Love Calls Again

  Edition: 4

  This edition published 13 August 2019

  First published 16 August 2007 as Love Calls Twice

  —

  It is a truth universally acknowledged that a widower in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a wife…

  Such an idea may come readily to the minds of unmarried girls and their parents, who immediately focus their attentions on a grieving Darcy, whose desire for a second wife is on pause after the early death of his first.

  A quirky and immersive take on the eternal conflict between desire and happenstance.

  Love Calls Again

  A Pride and Prejudice Variation Romance

  Lucianne Elsworth

  One - A Most Desirable Man

  Two - A Man in Need of Affection

  Three - On How a Good Man Can Lose His Principles upon the Look a Lady's Eyes Can Bestow

  Four - An Unexpected Proposition

  Five - Feeling a Bit Birdie

  Six - A New Start

  Seven - A Soldier's Fiancée

  Eight - Farewell to Arms

  Nine - A Christmas Wish

  Ten - Twelfth Night

  Eleven - Twelfth-Night Spirit Takes Over

  Twelve - Regrets and Mortification

  Thirteen - A Major Decision

  Fourteen - Between the Dark Debil and the Deep Blue Sea

  Fifteen - A Good Memory Is Unpardonable

  Sixteen - A Bad Memory Is Unbearable

  Seventeen - The Second Proposal

  Eighteen - Mr Darcy's Mistress

  Nineteen - The Voice in the Gazebo

  Twenty - Women in Black

  Twenty-One - Fitzwilliam-Fitzwilliam

  Twenty-Two - Love Me, Love My Cousin

  Twenty-Three - The Blackest Day

  Twenty-Four - Shall We Talk?

  Twenty-Five - The Unread Letters

  Twenty-Six - Betrothed and Lovers

  Twenty-Seven - A Knight's Tale

  Twenty-Eight - The True Connoisseur

  Twenty-Nine - A Treatise on Connubial Bliss

  Thirty - Up the Cherry Tree

  Thirty-One - Thou Shall Not Covet Thy Neighbour's Wife

  Thirty-Two - Jane Gets Thoroughly Embarrassed yet Again

  Thirty-Three - The True Darcy Character

  Thirty-Four - When a Man Loves a Woman

  Thirty-Five - Finally, Mrs Darcy…

  Thirty-Six - A Question of Proportion

  Thirty-Seven - What Satisfaction Means

  Thirty-Eight - More on Lust

  Thirty-Nine - Practice Makes Perfect

  Forty - Heaven, Hell and Back

  Forty-One - In Which Mr Bingley Is Thoroughly Edified on Connubial Bliss

  Forty-Two - In Which Captain Wickham Becomes a Bachelor Again. Or Not.

  Forty-Three - In Which Colonel Fitzwilliam Loses a Battle but Not the War

  Forty-Four - In Which Colonel Fitzwilliam Becomes an Eligible Bachelor

  Forty-Five - A Chapter on Divorce, Inheritance and Vicious Customs

  Forty-Six - Full House

  Forty-Seven - The Postman Always Calls Twice

  Forty-Eight - The Edge of Reason

  Forty-Nine - In Which a Colonel Sees His True Love Again and an Officer Gets Engaged

  Fifty - Mother to Be

  Fifty-One - Frankness Notwithstanding

  Fifty-Two - The Half-Blood Heir

  Fifty-Three - Happily Ever After

  Epilogue

  One

  —

  A Most Desirable Man

  Mr. Darcy contemplated the stiff face of his dead wife. She looked better off now as she lay in her deathbed than he had ever seen her whilst still alive, a result of the good job the undertaker's wife summoned upon her death had made on making up her sickly face. He quietly exited the lugubrious bedchamber and made his way to the parlour.

