Love Calls Again

by Lucianne Elsworth

  "I am afraid, dear Charles, I am," she answered in a bitter-sweet tone. "Yet, my ailment does not stem thence. I am afraid I did not pass a good night, so I needed to rest a bit more. Now I am hungry, that means I must be better."

  "Good, good. Will you come downstairs for dinner?"

  "Do not concern yourself, Charles. I shall be downstairs when you come home." At lunchtime, however, Jane did go downstairs. She felt it necessary not to abandon her guests entirely, particularly a handsome gentleman of her recent acquaintance. But she found herself alone in the house. The servants told her that the two ladies had gone down to Meryton and that only Colonel Fitzwilliam had stayed, but momentarily he had gone for a walk in the garden.

  That took Jane outside in an instant. To her chagrin, she did not find him in the surroundings, for the Colonel's mind was in turmoil and, seeking some peace of mind, his rambling had taken him deep into the forest. But Jane wished to see him desperately. His presence, she knew, she would not have for much longer, so she had made up her mind to make the most of it while he was still around. At length she found him, seated on a rock, throwing pebbles at the water in the river. She watched him from behind. The stones skipped onto the water, twice, thrice before they sank into the river.

  "How do you do that?" she asked merrily, startling him a little.

  He turned around, a bit surprised at her sudden appearance.

  He smiled warmly and lifted some stones, carefully weighing them, tossing them, feeling their shape.

  Hence, he demonstrated to her his technique without a word.

  "You make it as if it were so easy," she said sounding diverted, a girlish smile broadly spread on her face.

  "'It is easy," he said. "Come, I shall show you how to do it." Thereupon, they spent quite a long time, looking for suitable pebbles, throwing them to the water, laughing heartily at her awkward attempts to make a stone skip over the edge of the water.

  "After all, stones are meant to sink," he tried to comfort her. Then, he encircled her with his arms and kissed her on the lips. Closing her eyes, she sweetly surrendered to his strong embrace, wishing she could stay like so for ever. When the kiss subsided, she opened her eyes and let out her breath on a sigh.

  "Jane, I am so sorry I have nothing to offer you, nothing to promise you." He said with a pang of sadness in his voice.

  "Nay. You have already given me more than you can imagine," was her answer.

  "I mean, there is no future for us."

  "We still have today," she said sweetly.

  "Indeed," he answered with a smile. "And tonight," he finished and kissed her anew.

  ~•~

  Upon his arrival at Pemberley, Darcy was received with a desk full of correspondence. So, soon after he had rested from the three-day trip, his wife peacefully sleeping in the Mistress's bedchamber, and after spending some time with Mr Reynolds and his steward, he headed to his study, and dedicated the rest of the day to reading the awaiting letters.

  There was one that caught his attention. It was from his attorney from London. He was writing him to summon his presence in town for the reading of the late Mrs Darcy's will. That was rather annoying. Why had he not received any letter while he was in London? He had completely forgotten there was such a formality. After all, an estate was usually passed upon the closest surviving male relative, and that would be only him. Who else could inherit anything? But then again, he noticed there was another letter from his attorney, this time addressed to Colonel Fitzwilliam.

  He did not need to imagine much.

  He penned a quick answer, agreeing to an audience in London in August as suggested, and went on with the rest of the correspondence, the majority, either cards of condolences for his late wife or congratulations for his recent espousal.

  A footman announced, rather puzzled: "Master, Mrs Darcy awaits outside."

  "Tell your Mistress she can come in," was his quick answer, as he rose from his desk to walk in direction of the door to receive her.

  When she went into his study for the first time, she had the feeling she was intruding into his sanctuary. Darcy was so happy to see her there, his wife, his very own. Looking fresh from her nap, her cheeks rosy and her face smiling, Elizabeth hurried to his arms.

  "Mrs Darcy. You are welcome into my study, my library, my whole house. There is no need for you to announce your presence. You are free to come and go and do what it is your pleasure, for this is your home as well as it is mine."

