The Passions of Dr. Darcy

by Sharon Lathan

“Indeed. He wrote this the day after Miss Bennet accepted his proposal, which, I might add, he refers to as ‘this proposal’ giving the impression it wasn’t the first! Can you imagine any woman rejecting a man of his wealth and station, not to mention incredible good looks?”

  McIntyre snorted at the last, knowing George claimed his nephew greatly resembled him. “Unless she wasn’t impressed by all that and wanted a man of character. No offense, Darcy, but ye said yerself the lad has a tough shell and a less than sparkling personality. No all lassies care for property and possessions over heart and fun.”

  “Precisely my thought. There is a story here, mark my words, and I long to hear it. This is not the William I have known.” He tapped the pages with a finger. “This is the William I knew to be buried inside. A whole page devoted to describing ‘my lovely Elizabeth’ in vivid detail. The color of her eyes, how she smiles, the tone of her laughter. On and on. Searc, if I wasn’t a man who knew the delights of love, I would be retching from the nauseatingly high sugar content!” He sat back into the chair with a sigh and tender smile, reading through the words he had nearly memorized even though he had received the letter an hour before dashing over to the McIntyre house. “William married,” he muttered dreamily. “And married well to a worthy woman he loves. From what he says, unless completely blinded, she is as enamored. Ah, how I would love to see this!”

  “Then why don’t ye?”

  “What do you mean?”

  McIntyre did not respond immediately to George’s baffled gaze. When he did, George was stunned.

  “I mean, perhaps ye should consider another visit to England. Close yer mouth before the spittle falls on yer chin and hear me out.” McIntyre rubbed his graying brow, eyes soft but serious, as was his tone when he resumed. “George, I been holding back on ye. I dinna want to spoil yer holidays, and to be frank, it’s been guid to see ye smile agin. I ken ye well, my friend, more than most. No point pretending these months no been hard, and I dinna want to add to it but can no longer be secret. Lileas and I are moving back to Scotland. Next month.”

  “Next month?”

  “I ken it seems sudden, but we been hashing it over for a while now. We miss the Highlands. I haven’t traveled home once in all these years, and truth is, I am tired of India and the work here no longer interests me. I am over sixty, by God, and wanna be laid in home sod when I die. Kenna wants to marry a Scot and Lorna’s man has accepted a position with the EIC in London. I want to see my grand bairns romping in the heather. All the pieces fell into place.”

  “I… well, I am shocked of course, and sad, but… well, I do understand Searc. I truly do. I just… God, I am going to miss you terribly! I can’t imagine Bombay without you and Lileas.”

  “Don’t try then. Come with us.”

  “Are you—? You can’t be serious!”

  “Verra serious. Not to Scotland, of course, although ye can visit anytime. But ye can sail with us. Ye said ye wanted to see yer nephew and his lady, to hear the story. And you missed Pemberley on yer last visit. Mostly though, and this is coming from a friend who loves ye, I think a bit of distance would be guid for ye. Don’t misunderstand. Ye did well in carrying on with yer life, George. Jharna would be proud of ye for it. But like I said, I am yer friend and have been a long while. So let me ask ye, are ye here doing the same as always ’cause it was the plan and thus easier? Ach, I no saying ye should have done different, but what about this year or the next? Can you see yerself here in Bombay, content in this position without Jharna and the stability she gave ye? Or do ye see scurrying off on another trek with Penaflor? Maybe ye do, and ’tis yer life to lead, George. No saying ye should even ken the answers yet but are ye asking the questions?”

  George couldn’t readily think how to respond. Searc did know him well and he was an insightful friend to be trusted. George was sensible enough to admit that, when it came to being rational after suffering a profound loss, he was no different than anyone else. His future beyond the immediate was a hazy area that he had not considered when there were still too many days when it was a struggle to get out of his empty bed, the only impetus being the duties and routines he was sure of. It was a comfortable, reliable crutch that he needed. Nothing wrong with that. But for how long?

  He was still attempting to assimilate it all, McIntyre placidly sipping his whiskey and saying nothing further, when Dr. Penaflor was escorted into the male sanctuary. One glance between the two silent physicians, neither of whom rose or offered a greeting, and Raul knew something serious was afoot.

