Love Calls Again

by Lucianne Elsworth

  "Darcy! Is this your gratitude for my attentions to you last spring? Is nothing due to your aunt and uncle in that score?"

  "Your Ladyship has misunderstood me. You shall always have my greatest gratitude and loyalties. However, Fitzwilliam shall equally have my whole support in this affair he has proposed to carry on his shoulders."

  "Heavens and Earth! Of what are you thinking, Darcy? This union must be prevented at all costs!" Fitzwilliam had had enough. "You can have nothing further to say," he hissed, losing his patience. "I must beg you to leave now."

  "You have no regard, then, for the honour and credit of your family?! Have you not considered that your matrimony must disgrace us all in the eyes of everybody?" said Lady Matlock with scorn and alarm.

  "Your Ladyship, I have nothing further to say. You know my sentiments. Neither duty, nor honour, nor gratitude has any possible claim on me in this present instance. No principle of either will be violated by my marriage with Jane. And with regard to the resentment of my family and the indignation of the world, if the former were excited by my marrying her, it would not give me one moment's concern-and the world in general would have too much sense to join in the scorn. Good day to you." He, then, turned around and exited the salon leaving both his parents dumbfounded.

  Darcy bowed and immediately followed his cousin.

  They locked themselves in the library until they heard the footsteps that announced Lord and Lady Matlock's departure. Fitzwilliam, looking very much moved, turned to Darcy and gave him a brotherly pat on his bag.

  Darcy gave him a lopsided smile. "So, Jane's child is yours?"

  "Of course, you idiot."

  Darcy sighed. Of course he knew. But still, the intelligence did not fail to move him.

  Fitzwilliam went on. "Indeed, I was not happy to learn that she was with child. In truth I came hither merely for a sense of honour. But when I found her in such agony…"

  "Richard. I had no idea. Believe me. This intelligence is all new to me."

  Fitzwilliam nodded. Darcy never failed to surprise him. The man was as loyal as he was proud, he knew. Yet today, Darcy had outdone himself. "I shall be forever indebted to you."

  Darcy chuckled. "Yes, you shall," was his response.

  Fifty-Three

  —

  Happily Ever After

  After the unexpected visit of Lord and Lady Matlock, it did not take long for Darcy and Fitzwilliam to quit Hertfordshire. Once Georgiana and Jane had sufficiently recovered, the whole party immediately repaired to their homes: Darcy and Georgiana to Pemberley, and Colonel Fitzwilliam and Jane to Rosings, so that Jane would have some personal knowledge of her future home and assist her betrothed in deciding what improvements were needed in the house. The new couple was wedded from the small church in Hunsford after the banns were read out on three separate Sundays.

  Jane was wholeheartedly happy. The evil of her situation in life was quickly swept under the carpet after her wedding was celebrated.

  After a proper resistance on the part of Lord and Lady Matlock, just as violent and steady as to preserve them from reproach (the reproach of being too lenient), Richard was admitted to their presence, and his new-born son pronounced to be their grandson.

  For, before the end of February, Jane gave birth to a beautiful baby boy, christened, poor soul, Fitzwilliam Richard James Fitzwilliam; so heavenly beautiful, that he was readily pronounced to be the handsomest baby ever born to the family.

  Which was more than could be said about the creature that was born to the Darcys only a few months later. Indeed, the baby girl that was presented to Mr Darcy was a dark, furry little thing, ruddy to an excess, resembling a monkey (if you have ever seen one) more than a human being. Not even Mrs Reynolds could pronounce her handsome. Mrs Darcy was so ashamed of having given birth to such unseemly human baby, that she made up her mind to nurse it herself, for fear the furry baby would scare the milk out of a wet nurse.

  Fortunately, as time went by, the baby girl proved to be extremely handsome, too. Gradually, the hair that covered her body came off and her skin lost its shaggy baggy look. As weeks passed by, she grew both in size and beauty, her dark features resembling her father's and the lively spark of her brown eyes her mother's, and in her strong character a mixture of both.

