Love Calls Again

by Lucianne Elsworth

  "Shall I tell them to leave?"

  "Please, tell them that I very much esteem the trouble they had taken in coming, but that I am unable to receive them." For God's sake, go and take Bingley with you once and for all. Can you not see I want to see Miss Bennet alone?

  "I shall ask them to leave their cards with Ponsonby," said Richard without moving from his spot.

  "Yes, that will do. Please remind them I shall be attending callers in ten days at Pemberley." Darcy gestured him to leave with his eyes. Richard fidgeted in his place.

  "I shall tell them so." But still he did not make any attempt to abandon Darcy's company.

  "Will you not go?" Darcy urged him in the end.

  "Come, Bingley" said an apologetic Colonel. "Let us find some holders and light for your wicks."

  Eventually, Fitzwilliam went downstairs. He made up his mind to do his duty in haste and return to catch Darcy red-handed. Hence, Bingley and the Colonel departed in search of proper illumination and condoling ladies whilst Darcy remained in front of the massive door with a formidable decision. He was well aware of the impropriety of his entrance into the room in the intelligence of Miss Elizabeth Bennet's solitude. The fact that the library was in blatant darkness was only a mere detail. Still in his mind lingered the sad results of his most ungentlemanly adieu in London. Yet, life had generously awarded him another opportunity with the only woman he had ever loved. Ever so lightly, he knocked hesitantly and awaited her response.

  There was none.

  He insisted with a quick rap.

  Again no response.

  In apprehension of anyone's hasty return, he opened a small crack and peered inside. Miss Bennet's petite figure was delicately cut among the shadows formed with the shaft of light penetrating from the ajar door. She offered a curious pose, though. Gloom pervading the library, Darcy surmised his eyes could be easily tricked. Yet he would have wagered his estate she was on tiptoes, her hands crossing her chest. What could she possibly be at? Perchance she is cold. Oblivious to his presence she moaned something. What is it? Fish…? Fizz…?

  Unconsciously, whilst ruminating upon all these, he had already stepped into the room and the door closing behind deprived him of the bizarre vision.

  "William." he heard her this time quite distinguishably.

  Who in Heaven's name is William? Is there someone else with her?

  Darcy's mind began a mad trace of all the "Williams" of his acquaintance, yet he could not recall any such man who could be occupying Elizabeth's mind. He wondered whether the man was in there in the library with her, and his eyes gave a quick survey to the gloomy corners of the room, to no avail mainly for reasons of scarce visibility. Jealous stricken, a painful lump in his throat pervading, Darcy wondered if this William was to ruin his nascent plans with Elizabeth.

  "William?" she called out.

  Perchance he is her husband. Howbeit the image of her spouse tortured him, he wheeled his mind to focus on her present exertions. Thus, he called her name.

  "Miss Bennet?"

  Elizabeth spun around, horrified for being caught daydreaming. Horror turned into embarrassment when she realised that the very man of her reverie was the one who had happened so unexpectedly upon her. How long had he been there?

  "Oh Lord!" she gasped.

  Hearing her transfigured voice, Darcy feared his presence might still be unwanted. He dreaded to offend her in any way. Therefore he stepped back and said. "I am sorry, Miss Bennet. I meant only to make sure it was you here in the library. Please, do not make yourself uneasy. I know my presence here is completely inappropriate. If you will excuse me, I shall be back in a minute."

  Darcy abandoned the library in haste, relieved she was alone in the library, no Williams in sight. Nervous, excited, his demeanour betraying the absolute bliss in which his encounter with Miss Bennet had left him, he approached a mirror that faced the library door and brushed his coat and breeches. Then he tentatively inspected his lips, as if in preparation for what was to come when her lips touched them. For he would kiss her, that was for certain. Slightly surprised, he discerned a figure behind him. It was his cousin.

  Fitzwilliam had been taking a good look at Darcy whilst he had not yet detected his presence. Darcy appeared to be out of sorts. His nervousness, Fitzwilliam gathered, could be the result either of his having been with Elizabeth, or the prospect of being with her. On inspecting Darcy's demeanour he concluded it was probably the former. A pang of sadness mingled with jealousy took hold of his chest. Deep within he had wished Elizabeth was still waiting for him.

