“The fairy folk passed me by on the blessing to be indispensable to the grand people of Bombay. Ye have that honor, my friend.”
“I brought a half-dozen back for you, so don’t pout. And I owe my good luck to Dr. White, as ironic as that is. I always suspected that his shuffling me away from the hospital would eventually work to my advantage and now it has.”
Finished with tending Mr. Morgan’s wound, the two doctors washed their hands and retreated to a small courtyard outside the rear entrance. George retrieved his travel bag and McIntyre grabbed two mugs and a pot of steeped coffee off the stove on their way out, the story of George’s good fortune recounted as they went, and finished just as McIntyre took a bite of cookie.
“Saint’s preserve us, ye weren’t exaggerating. These are delicious!” A number of nonverbal expressions of delight ensued before the Scotsman was able to talk. “So,” he said between chews, “an excursion tomorrow to Malabar Hill and the temples with dinner after at Lord Montstuart’s, and ye are invited. Well played, Darcy.”
George laughed. “I wish I could claim some sort of clever manipulation, but nepotism is closer to the truth. As it happens, Lord Montstuart and my father went to school together as boys and at university. Lady Burgley mentioned that a Dr. Darcy was caring for her, he asks if there is a connection, and viola! I have an invitation to a social outing with the crème de la crème in Bombay, including Lord and Lady Powis and their beautiful daughter, Miss Chambers.”
“There is that satisfied cat look again. Not that I can blame ye. Miss Chambers is a bonny lass.”
“She is, although my interest is primarily professional. Well it is! Quit laughing! I said ‘primarily’ so admit to an interest not so… clinical. But truthfully, McIntyre, have you even known anyone with serious shyness? No? I have. A colleague of mine at Cambridge had a sister who was so terrified of people that she became a recluse. I felt so sorry for my friend and his family, but mostly for the poor young lady who, in my opinion, suffered a malady no different than any other except for being one of the mind or spirit rather than the flesh.”
“Miss Chambers did talk to ye, so her shyness canna be that paralyzing.”
“Yes, but Baynes’s sister’s condition worsened over time.” George leaned back in his chair and sighed. “Oddities like this fascinate me, not that illnesses of the mind are of particular interest to me in general. I shan’t deny that Miss Chambers’s beauty does increase the interest, but maybe I’ll learn something too. You never know.”
“If nothing else, ye will get to rub elbows with the Bombay elite. Maybe the Duke of Larent will be there and ye can discover if he is a long lost uncle or something.”
“He doesn’t look that much like me. Besides, I think getting Miss Chambers to hold a conversation with me would be easier than that man, if I wanted to, which I don’t. And now that we have divined the truth of my motives with the lady, I have more news to divulge.”
McIntyre’s brows rose questioningly at George’s smug grin.
“You have been invited as well. Apparently our fame has spread. To quote Lady Burgley, ‘We have heard of your and Dr. McIntyre’s recent journey to Poona and success in curing those poor people.’ There was more, but that was the tenor. I was blushing!”
“I doubt that,” McIntyre snorted, “but the rest does no surprise me. I have noticed an increased respect and notoriety, and Dr. White is obviously irritated with us. At first I thought it was just because we came back alive, but he has been even nastier lately.”
“Nastier but strangely less restricting. He is as condescending as ever, but more careful how he insults and who is within earshot. I came back determined to ignore his limitations and to put up a fight when he ordered me out of the critical wing and surgery, but other than murderous glares, he has done nothing. Somewhat disappointing, actually. I was beginning to relish the vision of knocking him on his ass. I thought it might be a perfect conversation starter with Miss Chambers. Why does she hate him so?”
“No idea. As for our newfound popularity, we have Dr. Ullas to thank, although why an Indian physician from Thana is even known here is curious.”
George shrugged then stood. “The cookies are yours to enjoy. I will see you tomorrow at ten o’clock sharp by the west gate. I have secured a carriage for the three of us.”
