Thereupon, she searched her bedroom for some paper. Unfortunately, there was no paper nor was there ink or pen. A small detail, she thought. Richard must be already out. I must be on my way now.
She abandoned her room and set off for the library where she recollected she might find the materials she was looking for. Ever so silently, she tiptoed her way downstairs, trying to forgo the disturbing shadows cast on the walls as she passed the corridors with only a candle light to see her route. Her feelings in so doing were indescribable. Her heart fluttered, her knees trembled, and her countenance grew pale.
There was not a soul to be seen, and she could not help a shiver running down her spine as she imagined the ghosts of both Anne Darcy and Lady Catherine creeping behind her back as she passed the door of the mourning chamber. Elizabeth's heart beat quickly, but her courage did not fail her. With a cheek flushed by hope, and an eye straining with necessity, her fingers grasped the holder of the candle that would guide her through the horror of the solitary corridor. Every now and then she would peek over her shoulder to make sure no ghost was tagging along. A creaking step on the stairs would make her contain her breath until, heart pounding, she finally reached the library.
Placing the candlelight on the desk, she grasped the handle of a drawer and drew forth. It was empty. With less patience and greater eagerness she seized a second, a third, a fourth - each was equally empty. The drawer in the middle was the only one that remained unexplored. It took her some time before she could unfasten it, but at length it did open, and not in vain, for in there she found writing paper and all the implements required to write a letter. Sinking into the comfort of the armchair, she pondered what to write.
Dear Richard,
Much as I love you, I must confess that during your absence I arrived at an understanding with your cousin…
No, this is wrong. What will he think of me, confessing my love for him and at the same time acknowledging an understanding with his married cousin
She crushed the missive into a ball and began anew.
Dear Richard,
How surprised I was to find you here! I think you will feel something more than surprise, when you know I am in love with Mr Darcy. The opportunity to get married was a temptation I could not resist. I wish things might have turned out differently. At any rate, I shall expect to see you at Longbourn in a week so that I can give you your ring back. For the present, adieu.
EB
This will not do. I love Darcy. But I do not wish to hurt Richard's feelings! How, in the Lord's name can I love them both! They are so different! Good God! What shall I tell him? He cannot stay here thinking I am engaged to him! I am not. Or am I?
She destroyed the second letter and began scribbling a third one.
Dear Richard,
I hope the liberties I have taken upon your person this evening might not place you under the incorrect assumption that I still hold to our vows made before your parting.
(sigh)
Much as I have suffered dreadfully your absence and your silence, I must confess I have endeavoured to put my past behind me, and as we have arranged, attempted to find felicity in life without you by my side. I know your friendship for me will make you pleased to hear such a good account of myself. Richard, I rejoice in your return in safety and wish you as much happiness as I know I will find. Nonetheless, I am looking forward to seeing you at Longbourn next week, when I shall return the ring I have worn dearly and proudly all through the year of our engagement. After the troubles you have been through, you deserve to love and be loved in return. My paper reminds me to conclude, and begging to be most respectfully remembered to you.
Yours
EB
She was trembling when she finished writing. She knew she was not lying to him, but still she could not help feeling pain. Yes, in a way she still loved him. Not in the way she loved Darcy, not enough to choose him instead. But still loved him, tenderly, sweetly, and would loathe hurting him. Yet she could not afford being found in such predicament of being Richard's fiancée when Darcy proposed. She realised the three of them had equally suffered. But Darcy, perchance, had suffered the hardest and the longest.
She folded the paper and made her way to a narrow stair used by the servants to reach the dressing rooms of the chambers on the first floor. Fearing being discovered by any of the servants, she almost forgot to breathe. It was unfortunate that there were so many doors and dressing rooms in the mansion, for it took her almost half an hour to discover the one in which Richard was sleeping.
