Lord Powis’s words cut through the fog of conflicting emotions. George had not expected a competitor or the complication of her parents leaving India. Perhaps it was his towering arrogance biting him again. Suddenly, the picture of Sarah talking and laughing easily with Lieutenant Dawson as he had witnessed on a number of occasions did not appear so innocent. In a flash, he realized that what he said in the next breath was critical or his hopes for a future with Sarah at his side would be lost.
George scooted to the edge of his chair and straightened his back. Staring into Lord Powis’s eyes and imbuing his voice with the full power of his resonant timbre, he made his plea.
“Lord Powis, I do love your daughter. Poetry is not my strong suit, so I shan’t try to express my feelings in that way, but trust me when I say that all the pretty phrases in all the poetry ever written for lovers is a mere fragment of my love for Sarah. Moreover, I know she feels the same for me. She has made that clear in a host of ways. Nothing indecent or improper,” he hastily added at the dark glower directed his way, “but I am sure you can appreciate that a woman’s affection toward a man can be shown within the boundaries of propriety. We have talked of our life together, and she has consented to be my wife, pending your approval naturally. I assure you, upon my honor as a Darcy and with all that I am, I will strive to do whatever it takes to make Sarah happy.”
“Including returning to England with us? I approve of you, Dr. Darcy. I truly do. I am not convinced that you and Sarah are ultimately compatible, but then I have also confessed my lack of comprehension when it comes to my daughter, so who am I to judge? As it happens, this relationship is of benefit to all of us. My daughter marries a man who she loves and who loves her, that a rarity in this world, and my wife and I have our own private physician.”
“What? I don’t… I can’t…”
“Here it is. I will consent to your marriage to Sarah and you will return to England with us as her husband. As compensation for your lack of title or inheritance, you will be our physician. Naturally you can set up a modest gentleman’s practice once we are settled in Nottinghamshire if you wish, as long as it does not interfere too greatly. Our estate is not too far from Pemberley so that is fortunate. The estate and title will pass to my nephew when I die, but I have already arranged for a substantial settlement for Lady Powis and Sarah so you shall want for nothing.”
“My lord,” George burst in, “please understand that this is impossible! I only arrived in India a year ago. Less, actually, and have a contract that binds me to the East India Company.”
“That is of no concern. I have already spoken with Commander Doyle and sent a dispatch to the Governor of Bombay. An early dismissal can be arranged.”
George could not believe his ears. It was too incredible to be real! He did not know whether to laugh at the ridiculousness of the situation, scream in frustration, or cry at the agonizing pain piercing through his insides. Return to England? Miles from Pemberley? Reduced to nothing more than a country physician shackled to one family? It was not possible. Not in any way.
“My contract is not the only issue. I cannot return to England, not now at least. I need to be here. I want to be here, in India. Do you not understand? You said yourself that I am a gifted physician with passion and skill. No offense intended, but I cannot be anyone’s personal physician. It would be too stifling!”
“Precisely the point I was making, Doctor. I don’t believe you would be happy unless pursuing your craft, and it would be a shame not to do so. However, I will not leave Sarah in India to be left alone while you travel about advancing your knowledge. That is not the life for her.”
“It should be her choice, not yours,” George countered hotly. Immediately he bit his lip at the cold cast to Lord Powis’s face, but he did not look away.
“I disagree with you. It is my choice to make. I am her father. I have already lost one daughter and will not lose another. Not if I have an option and fortunately I do.”
“You mean Dawson? Surely you cannot seriously consider his proposal?”
“I do consider it seriously. As I said, my utmost concern is my family’s happiness. Sarah may not love Lieutenant Dawson as she thinks she does you, but that would change in time. He is willing to move with us and has a pronounced inheritance waiting for him, as it turns out. Nevertheless, I approve of you in a number of ways, including your skills as a physician that has proven miraculous for my wife and I. As I see it, we have something the other wants; therefore, an arrangement that is mutually beneficial is logical. I am offering the best solution for everyone. I am willing to give my only surviving child to a man I admire but have reservations about as it pertains to being a husband to her. I will consent as long as you bow to the conditions as proof of your devotion. That is the offer, Dr. Darcy. The choice is now yours.”
