When Love Beckons(1)

7/27/2019 When Love Beckons(1)

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When Love Beckons

By Beth

Prologue

Posted on Thursday, 19 July 2001

When love beckons to you, follow him, though his ways are hard and steep.

~Kahil Gibran

Author's Preface - This retelling of PP begins with an Elizabeth/Darcy encounter

previous to the Meryton Assembly. It provides a possible explanation for Darcy's

comments at the assembly and his presence in Hertfordshire, while throwing a whole

new twist onto the PP drama. Many other characters are introduced in Pt. 1 of this

Prologue, with subheadings to indicate them.

Part 1: Portraits

You can observe a lot by just watching.

~Yogi Berra

"Oh, Lizzy, you do look well, tonight! You'll never be as pretty as Jane, but I will sayyou look well indeed!" cried Mrs. Bennet as she scurried into the room where

Elizabeth sat quietly before a large glass mirror.

There was a sigh of exasperation in response, then Lizzy turned resolutely back to her

reflection. Bright chocolate eyes stared, defiantly, back at her. Her cheeks were

becomingly rosy and her usually unruly ringlets had been teased and powdered to

perfection, framing the whole. But the thought of Jane's perfectly Grecian featuresstill

provided an annoying damper. She stared at the reflection.No, I may not be so

beautiful as Jane, but I hope, no, Iexpect, and she smiled impishly at this piece of

folly, the man who loves me to find me justas pretty!..."

In the next fraction of a second, her mother's voice wouldinterrupt the reverie.

"Now child, I hope we'll have none of your impertinent remarks at the Ball! Nice and

demure is the only way to catch them...and catch a husband, you must! before that

horridMr. Collins turns out all out into the hedgerows..."

Elisabeth very nearly groaned. Yes, yes, Mama. So you've told me a million times

before...

Thankfully, she was spared from further comments by the entrance of the attendant,

Mme Le feuvre. Behind her, Aunt Gardiner propelled Jane into the room, her gentlefeatures glowing with pride and joy. Mme Le feuvre, a highly skilled hairdresser and


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Caroline's eyes flashed. "You may as well give up, Louisa. I can promise you you're

not getting anywhere with me."No, indeed. She had better things to worry about right

now than taking her annoying sister into confidence.Maybe, when a little more luck

has come my way, I'll share it. But until then...She gave her reflection a parting,

conspiratory smile, before parading down the stairs, Louisa in tow.

They were exactly twenty minutes late.

"Caroline, Louisa, I was beginning to fear you weren't coming at all!..." Caroline

rolled her eyes. Charles could be so tiresome sometimes. Didn't he know it was the

thing to be late? "...but I must say, you two do look remarkably well tonight!" he

finished. Hint of a smile from Caroline. Admittedly, if it had've been Mr. Darcy, she

would be beaming, but as it was... She gritted her teeth.

"As do you, brother. No doubt all the young ladies will be smitten with you tonight."

Her eyes gleamed. With any luck, their fortunes will be equal to any attachment...

"Do you expect Mr. Darcy will be present at the ball?" She tried to sound

disinterested, but still couldn't miss Louisa's answering snort.

Charles was typically oblivious. "But of course! And why wouldn't he? Miss a ball?! I

think not! Now come on, let's go right away. We'll already be prodigiously late."

The above mentioned personage, Mr. Darcy, was at that very same moment yet in his

bedchamber. Six short steps to the closet. Six back to the bed again. He frowned and

compressed his lips. Should he go, or shouldn't he...would he, or wouldn't he? The

ritual was the slightest bit amusing when you consider that he almost always followed

it, and almost always didend up going. Five brisker steps to the closet, five back

again...

"Yow!" his knee bumped the side of the dresser. Cursing softly and nursing the bruised

flesh, he settled himself onto the mattress edge.

Tonight's ball was to be given by his aunt, Lady Matlock, and would be quite the

society event - the invitation lists had been extensive. If he didn'tgo, not only would

his aunt be put out, but his absence would be much talked on. His attendance was not a

matter to question, then, but, ever the 'he-man,' he did not wish to admit to it.