The dimness of the light her candle emitted made her turn to it with alarm, but there was no danger of its sudden extinction, it had yet some hours to burn. A sudden breeze coming from a forgotten open window, however, took her unawares and blew out the candlelight. Alas! It was extinguished in a blink of an eye, and it could not have had a more awful effect. Elizabeth for a few moments was motionless with horror. It was done completely, not a remnant of light in the wick could give hope to the rekindling breath. Darkness impenetrable and immovable filled the long corridor. A violent gust of wind, rising with sudden fury, added fresh horror to the moment. Elizabeth trembled from head to foot. In the paused which succeeded, a sound like receding footsteps and the closing of a distant door struck on her frightened ear.
A woman's heart could support no more. A cold sweat stood on her forehead. Suddenly, she heard a strange purring noise she did not recognise. Her blood froze in her veins and she took her knuckles to her mouth to refrain from letting out a cry. She did not believe in ghosts but, circumstances being as they were, who knew? She stepped forward and ever so quickly began to hasten her steps, panic stricken. Suddenly, her foot trod on something, and that something decidedly complained with such force, that Elizabeth, letting go of her extinguished stick, got such a fright that she lost consciousness and fell to the floor with a thud.
Richard Fitzwilliam had not forgotten to speak to Elizabeth, but he had not found the opportunity to talk to her privately. So, he made up his mind to merely let a note drop in her bedchamber to entreat her to meet him in the earliest hours in the breakfast room. Hence, in seeing that the whole house was in silence, he made his way through the corridors in darkness, lest he should be discovered. On hearing the cat's cry, he directed himself towards the noise. Hardly had he walked two steps when he bumped into a bulk in the corridor. Instinctively, he stretched out his arms and marvelled when he, in the darkness of the room, lying on the floor, felt the familiar anatomy of Miss Bennet.
Without a moment to lose, Colonel Fitzwilliam carried her into his bedchamber and deposited her lifeless body onto his bed.
"Elizabeth, my love, my own, what is it? What has happened? What were you doing in the corridor?" He caressed her forehead and wetting a handkerchief in brandy (for want of water), he put it close to her nostrils. "Come on, Lizzy. You must come round."
Elizabeth opened her eyes a little but could not recover complete consciousness. Fitzwilliam wetted her lips with brandy. No response.
"Elizabeth! What is it! Good Lord! I cannot ring for a servant!"
No, he could not. Albeit she was a lady in distress, she was also in his bedchamber, on his bed, wearing nothing but her nightshirt, and he was naked except for his light silk robe.
He filled a glass of brandy and, raising her head, he helped her drink the spirits. To his misfortune, and in her drowsiness, she mistook the brandy for water. Hence, she downed the glass in one gulp. The consequences were unthinkable. Her face went pink, then turned red, until her whole complexion crimsoned. Thereafter she coughed, her breath cutting from time to time. Her mouth wide open, gasping for air like a fish out of water, she endeavoured to catch her breath. When she opened her eyes her situation was even worse. For inebriation is much worse than unconsciousness. What is more, she looked terribly ill.
"Elizabeth! Pray, talk to me."
"Richard?" she babbled in a murmur. Her head was spinning. Completely unaware of her predicament, she rested her
head on the Colonel's chest and threw her arms around his neck. She felt herself out of her body, floating in the air, watching the scenes of somebody else's life. Everything seemed to move in slow motion.
The Colonel was in a terrible situation. If only she tilted her face, he would find it very difficult to refrain his desires. He rested his hands on the mattress and endeavoured to keep them off of her body. Any part of it.
Then he thought he should encourage her to return to her bedchamber. Taking both her arms, he disentangled them from his neck and tried to take some distance from her.
"Come on, Miss Bennet. You must try and walk. I must take you to your bedchamber."
"Why…?" her voice came through a whisper.
"Because… you must go, my love."
God. What Am I saying? Did I just call her my love?
"Why did you not write to me? I missed you so."
"I beg your pardon?"
"Why did you not come back?"
"I shall explain to you later, remember? You are not fit for proper conversation now."
"You no longer love me?"