  "Darcy, I came to inform you that the Misses Dashwood had been dismissed together with the rest of the visitors. Now, if you do not need me, I shall retire to my bedchamber. I am exhausted."

  So distracted was Darcy with his present exertions than he failed to detect the bitterness of Fitzwilliam's tone.

  "Of course. I thank you."

  Not a word did Fitzwilliam answer. He whirled around and disappeared in the corridor.

  As soon as he was gone, Bingley and Jane made their hasty return, followed by two man-servants.

  "I shall tell my sister you are here, Mr Darcy," said Jane.

  He bowed in silent acceptance, fighting the smitten smile that threatened escape from his lips. The servants opened the door of the library and immediately set to the task of lightening the room. The gentlemen waiting outside, Jane entered the room to talk to her sister and announce Mr Darcy.

  ~•~

  To say that Elizabeth was confused would be definitely an understatement. The rest of the time after Mr Darcy had quit the library was hardly enough for her thoughts. She was bewildered amidst the confusion of all that had rushed on her within the last few minutes. Every moment had brought a fresh surprise, and every surprise must be a matter of confusion to her. How to understand his behaviour! On first learning of Mrs Darcy's passing away, she had thought she would be most welcome by him. Had he not been ready to divorce his wife for her three years ago? Oh! But he could have changed his mind! Had she been under a deception? Oh the blindness of the heart! She sat still in the darkness of the library, the weather continued the same, rain drops pattering on the widow pane, and her loneliness and melancholy seemed to reign in her heart.

  Why did he leave in such a haste? What could have possible prompted him be so shy of her again? She tried to recollect his words. He said he had entered the room to make sure she was still in there. So, he knew she was alone in the library. That discarded he was unwilling to see her. Never had the exquisite sight, smell, sensation of his nearness caused her such flutters… Never had she felt so attracted to him. She longed for his touch, his breath on her own. Oh God! She had been thinking of a most enticing reunion when he was unquestionably a few feet. from her. Lord, she had been startled! She prayed for serenity and gradually this came over her.

  Mr Darcy will soon return. I must be calm. What did he say? It was improper his having entered the room… surely he could not refrain from seeing me. Perchance he left for fear of compromising me…

  There, her spirit refreshed, and thoughts a little relieved, she had scarcely achieved tranquillity when she saw her sister Jane enter the room followed by a herd of servants.

  "Elizabeth. Mr Darcy is outside."

  Elizabeth rose and spread her skirt, not exactly feigning expectation in her demeanour. Not long afterwards, Darcy entered the room, followed by Bingley.

  "Miss Bennet."

  "Mr Darcy."

  A very friendly, though tense shake of the hand, a very earnest 'how d'you do?' followed. "It has been such a long time, Miss Bennet. The last time I saw you, you were nursing your sister in my town house"

  "True, sir. It must have been about three years ago."

  "Indeed, ma'am. I hope you are in good health."

  Elizabeth could not help a smile. That was his line when he knew not what to say. Amazing! She already knew his emotions. She blushed a little and lowered her face to hide her merriment. That gest
ure was all Darcy needed. Till then his demeanour reflected such an impatient, sorrowful look and total want of spirits that when he spoke, his voice was barely audible. His dejection was most evident. He looked really lost in thought for the first few minutes. However, when seeing her smile, life came back to him. A joyful grin blossomed on his lips.

  Biting her lower lip she managed to answer. "I thank you, sir. I am. I am sorry to see you in these sad circumstances."

  "By no means, madam. I must thank you, Miss Bennet. I assure you that the pain of my loss does not spare me the pleasure of this reunion. I fear I have missed my friends quite a lot."

  Then he was silent. He wished he could hold her in his arms that very instant. He wished it so much that he knew not what to do with his arms, which were aching for want of her body to embrace. As if reading his mind, Elizabeth kept feeling flushed and embarrassed. She heard him sigh. It was natural for him to do so for he had cause to sigh. A few awkward moments passed and they sat down near the window.

