Instead, he read the letter that had arrived from James that day. It was filled with updates on Fitzwilliam’s success at Cambridge, Georgiana’s skill on the pianoforte, news of extended friends and family, and the usual daily activities around Pemberley.
“Your Uncle James still sounds sad, Bhrithi. At least he has moved on and learned to overcome the worst of his grief. I know how difficult that is—a wife or beloved daughter. I am not sure it is easier either way.” He paused, sighing deeply before shaking himself and continuing in a lighter tone. “I do wish you could have seen Pemberley, beti.” My daughter. “You would have adored Pemberley. I can see you dashing across the meadows banking the River Derwent. I am sure heaven has marvelous fields of green grass, probably so vividly green they would hurt mortal eyes. Yet I cannot fathom any place lovelier than Pemberley. Don’t tell God I said that though, or he may not let me enter the pearly gates! I would have taught you to ride a pony, a gentle mare like the one Georgiana was learning to ride when last I visited. James says that they had nearly a foot of snow in one fall this past winter. Hard to imagine. I think I have forgotten what snow feels like, which suits me just fine if you must know. I never was all that fond of the frigid cold of winter in England.”
“May I interrupt?”
George looked up with a smile. “Of course!” He patted the bench, Jharna sitting down and instantly leaning into his side. “I was reading James’s letter aloud. Silly, I know, but it comforts me to talk to her.”
“It isn’t silly at all, George. We know she is not here, not really. But wherever she is, your heaven or in pitr-loka with my ancestors, I think she is listening. And don’t tell my gods I said this, but I think they may well be the same place.”
George chuckled and then kissed her forehead. Jharna lifted her face and moved into the kiss, covering his lips with hers in a tender but pointed exchange that left him breathing a bit heavier than normal.
“I came to tell you dinner is waiting. Sasi thinks he is going to die if forced to wait longer than another ten minutes. But that is long enough for me to also tell you that after dinner, I wish to retire straightaway to our bed and have you all to myself.”
He was smiling, grinning actually, and, despite his own rumbling stomach, would have willingly foregone food if she demanded it. But he had to be sure. So he clasped her chin and tilted her face away so he could better see her.
“Are you sure, Jharna? It has only been five weeks since the birth. And not a normal five weeks, as we know.”
“I am fine. My heart will take a long while to heal, as will yours, priya. I believe loving each other will help. I have missed your touch and never want to lose the pleasure found in your arms.”
They kissed far longer than the ten-minute limit Sasi and his adolescent appetite had set! Finally they pulled apart. Passion simmered with desire shooting sparks across their skin and love burrowing deeper into their wounded hearts. Together, as always, they would heal.
They rose, hand in hand, and after a brief pause to stare at the marble cross that bore their daughter’s full name, they turned and walked into the house in Junnar that was their home.
George’s Memoirs
May 27, 1811
James, I have seen innumerable paintings of the Himalayas and none of them have done justice to the reality of seeing them with my own eyes. Remember when we traveled to Austria with our sister Mary and her new husband Baron Oeggl? The Alps are amazing, no question about it. I remember feeling small and insignificant. Of course, I was not as tall then as I am now, but I do not think that makes much difference when compared to mountains that must be tens of thousands of feet high. It boggles the mind. There are a few persons in our party who itch to veer closer or even climb to the snowy peaks. Insane if you ask me. I can’t fathom that one will ever be able to manage such a feat. Not sure one should try, to be honest. I pride myself on being a brave man, but getting any nearer to all that snow isn’t a challenge my psyche needs to prove my manliness! This whole trip has been a bit too cold for my taste, not that I would change a thing. Well, maybe wearing that horrid suit while in Kathmandu. I still can’t believe I consented to do such a thing. And a cravat too. Gah! Anoop was panicked that I was going to expect him to tie the bloody thing. I panicked a bit as well when I could not for the life of me remember how to drape the nasty thing, let alone knot it so that it wasn’t a mess. Luckily, Colonel Fisher volunteered to assist, which was humiliating. You would have been in hysterics, James. And there was Jharna looking divine and comfortable in her sari. I may have actually hated her for a second or two there. How I manage to become entangled in these diplomatic, political affairs when I hate them is beyond me. And you can just shut your mouth right now, Brother! No comments are welcome!
We left the Kathmandu Valley behind and climbed northward into the mountainous zones. Our Sherpa guides know the Khumbu region and villages well. Thank goodness for that. I am picking up the Nepali language in pieces. Certainly not well enough to manage on my own. Hindi speakers are rare and English speakers nonexistent, so we definitely need our Sherpas for translating, but also to serve as mediators. Even with that, we are encountering a great deal of suspicion when it comes to medicine. The people are unfailingly polite and hospitable, but simply not trusting or interested in our healing skills. So we do more standing back and watching their techniques. I have learned a few new useful skills and there is a wealth of unique vegetation that I am collecting for later study. But for the most part, their methods are crude and in some cases downright barbaric. Yet, somehow they have survived in this harsh climate and elevation for eons so who am I to be overly judgmental?
