Love Calls Again

by Lucianne Elsworth

  "Oops, I think thish ish bad luck." Darcy said in alarm. "Let ush do it again." Climbing the stairs, this time with less difficulty, they reached almost to the top, and started their effort to make sure of the number of wooden pieces for the second time, endeavouring to jump downstairs together, at the same time that they counted the steps.

  "Twenty-four!" they cried out at the same time.

  Darcy immediately protested. "I thought you shaid they were nine and twenty."

  "Indeed, sir. I am positive."

  Holding himself fiercely from Phillips's shoulders, Darcy hiccuped loudly and blinked. "Let ush count again."

  To the poor man's chagrin, the whole process was repeated all over, but this time the servant, on seeing that Mr Darcy was having problems after number twenty, and fearing he would be forced to climb up and go down the stairs for a fourth time, he simply cried out before his master's friend:

  "Twenty-nine!!" said he triumphantly, endeavouring to look very much satisfied and cheerful at their success.

  At first Darcy eyed him suspiciously, doubting either the servant's sincerity or ability to count to twenty-nine. But then again he was a bit tired himself and decided to agree with the man's assertion.

  "Aye, twenty nine," he held.

  That agreed, the servant bowed and left his company satisfied to have done his duty. Thereafter Mr Darcy, counting the steps for the fourth time, made his way towards his bedchamber, yet without the servant's help, he found it impossible to go beyond eleven in counting. Perchance he had been abusing his friend's generous supply of brandy. In noticing shapes and objects moving across his field of vision, he came to the conclusion that a cold bath would be mandatory. After trying several doors, he finally opened the one belonging to his bedchamber, and though unsuccessful at his first try, he pulled the ring to call for his manservant.

  "Would you pleashe get my…" he closed one eye in a pensive manner as if trying to remember what he was about to say. But the manservant kept moving from his eye span, making the whole endeavour to talk to him the more difficult. "My…" he continued.

  "Green jacket?" the valet guessed tentatively.

  Darcy shook his head in denial while he lifted his hand to his brow, frowning slightly in an effort to recall the evasive request and at the same time trying hard not to stumble with his own feet which refused to keep him erect.

  The valet, in a very perfunctory tone, suggested that he have his bath while he allowed his memory to return.

  "Aye, a bath will be mosht welcome," he agreed while swaying in his spot.

  He took a good hour at his toilet, his mind ever so slowly recovering from slumber, his memory recollecting the purpose of his presence in Hertfordshire as the effect of the brandy relented.

  Miss Bennet. She will be here.

  An indescribable emotion washed his heart and soul. Howbeit his ability to think clearly had seen better days, the mere recollection of Miss Bennet's potential presence at the ball was enough to invigorate him. With renewed joy, Darcy jumped out of his bath and asked his manservant to take special care with his apparel. He ended up contending with the poor man, vehemently declaring that his clothes must definitely match his mask, claiming his cravat was not nicely done, and… God knows what. After lingering in front of the mirror more than it was necessary, finally the figure staring back satisfied him, and Mr Darcy, much more nervous than on his wedding day, rushed downstairs with the sole purpose of seeing Miss Bennet, leaving a much bewildered servant behind.

  The ball room was crammed with people wearing their masquerades. Looking through one of the tall windows, Darcy waited impatiently for the carriage from Longbourn to arrive. At long last, he recognised the vehicle pulling up to the entrance. Much as he had done a little more than a year ago, he watched the family descend the carriage until he caught sight of Miss Bennet.

  Unfortunately for Mr Darcy, by the time the Bennet family had joined the ball, he had already consumed sufficient brandy to relax him enough to lose not only his customary dejected demeanour but also his determination to keep himself distant and aloof.

  The sight of his beloved Elizabeth alighting from the carriage was momentous and Darcy's knees buckled when, as she climbed the few steps towards the ballroom, he discerned her glorious eyes descending on him. She was already wearing her mask, but ever so often would uncover her face when talking to her sister Jane. It was at one of these moments when she spotted him in his corner.

