“You fool,” she retorted icily. Shaking off his iron grip, Ruby stepped back and glared at him condescendingly. He was treading too close to the truth, a truth he must never know. “It would hardly be wise for me to pay attention to you when we do not want anyone to know of our marriage as yet, now would it? And your accusations are offensive. All men stare at me and I stare right back. Men want me to toy with them, just as you did, in hopes that they will be the fortunate one to win me. George Darcy is one of many who I gift with my attentions. You know it is true.”
And that much was, just as it had always been. His awareness of her liaison may have given him an insight into subtle signs that were different from how she interacted normally with men, but Ruby had been very careful when in public to pay George no greater interest than the others who flocked around her.
The duke had not moved, and he was peering at her with deep intensity. “You did not answer my question. Are you falling in love with Dr. Darcy?”
“You chose him, remember? I could have seduced any man in this house, married or not, and none would reject my favors. I knew what the expectations were when you asked me to be your duchess. I did not question who I would have to bed or how many, for that matter. Thankfully you did not pick someone repugnant, but I would have done what was necessary to get what I want.”
“To be a duchess.”
“Yes.” She nodded, not denying what they knew was a major factor. Then she smiled, lazily curling her lips upward and parting them just enough to run the tip of her tongue over the lower. The robe, she peeled from her shoulders, dropping it to her feet as she closed the gap between their bodies. Entwining her arms around his neck, Ruby lifted onto her tiptoes and licked his ear. Concluding her successful distraction from the topic she could not bear to discuss further, she whispered, “I wanted to be your duchess, my love. I wanted you.”
Larent groaned and crushed her to him. Seconds later, he was ravishing her and the fact that she had never answered his question was forgotten.
***
George concluded he was unlucky in love. At four and twenty, he had fallen in love twice and lost both women.
Three weeks almost to the day after beginning his affair with Ruby, he and Dr. Ullas had been called away to tend to the injured in an explosion in Hallyacha Pada. When they arrived, it was to discover the report was in error, a development they thought odd and annoying. Only later, after returning to the Sardar’s haveli and reading Ruby’s short letter explaining how her father had arranged her engagement to the Duke of Larent against her wishes and their abrupt departure, had George wondered if Lord Yardley sent the message to get George out of the way. Had Ruby revealed their relationship when told she was being forced to marry the duke? George did not know. The letter said little, the bulk of it a reiteration of her love for him and pleading to forgive her. As if he could fault her for falling prey to the standard manipulations of the English elite, who treated daughters as property to be sold to the highest bidder! His fury was squarely on the shoulders of Lord Yardley and the Duke of Larent. Primarily, however, his anger was at himself for being a fool and not claiming Ruby as his own. The guilt of his cowardice and selfishness ate at him like a cancer, coupling with crippling grief so that he could barely move for days. Locking himself away did not last long, George not one to wallow in self-pity or avoid a decent meal. Nevertheless, it had been a rough period that he was yet to recover from.
“You told me not too long ago that I needed to learn patience. Do you remember that?”
Dr. Ullas nodded but remained silent and waited for his young friend to continue. They sat in the solarium at his house in Thana. George’s distressed state of mind these past weeks had been obvious to the older man. Yet it was not in his nature to pry. When ready, if ready, George would share what had occurred during the celebration at Pandey’s and Kshitij vowed to listen. It had taken a month, but finally George recounted the entire affair with Lady Ruby Thomason, who was now the Duchess of Larent, so the rumors went. George avoided the gossip as much as possible. He didn’t need to hear it to know what had happened. He had Ruby’s letter.
“It isn’t that I doubted your words exactly. It is just that I never thought of myself as impatient. If asked, I would have said patience was one of my strong suits.” George smiled sourly and took a drink of the cooled juice Jharna had brought the men. “I did think about what you said, Dr. Ullas, but I guess my impatience was revealed in that too because I did not dwell on it for long. Lately, I have thought on it and I realize you are one hundred percent correct. I was impatient to finish my education, pushing hard at every turn. I was impatient to leave England. I have been impatient with my duties in Bombay, as if I could only learn if constantly on the move. And I now see that I was impatient to be married. Ironic, isn’t it?” George looked at Dr. Ullas’s serene face. “I never particularly thought I was all that anxious to be married. If asked before, I would have stated with confidence that women and children weren’t on my immediate agenda. That is such an English thing to do, and I have been striving not to be pigeonholed into following the proper English pathway!”
He shook his head and laughed.
“Are you saying you did not love your two ladies?”
“No,” George said after a pause. “I loved them both. I still do. McIntyre warned me not to be hasty to get married. I suppose he saw the impatience in me too.” George gulped from the juice to swallow past the lump of pain lodged in his throat. The empty spaces once inhabited by Sarah and Ruby had merged into a yawning chasm that grew deeper each day. At times, usually at night when alone in his bed, George felt as if the blackness was near to drowning him, and he wished he could throw himself into the chasm for the peace of oblivion. Then his good sense, and probably that blasted impatience he now knew to be a part of his nature, would reassert until he pulled out of pointless despair. Hours of quiet introspection were granting him clarity.
