Jane stared miserably at the blank paper in front of her, having just violently crumpled up the last sheet she had been working on and tossed it in the general direction of the rubbish bin. It seemed that nothing she tried to write these days came out as she intended. A scene between two characters who had never before had any romantic underpinnings was suddenly fraught with heartache and recriminations, or a character would do something wholly unexpected and seemingly entirely out of their normal personality.
Writing had so often been Jane's haven in the past, her love for the written word having developed at an early age, no doubt a gift from her father. Not her step-father, though she dearly loved Thomas Bennet, but the real father she had scarcely known.
James Marchrend had been so young when he died, but novels had been his passion and he had written and published a fair number of them considering his youth. He had done so under the name of J. M. Richardson, for reasons that even Jane's mother hadn't quite been able to explain.
When Jane had been still living at home and going to school, she had discovered an unfinished and unpublished manuscript of her father's among the few mementos Fanny had kept sealed away in a box. Jane had already read every one of her father's books several times over and had greeted this particular discovery with the deepest delight.
Still, it was deeply unsatisfying to Jane that her father's work should remain unfinished and so she had written her own ending to that unfinished novel. The process had woken something in her that she hadn't ever recognized in herself before, and she began writing her own original stories.
It might have been something she only ever did for her own amusement, had Elizabeth not eventually happened across that early manuscript and demanded to know where it had come from. Embarrassed at what was now an obviously juvenile effort, Jane had demurred and waved away her sister's words of encouragement to take another look at finishing James Marchrend's last book. At least she had initially. Lizzie was not one to be dissuaded from her path when she felt that she knew what was best.
From there, with further urging from Lizzie and a great deal of kindly encouragement from Thomas Bennet, Jane had refined her more childish attempt at providing an ending to Airborn before approaching her father's publisher with a great deal of trepidation and hope.
To her surprise - though not to Lizzie's, as she was wont to point out at every opportunity - Jane found an editor who was willing to at least take a look at the manuscript. He made it clear he was doing so only because the majority of it had been James Marchrend's last, unfinished work. When he was unable to discern where Jane had picked up the writing, that editor had rapidly changed gears and had instead begun to woo her with a contract for Airborn and three more original novels, all to be published under her father's pseudonym. He had been convinced they would sell, with enough people still able to recognize the author name.
The last of those three novels had been released only several months ago, and Jane had decided not to sign any new contracts to write under her father's pseudonym. She had proved to herself that she was capable of the task, no matter how slowly it had gone when relegated to the time she had available between teaching and trying to have a social life.
There was a part of Jane that felt that she must write and publish under her own name and build a following that was entirely separate from her father's works. As far as she had come, there was still much further to go. And now, free from contracts and suddenly relieved of what had been a wonderfully burgeoning social life, Jane couldn't seem to write a single word.
Giving up on what could be politely described as a butchery of her current novel in progress, Jane turned instead to an idea that had been niggling at the back of her mind. It was only the germ of an idea, but that was perhaps what she needed right now in order to get back into a proper frame of mind for work on her novel. There was no danger of these new characters acting wildly different than they ought to; they hadn't any true depth as of yet.
Perhaps an hour later, Jane at last stirred from her desk when a knock came at her bedroom door.
"Yes?" she called, half turning in her chair.
Elizabeth poked her head in, her dark eyes wide in what was either alarm or surprise. "Jane," she hissed, coming into the room and closing the door quietly behind her before continuing in a low, urgent tone. "Mr. Bingley is here. He wants to see you."
Jane blinked in surprise, recoiling slightly in her chair. She couldn't begin to think of a reply to such an extraordinary surprise.
"Do you want to see him or shall I tell him to go away?" Elizabeth asked, when it became clear that Jane had no reply immediately forthcoming.
Jane could see a spark in her sister's eyes that meant if she were allowed to tell Charles Bingley to go away, she would do so with the greatest relish and more than a few choice words regarding his character.
"How does he look?" Jane found herself inquiring, her voice coming much more weakly than she should have liked. She cleared her throat and tried again. "I mean, is he... does he seem sad? Or-?"
"He seems agitated," Elizabeth replied matter-of-factly. "Like he's afraid to see you or talk to you again. As he should be," she added in a mutter.
Jane came to her feet, automatically smoothing the front of the dress she wore. "I don't know what to think," she said aloud. "Part of me wants to see him again, but part of me doesn't. What would you do, Lizzie?"