  Richard and Jane were not often visited upon their first settling at Rosings by either family or friends. Therefore, the first year of their marriage was spent almost at their new brother's house at Pemberley, in Derbyshire, and both young cousins practically grew up together.

  It was thither that Lord and Lady Matlock came to inspect their son's happiness, though they were almost ashamed of being compelled to recognise that Richard and Jane's was, indeed, a successful marriage. But it could not be helped. Not under the state of affairs reigning in Fitzwilliam's family. For something of the gravest consequence had happened in Matlock. Something that none of the participants would dare to disclose.

  Indignation notwithstanding, Lord and Lady Matlock had been prevailed upon to condescend to Jane's presence on the occasion of the babies' first Christmas season. By Jane's persuasion, Richard finally made up his mind to overlook his family's offence, and seek reconciliation; and only after a little resistance on his part, his resentment gave way. So, it was during this halo of forgiveness particular to Christmas, that Lord and Lady Matlock made the happy acquaintance of their heir. For, much to Richard's surprise, his father acknowledged Richard, and the little cherub after him, as his rightful heir, hence acquiring the title of Earl on his father's passing away.

  What Henry Fitzwilliam had done to forfeit the right of the eldest son of the Earl, might have puzzled many to find out; and what Richard had done to succeed to it, might have puzzled them still more. It was a simple case of fecundity, and in any case, an arrangement, however justified in its effects that restored to Richard his regular cheerfulness in spirits, and increased his attachment to his wife and son as well as his parents.

  The blessing of the union from the part of the Earl soon removed all bitter feelings against the couple in society. Not that anybody had ever been ill disposed towards the occupants of Rosings Park, mind you. But now that the Earl's blessing had been known world-wide, dinner and evening parties began to pour down on them. In fact, invitations flowed in so fast that Jane had soon the pleasure of disregarding some of them in order to have a disengaged day.

  "I see how it is," said Jane amazed at the change of tide; "I see what sort of life I am to lead as your wife. Upon my word we shall be absolutely dissipated. We really seem quite the fashion. From Monday next to Saturday I assure you we have not a disengaged day!" she proclaimed in bewildered pleasure one night after dinner.

  Fitzwilliam merely sighed. If she was happy, he could be happy too, could he not?

  As regards Lord and Lady Matlock, they practically moved into Rosings Park, such was the spell their grandson had cast upon them. Unfortunately, the relationship between the elderly couple and Richard was not to be a bed of roses. It was during a family reunion at Pemberley that an unhappy, yet mirthful occurrence took place. Lady Matlock, little cherub on her lap, commented on the advantage of fostering a marriage between the two babies.

  "Your daughter and my grandson are born for each other, Darcy. They are descended, on the paternal side from the same noble line; and on their maternal, from the same respectable, honourable families. Their fortune on both sides is splendid. They are destined for each other by the voice of every member of their respective houses."

  While she was thus speaking, the grand lady was holding little Fitzwilliam in her arms. No sooner had she finished her unfortunate speech, than the baby chose to pee on her lap, as if affording his grandmother with a suitable response from his own mind.

  Darcy and Fitzwilliam could not contain their laughter. Both Jane and Elizabeth hurried to grab the infant and took him immediately to the wet nurse to get changed while Lady Matlock hastily retired to get her dress changed, too.

  The
notion was never entertained again.

  Pemberley remained Georgiana's home until Wickham gathered sufficient courage to ask Mr Darcy for her hand. This was accomplished only after their secret engagement had become evident in the eyes of the whole family. Of course Darcy would not hear of his sister living on Wickham's scarce wages. He made all the arrangements for his sister's betrothed to obtain a much better position and secured Georgiana with an excellent living apart from her inheritance. With an income quite sufficient to their wants thus secured to them, they had nothing to wait for, and their union was celebrated in Pemberley early the following autumn.

  Elizabeth's married life divided her as little from her family as could well be contrived, without rendering the house at Longbourn entirely useless, for her parents, sisters and brothers-in-law, with the sole exception of the former Mrs Wickham, spent half their time with her at Pemberley, and the rest with Jane at Rosings.

