Love Calls Again

by Lucianne Elsworth

  Unfortunately, news of the recent widowhood of the illustrious (and very handsome, very rich) Mr Darcy, soon roamed from South to North. Apparently, every unmarried daughter from Derbyshire to London and down into Kent, suddenly remembered the same custom, and in noticing the deceased's obvious lack of friends (very conveniently) all of them had the very same idea, to offer either themselves or a young single relative, for the job.

  In a matter of hours, female consolers queued up in front of the house of mourning at Rosings Park, in a vain hope to catch a glimpse of the happy widower. Richard Fitzwilliam could scarcely believe such lack of decorum or respect for the dead. Such was their befuddlement at the ladies' invasion, that neither Darcy nor Fitzwilliam had had the time to put the staff on guard. Consequently, many of the unwanted visitors had entered the house and were perambulating around the premises. Some of them had even had access to Darcy, who was too overwhelmed by the unexpected ardour from his female neighbours to provide him with consolation, to be able to react in his usual manner.

  On the second day, after the first incursion of the mourners, Colonel Fitzwilliam had already heard Mr Bingley from Hertfordshire had come to condole with Darcy. He knew him by name only, but he also knew he was Elizabeth's brother-in-law.

  Still, upon seeing Elizabeth Bennet herself walking into Rosings parlour, Colonel Fitzwilliam felt his heart jolt. Her appearance struck him as the most beautiful sight his eyes had entertained in years. It was a vision from the Golden days. She was a phantom from the past, though so young, so incredibly and joyfully youthful. What was she doing here? Obviously Georgiana had been right. Only if she was related to Darcy in an intimate manner would she have felt free to visit him during mourning. He followed her at a good distance, whilst she was being led by one of the servants towards the library.

  At the foot of the stairs, Colonel Fitzwilliam saw the familiar countenance of a man. He somehow recalled him, but he could not make out the beautiful lady by his side. The Colonel could not help his admiration for such a pretty lady.

  Good Lord! Who is that vision?

  The considerable intimacy of their behaviour lead the Colonel to conclude the trio were closely related. 'Twas evident, for the man had greeted Elizabeth with a kiss.

  And then, whilst he contemplated the scene, the source of their familiarity dawned on him.

  This is Bingley, married to Miss Jane Bennet. Good lord, how come this clown has won such a prize? And of course Elizabeth is his sister.

  Fitzwilliam scanned the surroundings in search of Darcy. He must be somewhere around. He wondered where he could be.

  Why has she come at all? Is she throwing herself at Darcy as are all the others? If she was not his mistress it was most inappropriate for Elizabeth to have come at all. The only way in which she would be adequately behaving was if she had received a card from Darcy inviting her to the funeral.

  His incredible suspicion slapped his face. Darcy had purposely lied to him. A shiver went down his spine. His Elizabeth had certainly fallen prey to his cousin's lust. Was Darcy of that disposition at all? Was it possible that Miss Elizabeth was Darcy's mistress? If she was, Darcy had been careful enough not to have confided it even to him. Surely that could not be, not his honourable cousin.

  Truth be told, he had always suspected that Darcy's apparent abhorrence of female favours outside the bonds of marriage would have been a unique disguise for a pretence such as this. After all, the man was only human! He had confessed his almost irresistible attraction towards Elizabeth to him more than once. Taking mistresses was a common practice and Darcy would not be an exception to it. Colonel Fitzwilliam knew he had never had felicity in his matrimony with Anne De Bourgh. So, a secret mistress would be the perfect answer for his cousin's endurance during such an unhappy union, and the only plausible explanation, in Fitzwilliam's jealous stricken mind, for Elizabeth's presence in the house.

  Whilst ruminating upon his cousin's deeds with Elizabeth, yet another thought trickled into his mind. Perchance he was misjudging them. Perhaps she did receive an invitation to the funeral. Georgiana could very well have told her. After all, he knew Georgiana would foster a reunion between her brother and Elizabeth…

  What if Miss Bennet had remained unmarried counting on his own return? The idea began to ponder in his mind. Was it possible for a woman's heart to endure the passing of so long a time? After the horrors of the war in the peninsula, he had thought there was no room for domestic felicity in his life. His heart began to come alive again.