To be sure, he expected to find little pleasure there. But then, when did he ever?

At leastthatwas a long time ago...

Childhood memories flitted through his mind, and for a moment, the slightest hint of

smile softened his features.

He had been introduced to the whole society scene early. As the very eligible heir to

Pemberley, he'd been recognized as a prize right from the start. Countless pretty girls

had tried to catch his eye, and an even larger crowd of matchmaking mamas had


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thronged him. Can it really be any wonder that the inexperienced Darcy enjoyed the

wave of attention and flattery that each ball occasioned?

A sigh.I was so nave...

He'd found the mamas amusing and the ladies dazzling, if a little empty. Truth be told,more than one of their faces had managed to turn his head, if not for long.

Oh, but he'd been principled. No sleeping around for the Darcy heir, even then. Yes,

the smile that had crossed his face was surprisingly tender, even a little wistful... He

knew who he owed his gratitude to, forthatredeeming fact.

"Father..."

He could never wholly forget the moment he'd been summoned to his fathers' sickbed,

nor the apprehension he'd felt.

Cheeks flushed and black curls tousled from a wrestling match he'd just won with

Wickham, he slipped into the darkened bedchamber and hesitantly pushed the shut

behind him. Anxiety-flecked eyes were turned questioningly on his father.

The older Darcy tried to appear casual, put him at ease.

"Aah, Fitz, my boy! Just beat up George again, did you?" Still, there was an urgency

on his brow that even the wide, inviting smile he was wearing could not hide. And it

came out...

"Fitzwilliam, never forget what a great responsibility rests on your shoulders as the

Darcy heir. I expect you to always act circumspectly, prudently, in a way that will

reflect well on the Darcy name... Be careful... with women. Reserve your attentions

and... affections for the one you can love and respect...marry her."

Click. The handle on his bedchamber door turned and the door swung open,

interrupting his reverie.

"Mr. Darcy, sir. Won't you be going out tonight? The time is passing, so I took the

liberty of offering..."

There was no question about it, really. He cut his valet's inquiry short. "Yes, yes, of

course. My navy suit, please. I'll be ready in a moment." Reluctantly, he dragged

himself off the bed and made his way over to the basin that sat by the window...eyes

closed tightly, he plunged his face into the icy water.

The older man had exhaled slowly, then turned his gaze out the window before

continuing in a gentler tone...more too himself.

"I only wish my Anne was the first woman I smiled at...the first one I kissed."

He still didn't turn back from the window, "First love is very precious, my son. Guardit, and only marry a woman you can give it to...."


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Darcy had thrown the study door open, a care-free boy; moments later he closed it

behind himself slowly, solemnly, a man. Duty and honor were staring in the face, and

he determinedly rose to the challenge. He made a pact with himself. - He would

preserve his body and soul untainted for the one woman he could respect, admire, and

love enough to marry.

"Yes, Mama. Of course, Mama. I will, Mama..." After five very trying minutes of

attempting to follow Mrs. Bennet's conversation, Jane realized her answers weren't

needed at all. They had been squished up together in the Gardiner carriage for longer

than she cared to know, and even though their aunt had assured them that Matlock

Manor was 'just a few blocks away' Jane was starting to feel just the tinniest bit

impatient.

But, for what ..?

To get out of this less than ample carriage? Most definitely.

To get away from her mother's constant screeching? She supposed so.

To be back in the fresh air? Of course.

But to arrive at the ball? She didn't even want to try to answer that one, for fear of the

'no' that was sure to follow. It wasn't that she was frightenedof society... Not that. But

Jane had never been overly fond of the unexpected. She liked feeling she was in

control, and if something must be unexpected, she hoped to at least have some

premonition, so as to know how to react... Not only would she be among strangers, but

she'd never attended a city ball before. And this was not just to be any London ball,

but agrande London Ball.

Though Aunt Gardiner had been careful not to mention the fact at any previous point

in the evening, she had made it quite clear in her letter of invitation.

