Love Calls Again

by Lucianne Elsworth

  Eyeing Mr Bennet, he assumed a soldier-under-inspection posture and answered the old man's questions as if he were responding to his commander.

  "Mr Wickham. Have you any idea why I have summoned you?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "Well, then?"

  "I am sorry. I did not mean to insult Lydia. It will not…"

  "No, no, no. My dear boy, I have not summoned you here for you to apologise. I know Lydia. It is a matter of greater importance that has been disturbing me a great deal. What I have just overheard of your argument with your wife has persuaded me that I have to have a heart-to-heart conversation with you."

  "Yes, sir."

  "I am ashamed to confirm that our suspicion has been true. It seems you have not fathered little George."

  "No, sir."

  "Stop answering in monosyllables. You are not in the militia, I am your father and not your Colonel. Calm down, young man!"

  Wickham did just that. It was not like him to behave like a tamed cat, but he was making outrageous efforts to show the world he was a changed man.

  "Here, have some port." Wickham accepted the drink but did not move. "Come. Take a seat, and tell me all about it. I have a right to know who has fathered my grandson."

  Wickham relaxed and sat in Mr Bennet's arm chair. Anxious as he was to confide in someone, speaking so outwardly about his most private life was, if anything, uncomfortable. Fortunately, he found in Mr Bennet a keen listener. He told him all of his suspicions of his wife's past and present infidelity. Regrettably, it was not a mere rumour he had come across, although he had never caught her in flagranto delicto.

  But as regards the boy, he was sure he had not had anything to do on that score. He had simply not been there for the impregnation. It must have been the groom, for the lad took definitely after him, and the servant had vanished from Newcastle the moment Wickham had asked the first questions.

  "My question is this: What are you planning to do?" asked Mr Bennet vehemently.

  "Nothing, sir."

  "Nothing?" Mr Bennet asked, disbelieving "You are not returning her?"

  "I cannot. That would be a thorough scandal. I believe our name has already been tattered enough to risk a new one."

  Now Mr Bennet's famous sarcasm faded away to revel in a certain tenderness towards the young man. Mr Bennet had not expected such an attitude from Mr Wickham in a hundred years. And yet, he was behaving in the most generous, even chivalrous manner. "That is indeed very generous of you, my son. Are you sure you will be able to endure such comportment in a partner?"

  "Yes, sir. Provided Mrs Wickham does not fall… again."

  "Do you love Lydia?"

  "No, sir."

  "I suspected as much. Well, son. Should you change your mind, please do not hesitate to confide in me. After all, the boy is, indeed, my grandson." Mr Bennet hesitated a bit before asking Wickham again. "You must pardon me, son. This is something of the greatest import for me. If you were to confirm that Mrs Wickham is not having her… weakness under regulation, what would be your plans?"

  Wickham could hardly confess to his father-in-law his plans for his wife. But he was being very understanding, and Wickham had vowed to speak the truth and nothing but the truth. "Divorce," he barely murmured. "As discreetly as possible."

  Unbeknownst to them, Lydia had been eavesdropping on their conversation, and was vexed as vexed could be. She had expected her father to scold her husband into better comportment towards her and their child, not to ally forces against her.

  "Divorce me, huh? Not if I can avoid it. Pha! You, Papa, will have to take care of my child. I will not stay here to be abused by a husband! Make no mistake of that!"

  ~•~

  Elizabeth woke up in the middle of the night with a start. She sat up in bed and sent a cursory look at the sleeping form of her husband by her side. He was there. She sighed in reassurance. The nightmare had been so vivid! She had awoken with the disquieting sensation that it had been a real thing.

  In her dream she was alone in her bedchamber, and much as she tried, she could not open the adjoining door to her husband's room. She heard the sound of a carriage being readied to depart and the bustle of servants coming and going. From her window she discerned the face of her husband as he leant his cheek against the glass of the window in the carriage. She cried out his name and although he could hear her, he did not look up at her. Only when the carriage drove away, he sent her a look of chilling coldness and indifference that rendered her in the gloomiest of fears. Darcy hated her. He was leaving her, for good.