George rose from the chair and walked away from the desk. If he sat looking into the viscount’s coldly calculating eyes for one second more he would do or say something that he knew he would later regret. His insides churned and every muscle in his body was tense. How had this hour, anticipated as one to be remembered with rejoicing, turned into a horrific drama worthy of a Shakespearean tragedy? He could not comprehend it at all. Yet as his fists clenched with the yearning to hit something, or someone, his mind began to cool. He knew one thing for sure: He was not a man who could be bought or controlled.
George turned to Lord Powis, who still sat regally in the large chair behind the desk with his emotionless gaze locked onto George’s face. George’s mind clicked down the list of possible arguments one by one, discarding them all as futile against the stern man in front of him. In the end, he realized he had nothing to say at this juncture.
So after a slight incline of his head as a show of respect, George pivoted away and exited the room.
Walking in a stupor, George was halfway down the stairs before drawing up short and stopping. Automatically, his feet had been taking him back to the parlor where he had left Sarah and the unfinished backgammon board. A sliver of coherency knew that it was unwise to face her until he could think through the riot of emotions, so he turned left to make for the small herb garden outside the kitchen.
A murmur of voices did not impress upon his clouded mind, but a familiar laugh did. Before George could puzzle out why Sarah was now in the library rather than the parlor where he had last seen her, the feminine laugh was joined by a masculine chuckle and voice equally familiar but decidedly not as welcome. The friendly inflections and warm tones were louder than the individual words, piercing his heart as an ice pick would.
Blindly he made for the garden, Dawson and Sarah’s laughter ringing in his ears after the door shut behind him. Staggering to the bench, George sat heavily and stared sightlessly at a rosemary bush while forcing his emotions aside so he could clinically examine the predicament he now found himself in.
As the minutes passed, his eyes focused—first upon the individual rosemary flowers and glossy stems, then upon the rough gravel covering the path under his feet. Lifting his eyes, he scanned over the garden, across to the thick hedge surrounding, and then to the glimpse of blue surf far beyond the branches of the shrouding trees. He inhaled, sucking in the humid air rich with exotic aromas. India had infused into his veins, and although still very much a man of English heritage with the beliefs and desires that had been crafted into his cells, George recognized the subtle changes.
“I love it here,” he said aloud.
There was a hint of surprise in the tone, but for the most part he uttered it with firm conviction. No longer was it a matter of not wanting to return to England for all the reasons he had said; it was just as much about not wanting to leave India. There were so many places spoken of and read about in this vast country that he dreamed of visiting.
No, he could not leave India. Of that he was certain.
What about Sarah?
George winced
at the answer. Then he bowed his head, burying his face into his palms, and gave in to the misery consuming him.
***
The day before Sarah was scheduled to sail for England was also the day of her marriage to Lieutenant Dawson. That evening George sat at a corner table in Henry’s, an English-style pub, with his back to the crowded room and his third tankard of dark ale between his palms. Hopefully, by nightfall, he would be thoroughly drunk and thus incapable of envisioning the newlyweds engaged in the act of consummating their marriage. Maybe before then he would find a willing female and do some consummating himself. Would that efficiently supplant his vivid imagination? Would physical pleasure and release ease the pain felt throughout his entire body? He knew it wouldn’t any more than getting utterly foxed would.
Still, he drained the tankard in one long swallow and held his hand up in the universal gesture all pub attendants knew to be a request for another. George’s head was spinning rather pleasantly but his thoughts remained too clear for his liking. He always had possessed a notable ability to withstand the effects of alcohol longer than most men. Not that he had ever tested the extreme limits more than a handful of times. George appreciated a fine wine or well-brewed ale or sharp whiskey, but his profession did not allow for unsteady hands or fuzzy brains.