“Three of us?”
“Oh, I forgot! Mrs. McIntyre is invited too. Between my dashing good looks and superb charm, your exotic accent and manly knees”—he pointed at McIntyre’s hairy legs exposed below the kilt—“and Mrs. McIntyre’s motherly demeanor, we should have no trouble cracking Miss Chambers’s shell.”
Dr. McIntyre harrumphed and bit into another cookie as Dr. Darcy pivoted about and walked away. Then he chuckled under his breath at the sight of his young friend’s jaunty gait and spirited whistling. “Professional interest,” he muttered with a shake of his head. “I should take bets on it.”
George’s Memoirs
April 17, 1790
Alex, I can’t believe it has been a year since I sat in the parlor at Pemberley, drinking wine with James and discussing my departure. I should be used to life passing swiftly and my months replete with activity. Never could I sit for more than an hour without feeling as if I were going to jump out of my skin. Do you know how often I pray that God will give me the gift of laziness, even if only for a short interval? Maybe when I am gray-haired and my decrepit bones no longer allow me to be otherwise. Of course, you know the truth is that I relish staying busy and I probably forever will. My delight these past few weeks proves that God has answered my other prayers, those being the ones I delivered in frustration in the early weeks after my arrival in India. Perhaps the lesson to learn is to watch what one prays for! So well has He delivered my desires that it has been two and twenty days since I last wrote in my personal journal.
I have much to report and shall recount the highlights for posterity’s sake. Nevertheless, I am not ignorant as to why this day was chosen to hide in a quiet garden, stare at the undulating waves of the sea glimpsed through the swaying trees, and listen to the hum of bees whilst I write. Is that not poetic, Alex? Are you impressed? Of course you would be, after teasing me for the horrid attempt first. Somehow I doubt that part of our relationship would have changed. You the gentle soul, as James aptly stated it, yet also skilled at needling me! Ah, my brother. Will there ever be a time in my life when I shall no longer acutely miss you? Will this date ever arrive without my dwelling upon it in such a morose fashion?
Dr. Ullas’s words have lingered in my mind. I muse on them and remember the expression in his eyes. This is a strange land, Alex. Exotic, beautiful, warm. Yet strange. I have yet to venture far afield, but what I have seen of the culture and people intrigues me. They are mystifying in so many ways, alien and unlike us. But they possess a harmony and balance with the world that I have never seen. Not all of them, naturally. Human nature is what it is, the result of sin, I suppose, as the preachers teach. Still, as I observe and converse with the natives, I feel a sense of peace.
I know I am explaining it poorly. No, I am not a poet, and you would be correct to tease me for trying. I shan’t try to describe it then. All I can say is that Dr. Ullas struck a nerve with his talk of fate. All of my reasons for coming here, not the least of which was to escape the strong memories of you, and yet here I sit dwelling on my memories of you. I could be with Sarah. God knows I would rather be. Yet so sure was I that my company would be less than pleasant today that I evaded her invitation. I miss you, Alex. I always will. Yet do I sit here because of my grief or because it has become a habit? If I admit to the latter, will you rejoice from your place in Heaven or be disappointed?
See how awful my scientific mind is at figuring out affairs of the heart? Frightening! Especially when I am wondering daily if I am falling in love with Sarah Chambers. Isn’t a man supposed to know these things? Instead, I try to rationalize
it! Pathetic.
Very well then. The rational facts. I started to write “cold, rational facts” but stopped myself because, although rational, there is nothing cold about how I feel for Sarah. What began as an interest that was partially professional is decidedly not so any longer. I suppose I should try my hand at poetry since that is how a lover is expected to describe his sentiments. Indeed, the glint of sunlight on her golden hair dazzles me. And her voice sends shivers up my spine. I should say “dulcet voice as an angel” or something similar, right? Her touch, even of a gloved hand, or nearness to my body stirs other reactions that I have no idea how to write in a poetic way. And although unlikely to be seen by eyes other than my own, I best not clinically clarify what those reactions are in indelible ink.
