not think I was capable of any sound then.
"I feel so much better now, having told you the truth. Believe me, although many of my friends see nothing wrong in taking a mistress or paying for occasional comfort, I will not do that again, now that we are married."
I remained silent, furiously thinking, wondering if Mr. Darcy was his friend that urged him to try such a source to get over me. I was so very angry that he had so little faith in what we had, in the words that we had exchanged that almost formed an understanding. But even as I seethed with anger, I kept my face as impassive as I could.
"Please, Jane," there was a little catch in his voice, a slight cracking. I could tell he was tormented by my lack of reaction. "Say that you understand, that you forgive me. You are my angel, sent to me from heaven."
I wondered to myself, What should a woman who was "goodness personified"do it such a situation? I knew with certainty that I was not such a person, but Charles did not know that. He did not really know the real me, the one who was just as resentful and broken as everyone else.
I took a deep breath and told him, "I forgive you."
He grabbed me tightly in a crushing hug, "Jane, you are too good. I do not deserve you." I was passive in his arms for a bit and then I tentatively rubbed his back. Apparently that was enough for him to believe my words and for him to think he was absolved. Soon enough he was asking if we might engage in some of the alternative activities my mother had suggested for a husband who had no wish to partake of the marital act while his wife bled upon him.
That day and the days that followed, I played the part of a dutiful, kind wife. Sometimes I even believed the act I was putting on.
Charles became convinced that the source of the unhappiness that I could not fully hide from him was because my mother was always invading Netherfield. I did not particularly like the frequency of her visits, but it was the betrayals from him that caused me to be downcast, not my mother. Still, I was willing to have Charles buy an estate in near Pemberley and so he did.
When Lizzy told me of the pleasure to be had in the marital bed, that a wife could have the same enjoyment as her husband, I really did not believe her and had no plan to ask for anything more from Charles. But then he also heard about this from Mr. Darcy and he insisted on trying to provide me with pleasure. It was nice to have him focus more on what I would enjoy than to have him simply think of his own pleasure, to do more than simply make sure I was sufficiently slick for his intrusion. But I never did reach the peak that Lizzy promised was possible. After it was clear that Charles would try every night until I did, I finally gave a loud moan and praised him excessively. The truth was that I could not forget myself, could not completely trust in just feeling, when his betrayals were still between us.
Later when Lizzy wanted to speak to me about the fruits of her advice, I lied to her. It was easy to pretend to be embarrassed and then to act as if her advice had done me a world of good. I suppose part of me would have wished to have a more open conversation with her, but I had no wish to share my torment with her (I had never shared with her that before Charles left Netherfield for London that we almost had an understanding, certainly never told her that he had consoled himself from my supposed indifference to him and my deficient family by dipping his stick in whores). I told her what she wanted to hear because it was easier and I did not want her pity. I wanted for her to think I had the relationship I had with Charles was at least equal to the one she had with "Fitz."
As time went on, Charles paid less and less attention to my pleasure, but I did not mind so much. By this time I was large with child and more than content to have him finish quickly so that I could get more sleep. He does not truly seem to care that I ask nothing of him when he visits my chambers. I have improved in my ability to pleasure him with my mouth and we only engage in the actual basket making perhaps three times a month. I am quite content to remain with only two children. I have no need to fear for my future and if I feign love more than I experience it, I shall at least always have a comfortable home. Is that not a fair exchange?
Still, when the Collinses came to Pemberley, I admit to feeling a bit jealous when Charlotte told me that despite thinking she would only gain a comfortable home that she found love and happiness instead. I still do not really see how she can feel that way about my ridiculous cousin, the one that Papa and Lizzy were always laughing about. And yet, he does seem to have changed; Charlotte must have been a marvelous influence upon him.
However, in my mind I had it far better than Lady Catherine, who had lost her husband, all her children, and finally her very home. But like Lizzy and Charlotte, as the years passed it became evident that Lady Catherine and Papa fancied each other. Tomorrow they are getting married and they seem to be in love.
Now it seems that my marriage is just a shabby blanket that seems plush from a distance while everyone around me has a down-stuffed quilt. Recently I have been wondering, Can I ever tear that wall down and just let myself be happy? Can I claim the life I wish for myself or is it too late?