My dearest Jane and Elizabeth,

...my friend, Rebecca, Countess of Matlock will be hosting a ball,

Friday next. It will be quite the society event, as most of the ton will be

present. Rebecca was most gracious, and what do you think, my

dearest girls, but she informed me that, in addition to your Uncle andmyself, I might bring two friends of my own choosing. Imagine my

delight! Such an wonderful chance for you both to enjoy a taste of high

society...I look forward very much to your arrival in town...

Not long after Mrs. Bennet laid eyes on the missive and she had discovered a pressing

need for her own removal to town. Such an unrivaled opportunity for her girls to find

wealthy, titled matches could not be very well handled without her assistance, she

secretly decided.

So now, here she was. After much fussing and teazing on her part, it had been settled

that she would go in place of her brother, who, to keep the peace had acquiesced. Her


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only apprehensions now were that the ball might afford girls prettier than her Jane, or

that Elizabeth might frighten off prospective suitors with her impertinence.

The girl in question, 'Miss Impertinence,' seated beside Jane, was the only one of

Madeline's guests almost wholly without any apprehensions of the ball. She sat, hands

folded serenely in her lap, a tranquil smile on her face.

There was a feather-light touch on her forearm. "How can you be so composed, Lizzy?

There is absolutely no way of knowing what to expect!" Jane breathed nervously.

Elizabeth smirked.

"I beg your pardon, one knows exactly what to expect!" Yes, indeed.No doubt there

will be some gossipy old women, stuffy airheads and disgustingly rich rakes who care

for nothing but themselves. Indeed, I am already disposed to think very ill of them all,

she concluded silently.

But only moments later, in the receiving line both sisters found their respective

assumptions being swept away.

Mrs. Gardiner, as the head of their small party, reached Lady Matlock first.

"Madeline. How wonderful to see you! I trust you've been keeping well." Her smile

was, Elizabeth noted with surprise, nothing less than sincere. "...Your nieces? Well,

girls, welcome to London. I hope you will both enjoy yourselves very much this

evening."

Darcy was a fast dresser. And tonight he wasted no time in completing his toilette,

eager for the solitude he'd find, travelling alone in the carriage.

Yes, he'd made a pact with himself, indeed...but where had it lead him?

Newly orphaned, he'd re-entered society after a long and painful mourning period,

with high hopes. He'd hoped to find a woman who could fill his heart, heal his

wounds, a companion to rebuild his life with...

Well, she didn't exist. It hadn't taken him long to find thatout.

He had reached out for understanding, his heart cautiously exposed. Society passed it

around, smiled at it, and, with worse abandon, carelessly tossed it aside. It was a harsh

blow. But necessary, he decided. It had inevitably changed his perspective. Must he be

blamed if he had become a little cynical?

Oh, there were girls out there all right, but they were all self-centered, greedy air-

heads. Their matchmaking mamas just weren't so amusing anymore...

The carriage had stopped and Darcy automatically stepped down onto the footpath.

Sightlessly, he stared ahead into the brilliantly lighted ballroom.


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"Do you reside in London?"

"No."

"In the country, then?"

"Yes."

"Where?"

"Hertfordshire."

Damn! She might be stunning, but he could hardly get a word out of her.

Unbeknownst to him, Jane was far too distracted by the male on her left to pay much

attention to his questions. She'd felt drawn by his boyish grin the first time their paths

had crossed in the dance. But though she'd tried her hardest to smile winningly, he'dbeen too preoccupied to notice. Since then, she'd taken every possible opportunity for

surreptitiously observing him. The more evidence she found of his easy, open manner

the more attracted she felt. And disgusted with herself. Am I out of my senses? her

practical mind screamed.Here I am enthralled with a man I'm not even acquainted

with! She determinedly tried to shake the feeling off. Every succeeding time their

paths crossed in the dance, she took care to train her eyes elsewhere - anywhere, but

him. At other times, however, she found it well nigh impossible to resist the urge to -

just very occasionally - glance in a certain direction.