  The awful dream had ruined her rest and now resuming sleep would be almost impossible. She looked out the window. The panes had been left open to provide them some fresh air in the hot summer nights of the north. A persistent drizzle, however, had just brought some cool draught into the bedchamber. Elizabeth shivered. It was dark outside and the drizzle turned into a heavy downpour. She got out to bed and tried to close the panes.

  She was startled by cold hands that gripped her from behind.

  "It is only me," her husband whispered into her ear. "What are you doing in the middle of the night?"

  "Darcy, you scared me!"

  "I am sorry." Looking at her present occupation he asked her again. "Pray, what are you trying to do?"

  "I was… I could not sleep. It was too cold…" she signalled at the rain. "I was merely closing the window panes."

  Darcy scolded her a little and closed the panes himself. "There. You should have called a servant."

  "In the middle of the night?" she shook her head. "By no means would I wake up a poor man only to close a window pane."

  Darcy got closer to his wife and encircled her in his arms. Stroking his face against her neck, he set her hair apart and kissed the exposed skin. "Then you should have at least called me."

  She shook her head once more. "Never wake up a sleeping lion."

  Darcy raised a quizzical brow. "What is that supposed to mean?"

  "I would not dare disturb the master of Pemberley's pleasant sleep."

  Kissing her earlobe he caressed her curves seductively. "I do not mind your waking me up, you know."

  Elizabeth sighed. "That is exactly what I fear."

  "Fear?"

  "Yes sir."

  He sent her a resentful look. "You complain too much. I will end up thinking you do not like me."

  "Oh, no sir. I do. I like you very much."

  "I am beginning to think you like me better when I sleep."

  "Oh no sir. I do like you awake."

  "You do?"

  "Very much."

  With an effortless movement, Darcy lifted his wife in his arms and while carrying her directly to bed, he said, "Good. Because right now, Mrs Darcy, I am thoroughly awake."

  Forty-Three

  —

  In Which Colonel Fitzwilliam Loses a Battle but Not the War

  Early in the morning, too early for the mistress of Netherfield, a servant knocked at the door of her bedchamber. She had an urgent note from Longbourn. After reading it, Jane gasped in horror, and instinctively rushed to Colonel Fitzwilliam's door.

  That was a big mistake.

  A huge, enormously monstrous mistake.

  Just as the Colonel opened the door, Mr Bingley made a sudden appearance in the corridor. On seeing his wife, in her nightshirt, and the Colonel opening the door so naturally to speak to her (he was merely wearing his shirt, his chest open for the lady to see) Bingley did not suspect they were in intimate terms.

  He thoroughly understood it.

  "Jane?" he called her in disbelief. "Pray, what are you doing?"

  "Charles I… was looking for you."

  "In the Colonel's chamber?"

  Colonel Fitzwilliam rolled his eyes.

  "No, I… I knocked at your bedchamber door and you were not there," she stammered with a trembling upper lip. A cold shiver went down her spine and her forehead glistened with sweat. "There is this urgent note from Mama. I was desperate,
" she declared almost out of breath. The Colonel observed the scene with apparent perfect composure, but deep inside his heart swelled to see Jane compelled to face the odd situation alone. He felt helpless, and for the first time he did not think Bingley a hopeless idiot, but a foe, a formidable, insurmountable foe. Jane was finishing her explanation when the Colonel finally regained his senses. "… So I rushed to the Colonel to beg his help." She handed over the note to her husband, who in turn, opened and before reading it, eyed Fitzwilliam with his brows drew together in a black frown.

  "Sir. Will you not wear something in front of my wife?"

  Fitzwilliam readily obeyed and search for his robe. He would have much liked Bingley to have dismissed him.

  In reading the note Bingley's countenance changed. This was awful news.

  "I see," he answered, unconvinced. Then, folding the note, he put it into his pocket and surveyed the pair with the stern look of a teacher "May I have a word with you, Colonel?"

  Richard assented and gave a step back into his bedchamber to allow the offended husband to enter it.

  "Go and get changed, Jane," he said with a dismissing tone. "Your mother will need you. After I have seen to my affair with the Colonel I shall follow you to Longbourn."