  The profuse blush over her countenance told Darcy she had not failed to recognise him under the masquerade. She looked nervous, perchance embarrassed, and Darcy would wager his estate she would find it very difficult to utter the minimal civil salutation. Nonetheless, he squared his shoulders and, taking a deep breath, made his way through the maze of guests towards her. The stroll could not have taken more than a few seconds, yet he felt as if he were moving in slow motion, losing some of his resolute demeanour with every step he took. Air escaped him and by the time he reached her, he was panting heavily.

  Notwithstanding breathing difficulty, Darcy managed to retain some of his well known aloofness and bestowed the ever-so-crimsoned Elizabeth the darkest glance his covertness could afford. Judging from her visible discomfort, even under the concealment of his disguise, his steady gaze proved effective. Elizabeth found it impossible to remain still, whilst he briefly spoke his welcome.

  "Miss Bennet."

  "Mr Darcy." Elizabeth, however astonished to see him wearing a mask, was at least prepared for an interview, and resolved to appear and to speak with calmness.

  Mrs Bennet, Miss Catherine and Miss Mary were standing behind, while Mr Bennet and the Gardiner's carriage was yet to arrive.

  "Mr Darcy! I hardly recognised you!" said Kitty enthusiastically, shaking his hand affectionately. "You look exceedingly well, sir."

  "Mr Darcy?" said Mrs Bennet in disbelief. "Why, sir. I did not know you were fond of masks!"

  "Neither did I. I see you are all wearing masks. I take it you enjoy the amusement. I must confess this is the first time I attend a celebration such as this, ma'am"

  "Indeed," said Mrs Bennet.

  "But, pray, what is your verdict? Do you approve?" Kitty inquired exceedingly diverted.

  "Indeed, I do," he answered sounding perfectly amiable, to the surprise of his addressers.

  "Is Mrs Darcy here with you, sir?" asked Mrs Bennet with her natural curiosity.

  Darcy stole a sly look at Elizabeth, to see how she bore the mentioning of his wife's name. But she, as usual, when facing him, found raising her eyes impossible.

  "Mrs Darcy is at Rosings Park. She is not very fond of Twelfth Night and preferred staying in Kent with her mother and Miss Darcy. I could not deny myself the pleasure of seeing my old acquaintances," he made a pause there, his eyes darted to Elizabeth, and quickly returned to his interlocutor. "So, I accepted Mr Bingley's kind invitation." Again, he sent a meaningful look at Elizabeth, who had managed to hold her gaze reasonably upwards and was gently smiling back at him.

  His heart leapt with joy.

  Good Lord. She is pleased to see me!

  "You must excuse me." He managed to say, unable to contain himself in front of her any longer, "I trust you will enjoy yourselves," and retired to the safety of his corner with a grin broader than his face.

  Mr Darcy watched the Longbourn party walked into the ball room and disappeared among the crowd. Elizabeth, however, he kept zealously observed at a distance. He surveyed her conversation with several of her neighbours, envied the edge of the glass she sipped punch from, cautiously shortening the distance between them, fighting the mad urge to keep other gentlemen away from her, in a terrible agony to seek her company, consciously stalking her, sure she was well aware of his staring, too. Even so, on he stared, ever so closely. Surprisingly, consumption of spirits had this time helped him cheer up a bit. Contrary to his previous experience, his constant watch was having an unexpected effect on himself. Soon he was rendered defenceless in Elizabeth's
presence, unable to control his actions.

  Elizabeth's predicament was not any different. The intensity of his eyes she had been used to endure in their past interactions, yet she particularly found this new encounter the hardest of all, since he was a married man and she was, though unbeknownst to him, promised to Fitzwilliam. Darcy, being far from inebriation yet equally far from sobriety, was also as ignorant of her engagement as he was apparently oblivious to his own marital state. Thus, he would hardly rest his eyes on any other than her, and in the course of the evening, felt it impossible to refrain from the impulse to talk to her.

  As he had been watching her so closely he could take the first opportunity that befell him and, thus, approached her. He found her sipping her third glass of punch and feeling exceedingly merry.

  "I trust you are in good health, Miss Bennet."

  "I am sir, I thank you."

  "Do you feel comfortable with your new appellation?" he endeavoured to sound casual yet the meaning of his statement might as well have been misinterpreted. She did not fail to do so.

  "Ah, yes. I do. An ascent in status is always welcome. And what about Mrs Darcy? Does she find her new name appealing?" In truth, Elizabeth had meant to ask after the lady's health, but as she was under the effect of the drink, she felt in the mood to tease him. Perchance that would scare him away.

