Well, alas, I am not finished with this story yet (although perhaps if you are really enjoying it you will rejoice in that fact, but I want to finish so that I can take up other half-finished stories). I keep thinking I am very close to done but . . . I am done predicting anything.
Chapter 32: Mrs. Bingley's POV: Playing Matchmaker
Three days after we all dined together at Pemberley, Mr. Churchill came to our house for dinner. It was just him, my husband, Mr. Cobb and me. Mr. Churchill spoke more than he had at Pemberley, and I felt some pleasure that he was feeling more at ease in our presence.
I was longing to ask Mr. Churchill what he thought of our Georgiana. I had seen how he looked at her, saw how when she played the piano forte his focus was entirely on her. I felt he had been struck with Cupid's golden arrow, but was unwilling to admit it yet. I feared scaring Mr. Churchill off any further association with Georgiana if I so much as mentioned her name, but at the same time I longed to encourage him toward her.
From what I understand, men do not wish to be hunted, prefer to chose and obtain their prize themselves. Any interference, no matter how kindly meant might cause him to be struck by a leaden arrow instead, to be repulsed rather than charmed. I would have to trust that if it was meant to be he would figure it out in his own time.
Although I was determined not to interfere, at least not in a way that Mr. Churchill could possibly take note of, still I wanted to do something and believed I knew just what it should be. When next they were in company again at Pemberley, I would certainly suggest to Georgiana (if I could determine in advance that she was similarly inclined toward him) that she should play her harp.
The sight of Georgiana playing the harp is quite different from when she is at the piano forte. When plays the piano forte, mostly only her arms, hands and fingers move and anyone's view of her is partially blocked by the instrument. When she is at the harp, the strings do not obscure anything, there is an almost complete view of all of her, and her whole body twists and sways as she plucks the strings. She becomes so absorbed in what she is doing that she is quite oblivious if she shows an ankle, or if in bending to pluck a far string, the shadows or curves which are normally well concealed below the neckline of her dress might be momentarily revealed. Oh, and her face, the expressions she makes when the music is being played just right, well they are the like to someone eating something delightful, perhaps a tea cake, perhaps a choice nibble of fruit. If Mr. Churchill could but see Georgiana play the harp, it might spur him on to taking further action, even just speaking with her.
Nothing of note happened at the dinner at our house, but afterwards when the men rejoined me, Mr. Churchill beheld our instrument with a mournful look. I wondered if he was missing the playing of music or thinking about one particular player.
None of us played the piano forte, but a home of our grandeur was certainly expected to possess one. We had hope that one day beautiful music might pour forth from our sadly neglected instrument, but perhaps we were too optimistic in such a hope. My daughter, although young was infrequently instructed in the most basic of ways by Lizzy who assured us that indeed she might learn to play it someday. Other than that, our piano forte was only played during those rare times that my husband's sisters visited.
The one and only time that Caroline had played upon it, she pronounced "It pains me to tell you this, but this is clearly an instrument of inferior quality, much below I am accustomed to playing." When Charles exclaimed that it was the best one in the shop, she gave him a pitying look and explained, "No one around here would have a good instrument and I do not doubt that someone might have taken advantage of your good nature to sell you what they needed gone. You should have gone to London for a proper piano forte or better yet had me pick it out for you."
I had wondered in the years since (fortunately Caroline had only visited twice since gaining a husband and it was based upon her complaints regarding us lacking a piano forte on her first visit that had prompted us to buy one before the second) whether indeed it was a poor instrument. Naturally, no instrument would compare to what Mr. Darcy bought for his beloved sister, but Lizzy had called it a good instrument. But once it was purchased, she was unlikely to decry it to us.
I could not help but recall how Papa declared we were too accommodating and that our servants would cheat us. Had the vendor of the piano forte indeed cheated Charles?