But her sister was shaking her dark hair. "Don't ask me what I would do," she advised. "Because it's nothing you would ever consider doing yourself. Besides, this is your heart on the line here. If you think it would do you some good to talk to him again - to maybe get some closure - then I think you should do that. If you think it would be better to never see him again, then I think you should send him away."
Jane nodded, somewhat abstracted. "I'll see him," she decided suddenly. "It may be that he has come to apologize or explain. And even if he hasn't, I will ask for a better explanation than the one he gave me when he..." she trailed off, not wanting to finish the thought.
Elizabeth's eyes were warm with compassion and she stepped forward to pull her sister into a fierce hug. "I'm proud of you," she murmured before backing up half a pace, still holding onto Jane's hands. "Do you want me to leave? Give you two some privacy?"
"I," Jane hesitated, thinking hard. "Would you mind staying, but maybe in your room? I don't know how long he'll be here, but I am sure to need you once he has gone."
"Of course," Elizabeth squeezed Jane's hands in reassurance and then dropped them. "Just call for me if you need me for anything."
Jane nodded again, and then schooled her face into an expression of cool serenity. "I can do this," she breathed, speaking more to herself than to her sister.
Elizabeth smiled and answered anyway. "Yes. You can."
Stepping around Elizabeth, Jane reached for her doorknob and, with a final calming deep breath, turned it and stepped out into the hallway. Proceeding down its short length, she moved into the living room, dimly aware of Elizabeth crossing the hallway behind her and entering her own room.
Mr. Bingley was sitting in the living room, perched anxiously on the edge of a worn wingback chair that was placed near the window. The curtains were pulled open to admit the weak sunlight, and in the gentle wash of illumination, Bingley appeared almost as though he had aged considerably since the last time Jane had seen him. His normally open face was now drawn into grim lines and the solemn expression was so unlike him that Jane paused briefly in surprise at the sight.
Shaking off the temporary hesitation, Jane stepped out of the hallway and came to a halt while she was still across the room from Mr. Bingley. He stood immediately, one hand reaching to remove a hat that wasn't there. Looking as awkward as Jane had ever seen him, he reddened slightly and gave a nod that was almost deep enough to be interpreted as a bow.
Folding her shaking hands in front of her, Jane inclined her head back and waited for him to speak. He had come to her, after all, and she would wait for him to begin.
"Jane," Mr. Bingley began, running a hand backwards through his hair in a display of nervous agitation.
"Miss Marchrend," she corrected him immediately, her voice gentle but her resolve firm.
The tips of his ears turned pink and something flashed briefly in his blue eyes. It was there and gone so quickly that Jane couldn't begin to interpret it.
"Miss Marchrend," he amended, "thank you for seeing me. I have something that I wish to discuss with you, if you'll hear me out." He gestured to the other chair that sat cozily near the wingback he had chosen. It was situated nearer to the fireplace and, though shabby, was a great deal more comfortable than the wingback was.
Jane felt her heart thaw ever so slightly towards Mr. Bingley; he was, almost without fail, nothing but kindness and warm consideration. Having already made up her mind to hear him out, she nodded immediately and crossed the room to take the proffered seat.
He waited until she had settled in comfortably before reseating himself, again perched on the edge of the chair as though to be nearer to her or to be able to rise suddenly if the situation should happen to call for it. Everything about his behavior was so completely unlike his typically relaxed - almost lazy - approach, that Jane began really to wonder what had brought him here this day and in such a state.
He did not leave her wondering long, but immediately dived into what he had come to say, the words tripping in a hurried manner from his lips, but sounding as though there had been some careful rehearsal of them beforehand.
"Firstly," Bingley began, looking earnestly into Jane's eyes, "I owe you the greatest apology for the things I said and the way I treated you during our last encounter." He swallowed heavily, averting his eyes momentarily in a display of shame. "I was the biggest sort of callous fool, and I am sorry for any pain I caused you. I can only hope now that you will find it in your heart to forgive me. I will understand if you cannot."
Jane's emotions had been raw and near the surface ever since Bngley had broken things off with her several weeks before, so it was no surprise to her when her eyes started to prickle with the imminent threat of sudden tears. She blinked several times, trying to master herself.
Seeming aware of her struggle, Bingley tactfully averted his gaze once more, looking down at the carpet until she found her control and her voice.