Unbeknownst to Jane, however, the mysterious male on her left, had, in fact, noticed

her. A moment after he felt the gentle, but insistent pressure of her hand in his, he'd

stopped grinning stupidly at the wall, and trained his earnest gaze onto her...back. It

was too late. She'd already turned away and he had only the pleasure of eyeing the

profusion of golden curls that Mme Le feuvre had left to caress the bare skin at the

base of her neck. Every successive meeting, he noted dejectedly, she'd refused to look

at him entirely.

Jane's own partner was less enthralled. He was still willing to admit to her beauty, but

her uncommon reticence had done nothing to endear her to him. Now he determined to

quickly escort her back, make his excuses and search for more interesting quarry.

So much for his plans.

Just as Lord Wimpleton was making his final bow, as luck would have it, Elizabeth's

partner returned her.

"Sorry to delay you, my Lord, but I should like to introduce my sister, Elizabeth.

Lizzy, this is Lord Wimpleton."

For the longest moment, Elizabeth didn't respond, and he groaned inwardly,Don't tell

me this one is even more reserved. So much beauty and grace wasted.

He couldn't have been farther from the truth.


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But in the next moment, she passed directly in front of him, leaving a teasing whiff of

lavender scent in her wake. He willed himself tostay put, but found his eyes had

followed her, regardless.

Once, he even fancied that she was looking back at him, but while he searched the

intoxicating features for its verity, he realized that she was glaring at him...that he'dbeen staring again.Damnation! He reddened and quickly looked away.

He felt called upon to do something; anything. Seek an introduction and ask for a

dance? Whatever for? he hated dancing...Still... He started to move her way... But he

was too late. He took in the strangely familiar back, moving over to her, facing her,

before making out his words.

"You didn't think I'd be back, Miss Elizabeth?Really, I couldn't let you get away

without making good my claim to this dance." Lord Wimpleton raised an aristocratic

eyebrow and grinned saucily.

Darcy held his breath...there was something about the voice that was unpleasantly

familiar...

Elizabeth's playful laugh brought him back to the present,

"I don't recall any thing of the sort, my lord. Reason forces me to suspect you of

lying," but she accepted, anyway. What else should he have expected? He didn't even

know the girl, for goodness sake, and he expected her to defer to him? Wait...she

couldn't have even known he'd planned to ask her...There was only one thing for it. He

would ask Caroline. He didn't fancy the idea of standing alone by the floor and being

caught staring again.

It was only after he'd asked Caroline and was escorting her to the floor that he realized

the impropriety of his actions. Asking any girl thrice, though not positively sinful,

would be sure to start some whispers. Too late...

He made his opening bow reflexively and took Caroline's hand.

Less than halfway into the dance, Elizabeth realized she'd made a mistake accepting

Lord Wiggleton's offer so readily. She might not have danced every dance, but she'ddanced and sampled enough punch to be feeling the effects. The heat rose crazily to

her head and it became harder and harder to follow the steps as exactly as she was

wont to. Soon she'd given up all attempts at conversation, instead focusing her

attention on making the right moves and trying to fight her rising dizziness.

"Fatigued, ma belle dame?"

She looked up in surprise to find her partner regarding her quizzically. Lord

Wiggleton had felt the slightest prickling of alarm at Elizabeth's silence. He still

couldn't escape the memory of his utter failure with her sister, but after their last

dance, he was far from suspecting the same reticence from Elizabeth. Nor was he


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about to accept it. There had to be something the matter, and he wasn't taking any

chances.

Elizabeth started at his choice of French, but there was no denying the truth. He found

his answer in her faint blush and stammered,

"I...uh...I had not..."

He decided to push his luck further.

"Very well then. But I am not about to release you..." Elizabeth blinked hard, had he

winkedat her? "...how about some refreshments? Come."

He wasn't even asking, she noted warily, but acquiesced, mutely following as he led

her swiftly away from the dizzying row of dancers. He stopped in front of the punch

bowl, and gallantly poured her a glass.