  Jane assented, but was in fact terrified by her husband's stern look. She had never seen him like that. Was it possible that he knew? Goodness! That would be the end of her marriage! The end of her reputation! Even worse, should Charles divorce her, her children would be bastards!

  Bingley had never been more enraged before. However, he endeavoured to broach the delicate subject in a most subtle manner. He addressed the colonel with a…

  "Hum… Colonel I understand this is your last day at Netherfield Park?" he speculated. The question was posed in a clipped tone, even aggressive.

  "It is." Richard assented. This took him a little by surprise for he had thought the man would punch him.

  "Good. And you are heading for…" Bingley's eyes scanned Richard's with scrutinising sharpness.

  "Matlock?"

  "Not Pemberley," Bingley ventured.

  The man was definitely trying to tell Fitzwilliam something. "No. Not Pemberley." Ever so cool, Fitzwilliam faced his interlocutor with a contemptuous air. But Bingley stepped forward; his voiced changing dramatically when he solemnly pronounced,

  "Good."

  Fitzwilliam did not retaliate. Anyone witnessing the scene would have sworn the two men would produce their duelling pistols at any minute now. Instead, Bingley chose to measure his wife's lover to the point of excess.

  "And you intend to remain there for…"

  Fitzwilliam discerned Bingley was fully aware of his complicité with Jane. Had his previous conversation been merely an excuse to convey the real message? If so, the colonel had been utterly ashamed. At any rate, he understood it as such. It was a coded warning. Hence he determined himself to put an end to the situation. "Indefinitely?" he tried.

  Bingley nodded. "I see. Good. I wish you a good trip, sir." and he was gone.

  ~•~

  Jane found the Longbourn household in complete disorder. Her mother had retired to her bedroom and complained of the same pains she usually complained about when annoyed or vexed. But this time she had every reason to be vexed.

  "Oh Jane. We are all in an uproar! Your sister! Mrs Wickham! She has abandoned her poor husband and the little boy here! She has run away!"

  "Mama. How can you be sure of that?"

  Mrs Bennet halted her sobbing and looking somewhat puzzled, sent daggers at Jane. "Why, she is gone! She has left a note in your father's study. He found it this morning." Then remembering it was all a great scandal, broke into copious weeping again. "We looked for her everywhere. But all was in vain. She was already gone! She must have left very late last night, for no one heard her leave!"

  "Mama. Try to calm yourself. Do not distress yourself any further. I am certain Lydia will soon come to her senses and come back. Where is Papa?"

  "He is gone to recover her." She sobbed and cleaned her nose noisily. "How can she do this to her poor mama?"

  "Lydia is too silly, Mama. She cannot see right from wrong."

  "But why did she have to leave the boy?" she complained. "I cannot look after him, you know. I have already raised five daughters!"

  "I am sure Mr Wickham will take care of him, Mama."

  "He will not! He is not the boy's father!"

  "Mama!"

  "Lydia says as much in her note. Look!"

  Mrs Bennet handed Jane a letter written in Lydia's wild hand writing.

  My Dear Mama,

  You will be happy to know that I am gone to live my life as you have always told me. I cannot help laughing at Wickham's surprise when he learns that I have left him. I am going to France, and as soon as I am well established there I shall send you word for you to come and visit me. You must look after my son, for I am sure Mr Wickham will refuse to take him with him since he is not his son. Besides, little George does not like him. When I have a house of my own, I shall take him with me again. Pray, tell Lizzy that I have taken her gowns with me. She will not use them, now that she is so rich.

  Tell Papa, I will never forgive him for not having defended me with Wickham. Give my darling boy a kiss for me. He is my angel. Good bye. Give my love to Aunt Phillips,

  Your affectionate daughter,

  Lydia Bennet.

  "Oh, thoughtless, thoughtless Lydia!" cried Jane when she had finished. "Poor silly girl! Poor little George. How could she leave her child behind?"

  "Oh, I have never seen anyone so cold."

  "Do the servants know?"

  "The whole house was in confusion this morning. I hardly know!"

