The Last of the Wine

by DJ Clawson

This is the last story in my series that began with "A Bit of Advice." At this point you should not be starting with this story, unless you really like a challenge. You should go to my profile page for links to the stories in order. Or go visit my forum for links, extra stories, and other goodies:

laughingman . web . aplus. net / phpbb/ index . php (delete the spaces)

Summary up to this point: The year is 1834. Geoffrey Darcy and Georgiana Bingley are married and have three children (Alison, William, and Brian). Eliza Bingley is married to Matthew Turner. Dr. George Wickham III is married to Cynthia Turner. Edmund Bingley is married, and Charles Bingley is not for reasons that came out in the last story. Only the oldest Darcy sister, Anne, is married. The old cast is pretty old, but still alive. At the end of story 10, Brian Darcy was born, so about two years have passed.

And now, our story...

Chapter 1 - Prologue

With his father's pen, in his father's study with the portrait of his grandfather never out his view, Charles Bingley the Third finished what was turning into a long correspondence with his sister. Elizabeth Turner (nee Bingley) was in Sussex with her husband and daughter, visiting Matthew Turner's cousins, with whom he was on very friendly terms. They stood godparents to the newborn girl, named Susan after Matthew's mother.

As delighted as he was to be an uncle many times over now, his joy was slightly diminished by the loss of his twin sister to marriage. Despite many years of being separated by a Continent, they remained the Bingley twins, and the loss was more acute than they were prepared for. They remedied this in letters and calls when she was Town (which was often). She was a happy bride, then wife, and maybe soon, mother. He was the stalwart bachelor, of some great fortune and good standing, having never been involved in a scandal with a woman or a gambling den, something he could say of few men he knew, even married ones. He was eight and twenty; sooner or later, he would probably marry, or so it was supposed, and he seemed to be openly considering the idea. He established himself as master of the Bingley house in London while his father remained in Derbyshire, he kept a packed social calendar, and he socialized in all the polite and approved ways with the opposite sex. There was even some possibility with a young woman he found to be amusing and intelligent until he met her married brother. With skill that only came with time and practice, he managed through the remainder of their acquaintance that evening without giving a single hint to either the woman or her sister-in-law that he already knew the brother, or had known him at least twice in a secret flat on the east side sometime in October. Charles couldn't remember the exact dates of their brief liaison, but suffice to say Richard never said he was married and it wouldn't have been shocking if he was. It wasn't a question one asked.

After many years of self-debasement and depression, Charles Bingley (the third) considered himself coming around, stumbling slowly towards what would probably be a marriage with a woman he didn't detest and hopefully children. He was decided in one thing, in that being an uncle was not enough, no matter how many times over.

He dipped the pen one last time to complete the letter, and sign his name as elaborately as he chose. It was actually his father's pen. He had his own, a beautiful wooden make from Florence that could be unwieldy. Charles Bingley the Second had a lifetime of correspondences and therefore a pen more suitable to prolonged use, and his son was grateful. He scratched his head with the back end of it was the servant powdered the letter, and the wax was still warm when there was a knock on the door.

The servant quickly left, and returned. "It's your brother, sir."

"Edmund?" As if he had another brother. Charles looked out the window at the pouring rain. "Send him in."

He put the letter and the pen aside and stood to greet his very unexpected little brother. To be fair, Edmund Bingley was always as tall as he was, but as he entered, sopping wet despite his outer layers already moved, he looked all the more shrunken. "Charles." He bowed with less contempt than he regularly did when they were alone.

"Edmund." He decided to soften his tone and gestured for the servant, who was making the liquor ready, to leave them. Only when the other man was gone and the door closed did he continue. "What brings you to grace me with your presence?" Because Edmund didn't, unless he had to. It occurred to Charles that he was the only one in Town besides Frederick and Heather Maddox that Edmund might see fit to run to.

Still, Edmund did not have the look about him of a man coming with news of death or illness. Being wet made his quiet fury seem sadder than he would have liked, but he wasn't mad at Charles. He accepted a glass of wine, drank the whole of it, and set it down before speaking. "My wife is with child."

Charles was astute enough to say, "Whose is it?"

"My manservant's." But the rage on Edmund's face couldn't find focus, and he tapped his fingers nervously on the arm of the chair. "Don't judge me."

"I haven't," he said, and it was truth. He wasn't overwhelmingly shocked, but he wasn't pleased with the news, either. He knew little of Lucy Bingley, having cut most of his contacts with Edmund prior to her entering the picture. "I'm sorry."

"She wants a divorce. And a settlement."

"Divorce?" He couldn't help himself but to smile at the absurdity of it. "Is she in love with him or something?"

"I don't know. I don't care. All I know is that she hates me and if she has to suffer through the dissolution of this marriage, she should be compensated for it. She said so."