Charles, apparently not having the sense to leave things alone regarding any possible interest of Mr. Churchill in Georgiana, or possessing of more bravery from his association of the man than I did, said to Mr. Churchill "I do hope our Franny learns to play, although I have no hope she could ever play with the natural facility of Darcy's sister."
I noted then that Mr. Cobb, too, turned to gaze at the unoccupied instrument with a look akin to Mr. Churchill's. Mr. Cobb responded in voice I fancied expressed longing as well as quiet desperation, "Miss Darcy is a fine woman to be sure. I know I look far too high to do more than admire her from afar, but if I had the means to win her, I certainly would. I only have heard her play one time, but the sound was all that was pure and good and her fingers skipped so nimbly over the keys that I could not begin to imagine how any could be her equal in ability.
"I hear Miss Darcy is an even more delightful a player with the harp. A man would have all he needed if he could take her to wife and but hear her play for him. Well besides what he could have with her afterwards, when they retired for the night and . . . "
I gave Mr. Cobb a sharp look and he fell silent, respecting that the pleasures of the flesh which I imagine men speak to each other about, should not be discussed before the gentler sex, and certainly not me, who is family to her family. Not another word was spoken of Georgiana that night, although I thought it likely that she haunted both Mr. Churchill's and Mr. Cobb's thoughts.
After that night, Mr. Churchill began to dine with us about once a week and I was always glad to welcome him to our table. Although Mr. Churchill is a rather stoic man, the more time he spent in the company of my husband and me, the more I felt I understood him. He reminds me of Mr. Darcy a bit, more as he was in Hertfordshire when Charles first leased Netherfield, than as he is now.
I have the sense that rather than coming to Derbyshire simply for pleasure or diversion, Mr. Churchill fled here in an attempt to use it as a refuge. Why else would he come here? He did not know anyone when he first arrived and made no calls himself.
But I dare to think we are friends now, or at least my husband is friends with him. I have done my best to encourage this relationship. Mr. Churchill is a much superior companion to my husband when compared with Mr. Cobb, Mr. Grubber or Mr. Sams.
Mr. Cobb is not so bad and for the most part I do not begrudge my husband wishing to invite him to our table on occasion; after all, Mr. Cobb by birth is a member of the gentry, even if he did have to take up employment as a steward. In truth, as he is a single gentleman (like Mr. Churchill) it makes a certain amount of sense that he should wish to be at our table rather than dine alone.
Mr. Grubber and Mr. Sams, on the other hand, should have never dined with us. By formerly inviting them to our home and forcing me to host them, my husband dishonored me (but since our reconciliation, he has seen the error of such action, has refrained from being in their company much and no longer over indulges in strong drink). They are our tenants and having tenants dine with the master is simply a thing that is not done. While tenants might benefit from our largess, be the recipients of the bounty of the estate on occasion, the separation of our classes makes good sense. Why even my mother, God rest her soul, would not have dined with the likes of them, nor would Aunt Philips either.
Mr. Sams, in particular, is one I would have never welcomed in our home if Charles had ever deigned to asked me, for Mr. Sams never looks fit for company. While he should have been wearing his best to dine with us, the opposite seemed true, or at least he made no effort to be properly dressed.
When I have seen him about, his clothes have always been caked with mud and manure from his work in the fields and no one seems to brush them off or launder them. And the smell that emanates from him is almost enough to choke me; it must be worse or at least equal to what might cling to the night soil men in London. In breathing the air around him, I have doubted whether he has bathed in the past month.
While I do not expect our tenants to bathe as often as we do (if I had to carry water for myself, some simple daily ablutions with the pitcher water in the bowl would suffice, with perhaps a bath sharing the water with the rest of my family once a week), I do expect a certain level of cleanliness, of pride in dress, in anyone.
Although Mr. Grubber keeps himself much cleaner that Mr. Sams, he always seemed to overindulge, drinking far too much wine with dinner, and far too many spirits afterwards. If the men joined me after the separation, he would list when walking, like a sailor suddenly put to land, garble and slur his words.