Richard simply stared at her. She was looking at him with a strange gleam in her starry eyes.
"Elizabeth. You know not what you are saying."
No, she did not. Still, to hear those pleading words from her lips sounded so good! Fitzwilliam's heart melted. Of course he loved her. He burned for her.
Elizabeth dropped her head, and the Colonel thought she was going to faint again. In a rush, he held her in his arms and pulled her up.
"Elizabeth!" he urged her to open her eyes but to no avail. His unsuccessful attempts to bring her back were beginning to worry him. Helpless, he dropped her onto the bed, and taking the decanter, he filled another glass and helped her sip a bit more. "This will probably make you feel sick later, but for now it is all I can think of," he said almost to himself.
In the end, she did come around. Not surprisingly, she was very much drunk.
"Are you feeling well?" the Colonel was really concerned.
She looked at him seeing but a blurred vision.
"Richard! You came back to me," she hiccuped violently.
He could not help his mirth. Shaking his head, he repressed a laugh. "Come on, Miss Bennet. You must go to your bedchamber. I shall escort you."
Scarcely had he finished talking when he felt her brazen lips against his. So sudden had been her attack that he had had no time to avoid her. Much as he had meant to remain aloof, his good intentions soon would come to naught when he felt her tongue firmly pressing against his tightened lips, resolutely making its way through them. Shamelessly, she threw herself into his arms and caressed his naked chest. She then proceeded to kiss his neck and while rubbing his back de-robed him.
"Oh, I love you. I missed you so!" were her words in his ear. Then she softly said: "Pray. Do not desert me. Not this time."
The Colonel's desperately endeavoured to keep himself robed whilst he fought Elizabeth's determination to do contrariwise. He could not help laugh at his predicament. Howbeit he was not as drunk as she was. Still, a good deal of alcohol had invaded his system and numbed his conscience to a degree that might have enabled him to forget propriety. Yet, he remained a gentleman.
Well, sort of.
"Ahh, dearest Miss Bennet. This will not do." He said while grabbing both her hands behind her back. "You are resolved to seduce me, are you not?"
She giggled mischievously. Then leaping playfully she endeavoured to kiss him on the lips again. This time the Colonel tilted his head and laughed heartily at her.
"You are not tall enough. Little chit!"
In seeing that her efforts were in vain, she contented herself with his neck, and proceeded to suck violently the harsh skin there.
"Elizabeth! Stop!"
But she would not listen. The salty taste of his skin was wonderfully enticing and she continued her seduction, firmly pressing her body onto his. Richard's manhood was suffering the effects of her ministrations and in a moment of weakness, he let go her hands and, reaching her lips, he kissed her ardently.
The full moon reflected in the glass pane through the curtains witnessed their passionate embrace. Clinging to his neck, she surrendered to her need of him with a broad smile. The Colonel's countenance concealed under the flickering light of the candle, reflected both mirth and passion. Puddles of endearments were whispered and hands would roam both their bodies in a frantic quest for possession.
Elizabeth. What does this mean? Do you still love me?
From time to time the kissing would stop to allow the lovers to grasp some air. The Colonel, then, took her from her shoulders and ever so slowly, pushed her until her body rested alongside his on the bed.
Twenty-Two
—
Love Me, Love My Cousin
Darcy inspected his pocket watch for the third time. Twenty past midnight and still no sign of Elizabeth. The full moon had suddenly been covered by dark clouds and a cold breeze was rattling the wooden widows of the mansion. The drizzle that he had paid no mind to when going out and into the gazebo was now threatening to turn into heavy rain.
Was she coming at all? Had Ponsonby left the note in a visible place? What could have possibly gone wrong?
Perchance she was discouraged by the rain.
But then again, that would have been Anne, not Elizabeth.
He looked up at her window. It was in complete darkness. Surely she had not gone to sleep. There must be some plausible explanation for her tardiness.
He decided he would wait a little longer.
