So much were they lost in their ardent passion that they heard not the horse approaching. They did hear, however, Darcy's voice when it thundered behind them.
"Elizabeth!"
Elizabeth immediately let go of Fitzwilliam and looked up at the enraged demeanour of the Master of Pemberley.
"Sir, I was… he…" she stammered, horrified.
"Go home," Darcy muttered between his teeth. Elizabeth hesitated at first. But then she lowered her eyes and obeyed. A terrible mixture of sorrow, incredulity and hatred pained Darcy's heart. Once he had made sure Elizabeth was no longer nearby, he dismounted and, fists clenched, approached Fitzwilliam, who was nailed to the ground where Darcy had found him in scandalous behaviour. "I would never have expected such a thing from you. I trusted you, even loved you. You have stabbed me in the back."
Fitzwilliam's blood had drained from his face, his pallor defying Mrs Reynolds' pristine sheets.
"Sir, I… I am sorry. Indeed I am. I did not mean to…" he stammered with great fear.
"You did not mean to insult me to my face? You did not mean to break all rules of decorum, honour…"
"I love her, sir."
"Is that supposed to mean anything to me? Does that make the whole affair less dishonourable?" his face was crimsoned with rising fury.
"I came hither to ask for her hand, sir." Fitzwilliam almost murmured.
Darcy became silent. He knew that. He had known it for a long time now, yet he refused to accept it. Though his nephew was a sensible young man, he was hardly one and twenty, barely three months Lizzy's senior. He had grown very intimate with his family and was by far, a favourite among all his nephews and nieces, who were quite a grand number from both sides. Young Fitzwilliam was a frequent visitor, and had always been welcome at Pemberley, and lately more welcome than usual since becoming of age, for he had become increasingly interesting company for his uncle, who was quite weary of being surrounded by females. His nephew was, in fact, the son Darcy had never had. But his jealousy for his daughter, his only one, was beyond him to suppress. Sending daggers to his nephew's blue eyes, he contemptuously said. "Well, you seem to have missed that step, and plunged into her directly."
Turning around Darcy mounted his horse again.
Young Fitzwilliam, grabbing the reins of Tuareg quickly, followed his uncle and addressed him afresh.
"And this is all the reply which I am to have the honour of expecting from you, sir?" he cried out in despair.
"I am sorry. Did you ask for anything?" his uncle responded as he spurred his horse. That said, he turned around and rode away towards the house.
A moment later, his nephew was at his heels. Tuareg tilted its head nervously. The animal intuited the excessive tension between the two men. "I request a private meeting with you, sir." Fitzwilliam demanded.
Darcy halted his horse and glared at him. "I believe you should have requested that before pouncing on my daughter. You, young man, are nothing but a rascal and deserve no better treatment. I have never been more insulted than just now. You must know, and mark my words, I will not tolerate such behaviour under my roof, nay, not even in miles around my house."
"I understand, sir." "What?"
"What you have just said, sir. I am a rascal, and I am not to repeat such a display of affection towards your daughter, not even after she had run to me and leapt into my arms, and kissed me on the lips without prior warning as she had just done."
Darcy blinked and mumbled something undistinguishable. That was just like his Elizabeth. Had his own wife not been just as wild as his daughter in her youth? Even now, after twenty years of marriage, Mrs Elizabeth Darcy was as passionate as she had been when she was three and twenty. It certainly did run in their veins. Properly humbled, Darcy clenched his jaw and a thin line of a smile blossomed on his lips.
"I see," he said with a sigh.
Thereupon, the twosome rode quite amiably, though silently, together towards the house. On reaching it, the young man greeted his aunt, who was patiently waiting for her favourite men at the breakfast table, nibbling nonchalantly on a piece of bread. Young Fitzwilliam bowed politely and retired to a guest chamber to get changed for breakfast.
Mrs Darcy looked intently into her husband's eyes. To her immediate relief, she noticed Darcy was smiling. He was not angry, at least not bitterly so.
"Where is she?" he asked his wife in a whisper. His whole world was about to change and he knew it.
"Upstairs."
"Tell her that I wait for her in my study."
Mrs Elizabeth Darcy, ever so majestically, rose to her feet and swiftly walked the long path between the breakfast parlour and the stairs that lead to the bed chambers.
She found her daughter looking out from the window, her eyes lost in meditation. When she noticed her mother's presence, she immediately rose and tilted her head as if waiting for a sentence. Her mother thus spoke: "Go to your father; he wants you in his study." She was gone directly.
Her father was pacing about the room, looking grave and anxious.
"How long has this been going on?"
"Since last summer."
Darcy stopped mid-stride to look at Lizzy's eyes in bewilderment. That long? "Lizzy," said he with a tinge of anger in his voice, "Are you out of your senses?"
"Papa," she said reproachfully. "He and I… there is nothing to worry about, Papa. What you have just witnessed…"
"I know what I have witnessed. I once was twenty years old myself. I also know Fitzwilliam belongs to an honourable family, I reckon he will marry you. I have no objections in that quarter. But Lizzy… this behaviour is hardly acceptable even for betrothals."
