Thank you for all the love for the past chapter. The plan as I began writing was to sort out the Bingleys in this chapter and then have a future shot in lieu of an epilogue. However, as I wrote, Georgiana asked, "Laina, why is there only one chapter focused on me? You've told everyone else's story and it hardly seems fair. I acknowledged that she had a point, but went on to explain that there were other stories waiting in the queue and it was my intent to wrap up this story and a few mentions of her in this chapter and the next were likely all I could give her. She was so kind about the matter that I started to feel bad.

Chapter 27: Bingley's POV: Can I Trust Again?

It was nigh on two in the morning when my guests were finally sent home and I took myself to bed. While Mr. Cobb, Mr. Grubber and Mr. Sams were perhaps not the companions I would have selected earlier in my life, the advantage in their companionship is that they are ready and willing for entertainments as they are not bogged down with other matters when the work day is through. As long I am the person supplying the food or drink, they always have time for me.

While I recognize that perhaps I am buying their companionship, it does not bother me overmuch. I have sufficient funds to do ten times as much. The rents from the land and my investment in my cousin's business, deliver a profit that more than pays for all I could need and more, while adding to the principal. It is well worth it to spend money on them, to avoid being alone. Of the four of us, I am the only one with a wife, but it hardly counts when she does not want to spend time with me.

Mr. Cobb is a widower with no children who is more than ten years my senior. He is the third son of a landed gentleman but his eldest brother long ago succeeded to his father's property. He says that though he can well afford to marry again that the object of his dearest hopes is unobtainable. I have a certain suspicion that it is Miss Darcy that he fancies and he is certainly no eligible candidate for her. I doubt she even has noticed his existence.

Once my sister Caroline thought that I might be able to make a match with Miss Darcy after her come out, but although she finally had her curtsy to the queen last year, Miss Darcy seems uninterested in seeking a husband yet. She is quite devoted to her niece and I am certain she will dote on her nephew as well. I well understand why she does not want to leave the felicity of her current home, and with her lovely appearance and hefty dowry, she can well afford to wait; she will never be an ape leader.

I would not be surprised if she took an interest in a man in this very community, but there seems to be a dearth of rich, single men or first sons set to inherit a large estate. However, there is an estate for rent or sale; perhaps an eligible single man might take it and be in want of a wife.

Mr. Grubber has never married and says he gets along well enough without a wife. I suspect, though I have never discussed it with him or anyone else, that he might be a Molly as I have seen how he looks at Mr. Cobb when he thinks no one is observing.

Mr. Sams seems to have no desire to marry, the reason being that he does not like family life. He lives with his sister and her family and works the fields with his brother by marriage. He is always anxious to get out of the house and away from the crying babes.

On this particular occasion, our excuse for celebrating was the birth of the new Darcy heir. Many toasts were given and at first they were quite innocent. But as the night progressed and more alcohol was consumed, the toasts to my absent friend became more ribald and made more overt references to his virility. Mr. Cobbs declared, with a full glass raised far above his head, "To Mr. Darcy, who is most fortunate in his wife, and now much accomplished for his fine basket making!"

Mr. Sams added, "From seed to fine plant, may Mr. Darcy grow a fine garden instead of the rest of us."

Mr Grubber responded, "What do you wager that he will have another son in the next twelve month?"

Mr. Sams said, "If we are wagering as to a child in a year, I will place my money on Mrs. Collins. The vicar's wife has them at about that rate; that is a sure thing."

"Which is why I would never take such a bet," Mr. Grubber replied, shaking his head "no" so vigorously that his hair flapped around his ears.

"How about you, Bingley? When will Mrs. Bingley give you another? Is there a bun in her oven?" Mr. Cobb asked me. "She is a fine looking filly. If she were my wife, I would make her scream my name every night and get her belly full."

I said nothing in reply, hardly heard the comments the others added. I did my best to ignore the hollow feeling that I would likely never have another son or daughter myself.

I recalled how when my second child, Charlie, was born that while everyone was busy congratulating me on the new Master Bingley, I feared that now that my wife had provided me a male heir that she would likely seek to avoid future marital relations with me. While what we had before there was certainty she was with child was less than I wanted (how wonderful it would have been if Jane was wanton, seeking the delights Darcy had told me a wife could achieve), still I felt better in having her warm body beneath me than being left only the consolation of my hand as I thought of her. If only Charlie had been Charlene, she might be have been more willing to accept my attentions. Still, Charlie is a fine son and I certainly don't regret him.

