Love Calls Again

by Lucianne Elsworth

  "Lovers?"

  "Aye. She told me of their secret encounters right here in Netherfield, and in his town house in London. He was a married man, then. You can imagine what an impression her disclosures made on me. Apparently, Mr Darcy was a very passionate man, and she… well, she told me about it, and I… When she described me the… (she blushed a little at this) pleasures of… a man's passion I simply could not go on without knowing what it would feel like to be so loved."

  "Lovers…" Corroboration was a still a hard pill to swallow for Richard's pride. Deep inside he had always wished Elizabeth had been faithful to him while he was away.

  "Lizzy had many secrets I did not know. She told me Mr Darcy was not her first love."

  "He was not?"

  "Nay. She has had this secret engagement with a gentleman. A soldier, apparently. She was very much in love with him, but he deserted her. It seems he was sent to France to fight and he…"

  Richard's face froze. He changed colour, but the emotion was short, and he endeavoured to remain indifferent to her tale. She paused when she noticed the change on his countenance. He was looking at her with a smile of affected incredulity.

  Understanding dawned on Jane in an instant. "Gracious Lord, it was you!" she cried almost incredulously. The tumult in her mind was now painfully great. "Good Heavens! Can it be really so?"

  He said nothing but lowered his head. Again his astonishment was obvious, and he looked at her with an expression of mingled melancholy and mortification.

  "Richard! Oh my Gad! You… You were her secret fiancé. Lord, Richard. Elizabeth was in love with you."

  With assumed tranquillity he then replied, "Not any more, Jane."

  "But you… she… This is too much. You should have told me!"

  "Tell you what? That your sister had been my fiancée? Do you expect me to brag about my conquests to the wind? Jane, I was in love with Elizabeth. Very much in love with her. I even did the unthinkable to detach her from my cousin, everything in my power to separate them and even rejoiced in my success."

  Jane's astonishment was beyond expression. She stared in awe as though expecting to wake up from a nightmare.

  "You detached them?"

  "I did," he sighed heavily, a mournful frown creased his forehead. "Fortunately all came to naught. She is married to my cousin, remember? They love each other," he alleged defensively.

  "You still love her."

  "I do not," he mumbled hesitantly but not even he believed the words that escaped his lips.

  "But she was your inamorata. I am sharing a bed with my sister's lover!"

  "Indeed you are mistaken. I must admit we were quite intimate, yet I never took advantage of my situation. I must confess I sincerely doubt Darcy had done what you are stating. Not that I doubt your words. Perchance you have made a misconstruction of their relationship? Are you certain Elizabeth told you Darcy was her lover, in those very words?"

  "Mr Darcy was her paramour, I am positive. And you were her fiancée."

  "Jane, I never… we merely… I do not feel comfortable with this conversation."

  "Neither do I. I cannot accept the fact that I… that you are her…"

  "Nothing," he said bitterly. "I am nothing to her, make no mistake of that."

  She nodded demurely. "You are her cousin."

  " Jane. May I remind you that technically, after Kitty married Edward you, madam, are my cousin, too? Therefore I am sharing my bed with my cousin's best friend's wife, who is also my cousin, and sister to a woman I almost married. How do you think I feel?"

  "Like a helpless flirt?" she blurted out.

  He could not help laughing at her remark. They soon forgot they were arguing a moment ago. In fact they both laughed heartily. When their mirth subsided, though, he embraced her lovingly and breathed into her ear.

  "Oh, Jane, Jane. Not any more. This flirt has found the sole of his shoe. I wish I could find the way to make you rightfully mine. I would make you thoroughly happy. Make no mistake of that."

  Such a promise, either meant to be true or not, sent Jane to Heaven and back. To be thoroughly his! May those words come true!

  He kissed her once more, passionately yet tenderly. Ever so softly, he lay on his back, Jane bestriding him and as he entered her, she stretched her arms over her head and let out a moan that escaped from deep down in her throat. Then she placed both her hands cupping the back of her head, slightly raising her hair in doing so, and commenced a shameless riding.

