Love Calls Again

by Lucianne Elsworth

  Just when she was going to leave the room, she went back to her trunk and took a bottle of rose water from her reticule. Very meticulously she applied the scented water on her wrists and hair. Then, smiling mischievously, she applied some behind her earlobes and in the conspicuous swell of her décolletage.

  Just in case.

  Who knew what the night might bring.

  ~•~

  In his bedchamber, Colonel Fitzwilliam pondered what to do. Hiding from Elizabeth would not take him anywhere, he knew. But he no longer considered himself unaffected by her presence. He wondered what her reaction would be when she saw him. Remaining in his bedchamber would only delay their encounter in the morning. Surely, Darcy would apprise her of his presence at Rosings, if he had not done it yet. What would she think of him if he did not appear at all?

  He rose from his seat and walked towards the mirror. He was suddenly worried about his looks. He leaned closer to the looking glass and inspected his complexion. His skin had wrinkled in the sun and his hair had diminished considerably, though he was far from bald. Taking a few steps back he opened his robe and surveyed his naked anatomy. He was slim and strong. Still, at his five and thirty years, and after the terrible exertions his body had been subjected to in the past four years, Fitzwilliam felt he had past the age for marriage felicity. He doubted Elizabeth would harbour feelings for him and dreaded his own reaction if he should discover Darcy held any power over her.

  But surely he did. After all, Darcy had meant to marry her.

  Good Lord, I am still so much in love with her! Does she love me? Should I court her again? Is she expecting me to do that? She did not receive my letters, did she? Of course she did not. The French would not allow correspondence with the enemy. She must have suffered so much!

  But still there is Darcy. No, I cannot think of renewing my addresses to Elizabeth. No, not! My feelings shall have to be repressed.

  But what about hers? What if she still loves me? Good Lord! 'Tis so difficult!

  He rang for the manservant and asked for a hot bath. That would help him clear his mind and arrive at the correct decision.

  ~•~

  Elizabeth stared at the seating arrangements in the dining room. She counted the plates for the third time in wonderment. Yes, there were five plates. Still she had thought she and her family were the only guests at Rosings. Then an idea struck her. Georgiana Darcy. Surely Georgiana had been downstairs attending to the visitors she reckoned had invaded Rosings at the time of her own arrival.

  Oh how much she longed to see Georgiana again! Elizabeth had given up their correspondence after the disaster in London, and although she had recently seen her at Kitty's wedding, she wished to further their relationship now that they would surely be sisters. How inconsiderate of her to have failed to ask Mr Darcy about her.

  She looked at the clock on the mantel piece in the dining room. It was not time yet for Mr and Miss Darcy to join them for dinner. Elizabeth went back to the music room and sat at the piano forte. There was a white sheet covering the instrument as no music was to be extracted from its chords for as long as the mourning period lasted. Elizabeth sighed heavily. Memories from the last time she had sat there invaded her mind and her soul. She could still see Richard sitting by her side, with that sensual look of his, his ever-smiling face and easy-going attitude, turning the pages of the music for her. They had spent countless hours in that manner until almost the day of their parting. Instantly she felt the tears welling her eyes once more. What was happening to her?

  Richard had never come back. She had imagined he had got killed during the war because not one word was heard from him, not one letter did she receive. Many a tear she had shed in his memory. Her imagination had taken her to see him mortally wounded, helplessly dying on the battle field. She wished she had at least had had the right to be informed of the circumstances of his demise. Her thoughts wandered a little to their parting at Longbourn. He had acted wisely, avoiding marrying her before parting. She would be a widow now much in the manner of Mr Darcy. Her thoughts went over to the late Mrs Darcy. How sad for both cousins to have left this world so young!

  Jane had approached unnoticed from behind and sat by her side looking intently into her eyes.

  "Pray, Elizabeth. Are you unwell?" she whispered.

  "'Tis nothing." Elizabeth hushed her sister signalling in the direction of Bingley who was humming to himself absent-mindedly

  "You are crying?" asked Jane.