  She assented smiling while she rested her head on the comforts of his chest.

  "I thank you, sir. I feel most welcome in our home."

  "Mrs Reynolds will very much like to have a word with you regarding your taste in meals. Would you like to go now?"

  "Must I?"

  "Nay, I was merely suggesting you should talk to her before she collapses, because she has no idea what it is that you like best, and neither have I."

  "Very well, then. Where shall I see her?"

  "Tell a footman you wish to see her, and she will come to you."

  "I do not wish to importune her, sir. She must be very busy running the whole house."

  "Mrs Reynolds will be too happy to oblige you, Mrs Darcy. There has not been a Mistress in this house for quite some time. Have you found your maid to your liking?"

  "Indeed, she seems to be a sweet girl."

  "She is Mrs Reynolds' granddaughter, and has been raised in the house. Should you wish to ask her any question regarding the managing of the servants, I am sure she will be delighted and absolutely capable of answering them."

  "That was very thoughtful of you, sir."

  "I am here to please you, Mrs Darcy."

  The Darcys were the happiest of couples. Mr Darcy had always been the most generous master and now he had turned into a most thoughtful husband, always attentive to his bride's needs. He and his wife had spent half their lives deprived of each other and now, the novelty of their life in common was the means of so much happiness, they hardly stayed a few hours away from each other's company. Which was good, for they would need all the love that was available to weather the storm that was about to break on them and would definitely interrupt their connubial bliss.

  Wickham knew he had to away to Newcastle soon. Yet the intelligence of Miss Darcy's presence in the surroundings was deterrent enough for any precipitate departure. His wife was happily distracted with her family whom she had not seen for a good five years, and her son, the fruit of her adultery, was being thoroughly spoiled by his grandmother at her leisure.

  Wickham rambled about the grove for the fifth time in five days. He did not lose hope of coming upon the object of his affections by chance. Instead, and to his own amazement, he had recently spied a certain colonel most agreeably engaged with his sister-in-law, Mrs Bingley. In so spying them, he had felt a pang of jealousy. Not that he envied the colonel his paramour, mind you. What Wickham did covet was his boldness. Obviously, the man never hesitated. Whatever he wanted, he took it. The Colonel had not thought it twice when it came to saving Wickham's life, neither had he given it a second thought when it came to seizing the lady's waist and planting an ardent kiss on her lips. Colonel Fitzwilliam was a man to admire, even to emulate, and Captain Wickham thought, "Hang it! If he can, why can I not?"

  Such was his determination in leaving the grove when he bumped into Lydia's child. The boy was brandishing a stick for want of a sword, and almost fell on it in trying to run from his stepfather. Unfortunately, he ran in the opposite direction from Longbourn.

  "HALT!" Wickham yelled. But the boy was unschooled in parental obedience and the more Wickham called him the faster he ran away in the direction of Netherfield hall.

  "Damn it!" Wickham muttered to himself. He chased the stupid child but all came to naught. In a blink of an eye, Wickham lost all sight of him. He checked the time on his pocket watch. There were still two hours of daylight.

  He walked further into the woods, calling out the name of the boy (his own, actually) fe
eling stupid and knowing too well the devil would not come out of the hole where he most surely had crouched to hide from him for all the candy in the world.

  Wickham evaluated the possibility of going back to Longbourn for help. Just as he was turning on his heels, he heard the yaps of a puppy.

  "Hey, boy. What are you doing here?"

  The puppy jumped and yapped in the direction of the woods. Wickham gathered the animal was trying to tell him something.

  "You're not alone, are you?"

  On squinting, Wickham noticed someone behind a tree. Surely the puppy had found the boy's hiding place, hence he hushed the dog and ever so slowly, tiptoed towards the tree. With a sudden moment, he pounced on the unaware child, only it was not the child he had expected.

  It was Georgiana.

