Love Calls Again

by Lucianne Elsworth

  "I received yours, too."

  "Burn them. At once. Darcy must not know." He frowned. Sadness fell over his beautiful eyes. Elizabeth's eyes glistened with tears. Richard, signalling the letters, then said. "I read every one of these." With a pang of bitterness he quoted from her letters."Richard, I miss you; Richard, I love you; Richard, when are you coming back?"

  She looked away in absolute embarrassment. Richard 's bitterness rose. His feelings he could no longer repress. It was something he had better do there and then so that he could turn the page.

  "And finally, I found one different letter."

  Unfolding a paper he read to her. "I do not know how to describe my feelings. It is as if I have been waiting a hundred years for you, waiting a hundred years for you to return. Once I thought my heart was overflowing with love for you, but now all I feel is emptiness. And I think all the time it was a pretence, that I never loved you at all," his voice faulted in the end.

  "But it was not true! I loved you. I was confused. I knew not if my letters had reached you, or even if you were alive. I would like to say that I was merely unhappy, but I was full of tears I would not let fall, and of a grief no doctor could mend. I blamed myself for the pain we had suffered, for I let you go. And perhaps the same is true for you."

  "Blame yourself? How could you? If I lost you, it was all my fault."

  "Richard. You had not written since the day I saw you off. How was I to know you would come back? And I was so terrified that I was not getting any letters from you, because you had been wounded or taken prisoner. And I had nightmares that you were dead. Summers turned to winters and I wrote my hundredth letter." She let go of his arm, and taking some distance, cried bitterly. He looked at her and smiled tenderly.

  "Perchance this is what love is."

  "What do you mean?" she said while raising her eyes.

  He halted, and taking one of her hands kissed it gallantly on the back. He sent a longing look at her and said, "Love is not breathlessness, it is not excitement, it is not the desire to mate every second of the day. It is not lying awake at night imagining that I am kissing every part of your body. No… do not blush. I am telling you some truths. For that is just being in love, which any of us can convince ourselves we are. Love itself is what is left over, when being in love has burned away." He handed her his handkerchief and helped her blow her nose and wipe her tears.

  "You must be right," she said.

  "I guess in our case there was not much left over." She remained silent, processing his words. "You do love him, do you not?"

  "I do. I love your cousin. Our roots have become so entwined together that it is inconceivable that we should ever part."

  "I am glad to hear that," he said in earnest.

  "I sincerely wish you every happiness in the world, Richard."

  "And I you. My cousin Darcy deserves you more than myself. He has loved you for much longer, and endured undeserved unhappiness, which I must confess I myself inflicted upon both of you, Miss Bennet."

  "You are very forbearing."

  "I flatter myself I am!"

  "Richard, I…"

  "Say no more. I hope you and I, at least, will always be good friends."

  "I am sure we shall, Richard, much as I am certain you shall find the perfect companion one day."

  "There. Darcy is looking for you. Go to him." She rested her eyes on his and smiled in acknowledgement. Mr Darcy was outside looking at them, his long legs strolling decidedly thither. Therefore, she leapt merrily and ran to her fiancé. Richard witnessed their embrace at a distance. His cousin was glowing with happiness. The Colonel squared his shoulders and, placing his hand in his pocket, he felt the ring she had turned back. In seeing that she was out of hearing, he muttered to himself:

  "To me you are perfect, and my wasted heart will love you for ever."

  Twenty-Seven

  —

  A Knight's Tale

  The nuptials were to take place in Longbourn in three weeks. Darcy and Elizabeth were to return to London to take care of the announcements in the paper, and order Elizabeth's wedding dress. Jane was to go along with them to make a few purchases and order a dress for the wedding herself. Hence, after the engagement was announced to the family, Colonel Fitzwilliam rode to Netherfield Park, to ask Bingley to lodge him for the night, and apprise Jane of the imminent trip to London.

  Darcy and Elizabeth took a turn in the garden.

  "Who do you think came in while I was in London?"

  Elizabeth was at a loss. The tone implied some old acquaintance. And how could she possibly guess?

  "Miss Bingley," continued Darcy.

  "Caroline Bingley?"