  "Pray, Jane. Do not concern yourself. 'Tis only this place. It has unleashed some memories which I thought I had long ago buried in my heart. It shall pass, I promise."

  "Are those memories connected with Mr Darcy?"

  "Not at all."

  "Then I do not understand."

  "Jane, I shall recover in a minute. Pray, do not ask me any further."

  "Very well."

  There was a pause in which Elizabeth endeavoured to compose herself. She tried to think of some nonchalant conversation. It occurred to her to ask about their plans for the following day.

  "When do you expect we shall part for Netherfield Park?"

  "First thing in the morning," answered Bingley.

  "Must we?" asked Elizabeth rather unconsciously.

  "Yes. We shall partake the morning breakfast and must be off immediately."

  They remained in silence for a minute. Jane then commented on the surroundings:

  "'Tis a beautiful house."

  "'Tis nothing to Pemberley!" said her husband.

  "Will I ever know the place, I wonder. Everybody thinks on Pemberley so highly!" whined Jane.

  "I do not think I have ever seen a place so happily situated!" said Elizabeth with a sigh. "There are fine prospects from almost every window down towards a glorious lake. And there are so many windows! I shall show you my favourite one day…" she left the sentence unfinished and blushed furiously. Her sister and brother stared at her in bewildered puzzlement. "I mean, I am sure we shall have the opportunity to tour Derbyshire one day and visit Miss Darcy. We became very close during my stay in London last… some time ago," she finished.

  "Of course," said Jane.

  Just then a servant announced that dinner was ready. Elizabeth, instinctively spied the clock and verified Mr Darcy was, indeed, late.

  ~•~

  Fitzwilliam Darcy caught a short glimpse at the clock and hurried his valet to finish with his toilet.

  "I shall wear the new jacket, Ponsonby. That one. No, man, of course the black one." He had grown increasingly nervous and impatient. In truth could not wait to see Elizabeth privately. Should he ask her to meet him that night? Perchance he could send her a note? No, the maid might gossip.

  Maybe he could slip a note under the door of her bedchamber on his way to the dining room; of course he would have to walk the opposite way, but who cared? Was he not master in his house? Yes, that was it. If Elizabeth had already gone downstairs, she would at least find it when she returned.

  Therefore he penned her a brief letter.

  Elizabeth,

  May I be so bold so as to beg you for a meeting tonight? I know that under the present circumstances it is completely inappropriate, but I can no longer wait to have you in my arms again. You know how much I love you. All these years have been a torture without you in my arms. Pray, tell me your feelings have not changed and do me the honour of at least a brief meeting. I shall be waiting for you at the gazebo, in the garden, after the rest of the guests have retired.

  Yours

  Fitzwilliam

  He penned the note in such a rush, he hardly recognised his own handwriting. Finally, he thought that signing the note with his Christian name would give the whole thing a touch of intimacy. Had he suspected the confusion such action would have created, he would have stuck to Mr Darcy.

  When he was ready to go downstairs, Darcy was in such an emotional state, he thought he would burst with joy. True, Lady Anne's body lay a few meters from his own bedchamber. But
the sole idea that Elizabeth would be meeting him that night, the mere thought that soon, very soon, he would be making love to her, every blessed night as her rightful husband, that it would be she who would bear his children, that it would be in her body he would at long last plant his seed, once, twice, countless times, was in itself exceedingly exciting. He could not help leaping with joy thinking of it.

  Upon reaching her bedchamber, he crouched to slip the note under the door. Unfortunately, Rosings' doors were incredibly fit and very little room was there between the massive wooden door and the floor. The note got stuck half way.

  Damn door.

  "May I be of assistance, sir?" the voice of Ponsonby startled him. He rose to his feet at lighting speed, his right foot stepping on the note.

  "No thank you, Ponsonby. It was just a…"

  The stiff valet looked down at his master's foot, which was unsuccessfully covering a paper, obviously stuck half way behind the lady's door.