  If Elizabeth was still unmarried for his sake, then this new circumstance would require his attention. Albeit he was a man of honour, Elizabeth Bennet was his true love. Should she think herself still engaged to him, he would have to renew his contact with her and fulfil his promise of matrimony, leaving his cousin's feelings aside. Howbeit his personal feelings for Elizabeth were beyond his duty towards his family, hers were definitely not.

  He decided that he would solve this mystery later. Perchance Darcy could enlighten him. If he was discreet, he surmised he would be able to acquit such information without raising suspicions of either his presumption of Miss Bennet's lost virtue or his previous attachment to the lady. He would allow Darcy to meet her first. He felt he owed it to him. After all, she was not at Rosings Park at his request but at his cousin's.

  Fitzwilliam went into the music room on the ground floor and sank into an armchair to close his eyes for a bit. Lost in reverie, he wished things had been different for him and Elizabeth. If only he had married her before leaving England!

  ~•~

  The library was beginning to get dark. The servants had been compelled to use the reserve of candles in the main rooms where most of the people were gathering. Such undesirable company required all their attention. Some of the servants had been sent to London to procure the shroud and coffin for Mrs Darcy and were not to return until Sunday. Hence the failure of the remaining staff to notice the diminishing light in the rest of the rooms. Elizabeth looked anxiously around. In a few minutes, so simple an assay to distinguish a face would be a daunting exertion. She had been waiting for the Master of Rosings and Pemberley in the library for a good half hour and was beginning to feel restless to say the least. Her resolution to look in front of him was quite a difficult endeavour.

  In vain did she struggle to concentrate, the most preposterous thoughts would inevitably pervade her mind. How easily her memory would wander from the sensible present to stupid girlish dreams! However hard she strove to attend her sister's conversation, the prior five years of her life persistently paraded in front of her, drifting her away to her one and twentieth year and back.

  In a blink of an eye she was transported to the Gardiner's in London and the acrid memory of Mr Darcy's fare well. Indeed, the single intelligence of his proximity was unsettling her, turning her thoughts to anything but reassuring, leaving her in the most desperate, gloomiest mood ever.

  There. Suffer the pain. Serves you right.

  "Elizabeth," her sister's voice brought her instantly back from her daydreaming. Jane had been talking to her for the past ten minutes but, evidently, Elizabeth was too much distracted to pay attention to her. "You are not listening. Pray, tell me. Are you unwell?"

  "Not at all, I was merely reflecting on what to say to Mr Darcy," she lied.

  "Oh," answered Jane. "You had better choose your words carefully, for I am afraid he is not quite recovered." Jane said these last words with a mischievous smirk drawn on her lips.

  Elizabeth immediately noticed her sister's statement conveyed more than what it factually signified. "Pray Jane, what is it that you propose for me to say? Is he not feeling well?"

  "Well Lizzy, one would expect any gentleman to feel rather disquieted at his wife's demise. That seems only natural, of course. But I dare say Mr Darcy's sentiments are not quite those of the regular griever. He is definitely not disconsolate, yet there is something about his demeanour that reveals certain discomfort. Let us say that his disco
mfiture cannot be completely attributed to the painful last days he went through neither before nor after Mrs Darcy's passing."

  She made a pause there and then reflected, "I dare say he seemed quite himself when I first saw him this afternoon," she walked towards Elizabeth and with a twinkle in her eyes she added, arching her brow. "At least he was rather cheerful until the name of a certain lady was mentioned."

  Elizabeth's complexion gained an uncomfortable pink colour, and she began fidgeting in her seat. Her sister stood in front of her, visibly enjoying her discomfort. Jane was quite diverted by her sister's reaction. As her brief monologue had not rendered successful her purpose to make Elizabeth say something, she took a deep breath and continued with her speech.

  "All of a sudden, upon my mentioning your name, his countenance changed and became so restless that he was compelled to abandon our company. I am most certain it was because of you, Lizzy."

  "Upon my word Jane. Are you insinuating he was distressed to know of my presence?"