So it has evolved into a laggardly trek through lush terrain with visually stunning vistas every direction you gaze. Ah, James! I am forever amazed by my adopted country! Initially I didn’t relish being dragged away from the comfort of Junnar. I admit I liked being relatively stationary with the only traveling the times McIntyre and the EIC enticed me to Bombay. And yes, I confess I have grown a bit soft and am anxious to reach civilized cities if for no other reason than a cushioned bed to better love Jharna in. Nevertheless, I am abundantly thankful that this expedition presented itself. I can’t imagine living in India, traveling as I have, and then to say I did not enter Nepal and touch the foot of the greatest mountain range on earth. The tallest mountain, the one called Sagarmatha, looms on the northern horizon. It fills the sky! Unbelievable, it is. I am not an adequate writer to describe it so won’t try. Jharna has drawn a dozen pages of Sagarmatha alone, from various angles, so forgetting it won’t be possible.
We are now at a village named Jubhing and will leave on the morrow. The air is thin at this elevation. We are better adapted to the atmosphere, cold, and ruggedness than when we started this journey, yet it does require recuperation periods in between. I refuse to accept that my age may have something to do with it! I wrote that mainly to beat you to the insult first, James. I know you were planning it. In truth I haven’t felt this fit in a few years. I think I was growing weak in my cozy life in Junnar. Happy, yes, as I still am, but adventure was necessary to keep the mind sharp and body strong. Jharna is as tough as me, I am proud to say. We are invigorated. Of course, I would be embarrassed to admit otherwise when some of our guides are older than us and the Sherpas live to a surprisingly advanced age.
All that being said and true as it stands, we shall leave here and head south, catching the Koshi River near Dhulan. Jharna is firm on reaching the Ganges in time to celebrate the avatarana. A river is a river as far as I am concerned, but I know the Ganges is more to Hindus. It has been her dream to partake of the avatarana, or Descent of the Ganges, and you know I can’t deny my lovely priya anything if it is within my power to grant it. We will take our time with it, but if all goes well and we do not change our minds, should be in Calcutta by the end of summer. Or sooner. Who knows? I am opting for sooner, mainly in hopes that I have had correspondence
from Pemberley. Sasi has promised to forward anything I receive to the EIC headquarters.
I need to hear from Fitzwilliam that he is well. Georgiana too. He was so devastated at your death, James. Hell, we all were! I still am. I address my journal to you as has become my custom for whatever bizarre reason, but it feels wrong. Seriously wrong. How can you be dead, James? A few years ago, after Anne died, I half expected you to follow her. I suppose you did, in a sense. It just took six years. Your heart never healed, did it, my brother? Well, you have it good now, so I should not begrudge you being with Anne and Father and Alex. Hopefully you are sharing a bit of love with my Bhrithi. If it is any consolation, I will do my best to help your children. Not sure how when I am so far away. I am writing as often as I can. Silly ramblings of Nepal and so on. I have nothing to offer in regards to estate management, God knows! Luckily, William has Mr. Wickham. He is an excellent steward who will teach him well. And of course William is an exceptional young man. I know he feels overwhelmed. I can read it between the lines of his letters. He pretends otherwise, naturally. Far too much pride to confess he is drowning! Then again, a man as intelligent and strong as your son will do just fine, I am sure of it. Probably not much that would break his steel core of discipline unless it is a woman. Women can turn the mightiest of us into poetry-spouting lapdogs! It doesn’t help that we like it that way. Ha! I’ll pray romance for William holds off for a spell though. One head-spinning problem at a time is enough.
And speaking of women, my delightful enchantress is calling my name and the tug upon my heart cannot be resisted. Poetry! See what happens? Kiss Anne for me.
Chapter Eleven
Calcutta
November 1812
George stood naked before the tall mirror in the corner of his dressing room, turning his face side to side. One last scrape of the razor to a missed whisker patch and he was satisfied. The blade he laid neatly onto the commode tray before grabbing the wet towel and wiping the soap away. For a minute, he held the cloth over his face, eyes closed and breathing steady as the warm moisture seeped into his skin and through his nostrils. It was a daily routine and had been for years. George rose from bed and started his day with body stretches and breathing exercises. This activity was a signal to Anoop, who then poured heated water into two bowls sitting next to a tray with his haakim’s toilette implements, soap, towels, and various lotions and colognes. Anoop insisted on preparing everything but did honor George’s command to be left alone and tend to his personal needs himself. It was a system that worked, and the truth was that George liked it.
Putting the towel down, George unstoppered one of the five bottles situated in a precise row. He took a whiff of the liquid, even though he knew it was his favorite fragrance, and proceeded to apply it to his smooth cheeks, adding a bit to his freshly washed neck and chest.
Next came the comb to his hair, but after three strokes he paused, lips pursed and brow furrowed, as he submitted to a brutal visual analysis. I need a haircut, was the first honest appraisal. George had finally bid farewell to his last-century ponytail, Jharna cutting and styling his thick brown hair so it ended at the nape of his neck. When the wavy locks behaved themselves, his part was on the left side, hair sweeping heavily over his high forehead and joining the rest of his hair that flowed in natural, loose curls. He had mourned his shorn locks and absence of a colorful tie for about a week before realizing he loved the looser, freer style. It took him another month before he relinquished the pretend sadness that garnered some sympathy. Not a single gray hair as yet, the brown a rich chestnut with a few lighter streaks from the harsh sun. No balding spots or receding hairline, and considering his father had possessed a full head of hair all his life, the odds were in his favor.