  Jane rose again and in a most determined manner said, "Charles? Will you not help me find the volume I have asked you about? Will you please excuse us, Mr Darcy? I see your library is so rich. Ours at Netherfield has never been completed. I suspect you might have a certain volume I have been long looking for."

  Charles looked as puzzled as puzzled can be. "Volume?" he stammered.

  "Indeed, Charles. I believe we could begin our search this way."

  Mystified, Charles rose and followed his wife, bearing a most bewildered face. When they were at a safe distance, Charles asked her again. "Pray tell me. Which is the volume we are looking for?" "Oh, Charles!" "I suppose you will next tell me we are looking for no volume at all."

  "Indeed we are not, dearest. 'Twas only an excuse to leave them a bit on their own"

  "Do you mean them?"

  "Of course, Charles. Who else?"

  "Darcy and Elizabeth?"

  "Yes."

  "For a kingdom. I had no idea. Darcy never told me!"

  "Did you need to be told?"

  "I certainly did."

  "Yes, of course. But indeed it has always been plainly written on his face."

  Looking at his friend taking the hand of his sister-in-law, he asserted "You might be quite in the right." He sighed contentedly and turning around to face the shelves full of books he said, "Well, then. Since we are here. Let us look for that volume of yours."

  "Oh, Charles!"

  Mr Darcy was more in love with her than Elizabeth had supposed. Taking her hand delicately in his, he bestowed a kiss upon its back, eyes half closed. Before restoring her hand to its proprietor, he nibbled lightly at her knuckles. Elizabeth felt she lost all power over her body. It was fortunate they were not standing, otherwise her predicament would have been evident for all to see. Darcy's kissing her hand had robbed her knees of the power to hold her erect.

  "I wish I could kiss your lips, loveliest. You know not what your presence here does to me," he whispered.

  The exposed skin of Elizabeth's hand which had been subjected to Darcy's attention did not delay to send the distinctive message to the rest of her. Ding Dong! Get ready for what is to come!

  Will you not do just that? Instead, Elizabeth schooled her mind to respond with propriety. "Mr Darcy, I am so relieved to hear you speak thus. I was afraid I had made a huge mistake to have come at all."

  He smiled reassuringly. "Dearest Elizabeth. Seeing you, knowing you were here has made the happiest of men of me. I am your humble servant."

  "I am very sorry to be right in this instance."

  He shook his head. "Don't be. Of all horrid things, parting with you has been the worst."

  "Oh, don't speak! Don't speak," she eagerly said. "Let us not live mortified by the past!"

  "I will not, my dearest, most beloved Elizabeth." He could not help looking at her adoringly, a huge lump stuck in his throat, his emotions about to betray him. Much as he endeavoured to make a speech, he was at loss for words and finally spoke: "Will you not stay here at Rosings with me? I cannot bear part with you. If you will only have me, I wish to be with you from this moment on and never part with you again. Please say you will stay tonight. Tell me at once."

  Elizabeth was almost ready to sink under the agitation of this moment. The dread of being awakened from the happiest dream, was perhaps the most prominent feeling. Did he mention marriage? She thought he did not… Seeing she was in no power to speak, he continued thus,

  "I cannot make speeches. You know I cannot. Had I loved you less I might have been able to talk more. But you know what I am. Dearest Elizabeth. God knows I have been an awkward lover. Pray, release me from my suffering and consent to stay the night."

  For Heaven's sake he did not! Did he mean what she thought he meant? Perchance he merely wished to be close to her, to become reacquainted… After all, no matter how intimate they had been in the past, they were hardly the best of friends now. He did confess to loving her. That was comforting. She could not expect him to seek her hand the night of his wife's funeral, could she? Taking a deep breath, a dreamy look in her eyes, she finally spoke. "I shall, sir."

  He sighed, this time in relief. "Well then. I shall make all the arrangements." Then turning to Bingley, he offered. "Bingley, I expect you are staying here at Rosings for the night." He, then, sent a meaningful smirk at Elizabeth, who fought fiercely to repress to smile back. Goodness, I think he meant what I thought he meant!