  "Oh no, dear Lizzy. Do not get a wrong impression. I was only stating that he suddenly felt unwell… as if he was… you know… nervous because you were here."

  "He may have very well been merely tired."

  "Lizzy." Jane looked intently into her eyes. "Mr Darcy could barely restrain himself when he heard of your whereabouts. He is positively desperate to see you."

  "Jane!"

  "Oh, Lizzy! I know this must be difficult for you. But mark my words. Mr Darcy definitely harbours some strong emotions for you. He could simple not hide them. Besides, there is no reason for you to fear his contempt now, his change of mood must not be accounted for anything other than an enamoured heart."

  "Jane, Mr Darcy is a man of strong commitments. He is absolutely incapable of improper behaviour… towards his family. Mrs Darcy is not cold yet, Gracious Lord! And honestly, I fail to comprehend how anyone can accuse Mr Darcy of such abhorrent misconduct of nourishing… unwanted expectations of any kind towards a woman at such short notice!"

  "Unwanted?"

  Elizabeth blushed. "Please, Jane. Do not tease me."

  "But you said…"

  They were interrupted by Mr Bingley's stormy entrance into the room.

  "I cannot find him," a concerned Bingley exclaimed. "I wonder where he has gone. This is most bizarre."

  "I am sure the gentleman has not been himself for a good time by now." Jane said containing a chuckle. Then, regaining composure, she proposed a further quest for her husband's friend. "I think you should go and search for him again, Charles."

  "Indeed, I shall. Would you not accompany me, my dear?"

  Jane cast an anxious look at her sister. "I would rather stay here with Elizabeth, if you do not mind."

  "Please go," Elizabeth pleaded with her. "Do not let me detain you. Four eyes are better than two. Besides, soon there will not be enough light here for us to see each other. You must find a servant to provide us with some candlelight. I shall be waiting here for you in case Mr Darcy appears."

  "I must agree with your sister, Jane. The sooner we go in search of Darcy, the sooner we shall find him."

  Jane admitted the truth of his deduction and reluctantly exited the library behind her husband. Now that she was alone and away from Jane's uncharacteristic playfulness, Elizabeth rose from her seat and went over to one of the windows. It was beginning to rain. Fine weather for a wake.

  ~•~

  "Darling, I shall go and find a servant to light up the library. Do you think you can look for Darcy on the ground floor?"

  "Of course, Charles."

  "If you should find him, will you take him to the library?"

  "I will."

  Jane Bingley sighed. All this was a bit puzzling but at the same time exceedingly exciting. A little unromantic, she confess, but all the same passionate. That her sister Lizzy was head over heels in love with Mr Darcy was beyond doubt, but the most attractive side of it all was that Mr Darcy seemed to reciprocate those feelings excessively. Now, it was all a question to wait and see what happened between them. She wished they could find their way to each other.

  All this coming and going and being so excited over her sister's emotions had made her feel a bit of a crash herself. There had been a time when she, too, had felt weak in the knees for the man that had become her husband. Unfortunately, Charles had long ago ceased making her feel that way. On the contrary, his presence was barely tolerable for her, though she never shooed it or complained. The truth was that Bingley had failed to grow up, he was still a child in the body of an adult. Betimes Jane wondered how she could have ever felt so much admiration for him. Undoubtedly, she had been influenced by her mother's notions of well-bred ladies and gentlemanly behaviour. Matrimony was the only escape for a decent gentleman's daughter, and Mrs Bennet had trained all five of them to make a good catch regardless of their feelings. It was the man who should fall in love, not contrariwise, and again it was the man who must find his pleasure in bed, never the woman, unless she was a courtesan. Husbands had all the rights, wives the duties. The Bennet girls all had been good learners; all of them but one.

  Jane still recalled one conversation she had held with her sister, Elizabeth, in the privacy of their bedroom in the prime of their youth.

  "With father's estate withheld from the female line, we have only our charms. One of us at least will have to marry 'very' well," had said Lizzy, "and since you're five times as pretty as the rest of us, and have the sweetest disposition, the task will fall on you."