He mentally ran through the list of alternative spirits with stronger potency, ignoring the sensible voice inside his head that told him this was pointless. He could not stop the pain. Maybe he could suspend it for a time, but it would come back with a vengeance tomorrow. Worse yet, George’s overpowering guilt demanded that he accept the pain as his punishment.
Hell, maybe that’s a good reason to get slobbering drunk and bed a whore, he thought, so that I can add on the torment of morning-after illness and a case of the clap to my penitence.
“I never thought I would see the day that the superior, perfect Dr. Darcy would be alone in a pub dipping in deep. Whatever could be the reason for such wallowing in an ale barrel?”
“Go away,” George growled. He did not need to take his eyes off the half-empty tankard to know Dr. White was grinning with satisfaction. He had been wearing a smugly evil expression for the past week whenever George was unlucky enough to encounter him.
“Now, now. Is that any way to talk to your superior?” White emphasized the last word. He sat down at George’s table and crossed his fat legs casually.
“I said, go away,” George repeated in a deeper growl accented with a fierce glare. “You are not invited to sit at my table, White.”
“It is a public place, Darcy, and filling up fast. Empty chairs are hard to find. Besides, can’t comrades sit and drink together? I shall celebrate while you mourn, how’s that?” White lifted the glass of port he held in his hand. “Here’s to the new Mr. and Mrs. Dawson.”
He swallowed a gulp without waiting for George to raise his mug. “It was a lovely wedding. The bride was radiant as one would expect and Dawson enraptured with his love.”
“Please,” George begged, closing his eyes and forgetting his hatred of White in the rush of acute agony. But Dr. White showed no mercy.
“Pity you were not invited, after all you have done for the family. But I suppose that would have been awkward under the circumstances. I was there despite our recent falling out,” he added pleasantly. “How could I not be when I was instrumental in bringing the young lovers together?”
“Leave! I don’t want to hear any more of your gloating and lies.”
“Lies? I have said nothing that is an untruth.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Ah! I thought you would never ask. It never once occurred to you to wonder how shy, docile Reed advanced so quickly? Did you ever wonder how he found the courage to engage Miss Chambers, to woo her right in front of you, and then ask for her hand in marriage before you? No, of course you didn’t. You are too arrogant and cocksure. Dr. George Darcy who is smarter than everyone, smarter than me. Well, here is a lesson for you, boy,” he sneered, leaning forward, all traces of false friendliness gone. “With age comes experience and connections. Maybe I am not as brilliant a doctor as you, but I am not an idiot. I know who to talk to and what to say. A nudge here and a nudge there will accomplish much. The right people given the right reminder of a diligent officer will take note earlier than they might have originally. A casual letter to a busy father will cause him to put in a word to those in authority for his son’s career. Encouragement from a caring patron will do much to spark a fire under a lovesick man.” He chuckled evilly. “Don’t worry too much, Darcy. Dawson is innocent. He loves Miss Chambers and has for years. I just helped him to move boldly forward. He was thankful, and right about now, I am guessing his new wife is receiving the full thrust of his passionate adoration.”
The insinuating turn of phrase was not lost on the stricken George. It was the final straw to what had been the second worse blow to his heart so far in his short life. He snapped. White did not see it coming. The punch that launched him backward out of the chair was followed by another and another. Later, George would remember little of the specifics. He only remembered a haze of blood red curtaining his eyes and the perverse satisfaction of hitting a man he hated beyond measure. Best of all was that while pummeling White, who rallied and retaliated with a number of impressive clouts of his own, George’s internal pain was replaced by the physical.
At least for a time, he did not think of Sarah.