  “My apologies, gentlemen. Should I wait outside?”

  “No, of course not, Raja. Have a seat. We were discussing… well, I am not sure where to begin.”

  McIntyre chuckled at George’s confused expression, so rarely seen on the confident man’s face. He took over, giving the brief rundown while pouring Raul a glass of wine. George said nothing, his eyes staring at his hands and the letter from William until McIntyre finished.

  “I see,” were the first and only words out of Raul’s mouth.

  George looked up, one brow arched. “‘I see’? What is that supposed to mean?”

  “It means I see. I understand. That is all. It really has nothing to do with me, now does it?” He took a sip of wine, black eyes peering calm and steady at the wide-eyed George over the rim of the wine glass. “Unless, of course, I was to remind you that you do owe me a trip to England.”

  “I owe you,” George sputtered, ignoring McIntyre’s snicker. “Who’s fault was it that you stumbled over your own clown feet and broke an arm? Owe you, my ass!”

  Raul shrugged, it a regal lift of one shoulder and followed by another sip of wine. “You did promise you would take me on your next trip though.”

  “Maybe, although I don’t recall the word ‘promise’ in there anywhere. And nothing about when that would be. Hell, I might have meant twenty years from now.”

  “True. But here is an opportunity for you to fulfill your promise and not be beholden to me for twenty years.”

  George cast a glower at each of them. “Is this some sort of conspiracy?” Neither deigned to reply. “You know Governor Nepean will have a seizure if we all leave at once?”

  “He has a strong heart. I know because I assessed his physical health last month. He already has my replacement picked out—Dr. Ertham—so it would just be ye two, and it isn’t like the EIC isn’t used to ye rewriting contracts, George. I wonder why they bother wasting the paper after all this time.”

  George couldn’t deny that truth, having often wondered the same, but like all bureaucracies, they weren’t capable of surviving without stacks of documents to prove their worth. Desperate, he tried a different angle. “Anoop will be devastated if I leave him. I can’t do that to him again.”

  “Take him along. An adventure will benefit him as well. He has become as stodgy an old man as ye.”

  “Nimesh and Sasi are planning a major celebration for my fiftieth birthday. At Pandey’s haveli in Kalyan. Impossible for me to cancel that.”

  “Are ye deaf or so old ye canna remember the months? I said I was leaving next month, which is February, and ye birthday is in two weeks. I know ’cause we are invited to the party. Are you done making excuses?”

  George gaped at Searc, who was grinning, and then turned to Raul, who continued to sip his wine as if bored by the whole conversation. The gleam in his eye proved otherwise. At a loss for words, George stared from one man to the other. Then, as the panic rose to the point of choking his air supply, George glanced down at the letter still clutched between his fingers.

  Uncle,

  I now have hope where none existed before that Pemberley shall once again be the joyous home of my youth, and as Father recounted from his childhood. The ancestral Darcy abode filled with laughter, children, and the touch of a devoted mistress who loves the manor as she deserves to be loved. I pray this image
warms your heart as it does mine.

  It did warm his heart and brought back fond memories. Mostly, however, he wondered who this Elizabeth Bennet, now presumably Elizabeth Darcy, was that she possessed the magical powers not only to transform a house too long mired in grief, but also a man’s entire being. His curiosity was sparked, and if there was one unstoppable force in the world, it was George Darcy when he was curious!

  George’s Memoirs

  December 5, 1817

  Jharna, I am staring at this page benumbed and attempting to clarify my churning emotions. I have often thought a man’s life is defined by the highs and lows with the humdrum periods in between not as important. While I do still believe we are impacted by the momentous, I now comprehend that those humdrum days combine and truly shape us. Yes, I am in an introspective mood, my dear! You are duly warned. You know how I have struggled with my feelings since your death, especially in these months since returning to England and Pemberley. I am no longer sure what drove me away from India this time. All of the reasons for my “visit” were valid on the surface and I would have sworn I had every intention of returning. Even now, with the recent developments of which I will write soon, there is a part of my soul crying for India. I long for the warmth, smells, sounds, all of it. I do miss Nimesh and Sasi and the children. It is painful accepting that I may well never hold them and hear their voices. Perhaps I never should have come back, I find myself thinking at times.