"Do I get no better explanation for why you behaved the way you did?"
He looked up again, pained and mortified. "I have no good explanation for my behavior," he told her honestly. "When Darcy was on his sickbed, I saw him. He said something and I misunderstood it entirely." The red stain of embarrassment had now crept into his fair cheeks, but he held her gaze and continued his confession in a steady voice.
"Breaking things off with you - hurting you - was the stupidest thing I have ever done. That I acted and spoke in such a manner to you based off a misunderstanding between myself and Darcy is a shame I shall never get over."
Jane remained silent as she absorbed this. It was clear to her that Bingley had no intention of sharing what, exactly, the misunderstanding had been. In the light of what Mr. Bingley had said during their last encounter, it was easy enough to piece together that Mr. Darcy must have said something that had made Mr. Bingley believe that Jane was somehow using Bingley to get to Mr. Darcy.
The very notion was hurtful, painting her as it did in the light of some sort of social climber or manipulative adventurer. Worse than that was the idea that Mr. Bingley had been able to take something that was said by a man who was, by every account, raging with fever and probably half out of his mind with it, and believe the worst of her without seeming to pause or question what the truth really was.
"I see," Jane finally managed, her voice unsteady again but her eyes dry. A small spark of anger had ignited in her breast, and though the emotion was not one she often experienced, she knew that in this case she had every reason to feel it.
Bingley was sober as he gazed at her across the few feet that separated them. His eyes seemed to search her face for clues about what she might be thinking or feeling, and there was a sort of dogged determination in the way he regarded her. It was as though he had already resigned himself in part to the idea that she could not forgive him for his abominable treatment of her, but was willing to persist in laying his heart open before her until she absolutely rejected both him and his apologies.
"I have no intention of trying to cause you further pain," he said slowly. "But if you will permit me, I have one last thing I would like to say."
Jane nodded, somewhat reluctant but also curious.
"You may never be able to forgive me," he reiterated. "I could understand and accept that. I've been a jealous fool and I've been careless. All the apologizing in the world can't undo that." He took a deep breath, seeming to fortify himself. "I will leave you alone for as long as you require. If you tell me to never bother you again, I will respect that.
"But you need to know that I don't want a life spent apart from you. If you could find it in your heart to give me another chance, I would like to spend the rest of my life making you happy. I - I care about you more deeply than I ever have anyone else. And I want to show that to you, in any way you'll permit me to."
Somewhere in the middle of that extraordinary speech, Jane felt a hot tear slide down her cheek, followed in swift succession by others. She groped ineffectually for a handkerchief, found none, and used the tips of her fingers to smear them away.
Bingley gave her a small smile that was at once so tender and so hopeful that she had to shut her eyes to block out the sight of it. Her heart was beating furiously in her chest, overwhelmed at the declarations that lurked just beneath the surface of Bingley's politely worded speech. He had come as near as he might to saying he loved her and wanted to marry her.
A pressure on her hand caused Jane's eyes to pop back open, and she looked down to see Bingley was pressing his own handkerchief into her palm. She clutched at it automatically, feeling mildly bereft when he withdrew his empty hand. To cover her confusion and because she needed to, Jane used the handkerchief to dab at her face, regaining mastery with some difficulty.
When she at last felt in command of herself enough to speak, she offered a wobbly smile to Mr. Bingley before taking a deep breath in preparation to begin. "Thank you for your apology," she said, her voice starting off thick. Clearing her throat as much from nervousness as to gain clarity, she continued. "It would be dishonest of me to say that all is well. I need some time to think."
Bingley's face fell slightly, but he instantly remembered himself and gave her an encouraging smile that seemed to be mostly sincere.
"I think it's important for you to know how much it hurts me that you could think I use you in the manner you've implied." Her voice was still shaky, but growing stronger as she continued. "I didn't think your character was quite so inconstant as it seems to be."
She paused, but he made no attempt to defend himself from her gently leveled accusations, instead merely acknowledging her observations with a slight dip of his head and an accepting expression on his face. Jane could not help but think that he must already have come to terms with his own defects, and the idea lightened her heart with fresh hope. A man who knew his faults was a man in a position to correct them.
Also, she thought, no one was perfect. There was bound to be some aspects of the man in front of her that could stand improvement, just as she herself had areas that were less than ideal.
