Chapter 23: Mr. Bingley's POV: If Only She Would Scream At Me

On the morning when Mr. Bennet was to wed Lady Catherine, I had all the symptoms of my over indulgence at the stag party. My head pounded, the light burned my eyes and increased my discomfort, my mouth was filled with my own sour bile which I quickly swallowed down into my rolling stomach which momentarily acted as if it might rebel but instead expelled a loud sour burp. With all of these symptoms, I felt very ill indeed and the last thing I wished to was to get up, be dressed, walk around, deal with a jarring carriage ride, sit on a hard pew and try to stay awake during a wedding ceremony conducted by Mr. Collins. When my valet attempted to get me to rise I refused, pulling the covers over my head to block out the offensive light.

Soon thereafter my wife appeared as I knew she would. Jane pulled the counterpane down until my face was revealed and said simply, "It is time to get up to attend the wedding."

I was rather grumpy and gave into my desire to be antagonistic. "I will not attend! I refuse. There is no need; Jane, you cannot require it of me. They are perfectly capable of getting married without me."

"Still, I would have my husband attend with me," she countered. Her voice grated on my sensitive ears and I squinted at her for it was far too bright. I searched her visage for some emotion. While there were at least little hints that she was annoyed, she was very controlled, as she always is. I noted that she was dressed in a yellow gown, apparently already ready to depart.

If Jane had been angry, I might have resisted more, but as it was I flung back the bedding and arose. As the previous night I arrived long after my valet was abed and had no desire to summon him to remove the clothing upon which I had cast up my accounts when the carriage ride proved to be rougher than my stomach could endure, I had done no more than shed the offensive clothing and collapsed.

I took a perverse pleasure in forcing my wife to see me in all my glory (although my glory was not as impressive as it usually was first thing in the morning, drinking too much tends to counter its natural inclinations). She gasped and covered her mouth with her hand. I saw her eyes widen, a blush suffuse that part of her face I could see, and she took a step back. And as unlikely as it was while still suffering from my affliction, my member sprang forth. She quickly averted her eyes.

I thought back to all our marital interactions. Jane was very shy on our wedding night, and so I remained in my nightshirt and she remained in her nightgown. It felt like she more endured my touch than enjoyed it that first night for all that she was a dutiful wife. In the morning after I was already dressed, I returned and insisted she remove her nightgown so that I could look at her, but she still tried to conceal herself until I insisted.

Jane was so very lovely, especially while blushing. Every part of her was pleasing to me, from her light pink nipples, to her slim ankles. Although I had merely meant to look, to see what I had long wished to see revealed, to see if it matched my imagination, I found my body stirring once again. I confess that I took her again with very little preparation while she tried her best to avoid looking at me, first looking as far up as she could so as to not spy me, and then shutting her eyes as I plucked at her breasts.

That was the last time I really saw all of Jane. She was very modest and even as time went on she always held the counterpane over us and insisted that all the candles be blown out. It seemed she did not wish to either see me or for me to see her during our interactions. I became more familiar with her form by touch than sight. I treasured the little glimpses I saw, though they were rare.

Our marital interactions gradually improved in those first few days and if she did not delight in my taking my pleasure of her in the same way and degree as I did, she at least seemed to relish being held afterwards. I suspected, however, that Jane held back. That something was preventing her from being willing to enjoy our joinings. While I had no difficulty in performing despite her diffidence, to claim again and again that which finally belonged to me, I wondered whether somehow she knew what I had done. Likely that was irrational, but still it tormented me. I did not wish to have secrets from her.

Impulsively I decided to tell her, after she explained about her monthlies. She was embarrassed but still she had told me what she needed to tell me. I wished that I could be as honest as she. I was laying beside her in her bed, Jane in her nightgown and me still fully dressed. My dear Jane was nestled against me, her back against my chest as I lightly stroked her arm.

I fumbled my words, did not say it as I should have said it. "Dear Jane, there is something I must tell you. While I was away in London, despairing over losing you, well I did not act in the way that a gentleman should." Jane turned over and toward me. She slid her hand along my face. I was not sure how I could tell her, but I continued, "It has been eating me up inside, not telling you the truth. You see . . ." I had to look away, there was no other way I could tell her " . . . a time, or two, or three when we were apart, I enjoyed the company of paid women."

There were other things I should have said. I should have told her that I was wrong to act as I did, begged for her forgiveness and told her how much I loved her. I should have told her that I was done letting other people tell me how to act, that I had learned my lesson and would not be weak again.

Jane pulled herself from my embrace and got up out of her bed. She turned to look at me, and by the light through the curtain I could see that her eyes were wide, her posture stiff with her arms tightly crossed over her chest, hands gripping the opposite upper arms. Then she bent forward a little, trembling, and began gasping like a dying fish on the bottom of a boat. It was clear that she had no prior idea about what I had done.