Glass in hand, the young Lord by her side, Elizabeth glanced around the room, taking

in the images surrounding her, piece by piece; people milling by, passing

them...whispering.

She noticed with amusement, a brightly dressed young lady scarcely older than

herself, prance by, clinging to the arm of an aristocrat as if for dear life, her head held

a little too high, her smile, predatory.

Of its own volition her attention moved onto the gentleman, her eyes boldly moved to

meet his...and there they caught. Bright, sparkling brown eyes collided with

unyielding, intense ones and for a split second, neither party so much as breathed.

Part 3 Aftermath

Our memory is always at fault, never our judgment.

~American proverb

Gold brocade, blue swirl, more gold brocade, more blue swirl. Three golds, three

blues.

Darcy stared stonily at the ceiling of his bedchamber, counting, counting. Anything to

keep his mind off the evening. Gold brocade, orange swirl. Hold it - there wasn't any

orange on the ceiling! He knew right away it was Caroline's gown he was seeing.

Yards and yards of that blasted orange and gold silk. He couldn't get the image out of

his mind. Of her facing him, taking his hand.

It had been a mistake asking Caroline for that extra dance. It hadn't taken him long to

realize that. Their previous two dances had been tolerable. There'd been a slight

titillating novelty in viewing her as his future bride. The one he would entrust

Pemberley, Georgiana and ultimately himself with. Oh, it hadn't exactly beenpleasurable. No, but there'd been something reassuring in the certainty that he would


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finally be securing his future and that of the Darcy line. Charles would be wildly

happy, he'd decided ruefully and not at all unhappily. It had all been so remotely

comforting...

Well, not any longer. Nothing had really changed; he would still be marrying her, of

course, still securing his future most satisfactorily. But the feeling it had given himhad gone - or at least, was different. He had certainly not been up to hearing the vulgar

speculations tendered on their relationship. One too many during the dance, and he'd

lost his composure completely.

In this state, he had come upon heragain. Before he knew it, she was directly before

him. And when he caught her eye, she'd held it; defiantly challenging...one glossy

brow arched, giving the slightest hint of a teazing quality to her gaze. For an instant,

he had felt himself rising to her challenge; responding... But as instantaneously as she

had appeared, she was gone.

Elizabeth had remembered propriety long enough to lower her eyes. No, more - she'dlooked away.

He had been left to face a mocking pair of painfully familiar blue eyes. He'd moved

away, yes, but he wasstillfuming.Lord Wimpleton. So he was the cad she had danced

with, probably the one she had been with all along... Why, he had probably been her

escort to begin with...The very thought made his blood turn cold - her escort? No,

please not that. He wondered dazedly why he should even care. Why should the sight

of a pretty girl affect him like this? One he hadn't even been introduced to! Why

should it matter that she was keeping company with a rake?

But she hadn't been 'just any pretty girl'. Somethinghadsomehow, seemed different.

And Lord Wimpleton wasn't just any rake.

He was the one man, who had, even more than Wickham, dared to attempt ruining

Georgiana. Had almost succeeded. That it could be the Victor that he'd played with as

a child, admired as a teen, who made the attempt, made it that much more painful.

True, he hadn't always admired Victor. When his old playfellow's father had died,

instead of observing the proper mourning period, he'd raced of to London, brashly

sporting his new identity asLord Wimpleton. He'd already been devastatingly popular

enough as just plain 'Victor Marburg, of the six thousand pounds' but now he was alord as well. The girl that snagged him would become a Lady. Quite an inducement.

Problem is, the likelihood of any girl catching him was woefully low. He was far more

interested in charming their skirts off, than settling down with any one of them. He

had a decent harem of actresses, as well.

Actresses? Darcy suddenly felt sick in the stomach.

An actress? Would Victor dare bring one of his actresses along to a London Ball?

Good lord, Victor was capable of anything. The idea of Victor so completely

possessing that soft, pliant female form made him want to wretch. He had allowed

himself to feel an attraction for one of Victors conquests? The thought felt dirty and he


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wanted to push it away. But he couldn't; he mustn't. He owed it to Georgiana, to

himself, to wholly punish himself with it.