Certainly I understood that my husband had a need for male companionship, but I could never understand why he sought it with those who were (and ever more would be) decidedly beneath us in every regard: status, cleanliness, discernment, understanding. I have always known that I am less intelligent than Elizabeth, that Charles is less intelligent than Mr. Darcy, but in picking such disreputable companions (although at least they were not common criminals) he acted as if he had no sense at all.
It was as if he wished everyone to remember he was born of a father in trade and could not rise above his roots. While, perhaps, he desired to punish me with their companionship, how could Charles not understand that when he did not behave as a proper master of an estate that our son's status, our daughter's too, could thereby be diminished?
I was grateful that following our rapprochement that Charles seemed to think better of the company of Mr. Grubber and Mr. Sams. He was more often at home and seemed to still be trying to prove himself to me, although I cannot say I made it easy for him.
Although we had reconciled somewhat, asked each other for forgiveness and shared a bed most nights, old habits are hard to change. I had trouble sharing with Charles what I was thinking and feeling; although I no longer thought the worst of him, I also could not return to the innocent Jane of old.
My husband was someone I knew I should love, who I tried to act as if I loved, who I probably did love in my own way, but I did not feel the depth of feeling I knew was expected of me. While our engagement in certain marital duties was more frequent, and my enjoyment of his efforts had certainly improved (I had begun to offer hints regarding what felt nice and what did not and he tried to oblige me), our marriage seemed but a shadow of what could have been.
When it was just the two of us, this imitation of marriage seemed sufficient (for it was so much more than what it was before), but compared to what I saw displayed between the Collinses, the Darcys and even my father and Lady Catherine, it was still not enough. Not that I would not take the additional crumbs of happiness from knowing that my husband had no other, that he loved only me.
For him, it seemed easier somehow, as if my conduct over the years had not crushed all Charles's depth of feeling. He seemed most eager to please me in all things. I wished to be his equal in feeling, but I did not know how to do it. I had pondered seeking Lady Catherine's advice again, but remembering our conversation before, felt a certain measure of embarrassment about how I had called her "Mama" and cried in her arms.
One evening when I was in bed following a dinner we had shared with Mr. Churchill (I had excused myself directly from further company as the meal was ending as I was feeling poorly, having not slept well the night before), I awoke when Charles opened the communicating door between our chambers (which while now well oiled still had a distinctive squeak), a lit oil lamp in hand illuminating himself (in his night shirt) and the room in long shadows. He hissed, "Are you awake, Jane?"
"I am now," I told him, sliding to one side of my bed to welcome him in. He set down the lamp on a side table, pulled back the covers and climbed in next to me. Then he leaned over and blew the light out.
I expected him to wrap his arms around me, kiss me or otherwise signal that he wished to engage in the act, but instead he simply lay there silent and still. I had gotten just enough sleep that I could not instantly descend into slumber again and nothing about him made me think he had fallen asleep.
I asked, "Why are you here? Is something wrong?"
"Must I have a reason? Mostly I just wished to be near you, even if you do not feel the same."
I heard the hurt in his voice with the second part of that sentence. While it was true that I might not feel the same, I did not like to think I was hurting him. While I did not want to offer false reassurance, or worse argue that it was not true when in truth that would be a lie, I turned toward Charles, put one arm around him and nestled into his side, laying my head against his neck. I hoped this would be enough for him. This was not anything I would have done before, for any affection I had shown him prior to our reconciliation had me fearing I would spark his passion when I preferred to be left alone.
He put an arm around me and said, "This is pleasant."
"Um, hmm," I responded. Against his undemanding warmth, I felt sleep beckon.
"I am feeling sad for Churchill," he told me. At some point they had dropped the "misters" and gained a higher level of male intimacy.
"Why?" I asked, not too interested in his answer. I was starting to descend back towards a slumber.
"For how he was jilted," Charles responded.
If entering sleep is like sinking beneath the surface of a pond and letting the water cover you up, I was almost ready to stop treading water, but the word "jilted" roused me a bit, caused me to attempt to swim.