More for the sake of clinical assessment rather than vanity, George continued his scrutiny, ticking items off one by one.
A couple of tiny lines at the outer corners of his azure eyes but no other wrinkles. Bone structure as sharp as ever with prominent cheekbones and squared jaw unchanged. Teeth straight, white, and all still present. Thank goodness. George was definitely vain about his smile, full lips and large teeth proudly displayed in that cocky grin he knew well was infectious and charming. Apparently, tough bones and teeth went together, a thorough scan over his body affirming that his skeletal structure was unbent and sturdy, all six feet, three inches of him standing tall. George had never experienced a broken bone and only one tiny chip to a tooth, the latter a result of Rathore insisting on jumping a ravine without being one hundred percent sure the terrain on the other side was safe. Okay, George had wanted to jump the ravine too, but shouldn’t animals have better sense in these matters?
Ever a man not overly muscular but more on the lean side, George did not expect a time in his life when excessive weight would be a burden. There was a deception here, however. George’s angular lankiness gave the impression of weakness, especially with the loose garments he wore, as opposed to the excessively tight breeches and padded jackets Englishmen were wearing these days, thanks to the Prince Regent and his dandified cronies. The truth was that while thin of physique, George was stalwart and tough with an athletic nimbleness. His vivacity frequently exhausted men half his age and his strength surprised everyone. The mystery was revealed in the muscles that while not bulky as some, were defined and sinewy.
Taken as a whole, George was satisfied with what he saw reflected in the mirror. Flaunting a pompous, arrogant attitude was a hallmark of George’s personality, as was being ostentatious and eccentric. He cultivated the demeanor, but despite how it may have seemed, it was more ruse than who he truly was. Oh, Dr. George Darcy was tipped to the prideful side, no doubt, but mostly in regards to his medical talents. He wasn’t nearly as eccentric as he was simply unconcerned with what anyone thought of him. This was why he flagrantly mocked his idiosyncrasies and pretensions, knowing full well that while doing so, he was putting people at ease and spreading joy.
Still, it was comforting to know the body was holding up against the stresses of life and ticking time.
“Not too bad for a man of five and forty!”
“No, not bad in the least. I personally believe you have improved with age.”
He glanced over his shoulder at Jharna, lifting a brow. “Improved?”
“Maturity suits you.”
He turned around, tossing his head so that his hair fluttered. “Are you intimating that I am even more outrageously handsome than I was in my twenties?” He grinned, raising his chin and posing like a Greek statue.
“You were passably acceptable when I met you, if a terrible fop.”
“A fop? Me? Never!”
“Is that not the correct English word?”
“If you mean a man who is vain and overly concerned with his appearance and attire, then yes, although I have no clue how that applies to me.”
She had reached him by then, laughing as she clasped his face between her hands, fingertips lightly tracing the wrinkles by his eyes. “Maturity in your exterior but just as silly within.”
“You mean boyishly charming and irresistible, right?” George pulled her close, opening the robe she wore and slipping his hands inside.
She encircled his shoulders, sighing at the sensation of his warm hands sliding over her waist and the pressure of his smiling lips on her jaw. “As much as I hate to contribute to your conceit, I must say yes.”
“As I suspected.” Clutching her bottom, George drew her tightly against his body. “Shall I show you all the ways I have improved with age, my dear? I know you can’t resist these charms.”
“I need to add incorrigible to your character list as well.”
“As a positive or a negative?”
“It depends on the moment. Are you not supposed to be at Native Hospital early this morning?”
“The new EIC physicians won’t be there until closer to noon, and it isn’t like they are going t
o terminate me if I am late. Besides, it is too late to worry about that now, my love.” And indeed it was. George had already removed her robe, sat her on the cushioned stool he used when donning his shoes, and was on his knees between her open legs, kissing his way down her body. “You should never have entered my dressing area. Admit it, you knew I was naked in here and the vision was a magnetic enticement you could not resist.”
“I would try to deny it if I thought you would believe me.”
George’s laughter was a rumbling roll over her breast. Appointments and hospital timetables shoved aside, he leisurely played with her flesh, knowing she was receiving double enjoyment due to the tall mirror situated at an angle where she could see as well as feel. It hadn’t been arranged on purpose, the discovery an accidental one made months ago but since utilized to great advantage numerous times. Of course, he was correct that she had come here specifically for this purpose, the teasing they enjoyed part of the fun.
Lifting the leg closest to the mirror over his shoulder, George eased his way inside her, their eyes on the reflected image of bodies joined and moving together.
“Ah, priya,” he groaned, “the irresistibleness goes both directions, as does the improving with age. I love you, Jharna. More today than ever.”
The Passions of Dr. Darcy Page 36