  "The very one. She called on me the day before yesterday, at dusk and unchaperoned."

  "How odd."

  "I must confess I was all curiosity. For I know her well enough that she could not be there without some selfish purpose."

  "Oh, yes. My bosom friend Miss Bingley."

  "Insufferable woman," was his immediate exclamation. "Worse than I had supposed. Absolutely insufferable. A little upstart, vulgar being, with her pretentious manners and her resources, and all of her airs of pert pretensions and underbred finery. Actually to discover that we were engaged. And to propose that she and I should unite to have the rumour of our engagement universally contradicted! I never met with her equal!"

  "Oh Darcy. 'Tis unbelievable. How angry you must be! She certainly is worse and worse than I had supposed, and that is a great deal to say. Had it not come from you, Darcy, I would not have believed it!"

  "Well my dear," he said with a sigh, "considering that she is to be family through your sister, I suppose we must be ready to put up with her."

  "Speaking of relatives…"

  "Yes?"

  "Do you understand that your marrying me will necessarily make you Mr Wickham's brother?"

  "Wickham. Oh yes. I almost forgot."

  "He has been fighting in France, with Wellington."

  "Yes. Fitzwilliam told me he saw him from time to time while on the continent. Is he safe?"

  "My sister has recently corresponded with Mama, and told her, her husband had returned in safety."

  "Good."

  "Darcy. There is something you must know."

  "What is it?"

  "This is very difficult to disclose. Lydia's comportment in Newcastle has been ruled by imprudence. Although married, she became very… popular among the officers, not exactly for her excellence at the pianoforte… rather for her flagrant flirtation. Unfortunately, neither her marital state nor her questionable reputation did belay officers from… you must pardon the expression, lusting after her. While Mr Wickham was away… my sister gave birth to her firstborn. A boy. She named him after his father, she said. But… the baby was born a whole year after Mr Wickham had left for France."

  "Oh," was his immediate answer. Remembering Wickham's letter, he berated himself for having failed to open it. Then, after a short while he asked,

  "Does Mr Wickham know?"

  "That I cannot say. I have not seen Lydia for two years, now. I visited her upon the birth of little George. She had had no news of her husband during that period."

  "What does she say in her letter?"

  "The usual. That she is bored. That she wants to come to Hertfordshire, that she has no money."

  "I sincerely do not doubt that since she married my brother."

  "Your brother, sir? Mr Wickham?"

  "Have you not pronounced him as such?" he smiled faintly at her. "Certainly he is my brother, much in the fashion Cain was brother to Abel, I must say. One must be very careful to have a brother in Mr Wickham."

  "My mother is planning to send an invitation for our wedding to them"

  He was silent.

  "I know. Once your good opinion is lost, it is lost for ever. But Darcy. Perhaps he is changed. People change. You have changed. I have changed, too. No one is flawless. Will you not concede him the benefit of the doubt? Ha
s he not fought for his country, with loyalty, and come back? And he has suffered a horrible treatment from his own wife!"

  "Dearest, I sincerely doubt Mr Wickham has changed. Even if he has, I cannot speak for Georgiana's sensibilities. And there is always Mrs Wickham's dubious repute which makes it impossible for us to receive them either now, or in the future. I suppose this affair is widely known?"

  "It is not. As far as I know, Lydia gave birth with the help of her maidservant and the cook. Only my family knows, and the service at Newcastle. Still, my sister's reputation is all tattered."

  "I would definitely prefer that they would not attend the ceremony or the wedding breakfast. Georgiana will be there. But I would not mind if they visit with your family and partake of a small family reunion before the wedding. I cannot object to it. Lydia is your sister."

  "Very well. I shall talk to my mother."

  "Now Miss Bennet. If I am not mistaken, that spot behind the oak over there offers a fair prospect of the river, does it not? Would you care to show it to me?"

  She smiled sheepishly and nodded. "I will be delighted, sir," she answered playfully, and grabbing his hand led the way thither.

  Thus sheltered amongst the secluded oak, Darcy kissed her with such exceeding warmth, so insistently that when he pressed her back against the convenient trunk Elizabeth forgot all her mortification, and surrendered to unbridled pleasure. He kissed her neither tenderly, nor chastely, but longingly, deeply, hotly and she recognised the quivering feeling making its way through her veins, alerting all her southern sensibilities.

