Love Calls Again

by Lucianne Elsworth

  "Indeed she is. Pray, is she well?"

  "She is in the library at this moment. She has come to help me with Mrs Darcy's shroud. Miss Darcy suggested that we should offer our services since Mrs Darcy had few female friends. Elizabeth came up to help me."

  "I see. How generous of you!"

  "As you must very well know, Mr Darcy and my sister are very well acquainted. They became quite close in the past. She and Mrs Darcy had been introduced while still unmarried, and Lizzy spent almost a month in her company here at Rosings. Elizabeth wanted to condole with Mr Darcy personally."

  The colonel felt a pang of jealousy tearing his heart. What did she mean by 'very well acquainted'?

  "Indeed I know. I was introduced to her through Darcy right here. I understand perfectly well."

  "As a matter of fact, I am looking for Mr Darcy. Have you not seen him?"

  "Well, he must be somewhere in the house. Have you checked outside?"

  "I have not. It is raining."

  "Let me just check. There is the gazebo. Our cousin is not very fond of crowds. He must have sought some solitude," he, then, bobbed lightly at her and quitted the room.

  Fitzwilliam went outside to prove his theory correct. His cousin had sought solitude outside despite the rain. Judging by his dampened clothes and hair, he had been walking in the garden. Day was giving way to evening, and a persistent drizzle was falling upon the flowerbeds and lawn. Darcy was now sheltered in the gazebo, his head bowed, pensive, lost in reverie.

  "Darcy!" he called out.

  Upon hearing his name called, the man in the gazebo raised his face to see his interlocutor.

  "Fitzwilliam," he acknowledged.

  The Colonel quickened his steps and entered the protection of the gazebo, brushing the sleeves of his coat with his hands in an attempt to dry them.

  "Are you unwell? You look decidedly fearful," he beamed. He had all the intention of cheering him up and making him talk.

  "Yes, I thank you. No… I am… I was merely…" he paused to look down to the floor, as if at a loss for words. He smiled a tightened smile and shuffled his hand over his hair, then looked up to his cousin again. "I am quite well, I thank you."

  "Would you mind my company?"

  "Not at all." There was an awkward silence. "Pray, Fitzwilliam. You do not need to concern yourself about me."

  The Colonel endeavoured to make his cousin feel at ease. He decided to try a different subject than that of Darcy's feelings.

  "As a matter of fact I am deeply concerned about the odious behaviour of some of your neighbours."

  "Indeed."

  "What do they mean coming in such throngs without an invitation? 'Tis hardly proper."

  "I shall do something about it."

  "You must. 'Tis almost dark and not one gives a hint as to taking their leave. Besides, people, I should say ladies, keep coming in tons, and refuse to go until they have seen you. Unfortunately they linger around even afterwards!"

  "Pray, cousin. You sound envious," Darcy joked.

  The Colonel peeked at Darcy's countenance and to his surprise a smile played in the corners of his lips.

  "Indeed, I am not," he chuckled.

  "Believe me, I do not desire either their attentions or their charms. All I wish is to finish with the funerals on Monday and return to Pemberley and to my peace of mind." Darcy, after having been notified of Miss Bennet's possible presence in his house, had been looking for her among the faces of his undesired guests but to no avail.

  They remained in mutual silence for a while, looking at the constant drizzle falling on the lawn. For a moment Darcy forgot his abandoned pursuit of Elizabeth. Much to his surprise, it would be the Colonel who would bring up the topic to his head. Colonel Fitzwilliam said nonchalantly,

  "Speaking of ladies, I have just seen Mrs Bingley in the music room," he made a pause. Darcy nodded absent-mindedly

  "… and Miss Elizabeth Bennet in the parlour. Have you not seen her yet?"

  "You… you have?"

  "Yes," he nodded "It would have been impossible not to recognise her. She is much the same lovely face we saw here at Rosings five years ago," he said teasingly.

  "Are you positive it is her?"

  "Absolutely. I believe your friend Bingley took her to the library to see you?"