  Darcy and Elizabeth's marriage could have been easily mistaken for a long-term season of courtship to the foreign eye, such were Darcy's frequent shows of affection towards his beloved wife. Naturally, every now and then, he would give way to his jealousy (this time his jealousy was usually directed towards their daughter) and pride (he found it extremely vexing that he should be forced to sleep with the infant in between them in their bed, so he haughtily retired to sleep in the Mistress bedchamber, until, tired of sleepless nights, he humbly returned to share the bed with the ladies, and simply got used to sleeping with his two women despite the discomfort this occasioned) though now, Elizabeth knew better than to feel too concerned about it, and soon learned to deal with her husband's flaws in character.

  Yet with Fitzwilliam things never changed much.

  ~•~

  Fitzwilliam longed to see Elizabeth at least from a distance. Every holiday his rather large family chose to spend at Pemberley, he was full of anticipation, and, truth be said, rather unchaste emotions pervaded his heart.

  To his chagrin, this year it was decided that they would stay at Rosings. So much had he been preparing himself for a long summer season in her enticing company that the mere notion that this was not to be accomplished became sheer torture. He would have to resign himself to a long stay in Kent. In the end, he made up his mind, and after rather short explanations to his family, he mounted his horse and headed towards the North.

  He had to see her.

  Epilogue

  How he would explain his presence at Pemberley, without the company of the rest of the members of his family, Fitzwilliam had no time to ponder. Suffice to say that in his urgency to see Elizabeth, he had felt the need to do the journey without prior explanations to anyone.

  Lord Matlock noticed his son leaving towards the stables very early that morning and watched his preparations for his trip in silence. He dared not interfere. The intelligence of his son's infatuation for Elizabeth Darcy had long ago been passed to him by Lady Matlock herself. It only took him a few glances at his son's restlessness in the presence of the lady to realise the truth of his wife's words. He knew by experience that in cases such as this there was precious little one could do to prevent a man from following his heart. He could only hope he would not break it in his pursuit.

  Should he have a word with him? Should he have a word with Darcy at least? Could he prevent the disastrous consequences he foresaw? He would be loath to see a breach yet again between the families. He reckoned Darcy would never admit his family's peace to be disrupted by Fitzwilliam's heady infatuation. Needless to say, he feared the worst.

  Horse riding was Fitzwilliam's favourite pastime, so he chose to do the journey on horseback, even though it meant many horse changes for a three-day trip. But since Tuareg was his favourite mount, he made up his mind to stop to spend the night at an inn, to afford the animal a good rest, and avoid leaving him at a strange stable.

  While he rested in bed, the darkness of the night enveloping his dreams, Fitzwilliam's mind easily drifted to that very place where Elizabeth might be at Pemberley. As he visualized her in bed, her hair in a plait, wearing a light nightshirt that revealed her gorgeous figure, he stripped and went to bed. He loved her so much, but lusted after her even more, his desires pulsing with such eagerness he thought he would burst at any moment now.

  Last summer she had allowed him certain liberties he had never dreamt he would ever have over her. As they took a walk in the grove, she had taken him to a sheltered bower. She was looking particularly fetching that afternoon, her voice coming sultry and provocative. A second later they were one over the other, kissing languorously, her back firmly pressed against the bark of a tree. From then on, that luxuriant bower became the secret nest of their many trysts. Thither they would go every time it was possible for them to get rid of the suspicious gaze of the Master of Pemberley.

  In his bed, Fitzwilliam stretched, his nakedness against the covers wantonly sending quite arousing thoughts to his mind. The sight of his own swelled manliness did not help soothe his emotions much. Absent-mindedly, he touched himself thinking of Elizabeth's luscious body pressed against him. At his age, he fully had it in him to satisfy himself.

  Yet there was only one thing in this world that could be more important to him than Elizabeth: Elizabeth's happiness. He would never dare make her suffer or feel upset. But his feelings for her were something beyond his own command. There was nothing he could do to avoid his emotions flowing whenever he saw her or thought of her.