Yes, as you have probably deduced from these paragraphs, I finally cracked through Sarah’s self-imposed barriers. Persistence paid off, as it were, with my charming personality aiding to some degree. I admit to being altogether too cocksure and encountered one of the few instances in my life where my humor and easy manner acted against me. Can you believe she thought me brash and frightening? Yes, you probably can and are undoubtedly screaming, “I told you so!” from heaven. Happy you will be then, dear Alex, to hear that I have learned that a quiet presence is more effective with a person who is highly reserved. I shall spare you the medical babble. These past three weeks or so, we have spent more time together in actual conversation. I have not seen an improvement in her affliction as it relates to other people, but at least she speaks to me with animation and greater ease.
Simply put, I delight in every moment we are together and wish it could be more. What keeps me away from her, ironically enough, is my profession. My second greatest joy these days, Alex, is how busy I am and how irritated Dr. White is! Oh, I am evil, indeed I am. Tried and convicted, and without shame. Dr. Ullas’s fame and connection are greater reaching than I suspected. I gleaned hints as we traveled from Assaye to Thana, and by the size of his house alone, it was obvious he is wealthy. One servant commented that Dr. Ullas’s wife is somehow related to Madhavrao, the Maratha Peshwa. Whatever the truth, it has benefitted us and is worth the wrath of White. He glares and mutters nastily under his breath, but has yet to do more. I have no doubt he is biding his time. Then again, perhaps I am assuming where I should not. You must be proud of me, Alex, because I remain pleasant to the old windbag and avoid him for the most part. I know, shocking! My stunning reversal of the typical George is due to my happiness more than any radical transformation, I am sure, and I shall stop at that; otherwise, I will revert to bad poetry again, and neither of us wants to suffer through that.
Chapter Three
Mazagaon
July 1790
“Stunning ensemble. Yer patient was surely impressed, although I hope this isn’t expected of the rest of us.”
George finished washing his bloody hands before taking his coat from McIntyre’s hand. “You can’t pull off this color of red, my friend, so don’t worry. Besides, my patient was unconscious.” He adjusted his sleeves and slipped the coat over his broad shoulders. The jacket matched his breeches, both a hue somewhere between crimson and maroon with accents of shiny gold. The combination was a sharp contrast to his white stockings and shirt. “How do I look?”
“Like a man ready to woo a prospective father-in-law. Today is the planned day? Are ye nervous?”
George was looking into a mirror and fixing the limp neckcloth to a respectable poufy knot. “Today is the day, and I am a little nervous. I have never asked a father for his daughter’s hand in marriage. I have been practicing the proper phrases. Usually my knack for articulation does not fail me, so I am hopeful.”
“Practice is smart. However, I wasn’t talking about the proposal part.”
George turned from the mirror. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, what’s the all-fired rush? Yer twenty-three, for God’s sake! Why the hurry to get hitched?”
“I’ll be twenty-four soon—”
“Not until January, and that is still too young in my book,” McIntyre countered.
“You love being married! At least that is what you say, so why this sudden reversal?”
“I love being married now,” the older doctor emphasized, “but I didn’t get married until I was thirty-two. Think of all ye are going to miss.”
“Nothing I am particularly interested in.” George grabbed his medical bag and started walking toward the door.
McIntyre followed. “Look, Darcy, I mean no offense. Miss Chambers is a beautiful woman and I know ye care for her.”
“I love her,” George corrected. “There is a difference.”
“How can ye be so sure?”
George whirled about. “I have never been so sure of anything in my life.”
“In yer whole life of twenty-three years?” McIntyre met George’s irritated glare. “And what I was asking is, how can ye be so sure that what ye are feeling is the kind of love to last a lifetime when never having felt love at all?”
“How do you know your love for Mrs. McIntyre is? How does any man know?”