  "Why, I thank you, Darcy," answered Bingley from one corner of the library.

  "You and your family are always welcome. Please make yourselves comfortable. You must excuse me now. I am to apprise the servants of your staying and attend to some matters related to my wife's burial. I shall see you in the dining room in an hour?"

  He left the room with a sudden urgency. In truth he had already seen to the arrangements for Anne's funeral. He simply found Elizabeth's presence too tempting. The recollection of her closeness and touch was, despite the years, still fresh in his flesh and it only took a blushing in her to… "disturb" him. He thought of the rest of the evening to come and let out a snort. How he would manage to repress his luscious thoughts he knew not.

  Remembering Fitzwilliam, he sent a servant to inform him of the presence of the new guests. Then he talked to Ponsonby to appoint a maid for the ladies and make the preparation for their stay.

  Once everything had been seen to, Darcy locked himself in his bedchamber. He knew he would have to restrain his wild impulses that night. He made a mental plan of his future actions. He reckoned the dangers of attempting a night visit. Should he feel the urgent impulse he knew he found so difficult to fight, it would be equally difficult that Elizabeth would refuse him. Knowing her passionate nature, she might be as eager to accept his advances as she had proved to have been three years ago. No, no, no, he would not do it! Hard as it was to deny himself the pleasure of her beloved contact, Darcy endeavoured to take things through the correct track. He was a free man now. He would take her to the altar this time in all its righteousness and make her his wife. Then, and only then, they would enter together in the pleasurable activities that matrimony vows entailed.

  How long until that? Well, his mourning would take at least six months. Then three more for a proper engagement. Then the nuptials, three days more for the journey to Pemberley. Unless he married her there. Then he would have his wedding night directly. He had always dreamt of his wedding night in the master's bedchamber at Pemberley.

  The wedding night.

  That would make… nine months and three days… no, no, no the three days would be spared… but still nine months was too much. He could not wait that long. And yet he had waited for more than five years… Good Lord! He would go mad!

  We will be engaged. It is perfectly normal to achieve a little intimacy before the wedding night, is it not?

  He had a terrible struggle within his soul. His flesh against his spirit. Which would win only time could tell.

  A quick insp
ection of the mantel clock told him his guests will soon be waiting for him in the dining room. He rang for this manservant, and before changing his clothes he had a bath. After all, who knew what the night might bring?

  ~•~

  As the servant led the three of them to their bed chambers, Elizabeth and Jane could not refrain from sighing deeply. The servant's lamp glimmered through the corridor as they passed the various locked doors. The premises were sombre to say the least. A black ribbon tied to a massive door announced they were passing by the mourning chamber. Elizabeth shuddered involuntarily. She stole a glimpse in aversion, but all was dark. Lady Catherine's ghost was nowhere to be seen. Will the dead be angry at her? Would God punish her for not respecting their souls? Feeling completely drained, Elizabeth said a small prayer as they left the awful room behind.

  They set forward, and with an air of grandeur, the servant directed their attention to the Master's bedchamber. Elizabeth could not help noticing its impressive door. Will Mr Darcy be in there? Umm. What would he be doing? Perchance bathing? Ponsonby, as if reading her mind, said nonchalantly. "The master is in his apartments at present," then, led the way across the gloomy hall through a common drawing room which was only used when there were guests in the house, and again into another equally gloomy hall that led to the guests' bedchamber.

  To her chagrin, Jane was accommodated in a room with her husband. Across them, Elizabeth was lodged in a grand bedroom, very noble, very grand, very charming, which, she noticed, exhibited a collection of books, and a four-poster bed, which was the largest bed she had ever beheld.

  In a few moments after she had been left in the room, a maid servant came, with a young man tugging along bearing her trunk, and she set her toilet in an instant. After her bath, the maid helped Elizabeth into her dress, and set her hair most becomingly.

  She looked at her reflection in the mirror with unusual care. Did she look beautiful? She certainly did. Both black and white suited her most and her countenance was most favoured by the mourning veil near her face. She smiled, satisfied, and dismissed the servant.