Page 3 of A Most Beloved Sister
“I have tried for another child for over a decade, George. You cannot take my baby away from me,” she pleaded. “Not when I’ve lost so many others.”
“Please, Father,” Fitzwilliam added his entreaty to his mother’s.
George let out a tremendous sigh as his family waited breathlessly for his decision.
Yorkshire 1798
Ten-year-old Charles Bingley raced along the lane toward his home, the mills and factories casting long shadows over the path as the sun dipped below the horizon.
Charles had been attempting to visit his father in his offices, which were adjacent to the most recently built mill owned by Bingley’s Textiles. His 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 they’d had just five years prior, and the Bingley family was quickly becoming part of thenouveau richemaking 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 labored long hours each day to increase his company’s profits as much as possible.
Charles would leave for Eton in a few months, his father having paid a significant amount 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 Charles 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 a 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 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 against her chest.
“Charles!” The twelve-year-old girl—practically a young woman—screeched her brother’s name and leaped from her bed. “What on earth are you doing? You’ve gotten me all dirty! Doyou 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 scoop 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 all right, 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 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 fell.
Doesn’t anyone want me?