  Anne had always been sick, her sallow complexion acquiring an olive tinge under her sunken eyes over the years. Ever since she was born, she had been constantly secluded in her sombre bedchamber or submitted to prolonged stays in the Lake District to recover her fragile health. Her face had, therefore, never shown the brightness and joyfulness of youth. In addition to a withered anatomy, Anne did not possess any jovial demeanour which could have counteracted the shortfall of a female sensual attractiveness. Notwithstanding the bride had ensured him sexual frustrations; consummation had always been an established priority in Darcy's list of marital duties. The day it was decided that he would undertake her mother's will of marrying Anne, he had felt sick to his stomach at the mere prospect of having to fulfil them with her.

  To his amazement (and in truth his contentedness as well), the burden of so unpromising a wedding night was spared from him by his wife herself. Incredible as it might seem, Anne De Bourgh Darcy had neither wished, nor expected for him to consummate their marriage. Doctor's advice had long ago warned her, privately, of the dangers her life would be subjected to should she ever be with child. This had cast over her a terrible dread of pregnancy, which she readily connected with hymen breach. Hence, her determination to prevent Darcy from ever approaching her bedchamber, as well as her bed.

  Anne's wedding night was thus spent in utter isolation, and her partner's visit forestalled by a zealous lock on her husband's adjoining bedchamber door.

  Not surprisingly, the blunt deprivation of droit du seigneur made no difference to Darcy's feelings. He had always dreamt of discovering the pleasures of the flesh in the arms of a beautiful maiden of his choice, whilst his future wife had been nothing of the sort (not beautiful, nor his choice). He received the news of his bride's reluctance for his visits with no little relief. Consequently, the absence of an heir remained the only burden on his shoulders. In conclusion, theirs had been an utterly unsuccessful, loveless marriage of convenience, no more palatable to either of them than a boring long ride on a carriage going to an unknown distant place that seemed too far away, that would take them a lifetime. Fortunately for him, hers had not endured the next decade.

  Unable to overlook the impiety of his joyous spirit over his wife's death, Darcy was stunned by the certainty of the feeling of profound relief the otherwise dolorous occasion had instilled in his heart. As she was not only his spouse but also his kissing cousin, Darcy was aware that Anne's passing merited both his respect and grief, thus making the whole affair of the mourning husband a daunting challenge.

  However improper the implications, he simply did not feel grieved. For one, they had never had anything in common. Anne had always been an ill-tempered person, always interfering in his affairs (mainly those entailing pleasurable activities). Much as he had endeavoured to circumvent her presence, she had seized every opportunity of their brief encounters to inflict upon him her most stormy temper and dozens of complaints of solitude and loneliness. Actually, he distinctly recollected the choice of her dwelling at Rosings Park and his at Pemberley as her own idea, due to her abhorrence of connubial practices. This ambiguity of her character had been the major cause of Darcy's reluctance to increase his visits to her dwelling. Only after he had learned of the irreversibility of her illness had he felt more inclined to her companionship; his choice of making Rosings Park his permanent residence made out of pure compassion in the indisputable notion that she would soon pass away.

  Five years he had been tied to this woman. Five years of utterly interminable loneliness and unbearable unforeseen celibacy. Though he was somewhat low in spirits, still an overwhelming sensation of relief flooded his heart and an exhilarating feeling of utter freedom ran through his veins. "Mr. Darcy!" a shrieking voice rang into Darcy's ears. He had been alerted of the woman's visit by his butler but had completely forgotten about it. "Oh Mr. Darcy! What a
most unfortunate loss! You must be devastated"

  Indeed. He had already attended to dozens of insincere prattling condolences with the same matter-of-fact look. He was positively not devastated. Quite the opposite, but he would not dare upset anyone's expectations. So, contrary to his most secrets emotions of relief and freedom, and in spite of his abhorrence to all sorts of disguise, this time Fitzwilliam Darcy accepted the masquerade and reluctantly resolved to deceit. If they wanted him devastated, thus he would be.

  "Indeed, I am, madam." Darcy's voice remained in an immutably level tone.

  "My daughter, you see, had once the opportunity to make Mrs. Darcy's acquaintance." Darcy could see the shy silhouette of a young woman behind the behemoth of the old lady's bulk. "She very much wishes to offer her services." With that said, she swiftly moved sideways to reveal a young lady of about seventeen, looking as if she has seen the devil. Darcy's heart sank. He knew this insupportable game by heart and could scarcely abide it even in normal circumstances. The impertinence of its occurrence so closely to his wife's funeral reached unprecedented levels. "Well then," her mother urged her. "What were you to say to Mr. Darcy?"