  "'Twas just a…" Darcy stammered like a child caught with his hands in the cookie jar.

  "… rat?" offered Ponsonby.

  "… mouse. A tiny mouse."

  "May I suggest that the lady be removed to another room?"

  Mine? Darcy thought. "Nay, Just let the cat loose in the corridor. That will do."

  "Very well, sir."

  When the manservant had disappeared in the corridor, Darcy crouched again and pulled the note out, tearing it in the endeavour.

  Blast! Now I have done it! I shall have to write it again. He drew his chain watch and saw he was already five minutes late for dinner. I cannot postpone this. Dinner shall have to wait.

  He went back to his bedroom and penned the note anew. Just when he was about to go to the corridor and proceed in the same way as before it occurred to him that this note might suffer the same destiny as the first one.

  He rang for his manservant.

  "Ponsonby, have you noticed the door I was standing at when I… saw the… mouse?"

  "Noticed, sir?"

  "I mean, do you know who is lodged in there?"

  "Miss Elizabeth Bennet, sir."

  "Well, I… I wonder if you could do me a favour." God this will difficult.

  The valet looked at the note his Master was holding and did not need further explanations. Neither did he want any. Head tilted, gazing straight into his Master's eyes, he boldly inquired: "Does the master want me to slip the cat under Miss Bennet's door?"

  "The cat?"

  Ponsonby coughed lightly and signalled the note with a nod of his head. Then he raised his brows in compliance. Understanding the metaphor, Darcy nodded emphatically.

  "Precisely."

  Ponsonby then stretched his hand to receive the note. His face remained immutable.

  Darcy handed him the note and stammered. "I thank you."

  "Not at all, Master." And he quit the room.

  ~•~

  "Shall we wait for Mr Darcy?" Elizabeth suggested.

  "There is no need. He shall be here in no time. We can wait in the dining room," answered Bingley.

  Just then they saw a tall figure descending the stairs. Jane and Bingley proceeded to enter the dining room. Thinking it was Mr Darcy, Elizabeth waited in the music room so that she could claim his arm to be ushered to dinner. What must her surprise have been when she saw not Mr Darcy but Colonel Fitzwilliam, standing at the door of the music room, beaming at her.

  "Richard!"

  "Elizabeth!"

  Such was her surprise that for a moment she felt nailed to the floor unable to move. The next she was in his arms. Notwithstanding amazement for her unexpected reaction to his presence, he whirled her around and laughed happily. She was light as a feather, and the Colonel really enjoyed her weight in his embrace again. His arms encircled her waist and hers clutched around his neck. Ever so slowly, he relinquished his grip and deposited her on the ground again. She raised her eyes and stared at him as if contemplating a vision.

  "Richard! It is you!" she searched his face in complete disbelief, tears of joy blurring her eyes, her fingers she ran lightly over his features, oblivious of the recent events in her life. For a moment, she was one and twenty again and life had stopped the minute he had held her in his arms.

  "Richard," she murmured as she dipped her face into his lapels. He was not a phantom.

  He was there, in the flesh, and she could hardly believe it. "Is it really you? I am not dreaming?"

  In raising her face she saw his flushed countenance, a grin upon his face. Unexpectedly, he then dipped his head and kissed her tenderly on the lips. A feathered kiss, a mere touch of the lips. But a kiss, indeed. Just to show her how real he was. His eyes rested lovingly upon her, and he had to exert a great deal of self restraint to refrain from kissing her again. Elizabeth, he discerned, became restless. She had not expected he would kiss her, still he had not been unwelcome her. Did that mean his advances were desired?

  "I might think the same, Lizzy. You know not how many times I have dreamt of seeing your beloved face again."

  Elizabeth did not know how to handle the situation. Obviously Richard was wooing her. More than wooing her, she dared say. And unless she disentangled herself from his arms she would not be discouraging him, would she?

  "Why did it take you so long to come back!" she inquired still in his arms.

  "Well, had I known I would have had such a reception I would have returned earlier!"

  "Richard! How can you tease me so?"