  Richard growled with sheer pleasure.

  Forty-One

  —

  In Which Mr Bingley Is Thoroughly Edified on Connubial Bliss

  Before dawn, and after Colonel Fitzwilliam had satisfied all her womanly desires, a much dejected Jane abandoned her paramour's bed, perhaps for good. The sleeping form of her lover was a picture she would endeavour to retain in her heart for ever, and as she repaired to her own bedroom, she sighed feelingly with the deepest of grief.

  Ere long, her husband knocked lightly at her door.

  "Jane," he whispered. "Are you awake?"

  Jane did not answer, but stifled her breathing to prevent the slightest sound from warning Bingley that she was indeed not sleeping.

  In receiving no signs of life, so to speak, from his wife, Bingley sighed in turn with resignation. He must do something about this. The previous night he had not been able to enter her bedchamber; an unexpected lock had turned his amorous aspiration sadly down. Maybe it was time for him to confide his predicament to someone wiser.

  He thought of his brother-in-law, but immediately dismissed the idea as completely pointless. Hurst did not even have progeny of his own. To Bingley's mind, a couple with no children was not a couple at all.

  His mind surveyed his list of male friends and found it rather faulty of names that could fit his own description of successfully married gentlemen. If only he could have a conversation with Darcy again! He was the only one who had dared speak to him so straightforwardly about the subject of connubial bliss.

  While his thoughts were thus engaged, he remembered Colonel Fitzwilliam's intervention in said conversation. The man seemed to be well acquainted with the notion. Perhaps that gentleman could enlighten him a little more. He made up his mind to give him a try, and pulling himself together, directed his feet towards Colonel Fitzwilliam's bedroom.

  A much bewildered and sleepy Colonel received him, unsure of what sort of pressing errand could have sent Bingley to his apartments at such an early hour. Without much conscience of what he was doing, Fitzwilliam allowed his cousin's friend in, and stared at him with great expectancy as if he was to receive the worst of news from the lips of Bingley.

  Bingley, visibly nervous, stalked about the room a bit, until with a huff he sat on the edge of the Colonel's bed. Taking his hand to his lips, he finally gathered enough courage and spoke.

  "Colonel. You must understand that this is a man-to-man conversation." Fitzwilliam's face became instantly transfigured. Right to Bingley's side, lay Jane's nightshirt. The Colonel grew pale and flinched as Bingley placed his hand on the silk gown his wife had left behind.

  Bingley coughed lightly and commenced to speak with both a conspiratorial and teasing tone in his voice "Ever since our little tête-à-tête in the library a few weeks ago, I have been pondering your words, and have arrived at the conclusion that there might be a gleam of truth in your statement."

  "My statement?" Bingley's hand prodigiously abandoned its former accommodation and now rested on his lap. Fitzwilliam closed his eyes. This was not happening…

  "You must remember our conversation the other day. We were talking about man's pleasure… you know…"

  As he said this, the much astonished Colonel blushed crimson and felt and owned he was certainly the worst of traitors. Was not the husband seeking advice from the lover?

  "Beg your pardon?"

  "I found your speech on marital pleasure most interesting, sir. Very enlightening, I should add. However, I have
failed to find the information in the books Darcy suggested that I should search. I came to your bedchamber, sir, expressly to ask you if you could perhaps hint to me as to where to find more on the subject. Pray, what is your source of information?" This praise and confidence smote Fitzwilliam's heart very keenly. Every moment the colloquy continued in this tone he felt more and more guilty, and as Bingley persevered in his quest for enlightenment on connubial bliss the Colonel's embarrassment grew.

  "You are a good fellow, Fitzwilliam," said Bingley in a softened voice, "You must know I have done the unthinkable to my wife, as much as any man ever could. I have now three times as much money as my own father ever had, and Jane has had all her good heart has ever desired. You cannot imagine what pin money she gets! And what jewels! But it seems I have failed her. Nothing seems to satisfy her. I am sorry. I suppose you do not wish to hear me talking like this."