  When he quit the kiss to take a gasp of air, their shoulders heaving to the same rhythm, he closed his eyes and pressed his forehead to hers, his hands cupping her face, thumbs tracing the curve of her cheeks. "God! Look at what you have done to me. I am no better than my brother!" They laughed nervously at this notion and continued kissing each other until Darcy stopt and said, out of breath, "How much have I missed this! I had no idea these feelings could be so… frightfully fierce until I… tasted you! Invariably I will always want more!"

  She looked at him enthralled. Notwithstanding his poor choice of words, a compliment of such a station had rarely come out of Darcy's lips. He would always pay tribute to her beauty and attractiveness in the most ungentleman-like manner, his body announcing his desire for her by means of his arousal firmly pressed to her leg.

  Undoubtedly, he was foreign to where expressing amorous feeling entailed, but since the manner of his flattery was certainly quite palpable, she had had till then, no cause to repine.

  ~•~

  Jane's thoughts had been disturbing her ever since her little "talk" with Mr Darcy in the bedchamber at Rosings had taken place. The mere idea that Elizabeth was tasting what she had been deprived of was disturbing enough to render her sleepless and pensive.

  She was the mother of four, yet knew little of the pleasures of a man's bed. Only the duties had she come to learn exceedingly well.

  With a light foot, Jane took her morning walk. A few miles were nothing for a keen walker. The weather was fine, the flowers in the surroundings blooming. After Charles had apprised her of Mr Darcy's invitation to spend the summer at Pemberley, she had wished she could talk to Elizabeth about the night of her puzzling encounter with Darcy. Not that she were persuaded that her sister would approve of it. In true, albeit she had had good testimony that Mr Darcy was the perfect lover, knowing perfectly well of Elizabeth's whereabouts on the following night, she was desperate to get more intelligence on noits d'amour.

  Ever since the enlightening experience in Mr Darcy's arms, Jane had dared to dream. Dream of connubial pleasures she was yet to be introduced to. For she was determined to taste them, no matter what it took. Not long before she had sought the reading of romantic novels and poetry that were now available from France again. Said reading had awoken the most disturbing emotions in her body and soul. Dreams of lovemaking and unbeknownst amorous rituals invaded her nights and lingered in her musing during the day.

  Thus entertained, she failed to notice the pool of mud that awaited her on the other side of the fence she had just jumped. Instantly, she found herself in a muddy predicament. To make matters worse, she twisted one of her ankles, and could barely move her foot. At first she merely stayed were she was. Realising she must do something to go back to the road, where she had a chance to catch sight of a Samaritan soul, she picked up a long stick and using it as a support, tried to jump the fence again. Unfortunately, it came all to naught for the effort was too painful to bear. Just as she was beginning to despair, the sound of a horse's hooves startled her, and she found herself facing the handsome figure of a gentleman. The sun at his back prevented her from seeing his face, but as she raised her hand to her visage, she promptly recognised the genteel smile of Colonel Fitzwilliam.

  "Mrs Bingley. I imagine this must not be called a pleasant stroll you are taking!" he said while dismounting, and with one incredibly swift movement jumped the fence. She noticed he was fighting to contain his mirth. Literally covered in mud, her bonnet hanging from her neck, and the home made walking stick supporting her right hand, she was a comical vision to behold.

  Yet a beautiful one.

  In realising his endeavour to hide his mirth, Jane gave in to laugh at herself.

  "I was told that French ladies are used to bathing in mud to preserve the tenderness of their countenance. So, I made up my mind to try it myself," she sweetly smiled while wincing lightly. The Colonel laughed.

  She has a sense of humour! It is a good thing she can find something amusing in her predicament.

  "Let me help you. You are in pain."

  "'Tis my ankle."

  "May I see, ma'am?"

  Jane crimsoned furiously,

  "No, I thank you, Colonel. I can manage."

  Richard shrugged. However, when she tried to progress with the walking stick, the pain was such as to render her weak in the knees. Her suffering reflected on her countenance.