  Ever since he had parted with her at the end of last summer, memories of all kinds had haunted him almost every day. And all of them contained pictures of Elizabeth Darcy. Elizabeth in the garden, surrounded by topiary bushes that were typical of the shrubbery. Elizabeth, taking long dreamy strolls in the damp woods. Elizabeth, dangling white feet and wiggling playful toes in the fresh waters of the pond… Elizabeth's body firmly pressed under his bulk on the lawn. Lord! How much he desired her.

  ~•~

  After a long winter season in London, Elizabeth woke up early the first morning at Pemberley. Spring blossoms had attracted countless butterflies, and these, in time, attracted all sort of noisy birds. Still drowsy, Elizabeth heard them, the noise coming vaguely at first, like remote warm clouds, until it became a veritable battlefield, the birds chirping happily as they fed themselves on the colourful insects. The garden resembled a busy street in town, and Elizabeth found it impossible to continue sleeping.

  A vague arousing thought came floating across her mind. She had dreamt about him again. The same wanton dream about Fitzwilliam that had shamelessly pervaded her mind like the pungent scent of lust for longer than she could remember. She felt her body with her hands. It had been so real! Elizabeth knew she would not see him this summer. As she rolled onto her side, she wondered where he could be now. Perhaps he was riding Tuareg. She just loved seeing them, when family and friends went occasionally hunting, horse and horseman galloping as one single body, a centaur from a favourite tale.

  Elizabeth sighed, shuddered and yawned. It was pointless to stay in bed. She would not go back to sleep.

  So, while the rest of the house was in utter silence, she descended the stairs, and grabbing an apple from the breakfast table, exited towards the lake to witness the rising sun at dawn.

  She skipped merrily along the path leading to the pond, playing with the warm early fog that ascended mysteriously from the lawn. Scarcely had she passed the shrubbery, when the tall figure of a horseman appeared at a distance before her eyes.

  Who can it be at this early hour?

  She peeked with difficulty into the thick cloud that surrounded her, while she continued walking towards him, raising her hand to her visage straining her eyes, tilting her head, on tiptoe now and then in an endeavour to make out the identity of the stranger, but to no avail. She would have to be patient and allow the gentleman to come nearer.

  As he came closer, however, Elizabeth felt her heart lurch.

  Fitzwilliam!

  Her feet darted towards him, as if
with a will of their own. Raising her skirt to afford her longer steps, jumping wildly over the scattered bushes in the lawn, she was soon within his eyesight. Fitzwilliam discerned her figure running frantically in his direction and halted his horse. In the wink of an eye, he dismounted and ran towards her, too. Still, when they reached each other, chests panting, endeavouring to catch their breath, they froze, face to face, eyes locked, each of them waiting for the other to make the first movement.

  In the end, Elizabeth jumped into his arms while she encircled his neck with her hands, her lips searching the prison of his. He captured those and bestowed on them a daring, hungry kiss, while his own hands roamed her waist.

  When he finally opened his eyes and released his grip on her, he dove his head into her gracious neck and breathed tenderly, while caressing the exposed skin of her arms.

  "My love! My own!"

  "Fitzwilliam! You're back!"

  "You know not how much I have missed you!"

  "I believe I have an idea," she confessed.

  "I am not dreaming this?" he said with his mouth pressed on her cheek.

  "Indeed you are not."

  "Are you certain? Is this your beloved face, are these your passionate eyes?" he lowered his gaze to the blossoming lips awaiting a kiss. "Are your lips really awaiting mine?"

  "They are. Hungrily so."

  The kiss was thus given with tender love, his lips playfully feathered over hers until he, ever so lightly, nibbled her lower lip, once, twice, then, his eyes rested on her mouth in blissful contemplation. He whispered. "I love you so much it hurts." Thereupon he took her hand and guided her to their secret place in the grove. He wanted to taste her, to bask in the sweetness of her mouth until he wanted no more. Would he ever be satisfied? He doubted it. Neither would Elizabeth for that matter. He was the man she loved and there was no one in the world that could keep her apart from him. She trembled in expectation of what was coming.