George’s Memoirs
January 17, 1791
We arrived in Daman today earlier than expected so naturally made straight for the hospital. After four months, I am no longer surprised that Dr. Ullas’s preferred destination when entering a new town is whatever medical facility serves as a hospital rather than the quarters we are to stay in. Even when not sure where we will be housed, or if arriving late in the evening, when supper and a wash sound like heaven on earth, he insists on checking in. That is his quirk and I have to admit that there is some logic to it, Alex. It sets the stage for what to expect on the following day if nothing else.
So we made our introductions and ended up lending our services for a couple of hours. Personally, I was anxious to walk to the ocean and sit in the sand for a while. Something about warm sand, fresh sea breezes, and waves that is so soothing. As long as I am seeing them lapping and undulating from the safety of stationary ground, mind you! I have missed the sea during these months of traversing alongside the rivers of Surat and Khandesh. Strange how the sea can now call to me when we grew up miles from the ocean, isn’t it, Alex?
That mystery aside, I felt the need for hours of solitude. I have had precious little of it lately, not that I am complaining, mind you. These months away from Bombay have been exhilarating. I am a new man! I have seen so much already and learned enormously from Dr. Ullas and the others. My God, he never fails to amaze me! Dare I pray that I shall someday be the miraculous doctor he is? Is that too much to hope for, Alex? I am over my surprise at how well versed he is in Western medical philosophy. I no longer raise my brows when he quotes Boerhaave, Ernst Stahl, Hunter, and a dozen others within the same breath. He does love a good debate. But then so do I, as I am sure you remember, my brother. I never could let an argument rest and know I frustrated you to no end, which, of course, was the point at the time, but now I regret driving you crazy. Still, those skills are aiding me now. Dr. Ullas and I can become heated, although I am sure he is aware just as I am that it is an act designed to increase our mutual mental acumen. Ha! Three days ago I found a copy of Erasmus Darwin’s The Botanic Garden, of which there has been such controversy, and reading it aloud led to a three-hour discussion on theories of biological transformationism, electrophysiology as espoused by Galvani and others, and the living anatomy Naturphilosophie of Haller. It was fabulous. He offers insights from all sides of an issue, almost to the point of making it difficult to pin down what he truly believes. Yet I am certain that for all
his knowledge of Western ideas, he is a Hindu at the core. When he speaks of Ayurvedic medicine, I grow silent in awe. Yes, I grow silent. How shocking is that? He has lent me his copy of the Caraka Samhita, translated of course, since Sanskrit is beyond me, and little by little I am beginning to grasp the concepts and medical teachings. Modern science has moved ahead in many respects, but it is fascinating to see how much of these ancient remedies are still the standards of today. I am beginning to glean how lacking my education and how far my potential can lead me. When we are in Thana, Dr. Ullas has promised to give me a copy of the Kama Sutra, Susruta Samhita, and a few others, including the writings of Madhavakara. Dr. Ullas says that in order to understand Indian medicine of today, I need to understand where it came from and the philosophies involved. I agree. I also want to delve into the Islamic medical practices of Yunani, even if not as commonly seen here as they are in the north. Indeed, these are the tip of the iceberg, Alex. I now embrace the reality that my education shall never end, at least as long as my insatiable curiosity controls me.
Getting back to today, I left all my reading material behind and sat on the sand within the shelter of a rock cluster and let my mind drift. We will soon be in Thana. Dr. Ullas has invited me to stay for as long as I wish before returning to Bombay. I will definitely tarry for the fiftieth birthday party of the Sardar, Thakore Sahib Pandey Dhamdhere, who I now know is Dr. Ullas’s wife’s father and a cousin of the Peshwa. I met him briefly in September before we left on this journey. Imposing man but there was a warm glint to his eyes. He is powerful, rich, and lives in a stunning palace, so I am anticipating a party to end all parties! How could I miss that? And, no, I am not simply avoiding being back in Bombay. Oddly I am anxious to go back. Does that revelation surprise you, Alex? Well it does me! That is what occupied my thoughts as I sat on the beach today. Let me see if I can place it into a few sentences.
The Passions of Dr. Darcy Page 10