  No, he would not. Indeed he would rather have Darcy, drowned in brandy, prattling away about his wedding night with Elizabeth instead.

  "Sir, I fear you have deceived yourself. I am sure you have. Mrs Bingley is too high-minded a lady ever to care much about money, and therefore, that could not be the way to her heart."

  "Why hang it, man. What can I possibly do? You should have seen her when I met her. She was quite smitten with me! And now, barely after five years of marriage, she… she…"

  "Sir, you need not explain your predicament any further. I completely comprehend the situation."

  "Can you help me, my friend? I am in dire need of counsel."

  Fitzwilliam let out a deep breath. For a moment after the first minutes of their colloquy he had thought Charles had learnt about his wife's affair with him, and was going to challenge him. Not that the Colonel were afraid of Bingley, but he would not wish a scandal. Yet, Bingley did not finish annoying him. Could he be so idiotic?

  Now, this presented a problem. What to say to him? He could not send him to make love to Jane, could he? Of course he could not.

  He eyed his foe narrowly. Then he attempted to inquire, "You really want my advice?"

  "Please," said the unaware cuckold.

  Fitzwilliam was a man of the world, but not a dandy. However, honourable and chivalrous did not mean stone made; he had bedded many women yet had always kept his standards. No meddling with genteel virgins or the relatives of his officers in command, for example, was pre-eminent among his maxims. Until Jane, he had never lain with a married woman, and most of his amatory experience had been gathered during his travels with most accomplished courtesans.

  Fitzwilliam surmised that as Bingley had probably been chastised by his stern and punctilious cousin Darcy, and judging from the young age at which the fellow had entered the sacred ports of marriage, Bingley's amatorial experience, in turn, must have been reduced to the marital bed. What better solution than sending one's enemy to one's own trenches? Hence, he spoke with a confident and patronising tone,

  "Sir, women are a man's best instructor. And when I say women I mean just that. Not one, not two, but many women. No man can consider himself really experienced who has not at least loved half a dozen." He gave him a smirk. "You know what they say: practice makes perfect. You must find yourself discreet, experienced lovers and allow them to…" he patted Bingley on his shoulder "… to further your instruction to perfection."

  "But that would be adultery," objected Bingley while he slunk back guiltily as if he had already committed said offence.

  "No, sir. That would be edification," the Colonel, as bold as brass, spoke with great coolness and fierceness. "Yet when it comes to gathering experience, one woman is as good as the next. Although I have always myself kept away from the innocent."

  "Are you saying, sir, that in order to become a good… husband for my wife I am going to have to lie down with many different women?"

  "Definitely. As many as possible."

  "But would not that have its natural consequences in the long run?"

  " Sir, provided you remember to take a few elementary precautions, as the one we discussed in your library the other day… you can do it with as many women as you like… as often as you like… in as many different ways as you like. Our sex has many good advantages, so why not take the inducement?"

  "I see." Still, Bingley did not immediately swallow the pill. Much as the suggestion was indeed exceedingly tempting, he remained pensive for a moment or two. Then as if talking to himself, he commented, "'Tis a most interesting concept, I grant you." Finally, with a line of a smile on his face he said, "Most interesting, indeed. I thank you for your advice. I will think about it."

  "Not at all. Glad to be of service."

  "So coitus interr…?" he made a gesture with his hand encouraging his interlocutor to refresh his memory on the rather slippery name of the technique.

  "Withdrawal."

  "Ah, yes, withdrawal."

  "Indeed."

  Thus Mr Bingley headed to the door, seeming quite satisfied with the tête-à-tête, the Colonel more convinced than ever of his own superiority.

  Forty-Two

  —

  In Which Captain Wickham Becomes a Bachelor Again. Or Not.

  George Wickham watched the son of his wife playing in the garden with his stick. The little fellow seemed to be convinced it was a sword and most fiercely battled against the poor old bitch that was taking her nap under a tree. To be sure the timing of his birthday betrayed that Wickham had not fathered him (anyway, the boy bore his surname), there was nothing of him in his countenance, nor did he resemble any of the Bennets. He was rubicund, hair and all, and his rosy cheeks glowed contrasting with the milky white of his freckled face. Wickham reckoned he was not a nice looking boy. Even if he had been the cutest of lads, Wickham would have never been a little moved into considering him his first-born. Unfortunately, English law would not agree with him.