While I celebrated my friend's and sister's child, who we spoke of by his role rather than his name (as Jane said she had heard nothing about what his name was to be), I forced myself to be of good cheer rather than wallow in regret. I have found that being disguised always helps prevent me from dwelling on that which I cannot change. Therefore, to keep myself distracted from my lovely, though still so unattainable, Jane, as per usual I drank more than I ought.

When I finally took myself off to bed, I felt pleasantly warm and ready to slumber. My valet, McKinley, was waiting for me and quickly helped me divest myself of clothing and pull on my night shirt so I could get myself to bed. Only a minute or so had passed from me sending him off through the servant's and I had already blown out my candle and settled myself for sleep when I heard the loud creak of a door that most certainly needed oiling.

I roused a bit, murmured, "McKinley did you forget something?" but then in looking over at the servant's door found it still closed.

My eyes darted over toward the door that but rarely opened and saw my wife there, still holding the knob, dressed in a light blue nightgown (which looked silver in the dim light) and matching wrapper, slippers upon her feet and her hair pulled back in a braid. Jane was frozen as if still trying to determine whether she should enter or not.

I felt a sudden anger. How dare she come now to yell at me, for that was what I expected her to do. But when Jane said nothing for several long minutes, I sluggishly concluded that she had something else on her mind.

"What is it?" I asked, trying to gentle my voice and not shout. "It is not Thursday or Monday, so I daresay you are not here to take pity on me, unless perhaps you have decided you sister's successful birth merits celebrating with a roll in the hay. If that's what you want, I regret I am not up for it." Yet even as I denied my capacity (strong drink tended to render my yard as small as plunging into cold water for a swim), I felt a stirring in my loins for my wife was entering my chamber while dressed in her night clothes and though her assets were well concealed I knew they were there, could not unsee what had been revealed before, which was a similar pink to her lips.

"I wish to speak to you, husband." I motioned her in and sat up. As I did, I felt as if I were upon a boat in the ocean; everything seemed to be bucking and swaying and what I had drunk before seemed to be sloshing around. I held myself still for a few moments and my discomfort decreased.

"What is it you wish to talk about and why cannot it wait until morning?" I heard a certain crossness in my voice and half expected her to go away. Instead she sat upon the bed, causing the mattress to sway just enough to make me feel at sea again.

Suddenly, I felt bile rising up and turned just in time to heave over the near side, the side she was currently occupying. She seemed to anticipate that I would cast up my accounts as she began to draw her legs away, but she was not quick enough to avoid it all. I watched liquid shoot out of my mouth, drenching a fine oriental rug, a few drops staining her slippers and the hem of her wrapper.

A vindictive part of me reveled in the fact that Jane was marked. However, as if in retribution for my mean thoughts, the stench and flavor in my mouth caused my heaving to return again and again until there was nothing left to expel. Still my body did not seem to know and I retched for some minutes after there was nothing left but a bit of spit.

During this time, I was vaguely aware of Jane rising from the bed and concluded that she was leaving me to reap what I had sown. I recalled the many times she had berated me about my overindulgence and spared me no compassion. But instead as I collapsed back down upon the bed, I heard her pour water and a few moments later she was offering me my stoneware cup from the other side of the bed.

"Swish and spit," Jane instructed, holding a basin before me. I brought the cup to my lips and followed her instructions. It felt good to have her tend to me as she might have one of the children, as she had when Franny had scarlet fever six months ago. When I had been ill myself with that same disease within days of Fran, while Jane had done her duty and checked on me, it was my valet and others who cared for me.

I remembered one day in my illness when I was particularly low and in my fever and while in a dreamlike state, supposing that I had never returned to Netherfield, called out, "Jane, Jane."

Jane was fetched and came to my bedside. I reached out for her and she pulled back and away. "Jane, I came back," I declared, in my fevered state trying to reassure her. It seemed to me that even then she did not see me.

I was roused to a better awareness by her words, but afterwards I wished I had not been. "Yes," she responded, clenching her jaw for a moment before adding, "If only you had stayed away or would go away now, I might have been, might now, be happy." Her eyes grew wide and her hand flew to cover her mouth, as if to stuff her words back inside. Immediately she said, "I did not mean it, truly."

I closed my eyes and, though it hurt to move, rolled away from her. I heard her steps and the opening and closing of the door as she left. My agony from my illness, which was beginning to fade, was supplanted by a mental anguish that far exceeded it. When I was quite sure she was far away, I let the tears fall down my face, but felt no relief.