  Reassured by his cousin's admittance of Miss Bennet's enduring beauty, Darcy straightened up and made a mad dash across the garden towards the house. But he stopped half way and turning around gave his cousin a mournful look. "I thank you," he said. Then he disappeared into the shadows of the path.

  Colonel Fitzwilliam sighed. To say he was confused would be an understatement. Enlightenment upon anyone's personal life had never been his pursuit. Yet, he knew the disclosure of Miss Bennet's reasons for spinsterhood and possible adulterous relation to his cousin would be almost indefensible. Darcy would never admit such a thing, even if he was caught red handed.

  But after Darcy's display of emotions upon his mentioning her, Fitzwilliam had but few doubts about his cousin's intentions. Still, he might well have been pretending in order to conceal his real relationship with her. Were that the case, evidently, Darcy had successfully concealed his entreaties and therefore, his adultery had remained sealed in secrecy.

  This last theory began to nest in his mind. He reckoned he would have to dip his hands deeper if he was to elicit any information from Darcy. He deliberated on the best manner to achieve his purpose. Perchance if he witnessed their interaction he could arrive at a fair conclusion. In all this befuddlement, the possibility of his engagement with her was but a preposterous notion.

  "Pish tosh," he said aloud, abandoning his shelter and walking the path towards the house. "I shall uncover this." He abandoned the gazebo and followed his cousin to the library.

  ~•~

  Looking intently into the window pane Elizabeth saw her own reflection. She rested her brow on the cold glass pane and closed her eyes again. How much she wished Jane was right! Immediately, the warmth of his memory flooded her heart.

  Mr Darcy. Oh, Mr Darcy.

  Memories of their last painful meeting returned irremediably.

  He had done the unthinkable.

  The whole thing had been triggered on occasion of the festivities of Christmas, upon Twelfth Night at Netherfield Park four years ago. She reckoned she had tasted more than one glass of punch, and probably Mr Darcy had done likewise with brandy. At least so much his spicy breath betrayed. Mr Darcy had approached her in the secrecy of the mask, and taking her to the orangery, he had kissed her on her lips, not once, but twice, and again and again until she could bear it no more. It had been a deliciously enticing experience, Mr Darcy's lips upon her cheeks, her neck, her cleavage, the corners of her mouth. His hands roaming shamelessly over her whole body, awaking unknown sensitivities that had haunted her ever since. He had come to her when she was prohibited to him, absolutely out of reach. He had been already married by then.

  But that night, he had introduced her to pleasures prohibited to honourable maidens.

  Introduce her he did, and then he proceeded to school her further on into more sophisticated pleasures that delicious night in her bedchamber in his town house when he had touched… nay, even kissed her breasts… and nearly pierced her. He had made love to her, almost like a husband to a wife.

  Indeed, that had been the best, the most exhilarating moment in her life when he, in all his sobriety, had entered her bedchamber, and got into her bed. Those memories she had endeavoured to forget, for they embarrassed her, humbled her, made her feel vulnerable, stupidly naive. Blazed memories, indeed.

  Their farewell, however, had been the most painful experience in her life. Even more painful than the day she had let Colonel Fitzwilliam go. She had died a little when saying goodbye to her fiancé. Still, when she refused to consent to Mr Darcy's schemes for a divorce she had completely died in heart and soul. She had resigned herself to lead a loveless life for ever.

  Now h
e was free again.

  She wondered what sort of pleasures would he introduce her to next. For he will. Surely he will.

  Her imagination freed, the woods around Rosings offered undeniably inviting shelter for further instruction. She could indulge her fantasy of his caresses and kisses. Many times she had dared daydream about it. Oh dreams, how sweet the thought of it all.

  'Twas a perfect setting for her little reverie. There was a secluded spot surrounded by tall trees. She would have leaned against one of them, and Darcy would have pinned her to its trunk, pressing his strong body against her, his mouth diving to hers again, stealing from her the most ardent kisses, his hands resting possessively around her waist and creeping slowly up her body. Or perchance his hands were all over her… shyly at first, then boldly bestowing a torrid incursion betwixt and between her clothes. She could almost feel his warm breathy endearments on her ear, his lips brushing her neck, taking her to yet unexplored emotions.