  Then I walk into a room to see my Darcy family smiling at me with true joy and I experience a rush of completeness. Indeed, so dramatic but this is the truth of it. You were warned, priya! I have missed you, my lovely Jharna, unbearably so, and honestly did not know if it was merely grief and loneliness clouding my judgment or a real affection. Was my growing love for them in any way false? Those Darcys whom I knew I could rely upon are gone. Would this new generation of Darcys fill the void or was I wishing for what cannot be? I have tarried in a place of joyous relaxation on my extended holiday, wallowing in the comforts of my ancestral estate and the acceptance that has surprisingly surrounded me, yet always with a slight reserve. Afraid to give in to the love I felt growing daily for William and Elizabeth and my sweet Georgiana. Afraid to embrace life at Pemberley or think of it as home. How does one utterly reinvent his life and focus at my age? Yes, even I, who trod through jungles teeming with hazards and embarked upon life-saving excursions to the farthest reaches of the East knew fear. What a bitter tonic to swallow!

  Yet all that doubt and fear was wiped away in a second. Today, William accosted me in the library for a pointed chat, expressed his love for me in direct words, and asked, nay, begged, that I not leave! His words precisely, as I will never forget them, were, “I need to tell you in the clearest words imaginable that the heartfelt wish of us all is that you would choose to reside here forever. Simply put, I do not want to lose you.” And then the moment that truly sent me over the edge and sealed my fate: William and Elizabeth have asked me to be Alexander’s godfather. Of all the possible imaginings that have flit through my brain, this one was an utterly unprecedented surprise! Knowing William’s strong religious convictions, his protectiveness for his family, and serious nature… well, I am overwhelmed. And honored beyond comprehension.

  Tears yet again! Old age is creeping! Cloying sentimentalism indeed! We Darcys are a romantic bunch for all our strength of character. It isn’t enough that I have been walking on a cloud since being present at the birth of William and Elizabeth’s son last week, but now this? Yes, I am well aware that I more or less insisted I deliver their firstborn. As if I could have idly sat by and let another do what I am imminently skilled to do, risking Elizabeth’s life or the babe’s. Never! I would have stormed into the birth chamber at the first scream. Fortunately, they wanted me there, and both William and Elizabeth performed brilliantly. Sweet Alexander is perfect and precious. He is a handsome lad, I can state emphatically. You would scold me, Jharna, when I spoke of ugly babies, convinced that all are gorgeous which I know not to be the case. Alexander, I state with unprejudiced assessment, is truly adorable and greatly resembles his father. Being an integral part of their union and honored with serving them at one of the most intimate events of their lives has branded my soul in a way I never anticipated. As cloying as it is to say, Jharna, I am happy.

  If offered a chance to change history and be with you in India, would I take it? It is a nonsensical question, naturally, and I only ask it of myself as a sort of test. A year ago, my yes would have been swiftly rendered. Now? Jharna, forgive me, but I am not so sure. Certainly Raja would beg me to say no! He and Miss de Bourgh are to be married in February, by the way. Another sign of how fate works for the best. Even Anoop, who I had to practically hog-tie to board the ship, is happy here. Indeed, God’s Hand has been upon my life every step of the way. Only in looking back can I see the pattern, and since I have no intention of saying farewell to life on earth for a long while to come, I must trust that He has my future woven as well. I believe my fate and future in England have been joyfully closing upon me since the day in June when I stepped over the Darcy House threshold. Probably before that, when Searc badgered me into accompanying him. All this leads to my earlier reference to the humdrum moments. Grander, pivotal occurrences hold weight because of the tiny hundreds happening daily.

  Philosophy, theology, or any other -ologies aside, it has been decided. I will take the position at the Matlock Hospital and establish myself as a country physician. Not sure how William will feel about messengers banging on the door all hours of the day and night, but he did beg me to stay after all. The folks hereabout don’t know how blessed they are to have a competent physician in their midst! Me, hanging a shingle and making house calls. How strangely traditional is that?