"When?"

"About an hour ago. Maybe less."

Charles refilled his brother's wine glass, then his own. "Do you want to tell me how this came about or do you just want my advice based on my limited understanding of the matter?"

Edmund squirmed. "I will take your advice. Please – for the moment, spare me."

Edmund Bingley was not a person who asked to be spared. The younger son, he was always out to prove himself, and he had. He was an extremely successful businessman who landed himself a very pretty bride and made every appearance of being happy. Charles knew it was serious – more than it already was, of course. "Try for an annulment first."

"I will not declare myself impotent," Edmund seethed. It was his only way, after three years of marriage, to escape with only an annulment unless he could somehow prove they were secretly related. They had no children, so there were grounds for it, if he chose that route. "If I may emerge with only one thing intact, let it be that part of my dignity."

Charles could not be anything but sympathetic. "Fair enough. I assume she isn't concerned with being a divorced woman."

"No, it doesn't seem to bother her."

Of course, because she would either marry her lover or be rich enough to have her choice of someone else. She would probably go abroad to do it. "If she is willing to confess to the fatherhood and agree to a divorce, the only obstacles I see are time and money. How far is she along?"

"Three months. So I have six to divorce her." Or the child was his by law, and divorce almost impossible. He laughed painfully. "At least Parliament is in session. Shame I don't know anyone on it."

"I do."

"Really?"

Now it was his turn to be uncomfortable. "Not publicly." Meaning, there was at least one sodomite in the House of Lords. "Is that what you're here for?"

"I have nowhere else to go." He said it with such honestly, such desperation, that it could only be true. Edmund Bingley was unwelcome in the home he'd so proudly made for himself. For a fleeting moment he was not the one with the air of deserved moral superiority; he was the scared little brother. "I know that we've had troubles – "

"We've each been the architects of our own personal disasters, it seems," Charles said, waving it off. "Do you want me to tell anyone why you're here?"

"Not yet. Not – well, at least not until tomorrow. Let me sleep on it."

Because Charles was master of the house in London, when their father wasn't there. He was in command, an odd realization. "Provided she doesn't go about announcing it, which I don't think is in her best interests, you can have as long as you like."

He called for his butler and told him to open Edmund's old room and leave them again. Edmund drank. His voice was hoarse; perhaps he had been yelling in the afternoon previous. After a few glasses, he was willing to talk anyway, and forgetting that he despised his deviant older brother, he let the tale unravel of how his marriage came apart.

"I loved her – I think I did. She says that I don't know what it means. For awhile it was good. I – I assumed everything was well, even though she wasn't with child. She said she didn't want to be so ... I held myself back. Then she said I didn't pay attention to her. Then I was annoying her." He shook his head. "I don't understand."

You never really loved her, Charles thought. You were just in love. So you married. Because Edmund went headlong into everything, because it was always a race to him, to establish himself. "There is a difference between being fancying a woman and being in love."

"How would you know?" Edmund said, his voice slurred, so Charles allowed it.

"Because I was in love," he said. "And even when I wanted it to fade, it didn't. It never has." He searched for another alternative, and went from meaningless but physically fulfilling affair to another, but he could never leave Guy behind. "But it's a far less public shame, when it fall apart."

"Because you've been lucky."

He had to admit it. "I have." He would not give much to be in Edmund's place, attached to a woman who hated him, and probably had for a long time. It was a rushed arrangement that didn't develop into what it should have, which was a marriage. Edmund's – and his, by association – good name would be dragged through the mud as a cuckold and he would have trouble remarrying, whenever he was capable of it. Thank G-d Eliza was married already.

"I wanted it all to go well." Edmund shook his fist in fury.

"From my very jaded perspective, there is more to life than things going well. Even happy marriages don't go well, from one pleasant event to another. Georgie and Geoffrey couldn't be more destined for each other, and yet they had their own hardships." He added, "He almost lost her, after the stillbirth. He told me how sick she really was well after the fact, after William was born."

"Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why did he tell you?"

He tried to recall the circumstances of the conversation. "He had some notion of showing empathy for my situation, I suppose. He was sort of ashamed. Don't tell him I told you. And certainly don't tell Georgiana."

Edmund shook his head. "I may be foolish, but not enough to get my head cut off."

They shared a laugh at Georgiana's expense. All things considered, she probably would have given it willingly.

"Come," Charles said as he rose. "Let us end on a happy note, because you're going to wake up with a headache and be even more dour than you usually are, and I must prepare myself for it."

"You were – you were always more like Father," Edmund said as he took the offered hand to help him up.

"How do you mean?"

"You know how to smile at anything."

Though he could not bring himself to commit to a full agreement, Charles accepted the compliment anyway.

...Next Chapter - Waking in the Night