  Georgiana was alone in the garden, playing with the Bingley children's puppy when she distinguished a distinct voice calling her name coming from the grove. Ever so slyly, she threw a stick towards the nearby wilderness which immediately sent the puppy in its search. She quickly followed him, and soon she reached the spot whence Wickham's voice came.

  "This is indeed very daring!" she said, quite out of breath.

  "Miss Darcy!"

  "You were calling me, sir. I heard your voice calling my name."

  "No, I was not. I was calling someone else."

  "Mr Wickham. YOU wanted to see me!" she said, sounding offended.

  "I did. I do," he answered with a broad smile. "But I was not calling your name."

  "Then whose name were you calling, sir?"

  "The boy's."

  "The boy's?"

  "My son's. Lydia's son," he clarified.

  "Lydia's?"

  "Indeed. I will explain this to you some day. Anyway. I think the boy might be lost in the woods. Will you not help me find him?"

  "Why, of course. Which way did he go?"

  "Come!" Taking her by the hand, he directed her deeper into the grove.

  "Wait! The puppy!" She caught the little beast by its collar and took it with them.

  They walked together for a while, searching every little corner of the grove, until the puppy yapped excitedly and pointed eagerly towards the river. Young George was lying under a tree. The little fellow was weeping, thinking himself lost forever. On looking up, however, he made a failed attempt to flee again, but his stepfather was by his side in a flash, and holding him tight by one hand, he scolded the child and threatened him to be quiet or else.

  So the strangest of parties, George, Georgie and Georgiana, made their way back whence they had come, until finally they found the path leading to Longbourn garden, and thither they send little George back to his maternal home.

  Captain Wickham turned around to look at Georgiana. "It is too long a journey for us to walk alone in the woods. It will be dark soon. My horse is ready. Wait here. I shall be back soon enough."

  "No, I would rather walk with you. I have never walked the groves in the dark."

  "It is too long a journey, Miss Darcy. Pray allow me to go for my horse."

  "Very well, if you insist. But let us walk a while before mounting."

  He assented gladly, and very much excitedly went for his mount and was back in no time at all.

  Still, they walked their way back as the lady required, Wickham's horse tagging behind, the puppy following their path yapping contentedly around them.

  Wickham suddenly remembered his recent musings, and looking fondly at Georgiana, he held her hand to his chest. "How often did I wish," exclaimed he, "when I was away in France these three years, that at home in Newcastle it would be you waiting for me! Little did I imagine then I would be able to hold your dear hand again." He raised her hand to his lips and pressed it against them.

  "I would have very much liked to have waited for you in your house in Newcastle."

  He smiled. "In the small cottage?"

  "As long as it was our home it would have mattered very little to me whether it was a palace or tiny cottage. Aye. A cottage would have been faultless. Nay, more, since a cottage is where you live, I consider it as the only form of building in which happiness would be attained."

  "Oh yes. With dark narrow stairs, and a kitchen that smokes, I suppose," said he teasingly.

  "Aye!" cried she in the same eager tone. "With all and everything belonging to it."

  "No footmen or chambermaid to attend to your needs…"

  "With all its conveniences and inconveniences. I should have been perfectly happy if only you were with me."

  "You are a good woman," he replied warmly.

  Georgiana stared at him. "A woman, indeed!" she exclaimed a bit saddened. It was only him who saw her as such. Fitzwilliam had but seen a stupid girl in her and her brother merely a little child whom he overprotected.

  "That is what you are to me, Miss Darcy. A most handsome woman."

  In a blink of an eye, Georgiana's heart gave a sudden jolt. Gad he was handsome! Even more so than Richard.

  And he was so amiable! How could her brother have detached her from him? If it had not been for Darcy's untimely interference, she would have been happily married to him all these years, and they would have lived very comfortably with her generous dowry at their own estate near Pemberley. She would have never wasted her time mooning over her cousin and many a tear she would not have shed.

  Wickham was looking at her with longing and yearning only proper of a beau. Georgiana could have kissed him right there. "Your words bring me peace," she said shyly.