  Reluctantly, the young girl dropped a quick courtesy and expressed her condolences in the lowest tone she could utter.

  "Come girl, Mr. Darcy can barely hear you if you choose to speak like that!" her mother scolded her. "Speak up, Regina!"

  The girl repeated her memorized speech in a louder, though still inaudible voice. Her mother was about to scold her once again when within a moment Mr. Darcy came to her aid.

  "I most profoundly accept your kind offer of condolences, Madam. Yours could not have been better nor kinder words. Yet Mrs. Reynolds has assumed the care of Mrs. Darcy's shroud. I thank you." Both ashamed and embarrassed by the implication of the situation, he curtly bowed in the direction of the girl, and sent a dark, haughty glare towards the mother. With that he wheeled around and, without giving them a second look, exited the parlour and disappeared into the music room.

  Meddlesome women! What nerve! One can only assume it is a mother's duty to induce her female offspring into matrimonial binds, but to attempt such a pursuit upon the death of the intended suitor's wife is simply preposterous. Could they not think of anything else for once?

  If Darcy knew anything it was that an arranged marriage could be the most treacherous trap a man could fall into, especially if he had the mere taste of what true love was. And he had. Scarcely eight and twenty, he had mercilessly fallen madly in love with a pair of beautiful eyes.

  So much in love, he had been tempted to offer her matrimony even in the light of his betrothal to Anne, regardless of their difference in status and economic situation, defying his family's wishes and ignoring all friends' admonitions, silencing his own better judgment. So utterly unconnected was her family that the possibility of an alliance with her had been completely reprehensible to Darcy himself. He had repressed his feelings and struggled to avoid the inevitable. But she did not love him. In lieu, on the occasion of his proposal, she had acknowledged her feelings towards him to have been nothing but a complete abhorrence of his mere presence, and hence rejected his hand.

  What had puzzled him most was the immutability of her rejection. After all, he had offered her a fair explanation of his rather reprehensible choice of words on the occasion of his proposal in his letter (not to mention that he was one of the most desirable bachelors in England, both for his physical appearance and income, thus meriting a second opportunity). Yet in the last days of their brief acquaintance he had been allotted some incredibly beautiful days in her beloved company at his own estate of Pemberley, where she had chosen to visit with her aunt and uncle Gardiner. He had cherished those days deep within his heart when he had still held some hope that she would change her mind.

  Oh! That she should have accepted him!… He would have defied anyone, fought fiercely for her love, only their love. But no, it would not do. In a last endeavour to obtain her favour, he had swallowed his great pride and called on her at Longbourn. He had waited upon her to seek a sign of her approval. Should she have at least bestowed him a shy smile, very much like her sister had to Bingley, he would have requested her hand that very same day. But she had restrained her gaze from his face, always keeping it on her needlework, looking intently at it in a desperate urge to avoid his eyes. That could have only meant one thing. Neither his earthly possessions, nor his new found amiability would tempt Miss Elizabeth Bennet to enter into the bonds of matrimony without the certainty she loved and respected her partner. And hard as it was for him to accept it, she did not love him nor did she respect him.

  Only after the disclosure of his intervention in Mr. Wickham's affair with her sister Lydia had she attended to conversation and merely to render her family's gratitude for his interference. He could have taken that opportunity to renew his addresses to her. But he could not endure her thankfulness in the light of his love for her. He wanted her unreserved love, not her gratitude. Stubborn as he was, he had chosen to repress his feelings once more and accept her thanks in a most perfunctory manner. That day he had left Longbourn never to go back.