Later, when McKinley came to tend to me, he wiped away my drying years with a wet cloth. I let my lids drift down again as I did not want to see the pity in his face again. I heard pouring and stirring, and then he propped me up, holding a cup to my lips. I took a sip and knew that rather than just giving me a tincture of willow bark, he had added drops of laudanum. The tell-tale bitter taste was proof enough in my tongue.

As I struggled to drink it down, McKinley told me, in a slightly chiding tone, "You should have told me about your distress; there is no need for you to suffer such pain."

As I lay there those months earlier, waiting for sleep to claim me, I thought about how physical distress was much easier to bear than the pain of having a wife who hated me. The next morning it was evident that my body was determined to become well again, with or without my consent.

Now, having Jane tend to me felt like some kind of trick. Having done my best to harden my heart, I was determined not to be weak again.

She took the cup and basin away and returned with a wet flannel. As she leaned forward as if to wipe my face, I grabbed the cloth from her and cleaned my face myself. "That is quite enough," I told her. "I have no wish to be in your debt." Yet contrarily enough I handed the cloth back to her to dispose of.

Jane's forehead wrinkled in what appeared to be confusion as she idly folded up the cloth; her eyes on the cloth still, she asked me, "Is not a wife to tend a husband?"

I responded, "I want nothing from you that is done of mere obligation. Leave me be, woman. Go back to your own room and let me sleep. Tomorrow is soon enough for whatever you might want."

Jane seemed to consider the matter for a few moments as she bent down and scrubbed at the stain upon her hem, slippers and ankles. I could not help but strain to try to see the bit of her breast exposed from her bending down. After she stood up, she must have seen something of the lasciviousness in my gaze, for she pulled her blue wrapper more tightly around herself. She must have been attempting to conceal her dipping neckline better, but unbeknownst to her it only highlighted her curves. A moment later, she and began to walk away, rounding the end of my bed to get to the connecting door. However, after she opened the door (which screeched just as loudly as before), she paused and lingered, turning back around.

"Mr. Bingley, on the morning when my father wed Lady Catherine, were you in earnest when you told me that you had never dishonored our wedding vows? I have long thought that if you did not receive ample satisfaction from me that you would seek it elsewhere and you are often gone from our home in the evenings."

I was incensed by her question. I had certainly not lied to her about my activities. Often I entertained my friends at the inn and occasionally Mr. Cobb hosted us all, but I had no wife in watercolors waiting for me. However, I tried to dampen my emotions, to see matters from her perspective, realizing I never had particularly told her where I was going or what I was doing, so perhaps she might be excused for thinking the worst.

"I have not lied to you. I have no mistress, have not kept company with any light-skirt. I have kept my vows." I decided to ask her what I had asked her on that morning, "Why can you not forgive me for how I erred before we married?" Before she could make a reply, I added, "Yes, it was badly done, but you have been punishing me for it ever since, acting deliberately to harm me. Do you know how much it torments me to be married to you, Jane, but have none of your heart?"

Jane looked down and away from me. I saw her bite her bottom lip and scrunch up her brow as she twisted one of her ankles, rotating the lifted heel of her slipper back and forth. She slowly looked back in my direction, meeting me eyes before she softly said, "I have been punishing you for so long, I hardly know how to do anything different, but it doesn't solve anything. It just makes us miserable. I have wronged you, I know I have. Could you ever forgive me? Tell me, is it too late to mend what is broken?"

Whatever expectations I had for what she might say, Jane overthrew completely with those words.

I felt a sudden warmth flood through me, hope. I no longer wished for her to leave me alone, but feared her going before I could say whatever I needed to say and lose this opportunity forever. These thoughts and realizations flooded through me in just a moment and I lept from the bed to reach her side. This was an error, of course, as in my haste I forgot upon the mess upon the rug.

Before I could even understand what was happening, I slipped in my sick and found myself flung upon the floor, upon my elbows and knees, my feet coated in my own sick. Still, I struggled to gain my feet even as I felt darkness threaten my vision. I knew I needed to get to Jane, to tell her . . . what I was not sure of, but I knew it was tremendously important.

Despite my best efforts, I was only able to straighten on my knees before I had to collapse back down on my bum fiddle which lived up to its name with the issuance of ars musica. Still, all I knew was that I needed to get to Jane, before she changed her mind. Even with my vision still greying on the edges, as I could not trust myself to stand, I crawled toward her on my hands and knees before I had to pause again with dry heaves.