"What happened to him?" I shook my head a little and yawned. I was interested in the answer as it might explain why Mr. Churchill had declined to dine at Pemberley the week before.
Charles hesitated for so long in responding that I began to drift away again. "A woman who had done much to engage his affection, a beautiful and wealthy widow five years his senior, declined his offer. You see, she used him to spark jealousy in another, to receive the offer she truly wanted and she was not at all kind in breaking his heart. When he expressed his surprise she insulted him, called him a callow and simple-minded youth, and then said terrible things about his small pox scars."
"Did she call him cribbage-faced or frosty-faced?" I named the worst expressions I knew for those left with small pox scars.
"No, she did not even say that the devil ran over his face with hobnails in his boots. He has heard all these things and more of course. No, she told him, 'I cannot bear to see your ugly face every day,' and shuddered, actually shuddered. Then she said," here Charlie's voice dropped low, "I am not sure of the exact words, for he would not tell me of them, she said something about how it would be disgusting and a misery to share . . . well you can guess what . . . with him and see such marks everywhere. But she was not done yet then. For she made a comment about him being a leper who should be kept far away from gentle folk."
"Oh, the poor man." I was wide awake by then, having lept out of the pond entirely. "While men have not the vanity of women, and indeed his marks are not bad at all, I have certainly seen worse, Mr. Churchill must now doubt all of womankind, based on how that widow treated him. Trust once lost is most difficult to regain." As I said those last words, I realized that they also applied to the situation between my husband and me.
"Yes, I believe that is at the heart of it. Tonight, after Churchill told me this story, he said he was not sure if he could trust another lady again. He explained, 'I came to Derbyshire to find a refuge. I planned to simply hunt, farm and rest. I did not expect to find anyone to admire here. But then I met Miss Darcy.'"
"Did you tell him that Miss Darcy would never treat him in such an abominable manner, explain that she is everything good and kind?"
"I tried," Charles told me, "but he does not feel inclined to give any woman a chance to break his heart again. He went so far as to make some noise about finding another property to rent, perhaps in a largely uninhabited hamlet."
"Do you think he would truly do that?" I was troubled both to imagine Mr. Churchill forever fleeing from women and how the lack of his company might change whom Charles decided to invite to our home. If Mr. Churchill left, would my husband resume inviting Mr. Grubber and Mr. Sams? Surely not! I shivered slightly in imagining such a scenario.
"Are you cold, dear?" Charles asked solicitously. I said nothing, did not want to voice my concerns which seemed petty when compared with what was troubling Mr. Churchill.
Charles pulled me a little tighter against him and I enjoyed feeling his comfort, his warmth. I said nothing, only held him tighter myself.
Charles continued to discuss the matter with me, "I do not think Mr. Churchill has any definite plans to go and I urged that he should stay, explained that no one would force him into company not of his own choosing."
"And we shall not, but I should like to see him happy, Georgiana, too. Did I tell you that it was Georgiana that asked that they invite Mr. Churchill to dinner? Lizzy said she thinks Georgiana is intrigued by him."
"I am surprised that she has thought about him at all. Has she not only seen him once or twice?" Charles asked.
"Do not forget they have seen one another at church. They may have said nothing to one another, but still that would be enough to keep her aware of him, especially when his name might be bandied about." I decided then to share something with Charles. "Do you not know that even before the assembly where we met that I was curious about you from having only heard tell of you? I tried to imagine what you might be like when you called upon my father, even though all I could spy of you from an upper window (along with my sisters) was that you wore a blue coat and rode a black horse. With your beaver on, I could not even tell the color of your hair from that angle."
"Is that so, wife?" He held me a little closer, placed a gentle kiss upon my forehead.
"Certainly. My mother went on and on about how you were a single man of good fortune and must be in want of a wife. I am certain she marked you for me or one of my sisters long before she met you."