"I know, Papa. I am sorry. It will not happen again." "I shall make sure it shall not, that is for certain. Still, I am afraid you two have grown too wild and irresponsible."
"Yes, Papa."
"I do not know if I can grant your hand to an irresponsible rascal."
"Papa, I cannot agree with you. You know I cannot. Fitzwilliam is the future Earl of Matlock and a very honourable man, not a rascal."
"So is that it? You wish to get married and leave your Papa? Is that what you really want? Will that make you happy?"
"Papa, you know not what you are saying."
"Young lady, I know very well what I am saying. Now you listen to me. This young man to whom you wish to be united is too young. He knows not right from left. He cannot be ready to face…"
"Have you any other objection," interrupted his daughter, evidently losing her patience, "than believing him too young?"
Darcy lowered his eyes and went silent.
"Have you?" she pleaded.
Darcy sighed. "Nay. None at all. We all know him to be a wild, rather unsettled sort of fellow, very much like his father, I should say. I am surprised he wishes to be married at such an early stage of his life! Your uncle was almost nine and thirty when he got married. But this would be nothing if you really liked him."
"I do, I like him, Papa."
"Aye, I have no doubt of that either. You have been quite demonstrative in that regard."
Elizabeth smiled. Her Papa had caught her in a very compromising position. But somehow she knew he understood her, and would not be exceedingly displeased. Something in her mother and father's demeanour told her that they had always been excessively passionate in their youth. Accounts of their frenzied love story ran in the family and when asked about them, her father would merely smile and her mother would blush deeply and even occasionally giggle.
In light of such antecedents, Elizabeth confessed: "I love him, Papa. He is indeed wild, I know, but I love him anyway. In fact, as you have just said he is just as impulsive as I am."
"Precisely that is why I am concerned."
"You should not be. I shall be immensely happy with him."
Darcy looked at his daughter, his eyes suddenly downcast and sad.
"Papa. I will always love you above all. Pray do not feel I am betraying you. I love Fitzwilliam and
he loves me. But he also loves you and Mama as much as he loves his own family. You will be gaining a son, not losing a daughter."
Darcy drew a sigh and dropped his arms. "Call him in."
Lizzy exited the library and went in search of her cousin. She found him in the breakfast room, with her mother. On seeing her, Fitzwilliam rose and without waiting for her to say anything, he immediately joined his uncle in his study.
Mrs Elizabeth Darcy saw him rise, and her own agitation was extreme. She did not fear Darcy's opposition to the match, but she knew her beloved husband was going to be made unhappy. Darcy would never be reconciled with changes. Lizzy's engagement and prospective marriage would certainly distress him, and that in itself was a wretched reflection. When looking at Darcy as they returned half an hour later, however, she was relieved by his smile.
"Miss Elizabeth Darcy," said Mr Darcy with great pomposity, "I have given my consent to your cousin to have your hand in matrimony." Then patting his nephew's shoulder affectionately, he added. "And despite the unfortunate display of unrestrained… love that I have witnessed in the grove, I can safely say that I could not part with you to anyone less worthy."
Mrs Darcy rose jubilantly, ran towards her husband and embraced him adoringly. Mr Darcy was fiercely fighting his tears, but on seeing his lovely wife softly crying, he knew he would eventually give in to them. So, he chose to retire a little to the back, coughing lightly, while the rest of his family celebrated the engagement at will.
Later that day, both youngsters, zealously guarded by their elders, who walked closely behind them, took a stroll in the rose garden, their hands locked for the first time as they enjoyed their first day as betrothed.
Young Fitzwilliam endeavoured to kiss his fiancée, when his uncle stopped him half way.
"Ah, ah, ah, young man. Of what have we been talking just now?" Then he whispered to his wife's ear. "We shall have to send for your sisters and nieces. We are in dire need of chaperones."
"Aye, sir. Urgently so. I shall write to Jane directly."
That night in their bedchamber, Mr and Mrs Darcy were silent at first. Their daughter's marriage meant a melancholy change; and Mrs Darcy could not but sigh over it, till her husband could reconcile himself with the idea. His spirits required support. He was in no way easily depressed, but he was exceedingly fond of his daughter, and hated to part with her, hated changes of every kind. Not yet reconciled to Miss Lizzy's hymeneal prospects, Darcy could only speak of her future wedding but with apprehension, much as he had done with his sister Georgiana in time. In his mind, his daughter was always too young, too inexperienced. Though it had been entirely a match of affection, in the face of his determination to see a girl in Lizzy, Darcy had only doubts and regrets over the affair.
"How often, do you think we shall be going to see them? After they are settled I mean."
"They are not yet properly engaged, love. How can you be thinking so afar?"
"She will surely be settled close to us."
"We shall be always meeting! You shall see. We shall go and pay our wedding visit soon as they are settled."
"A house of her own! Do you think they will agree to live close to us? Perchance we could open South Lodge for them."
"Oh yes. They might find it agreeable, indeed." And then she added mischievously, "'Tis such an easy distance."