~•~
The Colonel, for his part, was enjoying himself exceedingly. He was there for the take. The glory of having Elizabeth in his arms again could not be explained with words. He was the happiest of men, not to mention exceedingly aroused. To his incredulous eyes, Elizabeth had begun to discard her nightshirt, a mischievous look upon her face.
"No, Elizabeth. Pray, do not do that." he admonished her. But all was for naught. She was decided to grant him his innermost wishes.
Goodness! His predicament was serious to say the least. Should he accept her advances, he would be compelled to marry her.
Elizabeth pulled him towards her. "Pray, Richard. Kiss me." Albeit a bit hesitant, he was too overwhelmed to refrain from obliging her. Obediently, he cast the claims of his conscience aside, and dove into her mouth, his body covering hers with all his weight.
She was different, he noticed, so different from the innocent maiden from his youth, yet as passionate as before, a throbbing fire burning his innermost desires, though no longer his apprentice. Oh no… This Elizabeth had left her initiation long behind. Before him he saw a fully versed seductress in amorous congress. Hence, he could not help wondering…
But Elizabeth would not let him linger too long on his thoughts. In complete bliss, she begged him to further his lovemaking. "Touch me… like so… Harder." And she imitated Darcy's caresses.
Richard ogled her, amazed. Where had she learnt such things?
Still, he caught her in his embrace, pressed her closer, desperate to hold on to her. It was like grasping at an elusive dream, a most fantastic illusion. Was he awake? Will she not be gone at dawn? Perhaps even before. Endeavouring desperately to hold on to his beautiful dream, he made up his mind not to dwell on tomorrow. Tonight, on the eve of night, she was there, so very sweet, more forbidden, yes, an illusion, a mere dream, but still there. Could he ask for more?
Even so, her mouth on his was, definitely, so very real, hot, insistent, inviting, impossible to deny. Her naked body so entwined with his amidst the sheets in a tangle of limbs. Richard reminded himself that this was the woman Darcy wished to marry soon, and made up his mind to detach himself from her. But she kissed him so fiercely, and held him so tightly, that he simply could not bear to let go. Her legs and arms about him, her mouth kissing, biting, nibbling, licking him everywhere she could reach, and he no longer thought at all.
"My love, my sweet
girl."
Hence, he loved her in the only manner he thought possible. And when she had surrendered her desire to his embrace, he raised his head from her breasts and, looking upon her beloved features, endeavoured to retain in his memory the spectacular picture of her flushed countenance and sweaty complexion, spent after finding her pleasure. Still trembling from the excess of unspent passion, he found his own. Then he rolled over and stayed silent for a while, staring blankly into the air. His countenance had become serious. Visibly concerned, he brought one hand over his forehead and sighed heavily.
"Fitzwilliam," she had moaned at the peak of her ecstasy.
To say he was mystified by her use of his last name in lieu of his first would be an understatement. He was appalled. Richard immediately gathered it was not his surname she was calling but his cousin's Christian name. Indeed, he neatly recalled her calling him Richard several times a few moments before.
So, that was it.
Elizabeth realised that something was amiss and, raising her head, she looked at him with a quizzical expression in her eyes. Then she dropped her head onto the mattress in exhaustion.
When Richard turned to look at her again, she was sound asleep.
~•~
When Elizabeth woke up again, she was lying on her bed, in her own bedroom and feeling exceedingly dizzy.
She inspected the hidden pocket in her night-gown. The letter was still there. With no recollection of how she had ended up in her own bedchamber again, and staggering wildly, she made up her mind to accomplish her deed.
After quitting her chamber, she inspected the gloomy corridor. In finding it empty of any soul, living or dead, Elizabeth headed for Richard's door.
~•~ The Worst that Could Happen ~•~
Charles Bingley woke up to find the gorgeous figure of his wife beside him. The last time he had enjoyed her favours had been so long ago he hardly remembered. On seeing her in his bed, his pride was immediately called to action and his ardour demanded release. He touched her softly on her shoulder.
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