All my body wanted to do was to collapse right there, but I could see a vague form that I believed to be Jane by the door and I resumed my crawling once more. When I reached her, I grabbed her slippered feet with my hands, desperate to keep her from leaving. Undoubtedly I was in the most pitiful, disgusting position that she had ever beheld.

I slowly lifted my head until I was gazing at her middle. Somehow I could not make my head and eyes turn heavenward enough to see her face. Jane bent down toward me and slid her hand under my chin, until I was looking at her.

I saw no disgust or pity. Instead Jane's eyes were wide, her mouth forming a small "o". She closed her mouth and swallowed thickly. Then her lips parted and she said slowly, repeating her earlier question, a question I had never answered, I realized as soon as she asked it, "Can you forgive me?"

"Yes, Jane. Can you forgive me?"

She began nodding and tears burst from her eyes. A moment later I found both of us sitting on the floor, our arms wrapped around the other. "Jane, please do not cry," I told her, even as tears began to fall down my face as well. I really did not understand why she was crying, or why I had joined her.

We sat on the floor for a long time. However, finally she asked, "Charles, do you think you may walk now? Your chambers smell quite terrible."

"And what is your solution?" I asked, hoping she did not want me to summon McKinley at such a late hour.

"I was hoping you might wish to come to my chambers." The look she gave me was intense and sincere.

In answer, I began to stand, but had to steady myself by leaning against the wall. Jane stood up as well and grabbed me by the arm, leading me into her room. The yellow and white stripped wallpaper was just as it had always been, but the room had a warmth to it, not a physical warmth, but a happiness warmth that I had never felt before. Although it smelled better inside, soon enough I noticed that my nightshirt still had the dregs of half-dried vomit upon its lower half and indeed my feet were still damp with it, too.

Jane must have noticed the same for she said, "Let us get that nightshirt off of you and get you clean."

Before I had made any reply, she was already drawing it over my head, her hands caressing my sides as she slid it off. She opened the connecting door again and tossed my nightshirt inside. Then she gestured for me to sit down upon her bed.

Seeing me bare, she blushed a bit and quickly retrieved a blanket which she placed upon my lap. As I sat, she cleansed my legs and feet with a flannel in foaming with soap she had rubbed upon it from a bar. It was not the most masculine of scents, rather it smelled of lavender and other herbs. However, it was lovely just to sit and feel her hands upon my feet. At that moment, I did not feel desire, but rather than I was well loved, in having her serve me.

As Jane washed my feet, something felt familiar about what was occurring. Unbidden, an image rose in my head about how Jesus washed his disciples feet.

As soon as she finished, I bid her, "Leave the flannel and basin there; come and sit." To avoid embarrassing her, I wrapped the blanket around my waist when I stood up. She sat where I had been and then, noticing some stains upon her wrapper, nightgown, ankles and slippers I asked, "Do you not need to change as well?"

I expected her to change in her dressing room, but instead she stood up, kicked off her slippers, untied her wrapper and, while staring at me, shrugged out of it and threw it to the far side of the room. Her nightgown was soon drawn off of her as well, joining the pile. Then she sat back down on the bed, blushing while making no attempt to cover herself.

I sat back down upon the floor and tried my best to focus all of my attention on the task before me rather than be distracted by my angel who for once was baring all her glory for me. I proceeded to wash her feet and ankles as she had mine. I noted her graceful ankles, so delicate that I could almost close my hands around them. They were soft with only fine blonde hairs and her left ankle had one dark brown but flat mole on the outside. I noted her pale tiny feet with well formed digits which splayed out a bit. her feet and toes had no hair but for two blonde hairs upon each big toe. I washed her feet slowly, lovingly, reverently until all trace of the acidic smell was gone and there was only lilac, herbs and skin. Then I dried them off with the edge of the blanket that was wrapped around me.

When I was finished, I knew not what to do. I longed to kiss her feet, to kiss up her legs to their juncture, to press myself into her and to have her wrap her arms and legs about me. It seemed to me that Jane might now welcome me to her bed, and while this was certainly tempting, I felt there was much more to be discussed, when I was clear-headed and not when I was still half-foxed. I did not want to make the mistake of thinking that a physical union might solve everything. The last thing I wished to do was to go back to my own bed, but neither did I feel I belonged right then in hers.