  Should Mr Wickham divorce his wife? If he chose to do so, and present charges against her, then the boy would be considered a bastard. Not that he cared about the boy. Howbeit he was enraged with his wife for her lack of finesse and adulterous comportment; he was reluctant to cause any scandal. Especially after Darcy's nuptials to Miss Bennet for he did not wish to cause further annoyance to any of Fitzwilliam's relatives, whom Wickham owed his life.

  To add to his already complicated life, Mr Wickham's situation had been suddenly worsened after his encounter and consequent growing complicité with Miss Darcy. Of course, he did not regard a couple of innocent kisses bestowed on her hand as adulterous comportment. Even so, it would be blunt foolishness on his part to fall into the same trap twice, and by no means would he dare awake the lion when it was sleeping. Were Mr Wickham to be caught red-handed with Miss Darcy again, as he had been in the Ramsgate affair, he knew Mr Darcy would never forgive him such outrageous behaviour.

  No. Wickham had already tasted Darcy's fury once and he knew his resentment could be worse than his sword. Even though Wickham considered his feelings for the young lady to be pure, they were far from being just.

  Much as it pained him to reconcile himself with the idea, Mr Wickham was a married man, and although his attachment to his own wife was already broken, in no way could he deem the sacred bond less enduring. Unfortunately, Mr Wickham was certain Mrs Wickham spent most of her amorous life in someone else's bed, and it was not sheer luck on her part which had prevented Mr Wickham from gathering proof of her infidelity. No; it was definitely a case of carefully devised machination. The sly thing was better than Mr Wickham himself at that. Yet something must be done.

  Wickham called out the ruddy-cheek boy.

  "Stop it. It might bite you." That said, in a fatherly attitude, he took the stick from the boy's hand. Yet, Lydia did not see it that way.

  The boy put out a pout and ran towards the house, a bewildered look upon his face.

  A moment later, Lydia ran furiously towards her husband.

  "What have you done to him?" She pointed at him with the stick. "Are you determined to ma
ke him miserable all his life?"

  "I did nothing. He was beating the dog…"

  "You must stop this, Wickham. The boy is your son. You must love him. Gad, he is scared of you! Can you not stop mistreating him?"

  "Lydia. I did nothing to him. I…"

  "He dreads your mere presence. And all you can do is frighten him with a stick!"

  "I did not…"

  "Oh, this is not to be borne. I must speak to my father! My father will tell you a thing or two."

  "Lydia, stop this nonsense."

  But she could not. She had had too much sherry than was appropriate. "You must spend time with your son, Wickham. He barely knows you! And stop being mean to him, in the name of the Lord! Do you hear me?" she shouted her scathing reproach.

  It was more than he could swallow. "I am not spending time with your bastard!" he yelled back completely out of composure. "You brought him into this world on your own account! You take care of him!"

  "The law has given him your name and pronounced him your heir!" she hissed threateningly.

  "I would not be so sure!" was his biting retort.

  "Mr Wickham!" The voice of Mr Bennet thundered from behind. "Mr Wickham. Pray come into the house. I shall have a word with you, sir."

  "Yes, Papa! Tell him he must be a better husband to me! He is insulting me!"

  "You stay here, Lydia. And take good care of your son. I shall have a word with your husband."

  Lydia smiled triumphantly at Wickham, oblivious to the unnatural emphasis her father had placed on the word your, and raising her nose she took the boy by an elbow and paraded her way back into the house.

  Unsure of what sort of speech he was to expect from his father-in-law, Wickham shifted uncomfortably on his feet. This was the last straw. His wife a shameful seductress; his rightful heir, someone else's bastard; his last farthing gone to cover his debt with Mr Darcy; war scars all over his body, a disabling injury on his back; his love life up-side-down and now his father in law against him.