  Far from it, Darcy answered in kind. "I am afraid my wife's health prevents her from enjoying even her new appellation." All of the sudden he felt uncomfortable at the possible secondary meaning of his statement. He blushed and cleared his throat. "I mean, Mrs Darcy has been not enjoying good health lately."

  "I am sorry to hear that," she said perfunctorily.

  "Are you planning to visit London during the winter?" he asked in an effort to change the subject.

  "As a matter of fact I am just arrived from there. I have been visiting my aunt and uncle in Cheapside."

  "Oh yes. Mr and Mrs Gardiner. Please give them my regards when you see them again."

  "I will, thank you."

  Their conversation was interrupted by the music announcing a reel for those who cared for one. Mr Darcy, undoubtedly under the cheerful effect of overexposure to alcoholic beverages and admittedly spurred on by the masquerades they were wearing, felt it impossible to resist the impulse to hold her in his arms. Boldly, he made up his mind to engage her in a dance. In truth, he greatly desired her touch.

  "Would you allow me to stand up with you for this reel?" he requested tentatively.

  She appeared a bit surprised, yet her courage always rose when confronted with challenges. This was a challenge indeed. If this man would become her cousin, she had better begin to feel comfortable in his presence. Taking a deep gulp of air, she nodded silently, consenting to his invitation. Then her lips breathed an almost unspoken "Thank you."

  Holding her delicate hand in his, Darcy gloried in her touch, allowing every one of his senses to possess each one of her graces: the sweet scent emanating from her hair, the magnificent swell of her bosom, the playful glitter of her pupils, the inviting glisten of her lips. He could not believe he had been pining for her only a week ago, drowning his bitterness in alcohol, only to be afforded this magnificent moment. She was in his arms. Unbelievable! They barely talked during the reel, yet his eyes remained locked with hers through the whole piece, saying the unspoken. Oh, how much he longed to hold her tight, to kiss those tantalising lips and roam his hands over her curves! Much as he understood the iniquity of his musing, his desire had caught his fancy, and there was nothing he could do against it.

  Elizabeth's heart was not any better. She had assumed her emotions towards the gentleman in front of her had been successfully overcome with her betrothal to Richard. Far be it for her to flirt with Fitzwilliam's married cousin. Be as it may, the flipping of her heart was telling her that her feelings had remained the same as a year ago, that her strong attraction towards Mr Darcy had, if anything, grown even deeper. Over and over she would find herself staring back at his dark, sensual eyes, the first reel followed by a second and a third, the dance becoming some kind of ritual where he was shamelessly making love to her, devouring her figure with those captivating eyes of his.

  Oh shameful behaviour! How I will ever get rid of these feelings!

  Unfortunately, their developing intimacy did not pass unnoticed by Mr Bennet, who immediately approached Mr Bingley.

  "May I inquire the identity of the gentleman who is partnering Elizabeth?"

  "You may, sir. 'Tis my good friend, Mr Darcy."

  "Mr Darcy, eh? I though the fellow loathed to dance."

  "Aye, sir. Indeed! He dislikes the exertion quite a lot."

  "Is that so? I wonder what could have persuaded him to change his mind."

  "I dare say the last time I saw him dancing was coincidentally here, with Miss Elizabeth a year ago."

  "I see. Is Mrs Darcy in attendance today, as well?"

  "Nay, sir. Mrs Darcy is of sickly constitution. She never attends balls."

  "I dare say they are well matched, then."

  "Mr Darcy enjoys dancing when he knows his partner well. I understand he and your daughter are very well acquainted. After the Easter season they spent together in Kent last year, Elizabeth and the Gardiners were guests at his house in Derbyshire. They seem to have developed a strong friendship."

  "So it seems. Still, I must confess I am loath to witness them abuse their intimacy in front of these people. I believe this is the third dance they have stood up together. Please, will you indulge me and ask your sister for a dance?"

  Bingley stared at his father-in-law quite puzzled. Their third dance? Impossible! Darcy would never do such a compromising thing. Unless he was in liquor, which he had never seen him to be. On second thought, he might have abused brandy a little. In any case, Bingley would rather ask Elizabeth to dance a thousand times if that would please Mr Bennet.