  "Hush, Elizabeth. Some one might hear you."

  She lowered her voice and detached herself from his embrace.

  "Indeed. But you are here! After so many years! I have known nothing of you. Not one letter! I thought you had got killed on some French battlefield!"

  "I am sorry. Correspondence…"

  "I know."

  "We shall have to talk about it. But not here. We do not wish the rest to suspect our understanding, do we?"

  Our understanding? Suddenly, the realisation of her predicament dawned on her. Gracious Lord! Am I still engaged to be married to him? Does he think I am his secret fiancée? What shall I do?!

  "Indeed, we do not," she replied, visibly discomfited.

  He then caught her waist in his arms, diving into her neck and again her lips, this time passionately, deepening the kiss with hunger. He could not help it. She was like the forbidden fruit, adoringly tempting hanging from a tree in the middle of a garden in Eden. And he was famished. This time he was flatly refused.

  "Richard! Don't," she scolded him, battling with his grip.

  He smiled at her. "I am sorry. I must confess I lost myself in our past relationship. I should have known you would not be waiting for this old man."

  "Richard! You are no old man! How can you say so?"

  "Aren't I?

  "You know you are not."

  "Elizabeth. I must talk to you. I know this is quite unexpected but it cannot be helped. Will you not come with me?"

  "Where?"

  "This way." He took her by the hand and led her to a balcony. Closing the door behind them, he almost pierced her with his gaze.

  "Elizabeth," he whispered, "you must allow me to tell you how much I adore you." She went silent, too much disturbed by his emotional confession.

  Be it sweetness, be it stupidity in her, she could not helped being affected by his words. She heard her name on his lips, so beautifully spoken, and stared at them indiscreetly. "They are in desperate need of your touch," he said.

  "Pardon?"

  "My lips. The object of your contemplation."

  Indeed, she had, almost unconsciously, been following the movements of his lips as he spoke. Moreover, she had, in fact, been wholly suspicious of his musing. She had followed him out into the balcony with perhaps a small idea of what Richard would endeavour. Conversely, he had come, in his anxiety, to see how she bore his advances, with no selfishness, none at all, but of endeavouring if she allowed him an opening to amorous feelings.

  He
mistook her silence, eager as he was to engage himself in more pleasurable things than mere conversation. It had given birth to hope, that in time, he might gain her affection again. Thus holding her tight to his body, he indulged himself in the sweetness of her lips, over and over.

  ~•~

  Ponsonby had sent several under-servants to look for the cat. It was not that he doubted the metaphorical sense of his task, but he was used to acting strictly to the point of his orders. Just in case anyone asked, he would answer in all honestly that his master had indeed seen a mouse at large at Miss Bennet's door, and a cat had dutifully been sent in search of it.

  But the cat was an elusive creature, and did not respond to anyone's orders save the voice of the person who feed her. That person would be Ponsonby.

  "Kitty, Kitty, Kitty…" he called tentatively searching the bushes that surrounded the house.

  The response that he got was not the one he had expected, and the purring did not come from a cat's throat. Looking up to the balcony, he saw a conspicuous shadow. It was a gentleman in the middle of amorous congress… or would soon be.

  Ponsonby immediately glued himself against a wall. Despite his discreet character, he could not help to recognise that was Mr Darcy's mouse that had been cornered by someone else's cat.

  "Oh, my love. I have missed you so. I am sorry I left you. I should have never left."

  Heaven forbid! If that was not Colonel Fitzwilliam that was attacking his Master's prey!

  "Richard!" the lady's voice sounded muffled under the pressure the Colonel's mouth on hers.

  On hearing the name of the gentleman from the lady herself there was little gap for mistaken identity. Well, who would have thought that? Betrayed by his own blood. Ponsonby could hardly believe what he had witnessed. The Colonel had always struck him as a loyal fellow, incapable of wrongdoing. The lady… well, the lady had already been involved with Mr Darcy. But he had thought better of her. He would have wagged his wig she was to be the next Mistress of Pemberley.