I arose myself, wishing to comfort her, to take her in my arms. Jane backed away from me until her back was against a wall. I plucked her outer hand from her shoulder with my hand. I heard myself say, "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." I know my words were all wrong, were self-indulgent, but still I continued on. "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."

Her silence was tormenting me. I begged her, "Please, Jane, say that you understand, that you forgive me. You are my angel, sent to me from heaven."

There was such an uncertainty in her eyes, but finally she responded, "I forgive you."

I was not sure if she meant it, but I grabbed her in my arms and held her very tightly. She stayed stiff in my arms but did not resist my embrace. I told her, and I meant what I said, "Jane, you are too good. I do not deserve you."

For a long time, it was only me hugging her. While she had relaxed somewhat, she remained passive. Finally she rubbed my back a bit.

I did not think I was truly forgiven, but I was desperate for some normality. I led her back to her bed and climbed in beside her and pulled her bedding over us.

She turned away from me, lying on her side. She was well mannered enough not to tell me to leave, but everything in how she was acting, told me that she wanted me to go.

I did not want to leave her upset; I wanted to talk it out, to hear her yell and scream at me and then receive her true forgiveness. However, I was not brave in that moment and so said, "Good night Jane," arose and went back to my own room to prepare for bed. Now in looking back upon it, clearly I was mistaken to leave. If only I could have gotten her to talk to me!

I saw Jane at breakfast that morning and she was as pleasant as always. She showed no signs of her previous distress. The only obvious difference was that never once did she call me Charles, I was now just Mr. Bingley. I decided to leave it be.

I visited her chambers again two nights hence. I begged her to touch me and she allowed me to move her hand over my member, to show her what I desired. She touched me in a tentative manner. While she was accommodating she was not particularly warm, but eventually she was able to give me a release.

Afterwards, when I tried to hold her, she wiggled a little bit away and I had to shimmy myself up to her. Jane let me hold her, made no complaint. I thought that perhaps she was still angry, but that it might take her a while to forgive me, but nothing was ever the same after that. She allowed me my rights but gave nothing of herself beyond that.

During the day, Jane was diligent in fulfilling her duties as the mistress. She ran the house, planned the meals, dealt with the household staff, arranged schemes to satisfy our guests. If sometimes I wished she was less busy, that she might have more time for me, I could not fault how well she saw to everything, how kind she always was to Caroline.

When Darcy told me about how I could please my wife, I was eager to see if this might help. After kissing her for a long time while stroking her dairy through the gown, I pulled her gown up high enough that I might touch her between her legs. While she made no sounds of delight, I could hear her breathing grow faster, could feel how wet she had become. After a good long time of this, I was feeling a burning in my groin, a heady almost overwhelming desire to plunge into her waters. I knew I had to resist in order to give her the pleasure she richly deserved. I burrowed under the covers, tracing my way up her thighs to her apex where I proceeded to kiss, and suck and fondle, until my face and fingers were drenched. I was terribly hot under there and I could barely breath, but I was sensible that her normal modesty would not allow me to see her uncovered.

Although Jane shuddered a time or two (with pleasure I thought), she still made no sound, did nothing to encourage my plundering. I so wished to give her that ultimate pleasure, but it did not seem achievable, at least not then. Finally, when I felt quite lightheaded and liable to faint, I withdrew my head from down below and climbed upon her. I slid so easily upon the path prepared for me and to my great satisfaction she wrapped her legs around me, pulling me still deeper into her depths. I felt such a great joy, much deeper than mere physical satisfaction, and in just a few strokes gave into my need. I did not want to leave her, even after I softened, but finally withdrew. I had such hope then that things would be different. I held her most of that night, dosing intermittently, anxious to see her face at dawn.

Whatever I had hoped to see in her face in the morning, it was not there. She was still stiff and impassive.

While that first evening was good, I was determined to give Jane more. Every night that week I visited her and sought to give her pleasure. She never told me what she liked best, but she seemed to enjoy my ministrations.

On Saturday, I unbuttoned enough buttons from the neckline down her chest to take suck, while stroking her below. I had only done this for a few minutes, had hardly gotten started, when she gave a deep moan and told me, "That was wonderful. You have given me pleasure I never knew I could feel."

"Ultimate pleasure?" I asked her.

Jane's face was turned away from me and I could just see the long column of her neck, the snaking cord of her blonde braid. I was not sure if she was embarrassed or trying to hide how she was feeling. She declared, "Yes, very much so."

It seemed too good to be true. I felt perhaps it was because when I climbed a top her and slid into her depths she was less wet than before. However, I tried to push my doubt aside, reasoning that the female body was still very much a mystery to me. That night I stayed in her bed and she never pulled away.

When morning finally came, I could not resist kissing along her face and neck. It seemed to me, at least in her sleeping state that she was welcoming my attentions. To my regret I noted that sometime during the night she had refastened her buttons, but I still drew my hand along her clothed bosom and she leaned toward me. I could not resist capturing her lips with mine and she moaned into our kiss, let my tongue sweep inside. I was uncaring that her breath was stale, for she was responding to me. I wanted to rouse the passion I felt she was experiencing the night before, to see if I could give her true satisfaction again. But when she fully roused, she pulled away from me and said, "Mr. Bingley, my maid will be here soon. It would be well if you went back to your own bed."