"It must be agreeable to her to live at such easy distance from her family."
"Near and far are relative terms. It is possible for a woman to live too near her family."
He immediately recognized those words and smiled. "You, woman, you are teasing me."
"Indeed I am, my love," she said extremely diverted. "I caught you in your own words. You are such an easy prey of my tease."
"Isn't it amazing how things worked out for these two?" said Darcy to his wife as he kissed her tenderly on her cheek. "From their early lives we have persuaded ourselves we should avoid any betrothal within the family ties. And yet, they have fallen in love, thus uniting the three grand estates and names my mother and aunt had wished me to unite so long ago."
"Indeed."
"Yet Fitzwilliam is resolved to do something quite unexpected. Do you wish to know what he asked of me when settling Lizzy's dowry?"
"Yes, my love. What did he ask?"
"He asked me my permission to add my name to his."
Elizabeth gasped in surprise. Yet she could be nothing but pleased with young Fitzwilliam. Her nephew was just like his father. He could be so amiable and loveable. "Upon my word! Can such a thing be done?" she asked a little bewildered.
"Easily so. Indeed, I am surprised too. Pleasantly surprised, I must say. I wonder what Lord Matlock will say about this."
Elizabeth smirked. "Richard has plenty of sons. He is not particularly fond of any of them."
"I know. Still, this might unsettle him."
"Why do you not ask him first?"
"I will. I shall write to him in the morning."
"Will Fitzwilliam lose his rights as the Matlock heir?"
"He will. Richard's second son will be entitled to it. Fitzwilliam will be our son and our heir."
"Lord, this is too serious a decision."
"Indeed it is. Richard must think about it. In fact it cannot be done without his consent."
"He loves you and Fitzwilliam and will certainly be glad to provide you with an heir. I am certain he will have no objections."
"I dare say he shall not."
"So, there will be a Fitzwilliam Darcy after all to carry your name in the future generations."
"I have never worried about that, and you know it. I do not need an heir. Lizzy is my heir."
"I know, my love. But I do. I am relieved. I have always longed to give you a son."
"I know. Perhaps Fitzwilliam begets one son. Surely Fitzwilliam and Lizzy shall make of Pemberley their home in time and we shall be surrounded by grandsons and granddaughters. Or perhaps they could settle straight away right here with us?"
Elizabeth laughed. "Oh, that would be lovely!"
"Indeed, it would. We have not lost a daughter, Lizzy. We have earned a son," he repeated Lizzy's words as if to persuade himself.
Mrs Darcy then threw her arms around her husband neck and kissed him on the lips.
"Mrs Darcy, are you trying to seduce me?" he said with his grave, husky voice she had come to know so well.
"Only if you wish me to, sir."
"Woman, you are lying. You have always been a seducer, regardless of my wishes."
Mrs Darcy laughed heartily and kissed him again. He kissed her back, taking a deep breath as he did so, a grunt escaping from his throat as he grabbed her petite body and placed himself atop her.
"I love you, Mrs Darcy."
"Not as much as I love you, sir."
"May I?" he whispered as he looked at her lovely breasts he adored.
"You may, sir." she said and smiled broadly.
He nuzzled his face against her chest while she caressed his hair, now grey with age, but still abundant and wild.
"Lord, how is it possible that I desire you so, after all these years!" he breathed in her cleavage, then looked at her lips only to dive into her décolletage again.
They made love like in the old days, only now, he had become, through extensive practice, quite masterful at it. Elizabeth, in turn, found that age had only made things better.
"I could die, here," he said while throbbing intensely into her. She was not listening to him, concentrated as she was in her own pleasure; she lost herself in the enticing sensation of feeling the man she adored inside her again. Darcy endeavoured to wait for her, and when she was ready, he unleashed his emotion and came just as she cried in her fulfilment.
~•~
The express arrived at Rosings Park late in the evening while the whole house was, for once, sleeping. The servant who received the post found his master in the antechamber of his room, sipping his glass of brandy and puffing thoughtfully on a cigar. He handed him t
wo letters from Derbyshire, one from the Master of Pemberley directed to him and another from the Mistress meant for his wife. The Earl of Matlock had been, in fact, waiting for the post.
The letters still in his hand, he sank into a tall chair, inspected the well-known handwritings and smiled. He read the one intended for him while the other he nestled upon his chest.
"He did it," he sighed when he finished reading it, and for a moment Richard was thirty years of age again.
He rested his head on the back of the seat, and played distractedly with the ring containing a plait of dark hair. He drew the unopened letter that rested on his chest to his nose and inhaled the perfume emanating from it.
Roses.
As his heart overflowed with repressed emotions, memories of lost youth invaded his heart, his eyes instantly filled with tears. No, he would not cry. He had never afforded himself so much weakness.
"Elizabeth." he sighed, closing his eyes. "Dearest, loveliest Elizabeth."
No, he would not cry.
Still, a solitary tear brimmed over and fell on his cheek.
THE END
Love Calls Again Page 64