  Chapter Thirteen

  London

  May 1818

  The dining room at Darcy House on Grosvenor Square in London was located toward the rear of the white-stone townhouse. The windows and doors stood open to the terrace and garden beyond, affording a lovely view of the lush vegetation, narrow lawn, and musical fountain while also allowing in what breezes of fresh air were to be found in Town on a warm morning in early May. The Darcy family sat at one end of the long table eating their breakfast and engaging in friendly conversation. Fitzwilliam Darcy, the master of the house, sat at the end with his wife, Elizabeth, to his right and sister, Georgiana, beside her. Dr. George Darcy sat on his beloved nephew’s immediate left and between bites of egg and jam-smeared toast was nodding rhythmically to Darcy’s instructions while sharing amused glances under his thick brows with Elizabeth and Georgiana.

  “Remember, Uncle, your primary responsibility is to escort Georgiana, and that means—”

  “Keeping the slavering hounds at bay, yes, William, I know. I shall do my utmost to cut a formidable figure. Are swords allowed in Almack’s? I do have a wicked Rajput khanda that was a gift from a grateful raja I healed in Rajasthan. It would certainly keep all potential suitors away, and it looks quite dashing with the outfit I plan to wear tonight.”

  Elizabeth and Georgiana laughed, Darcy’s glower cast at all three of them. “No, swords are not allowed in Almack’s Assembly, and I do wish you would take this responsibility seriously.”

  “I am quite serious!” George lifted both brows, his face the picture of innocence. “It is a wicked sword, and I do look especially dashing when wearing it. Ah well,” he sighed, “I suppose my mere presence must suffice. No worries, William. I promise to cross-examine and screen every applicant who asks for the privilege of dancing with Miss Darcy, and you, my dear”—George pointed a stern finger at Georgiana—“must promise not to elope the second I leave the ballroom to visit the lavatory.”

  “I promise.”

  “Are you sure that is allowed as part of the chaperone agreement, George? Visiting the lavatory? Best to be sure of these details before you depart tonight.”

  “Ah, good point
, Elizabeth. Thank you. I should reread the contract, to be sure. If necessary, I shall eschew the punch and orgeat, just to be on the safe side.”

  “And if I need to visit the powder room? What then?”

  “Oh dear! So many points to ponder! I suppose I could enlist the aid of a severe older lady to substitute as your attendant in that case. Surely even the boldest young man would not storm the women’s quarters to spirit Georgiana away. Would they, Elizabeth?”

  “I never attended a dance at Almack’s so would not know. Dearest, is this something George should fret over?”

  “Yes, William, is it? I mean it is doubtful you ever did such a brazen assault to propriety, but you know how some impetuous men in the throes of passion can be.”

  Darcy was sitting back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest and a resigned expression on his face. “Are you all quite finished? The point has been made, thank you.”

  George patted his nephew on the shoulder. “You do worry too much, William. I have faced down wild animals and managed harsher crises than a dance assembly. Georgiana will dance and flirt as she wishes, all under my watchful gaze, I assure you.”

  George proved as capable a chaperone to Georgiana Darcy as her brother, who had escorted her for her debut Wednesday appearance in April, and her cousin Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam for the next two. The colonel had submitted to the identical series of stern warnings from Darcy, listening, nodding, and then harassing his cousin much as George had. “Apparently, surviving battles against Napoleon’s troops isn’t validating,” Richard said to George at one point, his teasing eyes resting on Darcy. “Bayonet-armed Frenchman aren’t as terrifying as Englishmen bearing cups of ratafia, Dr. Darcy. Be careful. It is a true jungle within those glittering, gas-lit walls!”

  Fitzwilliam Darcy was a hundredfold less intense and reserved than prior to his marriage to Elizabeth Bennet, but that did not make him the loose jester his uncle and cousin were. Hence the reason the two loved to torture him. Nevertheless, George appreciated the need to guard his beloved niece and was not nearly as blasé about the task as he pretended to his overprotective nephew. All was well, as it turned out. Georgiana Darcy’s fourth appearance at Almack’s Assembly in London passed without a single marriage proposal or untoward advance. She danced every set, socialized with her friends, and even flirted a little, not that Georgiana Darcy would ever be comfortable with the latter.