  So much for harmless kissing…

  Such was the wanton state to which her bemusement had taken her that the knocks passed completely unnoticed.

  Only when the door was flung open did the startled Elizabeth abandon her musing. When she opened her eyes, she discerned she was still in the library at Rosings Park all alone, in complete lonely darkness (save the momentary flicker of light that had slipped into the room through the door aperture), dusk having overpowered daylight a few moments ago whilst she was daydreaming. She would be in the most bizarre position, standing next to the window, arms crossed on her chest, thus on her tip toes, her lips pouting slightly open as if expecting a kiss. She immediately dropped her arms to her side, feeling her cheeks severely flushed at the humiliating suspicion the quiet trespasser might have seen her in such an incongruous state. Someone's presence was certain, for she had clearly perceived the opening of the door and the light thud of the footsteps into the library.

  She knew she was no longer alone, yet her improvised companion did not announce himself.

  Who is there?

  She made a blind movement forward and contained her breath.

  Was it Jane?

  She shivered at the improbability of her sister being the intruder of her blazing private moment. To know such daydreams existed in her mind. Squinting her eyes through the faintest of light, she distinguished the tall figure of a man merely a few steps from her; still she could not discern the person's face.

  And then it happened. The name just slipped her mouth and doomed her to embarrassment.

  "William?"

  Thus, a distinctly masculine, though incredulous voice answered.

  "Miss Bennet?"

  Twenty

  —

  Women in Black

  Georgiana knew Lady Anne would not survive long. Therefore, she had asked her maidservant to ready several of her gowns for dyeing, for she knew mourning for a sister will take at least six months, and she had no black dresses save the one she wore to church after Lady Catherine's demise, and that had been a winter dress.

  She would also need several black bonnets and white gloves for she most surely would have to attend the funeral. So, she spent the week prior to her sister's death purchasing the necessary items of clothing for the sad occasion.

  The morning the express arrived at her town house, Georgiana did not bother to open the card. Instead, she penned a letter to Elizabeth Bennet directly, begging her to assist her brother and Mrs Collins with the preparation of the shroud. Trusting her little trick would work, a sly smile drew on her lips.

  Now Colonel Fitzwilliam would be free to spend the rest of the spring season and summer in Matlock with her. (For she was sure her brother would want to stay as close to Miss Bennet as possible, and would certainly not go with them) Still, in her mind lingered Richard's promise to take her to balls and dance a waltz with her. How much she longed for him to hold her, to feel his manly hands encircling her waist at least for a dance. Damn mourning! Richard was so handsome, so… she was not sure what else she could say about him… what ever it was, he was.

  She reckoned that to persuade Fitzwilliam to woo her would be a bit of a challenge. She was confident as regards her beauty and accomplishments. Her appearance was very favourable indeed; she had been quite successful with the most handsome and eligible young men of the ton. Still, Richard Fitzwilliam was a confirmed bachelor and a reputed flirt. Moreover, he was a kind of elder brother, even more, being fifteen years her senior he was like a father to her in the eyes of all the people of their acquaintance. But not in her eyes. No. In her eyes he was the most eligible man in the world, the hero of her girlish dreams, Prince Charming in his regimentals. One look of his azure eyes melted her heart and made her knees weak. If only he knew of the depth of her emotions. If she could prove to him she deserved his favours!

  A strategy should be worked out. She inspected her gowns. Necklines were far too high. They needed to be cut far lower so that Richard might have a look at her generous bosom. That would be daring indeed, especially in front of her family and in the middle of a wake. But it could not be helped. Desperate measures were her priority now. Richard would not resist her.

  She rang for the maidservant and instructed her to make all the changes to her freshly dyed gowns. Then she set up to scheme a seduction. It was a pity that music was not a possibility for that was what she excelled at. And with her new low-cuts and Richard always offering to change pages for her… well, that would have done the trick. For the view she would offer him from his position would have been tempting enough to convey the message. Or at least to draw his attention…

  Music discarded, she would have to resort to something else. Perhaps the lady in distress? That had always worked out with him before. Hmm… Maybe… Horses. Richard loved horses and he would not resist an invitation to riding. She rang for her maid and asked her to pack her riding boots.