  "Then I shall extend them a little further, and perhaps they will make you happy." He looked intently into her eye, "You are the best woman of my acquaintance, Miss Darcy."

  Georgiana was blushing furiously, and her heart went racing.

  "Tell me that you will always remain the same; that I shall ever find you as unchanged as this grove, and that you will always consider me with the same kindness and affection."

  The promise was readily given, and Wickham declared his affection and happiness in hearing it from her lips with a warm kiss bestowed upon her small hand.

  ~•~

  Every single night of his stay at Netherfield Park, Colonel Fitzwilliam received Jane in his bedchamber. Every single night during a whole week, he enjoyed the pleasure of her sex and her adoration.

  During daytime, they hardly spoke to each other. But the nights were theirs, and their lovemaking never lost the exhilarating sensation of the first time. But the week was gradually coming to an end, and the mere notion of a separation was unsupportable for Jane.

  On their last night together, she said so to him, while playing distractedly with his hair.

  "I shall miss you, Richard."

  "Aye, I know not what will become of me without you in my bed. What lonely nights await me."

  "Perchance we shall see each other quite soon. Will you not be going to Pemberley?"

  "Yes, I will. Yet we will not be able to do this for ever."

  "Dearest Richard. I am ready to do this the rest of my life!"

  "'Tis not so simple, Jane."

  "Aye. A few weeks ago, these fortuitous encounters would have sufficed to me. Yet now 'tis not enough. The problem is that my unfortunate heart has played me a wicked trick, for it had rendered itself to your feet. I am afraid I have fallen in love with you."

  Colonel Fitzwilliam went silent. In cases such as this any lady would have expected the gentleman to claim to match her feelings. Yet that was not the case with Jane.

  Fitzwilliam did not love her. At least he did not love her the way she loved him. Once, some cynical Frenchman said that there are two parties to a love-transaction. The one who loves and the other who condescends to be so treated. The reader might have seen such comedies of errors going on in the world. But it is certain that Jane thought her lover to be the handsomest man that ever walked the earth, the most gallant and brilliant man in all the British Empire, wild and merry and talented and above all, devilishly good at providing pleasure, hence she minded n
ot the depth of his feelings for her provided he did not leave her bed the whole night.

  "Have I not come to you every single night?" she said while kissing his beloved features. "Have I not risked my respectability, my husband's good name, everything to be with you?

  "Yes, Jane."

  "'Tis only that I cannot bear the idea of how you spend your days." she said with a pout. "You are not mine in the daytime. I am terribly jealous of every single lady of your acquaintance. To think you will be back in London…"

  "It is the same with me. The mere thought that he," he nodded towards her husband's bedchamber, "might lay a finger on you, kiss you, make love to you. 'Tis unbearable, Jane."

  "Charles is no match for you, my love. He barely touches me. In fact 'tis so long since he last came to me, I hardly remember his touch."

  "Does he keep a mistress?"

  "Nay, not Charles. 'Tis only that I do not wish to be with him, so I have been lying to him, feigning that I was with child, then I told him I have been wrong and that my menses had suddenly returned. He believes now I am thus."

  Richard could hardly contain his mirth. He endeavoured to refrain his laughter but to no avail. "I am sorry. I do not mean to laugh. 'Tis only he is so… I apologise. Forgive me. After all, he is your husband. I do not mean to make fun of him"

  "Do not make yourself uneasy. Charles is very peculiar. 'Tis a long time since I fell out of love with him. I used to be very much in love when we first met, though. I believe I was too young, and naive, and had believed in all the stupid things my mother had taught me about connubial union. Charles has always been Charles. 'Tis only I who has changed. I must say I am in debt to Elizabeth."

  "Your sister?"

  "Aye. She was the one who awoke the daring lover in me. Could you keep a secret?" He nodded in acceptance. "You will not believe this. But she and Mr Darcy had been quite intimate before married."