I apologize for the delay. New baby, health issues with Crohn's, and general busy-ness has given me very little time to write. And when the kids are all in bed, which is my usual writing time, I'm too tired to be creative lol.

BUT I have a flashback for everyone. I originally mapped it out to be a flashback later on for Bingley to explain his reasoning about wanting to marry Jane, but since there is some confusion about why he wants to, I decided it would fit better as part of the prologue.

I hope you enjoy it.

Chapter 12.5(or wherever it's going to go)

Yorkshire, 1800

Twelve year old Charles Bingley raced along the lane towards his home, the mills and factories casting long shadows over the path as the sun began to dip below the horizon.

Charles had been attempting to visit his father in his offices, which were adjacent to the most recently-built mill that was owned by Bingley's Textiles. The parent, however, was much besieged with work, and he had immediately ordered his son to return home. "I don't have time for you now, Charles. You'll only get in the way."

The invention of textile machinery had caused the elder Bingley's business to expand rapidly. They now worked with more than ten times the profits than they had just five years prior, and the Bingley family was quickly becoming part of the nouveau riche that was making such a splash in England.

Having been a hard worker all his life, it was Mr. Bingley's dream to purchase an estate and see his children raised as part of the landed gentry. As such, he worked long hours each day in order to increase his company's profits as much as possible.

Charles would be leaving for Eton in a few months, his father having paid a significant amount of money for his only son and heir to be educated with the highest levels of society.

His twin sisters, Louisa and Caroline, had been sent to a finishing school in London. While the two girls had always been ambitious - a trait learned from their mother - they had returned home to visit with their noses in the air and eyes wrinkled in disgust at the evidence of trade all around them.

As he hopped along the newly-laid cobblestone that wove between the recently-constructed buildings, he spied a dash of color poking up between the sand and stones. He slowed to stop and looked down in delight at the pretty wildflowers that had flourished against all odds.

Knowing that his mother and sisters disdained the ugliness of industrialization around them, he carefully pulled the flowers up, determined to bring them home. Delight filled his chest as he imagined their joy at seeing the beautiful little plants. After all, they had often spoken of the honor it was to receive flowers after a dance from a suitor.

Once he had arrived home, Charles made his way up the stairs of the large house to where his sisters shared adjoining chambers. He knocked on Caroline's door, and entered the room when he heard her voice grant admittance.

"Look, Caroline!" he cried, eagerly thrusting the flowers forward towards her.

"Charles!"

The fourteen-year-old young woman screeched her brother's name and leaped from her bed. "What on earth are you doing? You've gotten me all dirty! Do you have any idea how much this lace cost? It came all the way from Paris!"

She brushed frantically at the front of her dress, pausing only to look up and glare at him. "What could you have been thinking?" she demanded again.

"I picked these for you," he said in a small voice as he knelt to pick up the precious flowers, which had lost many of their petals in Caroline's hysterics.

Sniffing, she looked down at the posy in his hand, before sneering and tossing her head. "How could you possibly think I would want those weeds?"

Charles's reply was interrupted by Louisa, who had joined them via the door connecting the two girls' rooms. "I heard a scream. Are you alright, Caroline?"

"Here, Louisa!" Charles cried, once again extending his hand with the posy. This time, however, he was careful to keep them out of reach.

"Oh, Charles," she sighed, looking down at him with pity. "I have nowhere to put them, and even if I did, I wouldn't want to display something so… cheap."

"Honestly, what would the girls at school say?" Caroline added.

The two girls became lost in conversation, gossiping about their schoolmates. Seeing that his presence wasn't desired, Charles left to go find his mother. Perhaps she will like them.

Mrs. Bingley was in the drawing room with several ladies who had come to call. By the time he realized she had guests, he was already a few steps into the room.

"Charles?" she asked sharply, annoyed at having been interrupted. "What in heaven's name are you doing in here?"

Unable to think of anything else, Charles held out his hand. "I brought you some flowers," he mumbled.

The ladies in the room all tittered behind their hands, and the young lad felt his face turning a brilliant shade of red.

"Oh, honestly, Charles. You interrupted us to bring me some weeds? Whatever am I going to do with you?" Mrs. Bingley sighed. "Run along, now, and be sure to take those grubby things with you. I don't want a mess."

Charles gave a quick bow, then backed out of the room as swiftly as possible. His shoulders sank further with every step he took, and he had barely made it out of the house and around the corner before the tears he'd been hiding began to fall.

Does anyone want me?

"Are you okay, Charlie?"

Charles's head snapped up, and he frantically wiped at his eyes, not wanting whoever it was to see that he had been crying.

To his relief, he looked into the round face and wide-set eyes of Maggie, the sixteen-year-old daughter of his father's chief foreman. "Hello, Maggie."

"Why were you crying, Charlie?" she asked.

Knowing that her simple mind wouldn't fully understand his tumultuous feelings, he said simply, "I wanted to give someone flowers, but no one wants them."

"Flowers?" she asked eagerly, a large grin crossing her face.

He nodded, then, for the fourth time, held out the bouquet of flowers he had picked. By this time, they were beginning to wilt, and most of the petals had fallen off.

"Here, you can have them."

"I can?"

Maggie looked at him, her face beaming with delight. She reached out her hand to his and gently took the battered stems. Lifting them to her nose, she inhaled deeply. "Oh, Charlie," she sighed in awe and wonder, "these are the most beautiful things anyone has ever given me."

"Truly?" he asked, the disbelief in his voice so plain that even Maggie could hear it.

She nodded furtively. "Oh, yes! I haven't seen wildflowers in ages, and no one has ever given any to me, not even after an assembly!"

He gasped slightly at this. "Well, that's just plain rude of them! If I were to go to an assembly and dance with you, I'd send you flowers the next day. Prettier even than these ones!"

She laughed and again put the bouquet to her nose. "I think you're the sweetest boy I've ever met, Charlie."

Charles felt himself turn pink at this bit of praise, and she laughed again. She leaned forward and gave him a quick peck on the cheek, then on the lips. "I like you, Charlie Bingley. You're the best man in the world."

Maggie then skipped away, singing off-tune as she went. Charles just stared after her, his lips still tingling from where she had given him his first kiss.

He knew that Maggie wasn't all the way right in the head; at least, that's what his parents had always said with a sigh whenever her name came up. But at that moment, he didn't care. The pure joy she'd shown at his small gift caused him to feel a depth of happiness that he'd never before experienced, and he knew he never wanted the feeling to end.

"I'm going to marry her someday," he whispered.