Involuntarily, his mind flashed horrible images of Georgiana - with him. Of Victor, his

arms about her waist, holding her tightly against the wall, forcing his lips against her

neck.

They had been at a ball given by Lady Wimpleton - Victor's mother, Eudora. She was

sweet, but silly creature, Lady Wimpleton. Fond of herself, of balls, dancing, and

excessively proud of her son. She was also fond of high society, including that of the

late Lady Anne Darcy. So when she planned to give a large London ball, she insisted

that Fitzwilliam bring Georgiana along. No matter that the girl wasn't out, she'd said; it

was about time the girl enjoyed herself, anyway. Georgiana wouldn't enjoy a Ball?

What nonsense! what girl wouldn't, she wanted to know.

It never crossed her mind that the girl wouldn't be safe around her son. For that matter,

it hadn't occurred to Fitzwilliam, either.

When Eudora hinted for a dance with him Darcy had found Georgie a quiet corner

seat; where she could watch the goings on without attracting undue attention while he

danced. Well, Victor had spotted her, anyway, hadn't he?

He greeted her charmingly, kissed her hand and begged for the honour of a dance. She

knew that seeings she wasn't officially 'out' yet, it would be highly improper for her to

stand up with him, but all she said was,

"In front of all these people?"

Big mistake.

He'd whisked her of to the music room, where they could dance in 'private.' And that

was where her brother had found them - just in time to catch sight of Victor holding

his own dear sister firmly against the wall, his lips on her neck; Georgiana, pale,

trembling, and weakly trying to shove him off.

The sight was too much for Darcy. In a white rage, he roughly grasped Victor,

managed to pull him of Georgiana - but no more. Victor was too quick for him. He

stepped aside, the intended blow falling uselessly into space. He flashed Darcy ashameless grin...

That had been the last time he'd seen Victor. The last time he had ever cared to see

him. Then, he'd appeared by herside. The sight of him had brought it all back. That

mocking grin...

It was really more than anyone could bear.

He could neverforgive Victor, he decided. He wanted never to see him again, never to

speak his name, never to hear his name spoken. He needed to get away... He had sent


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Georgiana back to Pemberley straight after the horrible incident. Now, he realized he

desperately wanted to distance himself from it all, too.

Maybe, accompanying Charles to Hertfordshire wouldn't be such a bad idea, after

all...

When Darcy's best friend had begged him to come and stay with him at the country

estate he was leasing, Darcy's refusal had been adamant.

"What?" he'd quipped, "leave Georgiana and London behind? I'm not out of my mind,

yet!" And no, he wouldn't think of taking Georgiana, who knows where to.

Leave London, indeed. Right now, he couldn't think of a more pleasing prospect. And

he needn't abandon Georgiana, or drag her along to some unknown destination. She

would besafe at Pemberley. Yes, Hertfordshire might be just the place for him right

now. He'd send an express to Charles tomorrow.

Remembering another detail of the trip Charles had dropped brought a slow smile to

his face. "...it wouldn't be just the two of us - my sisters are coming.."

Perfect. Caroline would be there. He would had an unrivaled opportunity to propose.

It wouldn't be a love match, true, but he wanted, no, he neededmore than anything

else, to escape society and the strain his unmarried status was putting on him. It was

too much to handle, anymore.

There was another reason for leaving...but he would not as readily admit to it. One that

concerned flashing brown eyes that challenged and a lovely form that enticed. This, he

hoped, would be the best way of insulating himself...

Cheered by his new resolve, he slipped under the bedcovers and pulled a pillow over

his face, murmuring hoarsely into the soft cloth, as if in prayer, Oh Lord, a moments

peace...a simple life. A woman I could love...and the death of Lord Wippleton - is that

too much to ask? ...and then, with the morning sun filtering through the shades and

caressing his face, he finally fell asleep.

To be continued......

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When Love Beckons(1)