“Honestly, I am not sure we can ever know. But falling in love or lust a few dozen times, ye gain a bit of perspective. Ye admit ye have done none of either—”
“I am not that inexperienced!” George interrupted indignantly. “I have felt my fair share of lust, believe me, and acted upon it when I could. All I ever said is that my life until now has been about the study and practice of medicine, with women far down on the list. I never felt the loss until I met Sarah.” He inhaled deeply to calm his irritation and placed one hand on McIntyre’s shoulder. “I know your questioning and advice is well meant, Searc. Furthermore, I suppose I would agree with you in regards to most men. For me it is different.”
Dr. McIntyre’s expression was dubious despite George’s firm declaration. “I am short on time,” he said with a glance at his pocket watch, “and already delayed after being grabbed to set that broken bone—a nasty compound injury that you need to keep an eye on for me, by the way. Over there in bed twenty.” He lifted his chin toward the long row of hospital beds visible through the window they stood beside. “I know it will be hard to understand, but I never have been one to play the rogue. It just isn’t in me. Maybe it is my upbringing. Years of moralizing lectures from my father drove us mad but sunk in. Maybe it’s because I have been focused on medicine since I was young. Or maybe it is because of…”
George stopped suddenly, several heartbeats passing as he stared at the ground. Collecting himself with visible effort, he met McIntyre’s gaze.
“I like the idea of having a wife and family, Searc. I see no reason to pass on the opportunity now on the off chance that there might be something else on down the line. I am not a gambler either. More of my father’s influence,” he finished with a grin that was almost up to his typical saucy style.
“Very well then.” McIntyre reached out his hand. “I will wish ye good luck and I’ll start preparing to dance a Scottish reel at yer wedding.”
“Deal.” George took the offered hand. “And thanks. I may need all the luck I can get. I hear fathers can be frightening.”
“I know Lileas’s was. I still shudder when I think of it. I’ll keep one hospital bed open for ye just in case.”
***
George relinquished his horse to the waiting servant, uttered a quick word of thanks, and ascended the steps rapidly. The doors were open and the liveried footmen standing at attention on either side acknowledged his entry with a respectful nod. The servants of the grand house on Mazagaon belonging to the Viscount Powis recognized Dr. George Darcy as a frequent visitor to the mansion, which sat pristinely on the bluff overlooking the placid waters of the Arabian Sea.
Music drifted through the gaping portal, the massive foyer and visible chambers crowded with people in their finest attire. It was minutes after the
stroke of noon, but the heat and humidity of late July in India meant that every hand fluttered a fan in a fast rhythm and every garment was constructed of the lightest materials possible while maintaining fashion.
George had not considered his attire with the temperature in mind. His goal was to please a particular lady.
As soon as he crossed the threshold and saw the ocean of guests invited to the Viscount and Viscountess Powis’s garden party, he turned his gaze to the walls and shadowy corners in search of Miss Chambers. After walking through the rooms and deftly avoiding lengthy conversation with a dozen enthusiastic revelers, he spied her through the veranda doors. A broad rather silly smile burst forth, but without caring one whit, he quickened his stride and steered around a group of young ladies who hoped the dazzling smile from the handsome physician was for one of them. George acknowledged their attention with an incline of his head but did not pause.
Sarah was standing by a cluster of tall, potted bushes, half hidden behind the large leaves. Nearby, her mother sat on a divan with other ladies, their laughter ringing merrily and gestures animated as they talked.
George glimpsed a smile on Sarah’s face and realized she was talking with someone she was comfortable with. Pride at her ease in conversation altered to jealousy when he recognized the young man leaning against the railing less than a foot from Sarah. With great effort, he calmly and properly paid his respects to Lady Powis and the other ladies before turning to greet Miss Chambers.
George wanted nothing more than to bask in the glory of her face and drown in the gorgeous gray-green eyes turned his way, but unwelcome reality was reasserted when the other man cleared his throat.
The Passions of Dr. Darcy Page 7