  Jane then proceeded to inquire after the measures Mr Bennet had voiced he intended to pursue for the recovery of his daughter, but she was interrupted by Mr. Bingley.

  "Mrs Bennet. Can I be of any service?"

  "Oh, Charles. I am afraid nothing can be done. She is gone! My daughter is lost! She has become a common trollop!"

  "Mama!"

  "But it is true! Oh. We are disgraced for ever! No one who is good will want to have nothing to do with us."

  "Good?" Charles asked looking at Jane "Whoever is good these days?"

  Forty-Four

  —

  In Which Colonel Fitzwilliam Becomes an Eligible Bachelor

  The day Richard Fitzwilliam arrived at Pemberley with his young badly-tempered cousin tagging along, he was sure he had already spent his worst experience ever. The change of feeling in his little cousin had been rather puzzling, yet he was relieved her infatuation had finally subsided.

  Still, Georgiana was in a terrible mood. Not only did she not wish to be in his company, which she found both embarrassing and officious, but neither did she wish to go back to Pemberley. Of course the promise to see her brother happily married for once was inducement enough to accept her destiny. Richard decided to make the journey on horseback, sure Georgiana would find the trip in his company rather uncomfortable. And he was completely right.

  Fitzwilliam's feelings swayed between great concern for Jane's well being after their awkward farewell at Netherfield and his growing jealousy towards the newly wedded Darcy. He spent most of his journey trying to win over these unwanted emotions and he finally schooled his mind to concentrate on Jane. How she would be faring and what was to be done for them to see each other again, the Colonel knew not. Jane had suggested that they should meet at Pemberley upon her planned visit in Michaelmas, but Fitzwilliam would find it too painful to watch his beloved Elizabeth in Darcy's arms for so long. He feared his feelings would not be able to control.

  On reaching the house, however, after the colonel and Georgiana were shown through the hall into the saloon, they were received by a glowing Mrs Darcy. Her reception of her new family was very civil, but attended with all the embarrassment proceeding from her great trepidation of facing Fitzwilliam on her own, which was easily overcome on seeing h
er guest's easy address. Incredible as it might seem, Richard looked tolerably well and showed considerable pleasure to see his cousin, for his cousin she now was, and his happiness reflected perfectly well on his countenance. Not for the slightest moment did his old jealous demeanour return, or at least he did a great job in concealing his true feelings. Georgiana for her part was too much pleased to see Elizabeth taking her position as the mistress of the house. She had always dreamed of seeing her brother in the capable hands of a proper and loving wife.

  After some food was partaken of and the conversation was exhausted, Miss Darcy expressed her wish to retire, and she was ushered to her room by a very servile Elizabeth, who endeavoured to make her sister feel comfortable at home.

  Fitzwilliam and Darcy both retired to the study where they treated themselves with manly habits: cigars and brandy.

  "Tomorrow I must away. Lady Ellen wishes to spend the summer in Matlock, and had ordered me to join her as soon as my duties with Georgiana were over. I suppose you will not need me that much, now. And I presume after the talk I had with our protégée, she will prefer me as far away as possible."

  "Very well. But before you go I have some good news for you, my friend. While were staying at Netherfield, an express came for you, Fitzwilliam. 'Tis a letter from my attorney in London, regarding the reading of the late Mrs Darcy's will. I myself received one upon my arrival to Pemberley." He handed him the letter and Fitzwilliam opened it directly.

  "I do not understand. Why summon me?"

  "I would not be surprised if this has something to do with Anne's dying childless. Lady Catherine had warned me she would disinherit me if I did not give her an heir. So most probably you are a rich man now."

  "You cannot be serious."

  "Indeed I am. And to tell you the truth I am quite content how things have turned out. You certainly deserve to have your own property and fortune."

  "Darcy this is the most stupid joke you could have ever thought of playing on me. Stop the jest, old man."

  "Have I ever played a joke on you? Nay, Fitzwilliam. This is in earnest. Although I am not sure as to the extent of Lady Catherine's generosity, I am almost certain she had instructed Anne to leave everything to you. I can still recall her words. Not a stone from Rosing's park would be passed onto me if there was no heir."