  If Elizabeth had expected Mr Darcy would relinquish her company after the reels were over, she was clearly mistaken. The dance had only spurred him on. Once he had smelled the scent of the cherry, he wished he could taste it, too.

  Thus, knowing that the orchestra was playing a waltz, Darcy secured his partner once more. Ever so gently he claimed her hand again and took her to the ball floor. This new experience, to have her so close to him, yet so out of reach, was the source of an unsettling feeling which, instead of helping him to put distance between them, caused him to yield at her feet. As his trembling hand slid over the delicate gown, shyly searching for her waist, hers rested on his shoulder. The other pair of hands ever so tentatively, one over the other, clasped together, his gently squeezing hers. He could feel desire taking over his senses, making its way through his boiling blood to every inch of his body, his loins gently pulsing to the rhythm of his heart. To further his contact with her, he consciously pulled her tighter to his body, casually whispering some breathy endearments to her ear. He knew his flirtatious behaviour would lead him to rather treacherous lands, yet his feelings he was not in ability to repress. He loved this woman. He loved her and hungered for her more than he could resist.

  Elizabeth's heart was galloping, and her head was spinning as they whirled around to the music of the waltzing violins. She saw his profile leaning towards her ear and heard his voice softly speaking to her some words she could not make out. Yet, she knew he was not talking about the number of couples on the dance floor, nor about the size of the room. But she could not help it. After all, this was Twelfth Night and everybody was in the mood for shameful behaviour.

  "It has been a long time since I have enjoyed a dance so much," ventured he as they returned to the refreshment table.

  "I agree."

  "I believe in your case it is in your disposition to enjoy every dance regardless of the partner. Yet I would not be honest if I did not declare the real inducement of my taste for dancing."

  "And that would be?"

  "Why of course, the vision it would afford. Not to mention t
he pleasure of holding your body so close to mine."

  "Mr Darcy!" She cast him a quizzical glance. Mr Darcy was evidently much in his cups, yet Elizabeth reckoned she liked him even much better now that he was thus. The flirting and flattering really became him.

  "Forgive me. I am afraid I forgot myself. I did not mean to offend you. But really, Miss Bennet. You cannot blame me for speaking the truth. You look exceedingly beautiful tonight." He displayed a dazzling smile, revealing his dimples she just adored, that almost took Elizabeth's breath away.

  "I thank you, sir. I must confess I hardly know you, Mr Darcy!"

  "I am deeply sorry, ma'am. I did not mean to offend you, I…" he said beginning to feel embarrassed.

  "Oh no! 'Tis only that you are unusually jubilant. You did not offend me," she said in earnest.

  "I did not?"

  "It is only that you took me by surprise. I would have never expected such forwardness from so proper a gentleman as you have always shown yourself to be."

  "I am relieved, then, ma'am. Though, I must assure you that my blunt confession of my admiration will not deprive you of my gentle manners. I vow to remain a gentleman with you."

  "You must excuse me. 'Tis not my intention to sound missish. Nevertheless, I am sure you must understand the impropriety of my acceptance of a wedded man's compliments."

  "Yet you accept them?" He flashed her a disarming smile; his voice deep, sensual, daring, while his gaze thoroughly scanned her profile in an endeavoured to catch her eye.

  A sheepish grin blossomed on her lips. "I do. After all you are saying nothing but the truth."

  "You mean you are beautiful?" He was wrapping her in his words, his eyes sporting a flirtatious twinkle.

  "I mean, I really enjoyed the dance."

  "And the dance partner?" he insisted, shamelessly lowering his head, his voice soothing and charming.

  She giggled. Looking up to him, she admitted in almost a whisper. "Oh yes, I concede to you I enjoyed both."

  They both laughed heartily. Elizabeth could hardly believe it. Here she was in front of Mr Darcy. Hard as she tried, she could not comprehend the strong pull that attracted her to him. Unbelievably enchanted by his infamous flirtation, she had already forgotten all sense of propriety, lost as she was in the crystal peal of his laughter. She had rarely seen him doing so. His merriment was so rarely displayed that on first impression she had considered him incapable of it. Yet, he was wearing his most seductive grin and would bestow it only upon her.