  "Mrs Bingley. Pray allow me to have a look. You can trust me."

  She protested a bit, but assented nonetheless. Sitting on the fence and thus stretching the injured foot, very slowly, she raised the hem of her dress, allowing the Colonel the sight of her ankles.

  "Can you undo your shoe, ma'am? I must see whether there is a broken bone," a grave Colonel said. In truth he was perfectly aware that, had she had a broken bone, she would have been in terrible pain now. But the lady need not know this, and flirting had always become Richard.

  She, reluctantly, took off her shoe and offered her bare foot to the Colonel, who was kneeling in front of her. Ever so gently, the Colonel felt her ankle for a serious injury. He shook his head with a smile.

  "'Tis not broken. Merely twisted. 'Tis nothing some rest and salted water cannot heal."

  "I… I thank you, sir."

  "My pleasure, ma'am." He grinned, and a twinkle of mischief shone in his eyes. Then, taking her shoe, he helped her put it on again.

  "You cannot walk, though, lest your foot condition worsen."

  "Oh." 'Twas all she said.

  "I shall carry you. Here. Hold onto me." Thus spoken, he stretched his arms and without much ceremony, lifted her in his.

  "Sir! I am covered in mud!"

  " 'Tis nothing a soldier is not used to, ma'am."

  She looked up at him and her face was suddenly over his, her lips closer to his than they had ever been before. She shuddered lightly, feeling the warmth of his breath and immediately lowered her face. She could feel his magnificent body against hers and the strength of his arms holding her. She did not know what to do with her arms and he noticed her uneasiness.

  "Pray, Mrs Bingley. I shall not be able to cross the fence, unless you hold yourself to me. Put your hands on my shoulders and hold on tight, will you?" He was smiling at her, visibly amused by her predicament. Jane crimsoned severely once more and, biting her lower lip, wound his neck with her arms and held tightly to him.

  Once again sh
e faced him, and her eyes unconsciously rested on his lips.

  "I dare say, Mrs Bingley, your head will be much more comfortable if you would kindly rest it on my shoulder."

  Jane's face could not be any more coloured.

  "Like so?" she said timidly, while following demurely his instructions.

  "Like so," he said. He was savouring the moment. The woman he was holding was by far the handsomest of his acquaintance. That he would have had the power to flush her countenance like that was a privilege rarely bestowed. The Colonel measured her weight. She was lighter than Elizabeth, and decidedly shyer.

  Thereupon, with his heavenly bulk, the Colonel crossed the fence and reluctantly, restored the lady to the ground.

  "I thank you, Colonel."

  "Do not thank me, Mrs Bingley," he said while brushing his coat. "Not yet. I am still pondering how I am going to solve this. I must take you to your home."

  "Oh no! Pray, do not take so much trouble. I shall be content if you would merely call on my husband's groom and tell him of my predicament."

  "Do you propose that I leave you here, all alone, and unprotected?"

  "My husband knows nothing of my fall, so he will not be worried. He is somewhere here on his morning ride. He will surely find me if I keep myself close to the road."

  "Nay, Mrs Bingley. There is no way I would quit your company. I shall take you to your home. Still there is the problem of how we are going to do the journey. Do you feel fit to ride?"

  Jane looked up at the tall horse. "Is he safe?"

  "Gentle as a girl."

  "I am afraid I shall not be able to mount, Colonel. Not by myself."

  "I shall help you."

  "Oh, well then."

  "Which was the twisted ankle?"

  She pointed at her right foot. "Very well, this is what we are going to do. I shall help you mount my horse and then we will both ride to Netherfield. Is that agreeable to you?"

  She nodded shyly and fixed her gaze to the ground. The Colonel did as he said, and in a moment's notice they were both atop the tall horse. Their bodies were almost one over the other, her bottom tightly pressed against him. The Colonel could not help feeling the pleasure of such closeness. He had meant to dismount and guide the horse by the reins on foot. That would have definitely been the most gentlemanly thing to do. But it was not in Richard's nature. He was a flirt and could not help it. Jane was a beautiful woman and was obviously quite smitten with him. So, why deny himself the inducement?