George stared into his half-empty glass and swirled the liquid gently. Minutes passed with the only sounds those of nature and the muted ring of the Ullas boys laughing from inside the house. When George spoke, his voice was sad but with an undertone of wisdom and maturity.
“Yes, Dr. Ullas, I loved them and the pain will stay with me for a while. Loss of a loved one is a reality I am all too familiar with, but I now realize I have never come to grips with it. With Alex, I mean. Falling in love with Sarah and then Ruby, as real as it was, happened in part because of a longing to replace what I lost so long ago. I have always tried to replace the gap left by Alex with something else. That has sparked my impatience. But I can’t replace him. I can’t ever fill that gap, nor do I want to any longer. It belongs to Alex and he deserves to live there. Maybe someday, if God wills it, I will find a woman and she will live in a new place inside of me, someplace yet to exist that is beside the one where Alex lives. I must learn to be patient and allow that to transpire naturally. It is funny, but I always thought that getting over Alex’s death meant letting him go, purging his presence from my mind, as it were. As if I could not be whole and he could not be in heaven unless I said good-bye for good, which, of course, I could not do until someone else took his place and prevented the pain from overwhelming me. Now I understand that isn’t how it needs to be at all. Nearly twelve years after the fact, I am finally dealing with Alex’s death. Strangely, the compounding emotions of all this are not incapacitating me as much as I might have imagined! On occasion, I feel as if I am going to shatter from the weight of it all, but then I will experience an odd sort of liberation. I am not sure I comprehend it, but I am willing to give it time. And that is progress right there, isn’t it?”
Dr. Ullas laughed at the grin George flashed. That he could jest, even a tiny one, was a positive sign. “So what is your plan? You know you are welcome to stay here as long as you like. Jharna and the boys enjoy your company, even as morose as it has been lately, and we need doctors.”
George’s Memoirs
March 27, 1792
I began my day with a surprise I am yet assimilating, Alex. I had finished dressing the wound on Lovett’s leg that I swear will never heal if the idiot does not condescend to wash himself more often than once a month, when I looked up and who was standing at the door of the hospital but Dr. Ullas! I was stunned but delighted of course. His last correspondence was over a month past, and he said nothing of visiting Bombay. He is here to discuss in person what he has brought up no less than a half dozen times since I left Thana a year ago. Yes, he is requesting I travel with him for a time. You know that the offer has been tempting, extremely so, but I was determined to practice the art of patience. Staying in Bombay was my penance, so to speak. Or so I imagined it. Oddly enough, I have grown to love this island, the people here, and my work. Dr. Trenowyth is an excellent Physician General and a fine doctor. McIntyre and I enjoy working with him, and with our rank as his assistants, we have the power to enact many changes. Medical care and the facilities at Bombay have improved dramatically under our tutelage. I confess to an abominable pride! The ready access to fresh supplies from the Motherland, including updated literature and the newest instruments, is a marvelous boon. The people have benefitted and that, naturally, is what matters the most.
So I find myself weighing both sides of the issue. If I stay here, I am capable of practicing the best of English medicine and some Indian as well. That aids the residents here. If I leave to travel into the interiors of India with Dr. Ullas, I know I will learn skills I cannot begin to fathom. I will not deny this tantalizes me.
The offer is in conjunction with the Company, by the way. Long have I known that physicians are needed with the British troops and diplomats who conduct business for our Empire and King. Dr. Ullas has already spoken with Commander Doyle, sneaky bastard! He is one determined fellow and that is rather flattering, I daresay! Apparently, my vaunted ego is intact. The plan is that I would accompany Dr. Ullas, the two of us working together as colleagues, on a mission of sorts to the various EIC outposts. We have been granted permission to freely move as we wish, to the point of branching out on our own. There are requirements, as expected with the Company, but nothing too stringent. As I have previously ascertained, Dr. Ullas has a positive reputation with the EIC here in the west and a tremendous amount of clout. I should add that he is taking his family with him. He feels strongly that his sons need to learn about their country, and I know he would never be parted from them for any great length of time. In truth, I gather the main point to this venture is for them. It is admirable. Dr. Ullas has wealth enough to travel in style, yet he prefers to serve others along the way.
So why do I hesitate? In striving to learn patience and trust God for my future rather than control everything, have I tipped the scale the other way? Have I become passive or, heaven forbid, afraid? Or worse, have I become too used to comfort and too English? Perish the thought! Nevertheless, I refuse to be hasty. Momentous decisions need to be thought through carefully and—
Good Lord! Am I sniveling? I just read over my own words and have the urge to rip them from the book! Luckily, no one will ever read this until I am dead. Hopefully, my future deeds will supersede, so any progeny I may have will know I did not wallow in indecisiveness for too long. What am I thinking? I came here to travel and increase my education, after all. If I hadn’t sidetracked myself with affairs of the heart, I would probably already be in Madras or Calcutta by now. Working side-by-side with Dr. Ullas for several years is a dream come true. Very well then, Alex. I knew discussing this with you would gain me insight. Dr. George Darcy off on a new adventure! Should I warn India first?