  ~•~

  Darcy's unexpected charms had caught him completely unawares. Notwithstanding his endeavour to avoid the herd of unattached females that roamed the interiors of Rosings, scarcely had he reached the stairs to the library when he was helplessly restrained by said unmarried women demanding an opportunity to talk to him. The female offensive was therefore endured and dismissed with no little anguish. In order to bear it with tolerance, he had needed all the civility that could be afforded, yet his manners proved acutely deficient in this regard.

  Much to his dismay, his desperation reached paramount proportions at the sight of Colonel Fitzwilliam on his way to the aforesaid room. What did he mean by going there? Still fresh in his mind was the picture of Fitzwilliam wooing Miss Bennet in the music room five years ago. He would not allow it. Blind with jealousy, he stalked towards his cousin, and reached him under the huge stairs, successfully forestalling the Colonel's penetration into what he considered his domain. Just then, Charles joined them bearing a handful of extinguished candles. Darcy looked at the wax sticks with a puzzled expression, then to Bingley, who, nodding towards the library, proceeded to explain.

  "There are no candles left, so I took these from the study," he mumbled. "It must be dark in the library by now."

  Mystified as he was by Bingley's exertions, Darcy assented. Understanding the unsuitability of a light-deprived room to shelter a lady, he assumed Miss Bennet had been removed somewhere else. Hence, he expected to be taken there. Though he endeavoured to discern the reason behind his friend's assumption of servile activities such as candle bearing, he decided to leave the subject for later discussion, and limited his mind to the strictly necessary.

  "Were you looking for me?" Darcy asked clearing his throat, rather expectantly.

  "Indeed, Darcy. Jane and I have been in search of you for the past hour. My sister Elizabeth has arrived. Do you wish to see her?"

  "Indeed I do."

  "Well, then. Shall we go in?"

  "Into the library?"

  "Well, yes."

  "She is still in the library," he chanted in amazement.

>   "She is indeed."

  "In the dark?" asked Colonel Fitzwilliam in a tone demonstrating the folly of such notion. Man! This fellow is quite stupid!

  Much as he struggled to find justification for his sister's location, Bingley ended up uncomfortably shifting from one foot to the other. "You see, when we entered the library there was still daylight. Then I went in search of you, and my wife and sister remained there. I looked for you, but to no avail. Upon my return it was already dusk, so Jane and I went to further our search and fetch some candles as well. My sister preferred to remain in there in case you came."

  "I see. Where is Mrs Bingley?" Darcy bent his head to inspect Bingley's back, looking for Jane, every now and then bringing the back of his palm to his mouth in a nervous tic.

  Bingley shrugged. "She must be still looking for you," he reasoned.

  "I have seen Mrs Bingley near the music room. Indeed, she was looking for you, Darcy," explained the colonel.

  "Bingley, you must understand we cannot positively enter the room with no light." He then talked to his cousin. "Fitzwilliam. Would you please go and find Mrs Ponsonby? Tell her we will be needing some candlelight in the library, if you please."

  "Of course."

  "What shall I do with these? Can we not just use these?"

  Darcy's voice betrayed a quizzical tone. "Bingley. You need to light them first."

  "Indeed. I shall go and light them. Will you not come?"

  "I shall remain here in case Mrs Bingley returns," he said uncomfortably. "Besides I do not wish to confront any more visitors."

  Colonel Fitzwilliam looked askance at Darcy's face. He did not believe a single word he said. In truth, he was certain Darcy was trying to steal a moment to see Miss Bennet on his own. "I think some ladies have lost their wits lately," said he to gain some time. "Ponsonby was looking for you. There are three more ladies downstairs, Darcy. And many of the first callers are still in the vicinity. Hardly proper behaviour. 'Tis almost dusk, and I believe 'tis not a convenient time for visitors."

  "Oh yes, the Misses Dashwood. Please, Fitzwilliam, you must excuse me from attending to their call. Would you accept their condolences on my behalf? May I trouble you with this? Please inform them that Mrs Reynolds is to attend to everything, and that I very much appreciate their offer."