I regretfully left. In the nights that followed when I visited her bed, she urged me upon her before I felt she had gained much satisfaction at all. She seemed more interested in my finishing and then leaving her alone. She had begun telling me, "I have trouble sleeping when you remain here."

One evening when I regained my own room perhaps only fifteen minutes after I had crept into her bed, I hid myself in my own bed and hot, angry tears mingled with tears of heartbreak. I sobbed, I moaned. I whispered into my pillow, "How can my beloved wife, my darling Jane, be so indifferent to me? Why cannot she want me as I want her, why does she not understand how much I love her, how much I simply want to hold her? Were Darcy and my sisters right all along, does she care nothing for me?"

I did not want our marriage undone, but I wanted her love, which had never seemed more impossible than it did just then. I recalled how I had tried so many times to show her how I felt, giving her generous pin money, buying her presents, even moving to be closer to her beloved sister and away from her pestering mother. It was not that she did not notice such things. She would say, usually in front of other people, "Mr. Bingley you are very good to me" or "Mr. Bingley, why you certainly take your husbandly responsibilities most seriously." But her heart did not seem to be touched no matter what I did.

When it was evident that Jane was with child as confirmed by the midwife, she told me with what seemed to be a certain amount of satisfaction, "Mr. Bingley, I have done my duty to you. I shall not turn you away but neither need you visit me." She was true to her word and let me have what I wanted (which I tried to limit as that was evidently her preference). I still desired her greatly, even when she was large with child, while she remained indifferent.

After Franny was born I took a great deal of satisfaction in seeing how dearly my wife adored her, but I also felt a sort of envy that my daughter earned so many smiles, such affection from my wife. I was jealous of her time being spent with my daughter instead of me.

When the midwife told us we could resume our normal marital activities, Jane told me, "I am ready to fulfill all my responsibilities. Mr. Bingley, I know you want a son and I shall do my best to see that you have one no matter how many children it may take to get him. I only hope it does not require half a dozen children." While I cannot say she was exactly more eager for my touch, she occasionally placed her arms around me during the act or ruffled her hands through my hair. When I held her afterwards she might tell me, "I hope your efforts have born fruit. I should like to have another child, to give you the son every man deserves."

But after our son was born and she was again fit for marital intimacies, Jane said, "I have done what was required. I see no need for more children. In truth, I would prefer sleep to trying to obtain more."

I responded, "Did you not like having four sisters? I was glad to have my sisters, but I would have liked to have a brother also."

Jane replied, "I shall never deny you your rights and another child might come eventually, but I hardly think the same efforts are required now that you have son."

"What are you saying, do you wish to schedule our interactions?" I badly wanted her to say "no" but that was not her reply.

"Yes, it would be nice to know when to expect you. Mr. Bingley, what is the minimum which would be enough for you? Can you limit yourself to coming to visit me once a week?" She sounded so cold when she said that.

"That would be rather difficult," I told her. I did not want to have to toss off myself. "But I suppose twice a week might suffice."

Before I knew it, we had worked out a schedule. A schedule! And when I did visit her, often she told me she wanted to satisfy me with her mouth rather than where I would have rather been. She always closed her eyes before she sought me out under the covers. I had the sense that she found this easier, to not have me touch her, to not let me try to give her pleasure. This was never how I thought it would be.

Perhaps I was emboldened by my overindulgence during the stag party, but that morning I had no compunction in showing Jane my bits or in showing her my desire. I told her, emotion thick on my tongue, "Jane, I hoped I would drink so much that no one could rouse me this morning. The last thing I want to do is to attend a wedding, to see other people that might be happy, to see all that I thought I would have but yet somehow lost. Why can you not forgive me for how I erred? It happened years ago and I have never dishonored our wedding vows. I was not a strong man, but I have tried to do better. Did you feel so little for me when you married me that one mistake could wipe it all away?"

For a moment, I thought that Jane might answer me, might telling me truthfully what she was thinking. Her pink lips separated a bit (the tone of them always reminded me of her seldom glimpsed nipples) but had not yet begun to form a word. But then she exerted control from well within her and carefully closed her mouth.

There was silence for several seconds and then Jane opened her lips up again and spoke. Her words, as they usually are, were gentle. "Mr. Bingley, it is evident you are overwrought. You may stay abed. I will make your excuses and pass along your regards."

Jane turned quickly and the edge of her yellow skirt swept against one my my ankles as she brushed past me and left my room for hers through the connecting door.

I felt myself sway and sat heavily upon the bed. I was undecided as to what I should do. But the effort of getting ready and going to attend the wedding seemed too much if she did not want my presence anymore. So instead I lay back down and stared at the wallpaper until eventually I fell back asleep.