  Still, there was that one occasion in which life had taken a significant turn. Uppermost in his memory would remain the night of his sister Georgiana's coming out party. That night, in which he had stolen the most daring kisses from her rich lips. Utterly besotted, magnetically drawn towards her. He the rising tide, she the pull of the moon, Darcy had loved her with all of his passionate will and against his conscious mind. And she had not rejected him this time. Up there, in her bedchamber, he had caressed her naked body and she had almost been his. Almost. His sense of propriety (not hers, mind you!) had compelled him to leave her bed before consummation, leaving a much puzzled Elizabeth in a rather delicate state. It was unfortunate that all his passion turned, in the end, against him. For the wrath of the rejected Elizabeth did reach him the morning after, in the form of a letter in which she forbade him to ever approach her again.

  To his (and especially her) misfortune, the tale of their amorous meeting reached the ears of Lady Catherine, whose wrath was beyond comparison.

  For a few months heretofore, had seen him taking Anne De Bourgh as his wedded wife, and with her, her whole immense inheritance at Rosings Park, just as both their mothers had decided over their cradles. Upon her death, she had left an amazing fortune. Little did he know of the upheaval such an occurrence had caused among the female files and particularly in certain lady's heart. After all, he was, by far, the wealthiest eligible man in the whole land of England… once again!

  Two

  —

  A Man in Need of Affection

  The impertinence of early mourners at the foot of the stairs was overwhelming. Being as they were one of the richest and most prominent couples in the North of England, Darcy had expected the commiseration of many of their neighbours. Propriety dictated that only men should be present at his wife's funeral services in the church in two days' time, yet only the most intimate acquaintances were supposed to pay their respects at her deathbed and offer to attend to the sad job of preparing the body for the coffin. Albeit those society prescriptions were worldwide known, half of Derbyshire had travelled all the way to Kent to condole with him and offer to attend the dead. This was hardly decorous and completely undesirable. He would have expected a large number of cards and letters as had been the case when his father had died. Yet the buzzing of the servants reminded Darcy of the occasion of a ball. Even so, he could not turn the mourners down, regardless their impertinence. Surprising as their number was, he had not anticipated that most of them would be young unmarried women accompanied by either their mercenary mothers or chaperones.

  Even the Prince Regent had sent a card with his condolences (thank goodness no daughter of his was carrying it, merely a dejected looking servant), for though Anne had never been presented at court, her family name had run in the Royal surroundings for a century. There had been people coming and go
ing the whole day. People who had known the Darcys for years and people who were nothing but mere acquaintances yet none of them familiar enough to assume the partaking of so intimate a service or afford the relatives any consolation.

  Consolation, indeed. Darcy could not avoid a chuckle at the idea. Pretence was something he abhorred yet it could not be helped. Enough did he apprehend the revolution his recent widowhood had created among the unmarried ladies, even though he was too newly freed from his wife to be expected to give way to any ideas connected with matrimony. The wave of ardour for his touch displayed by some dames had had a curious effect on Darcy (some ladies had been bold enough to kiss his un-gloved hand while performing an act of tender sympathy towards the deceased and the handsome widower). Notwithstanding his intention to avoid any insincere displays of affection, he could not help the influence the affected ladies' attentions had over his much badly catered body.

  For incredible as it might seem, Darcy had never known intimacy with a lady; not even an innocent brushing kiss, save those bestowed on usually gloved hands or either his chaste sister's or wife's cheek.

  But of course, there was one unique occasion on which he had dared to dream. That one time when he had passionately kissed and loved Miss Bennet in his own town house. Now, those kisses had been real, authentic love making, the most passionate, ardent kisses he would ever bestow.

  On closing his eyes he could still feel her response and surrender. He could have made her his that night had he wished to. Severely austere as he was, he had chosen to remain faithful to his wedding vows and at the same time preserve Miss Bennet's good name and honour. For a complete abhorrence to behaviour ruled his mind. To his chagrin, the unrestrained tongue of an indiscreet servant ruined his plans and the consequence of his thoughtless adulterous exertions came as a ricochet against him. Thus, he lost the only means of joy that had been spared him: both Miss Bennet's company and her good regard. Even worse, his one moment of impetuosity had put his beloved lady's name in a dubious position in London society, adding to the already tattered bad name the Bennets girls had acquired after the infamous elopement involving the youngest.