I also must tell you that I now have a personal servant. I know! Do not laugh so hard you fall off your cloud and tumble to earth. I am yet cringing at the concept myself, which I know is terribly un-English of me, but I have never been comfortable with another man doing nothing with his life except being at my beck and call. I can dress myself, thank you very much, and could care less if my shoes sparkled. Remember my writing of Anoop, the youth with the severe trachoma? His right eye was so inflamed and exuding copious pus as I have rarely seen, the conjunctivitis reaching a place where scarring was beginning and blindness inevitable if not treated properly. I thank God that I wandered by the corner where he sat begging—unsuccessful, if you recall, since no one would come near him with his face as it was. I was overjoyed to help him and try the Ayurvedic remedies I had recently discovered. The collyrium of churnanjana and probha vati worked miracles, especially with the drops of mustard oil added. I did need to incise the scar tissue along the lid—delicate surgery that was—and was thrilled that he was left with nothing more than a disruption to his peripheral vision and a slight eyelid droop. Well, he was appreciative to an obsessive degree. As flattering as it is to be revered, it was damned annoying to have him dogging my steps with those puppy eyes of his staring at me as if I were divinity or something. Gah! If he weren’t so blasted nice, I would have dropped him off the Bombay pier where the water is the deepest! The gents have mercilessly harassed me over Anoop, McIntyre predominantly, for the past four months while I tried to ignore him straightening my messes, running to fetch things for me, and telling everyone that he is my noker, that being Hindi for servant. Then one day, he was standing near me as I was tending to a man with an infected wound on his chest and it dawned on me that Anoop was anticipating my every move before I did it, handing me the proper instruments or ingredients without me asking. Then when I finished, I saw that he had a tray of sweet meats and wine, and a clean shirt waiting. Well, it sealed the deal, I confess. I still refuse to have him help me dress or bathe, and would sooner walk naked and dirty than admit I can’t care for my personal hygiene, and I will never call him my noker and continue to try correcting him on that preferring madadgaar, which is translated “aide” or “helper,” since that is where he shines. He is smart, Alex, and uncanny in reading my thoughts. Rather eerie but helpful. So he is now being paid and sleeps in my bungalow in that extra room I had no use for other than to throw stuff in rather than deal with it. Anoop organized it to boot. God, my whole bungalow is clean! I always feel as if I have stepped into the wrong one! Now I will need to see if he wishes to accompany me on my travels and leave the only home he has ever known. After my reluctance, I realize I would be sad if he stayed behind. Guess I am still English after all.
Chapter Five
Mysore
September 1796
With a groan, George fell into the padded Pidha chair under the shaded porch. One hand reached for the waiting glass of chilled mango juice while the other snapped open the folded fan. Fanning his moist face and drinking large gulps of the refreshing beverage occupied all his attention for a good minute. Finally, he glanced to the woman sitting in the matching chair and gasped, “Your sons are exhausting me! How is it possible for a group of youngsters to have so much energy?”
“Is that truly the problem, dear George? Or have they beaten you at the game again?”
“It isn’t fair, Jharna,” George whined, pitching his voice like a sulky child. “I taught them how to play so should prevail each time!”
Jharna lifted one corner of her mouth but did not look up from her painting. “Is this game named after a chirping insect vitally important to your pride and manliness?”
“Cricket”—he used the English name then returned to Hindi—“is the greatest sport on earth, an English sport,” he declared with mocking indignation. “No Indian, especially a child, should play better than an Engli
shman.”
“Then perhaps you should stop the purposeful mistakes that allow them to win. I would hate to see your pride suffer an irreversible blow.”
“I seriously doubt that would ever happen,” he harrumphed, referring to the second charge and not denying the first.
George was staring toward the grassy makeshift cricket field where a dozen boys and girls of varying ages were laughing and shrieking as they played the unusual game. Three months ago, shortly after arriving in Saliom, a suburb of Mysore City, the tall, lanky English stranger had boldly walked out onto the open area with a ball, six wickets, and four blade-like wooden bats tucked under his arms. While the timidly wary children observed, he gouged lines in the soft turf and pounded the wickets into groups of three at either end of a designated zone, whistling as he prepped the rectangular pitch to his specification with the assistance of the Ullas boys, Nimesh and Sasi. Once done, he turned his attention to the group of youngsters who were by then more curious than afraid and, flashing his patented Darcy grin, asked them in Hindi if they wanted to learn how to play a game more fun than any other. That was all it took. From that day forward, Dr. Darcy was sought by every child in the village nearly as often as the adults sought his medical services.
“No, Komali!” He leapt to his feet. “Stand in front of the wickets… the post things, yes… that’s a girl. Now get ready… no, don’t look at me! Watch the bowler… Yes!” He whooped when she hit the ball, clapping and shouting encouragement to run. “Ah, that girl is going to be the best player of them all, mark my words. She already has beaten Nimesh in sprinting speed, to his annoyance.”
“That must be why he was dashing up and down the hall yesterday. Raveena banished him to his room for making such a clatter. Humility will serve him well, especially after taunting Sahib Dutta’s daughters for not being able to read as well as he.”
The Passions of Dr. Darcy Page 16