Charles teased me then, "Does that mean I could have married Kitty, Lizzy?"
"No, indeed," I responded. "While Kitty might have made you a pleasant wife, I know what is due me based upon seniority."
Charles gave a soft chuckle, as if I were jesting, when in fact I made the comment in all seriousness. For I had known I was granted the first opportunity to catch him if I could. My mother had taken me aside and told me so.
Responding to my comment about what was due to me based upon seniority, Charles teased, "Mr. Collins?"
"Had I met you after him, that certainly could have been. Mama did me a great favor in insisting that I was soon to be engaged to you," I told him. "For if Mr. Collins had asked to marry me, I would have done my duty to my family."
Charles fell silent, was silent so long in fact that I began to think he had fallen asleep himself. But then in a voice that was more somber than his usual tone he asked, "Did you agree to marry me for the duty you owed your family?"
I did not understand how quickly his tone had turned from teasing to earnest. Once, I would have simply denied it, but now?
I resolved to be truthful. "As the eldest, Mama made it clear to me that if I possibly could, I was to marry well, so that we might have a home when my father was gone. Indeed, I was instructed in such a manner most of my life.
"I could not have been more than eight or nine years of age, for Lydia was still a little thing, had only recently begun to walk, when Mama told me for the first time, 'As you have no brother, you must make a fine marriage, to a wealthy husband.' Indeed, I was but fifteen when I almost received an offer of marriage from a Mr. Barrington. He would have proposed if I did not tell him not to, did not tell him before he could get the words out that I was not ready for marriage. Still, he promised to give me a year to change my mind and I had resolved that I would send word through my uncle that Mr. Barrington should renew his addresses, when I learned he married someone else less than two months after his promise. In the intervening years, I kept hoping another suitable suitor would take an interest in me. There were men with an interest, certainly, but no one who had the money to support my whole family if my father were to perish before we all made matches. All of Mama's plans came to naught until you took Netherfield.
"I knew I was to like you, to catch your eye if I possibly could. Now if you would have truly preferred Kitty or Lizzy, that would have been fine, but when after the assembly Mama determined I was the one of us who you might fancy, well then the die was cast. I really never got to decide if I liked you of my own accord or not, for I was determined to like you before we had met. Then, when you chose which of us interested you, I was to play my part."
He made no response, and in the dark I could not see his expression, but the arms that had been holding me firmly loosened. He had not pulled away, but he was not trying to keep me near.
"Lizzy, Lizzy had such dreams. We were to only marry for the deepest love. I wanted that for her, never corrected her impression that we both were agreed."
"Did you feel nothing for me?" Charles asked. There was pain and doubt in his voice. Now his arms felt limp against me. There was no holding at all, simply the pressure of his flesh around mine. I feared that he would turn away altogether.
I could have given Charles a comforting answer, assured him that soon after meeting him I fell in love. The strange thing was, I had long thought that if not in love with him, I was on the verge of by the time of the Netherfield ball. It had been coming on gradually. He was so kind and attentive to me when I was ill at Netherfield, so eager to be near me when we were in company together. I enjoyed the attention; it flattered my vanity to be so selected. Even as my mother's words about our marriage being a certain thing, while vexing while being in public, had been pleasing to me also. For I wanted what Lizzy insisted we should have.
In that last conversation when Charles and I drew apart and spoke while my family was awaiting the carriage, when I hinted at what my answer would be should he ask me to marry him and his reassurances that I took to mean he would return and ask for my hand, pushed me into thinking I must be in love, or if it might not yet be love that it being love was inevitable.
Now, I am not so certain. Perhaps I wished to fancy myself in love when I was not in fact in love, to justify the upcoming marriage that seemed inevitable then, to have what Lizzy thought we both should have.
I cried enough tears afterwards, when it became clear that Charles had no intention of returning to Netherfield. But now, in reflecting back on it, I was far less certain of what my true feelings had been. It is hard to resurrect such emotions of yore.