It was true that she was afraid of being hurt by him again, and part of her wanted to send him away now so as to never have to risk it. But that would be unfair to both of them; particularly, it would be unfair to Bingley as he would have been denied an opportunity to change and grow. She had to let him back into her life if she wanted him to prove that he would never hurt her that way again.
Didn't she?
Feeling muddled, but also having a firm conviction of both Bingley's genuine contrition and her own desire to have him be a part of her life, Jane came to a decision.
"I would like us to try to be friends, for now," she offered. "As I said, I need some time to think, but I admit that I have missed your company very much." She blushed as she said it, dropping her gaze to her lap, not used to speaking so candidly to anyone outside her family.
"Friends," Bingley echoed, his voice soft. "I would like that."
Finding the courage to look up at him again, Jane took in his open face, studying the fresh changes there. He appeared more hopeful as well, his mouth having relaxed from the grim line it had been when he had arrived. He was still smiling gently at her, seeming peaceful at having made as much progress as he had.
Slowly, he came to his feet and stood for a moment, looking down at her. "I shall go now," he said, seeming reluctant. "Please, take as much time to think as you need. I'll wait for you to be in touch."
He turned and moved to the door with the most purposeful stride Jane had ever seen him adopt.
She found herself rushing to her feet, calling after him. "Wait!"
He turned, questioning.
"Elizabeth and I are going to our parent's house for supper this weekend." She hesitated, but he merely looked expectant. "I'd like it if you came and met the rest of my family."
Mr. Bingley grinned widely. "I can think of nothing I'd like more!"
Jane filled him in on the details of time and place and then saw him out the door, filled with relief at his having come and relief at his having gone away again. After taking a moment to marvel at the past fifteen minutes of her life, Jane collected herself and went to rap softly on Elizabeth's bedroom door.
It opened so swiftly that Jane startled back a pace and then eyed her younger sister with suspicion.
"Were you trying to listen in?" she demanded, appalled.
"Of course!" Elizabeth grinned unrepentantly. "Don't worry. I couldn't hear anything, except that neither of you were yelling."
Jane frowned. "Elizabeth, that was private. I can't believe you would-"
"I didn't!" Elizabeth cut in. "Sorry. I was teasing you. I thought I heard the front door close a minute ago. I was only listening just now to see if you were still talking."
Still a little miffed at the bad timing and total thoughtlessness of Elizabeth's teasing, Jane nevertheless dismissed the entire exchange in order to share with her sister what reckless course of action she herself had just undertaken.
Giving only the highlights of the conversation - he apologized, I said I needed time to think but that I'd like to try being friends - Jane then told her sister of the impulsive offer she had made just before Mr. Bingley had left.
The look on Elizabeth's face was deliberately comical.
"You asked him to dinner with the family?" Elizabeth questioned, shaking her head slightly in dismay.
Jane bit her lip briefly. "Yes."
"What. Were. You. Thinking?"
"I'm not certain that I was thinking at all."
Elizabeth let out her breath in a huff and then tried to offer something in the way of positive thinking.
"If he survives it," she said, "and if he still wants to be friends with you after the fact, at least you'll know for sure that he is serious about wanting to be part of your life."
Looking down to where she still clutched Mr. Bingley's handkerchief in her hand, Jane could only hope that her family wouldn't be enough to scare him away a second time.
A/N: Hokay, I'll try to keep this short. I bet I fail in that endeavor.
First, as always, thanks to everyone reading, reviewing, favoriting and alerting. It means so much to me, every time. I know I still owe some replies and Teleporter teasers. I hope to get that done directly after posting this. Figured everyone would want a chapter more than they'd want my senseless chatter.
Secondly, I am sorry I am a day late getting this out. My coworker quit, so I have been trying to do the work of two people and all my precious writing time has been eaten into. And when I get home, I'm basically ready to fall into a coma, I have been so physically exhausted. I am not sure when this situation will change, so there may be more delays in the coming weeks, but I'll keep trying to make it happen.
Thirdly, due to the whole "trying to just push this chapter out there" theme, I didn't give my beta time to give it in-depth help. Any mistakes are mine.
Fourthly, more thanks are due to everyone who gave me feedback on Teleporter. Since writing ahead and having time in general aren't on the table, I can offer another teaser of that as thanks for reviews. I'm just debating whether I should jump ahead for an except or roll you all right into chapter one. I'm open to suggestions!
Very much less than three for you all!
-Imp