  "But, Lizzy… I would wish… I should so much like… to marry for love," answered Jane.

  "And so you shall, I'm sure. Only take care you fall in love with a man of good fortune."

  "Well, I shall try. To please you."

  Those words had been said in jest, but in fact the influence of her family's expectancy, that her beauty should attract a rich gentleman, and that it was expected from her to fall in love with one of them, must have exerted more pressure than she had acknowledged at the moment.

  Her sister's determination had been different.

  "I am determined that only the deepest love will induce me into matrimony."

  True to her words, Elizabeth had rejected the suit of two very eligible gentlemen. Jane could easily forgive her for having refused Mr Collin's suit. But Mr Darcy's… The more she thought of it, the less she could understand Elizabeth. How could she have failed to see Mr Darcy's true amiability before? Furthermore… How could she have been so blind so as to have believed all those lies about him? If only she had seen Mr Darcy's true colours before it was too late. Mr Darcy was not only a highly eligible bachelor, but also the most handsome of their acquaintance! She still felt a bit dizzy at the recollection of Mr Darcy's firm hands on her waist while waltzing with her in his house in London. On closing her eyes, she could imagine such magnificent specimen of the male creation in amorous congress. The man could extract sighs from a statue of Venus.

  Not only was Mr Darcy handsome to look at, with his manly manners and his sensual eyes, but he was also exceedingly desirable as a lover, should Jane have ever chosen to have any. Jane could have easily fallen prey to those eyes had they ever been rested on her. It was a pity he was her husband's best friend and her sister's admirer.

  Mr Darcy seemed to have eyes only for Elizabeth. Now her sister seemed to be having a second chance. If Elizabeth found happiness in her life this time, then all the waiting would have been worth the while.

  Jane surveyed the room for a third time. Where was he? Blast! Was it possible that he could have chosen this moment to disappear?

  She opened the door of several rooms after discreetly knocking on them, and poked her head in to peek inside. Perchance Mr Darcy was looking for some solitude. What her shock must have been one could only guess when she found not Mr Darcy but a dazzlingly good-looking soldier in one of the rooms.

  Her knees buckled.

  Heaven Forbid! Who is this gentleman? God, is he handsome! At first sight, J
ane quickly surmised there was blood relation between the gentlemen. Something about Mr Darcy's features were on this man's countenance. He struck Jane as very attractive, though not so much as Mr Darcy.

  Oblivious to her musing, the soldier just rose and stepped forward smiling. He grew even more dazzling when he did so.

  "You must be Mrs Bingley," he said while stretching out his hand to shake hers.

  "I am." she stammered a bit unsure of the propriety of shaking hands with an unacquainted gentleman, and still, quite absent-mindedly, stepped into the room to reach for his hand. The door of the room closed behind her.

  " 'Tis a pleasure to meet you at last."

  "At last, sir?" she inquired intrigued.

  "I am your cousin. Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam is my name."

  "Indeed, sir! 'Tis a pleasure to make your acquaintance."

  "The pleasure is all mine, I assure you, Mrs Bingley. May I be of any assistance to you?" Jane did not react. She merely watched his lips moving while she fought the thuds of her heart.

  "I confess I have heard much of you, through your sister, and the praise has not been exaggerated." he said, gallantly flashing her one of his charming smiles. Flirting had always been his trademark, he could not help it. Every time he was in front of a beautiful woman, be she married or not, Colonel Fitzwilliam would just shift to flirting mode. Of course it never meant anything, and, although Jane was certainly one of the most beautiful creatures the good God had created, Fitzwilliam's heart was already engaged.

  Yet, he still had eyes.

  "Oh yes! You are right. We are cousins, are we not? And so is Mr Darcy now that you mention it. Oh, this is a small world, is it not?"

  "Indeed it is, Mrs Bingley."

  "I understand you are just arrived from the Continent."

  "Yes. As a matter of fact I arrived in December."

  " It must have been very hard."

  "Indeed, it was. But I have learned some of a good friend's philosophy, and I only think of the past as its remembrance gives me pleasure."

  "So, Elizabeth is a good friend of yours, I see."