Was I simply feeling the same disappointment that I had with Mr. Barrington that now my future was uncertain again and that I might never leave Longbourn, or if I did it would be to wed some old widower, as Charlotte had said she would accept if offered, because she was on the shelf?
I tried to explain. "I enjoyed your company, thought you a fine man, did my best to convince myself that I was in love, but it is hard to know what I felt in the deepest depths of my being. I think if not in love I was well in the way to being in love, would have loved you before long. But then when you went away . . . ."
"I ruined it all, all our potential to be happy," Charles responded.
"No, that is not it at all. I . . . I did not want to lose you again, lose my chance at everything, but it was hard to trust in your constancy when you returned. In truth, I should have liked a longer courtship, but you did not ask me for a courtship. You asked me to marry you and I had no choice but to say 'yes' or 'no,' and my 'yes' was always a foregone conclusion; there could be no other answer."
"I . . . I had no idea you felt this way," he told me.
"And that is because I did not tell you. For I feared in asking for more time that you might go away again. For Lydia's marriage was . . . was highly irregular. While given my lack of sufficient dowry, my marital prospects were never all that promising when all I had were my looks and charms to recommend me, after Lydia . . . they had sunk quite low based on the taint of her actions.
"You cannot know . . . . Your return was a blessing; it was to be the salvation of my whole family. I convinced everyone around me of how happy I was, and I was indeed happy for marriage and protecting my family was always my goal. I thought we would be happy, pushed all doubt down. I did not know that Mr. Darcy would ask for Lizzy's hand, that there was another path forward for my family."
I explained, "I see now, that when we married, in telling me of your indiscretion you were trying to be honest with me, to have nothing between us. But then I was already tied to you. I had no choice. Had I learned about it earlier . . . I do not know what I would have done but perhaps I could have gotten over it and still come to a place of loving you. If I had learned about it far later, perhaps I would have already loved you and found it easier to get over it. I do not know. These are all supposes, while what happened is what happened. But when you told me . . . ."
I struggled to find the right words. "Although we had married, the trust I had in you had been quite damaged from you going away and not returning as you had promised, when I thought we had an understanding. I still do not understand how you could do that."
"I was too malleable; it was a great failure in my character indeed," he replied. "I never told anyone about that last exchange of ours. Darcy, certainly, if I had told him that would likely have insisted that I was honor-bond to ask for your hand. I did not tell him because once I doubted, I did not want to marry you if you had no true regard for me."
Rather than defend my feelings for him at the time, which I had already expressed had been uncertain, I told him, "I think that trust is needed for true love. We both needed to trust the other to love the other. And whatever love I might have been starting to feel, well at that time it withered on the vine, and when the rains came it was stunted. I tried to play the part that was expected of me when you did return, but my feelings were not the same."
"Is it too late even now?" Charles asked me. "I have thought things much improved. I have loved you these many years and it has been hard to know that you did not feel the same, but it has seemed to me that things are better between us now, that we are happier. But, still, I want your love."
"And I want to give it to you, and I know that I feel more for you than I did before. It is simply hard to change."
That was the extent of our conversation that night. When I awoke in the morning, he was still asleep and we were separated by perhaps a foot, as sometime during the night I must have rolled away from him (for I was near to the edge of the bed while he was still near the middle).
I studied his sleeping form. He was on his back, his neck extended and his head tipped back a bit, his mouth hanging open, his face in repose, his long blond eyelashes and darker brows. He looked rather peaceful. Whereas before our reconciliation, I might have been resentful that he remained in my bed, and then, afterwards, simply accepting rather than desirous of his placement there, now . . . I considered my feelings carefully. Having aired our grievances, shared some previously unknown history, could it be that I felt closer to him than before?
I wiggled my body next to his, snuggled against his side and placed one hand upon his chest. He slumbered on. I fell asleep again to the sound of his breathing, the sensation of his pleasant warmth.
A/N: Where do you want this story to go from here? Who should we hear from next?