The Passions of Dr. Darcy

by Sharon Lathan

  “Dr. Darcy. I see you have returned from your recent assignment. Welcome back to Bombay.”

  “I got in late yesterday afternoon,” George explained, hoping Sarah understood that he had not wasted time coming to see her. “It is good to be back, thank you, Reed.”

  “Please, it is Lieutenant Dawson now, Dr. Darcy. Remember? I am leaving ‘Reed’ behind me. After all, I shall be a captain before the end of the year, if all goes well.”

  “Congratulations are in order then, Lieutenant.” George inclined his head and turned back to Sarah. “It is a true delight to see you, Miss Chambers. You look well, although a bit flushed. I prescribe a cold drink and walk closer to the ocean in order to capitalize on the cooler breezes.”

  “That does sound lovely.” Sarah eagerly accepted George’s outstretched hand then turned to Lieutenant Dawson, “Thank you for amusing me, Lieutenant. Your kindness in sacrificing your time is appreciated.”

  “It was my pleasure, Miss Chambers, and not a sacrifice at all.”

  Sarah blushed at Dawson’s heated gaze. George wanted to punch him. Instead, he gained permission from Lady Powis to escort her daughter and steered her away from the annoying lieutenant. Glasses of lemonade in their hands minutes later, George placidly strolled across the manicured lawn with Sarah’s hand resting on his arm as they headed toward the cliff, Dawson forgotten.

  Neither noticed the daggers he slung at George’s back nor how he stomped away. There was a man who did notice, his smile triumphant and downright evil, and after casting his own hateful glance George’s direction, he gulped the last half of his wine and headed in the direction taken by Dawson.

  As they walked and sipped lemonade, George gaily filled the silence with idle chatter about his latest medical jaunt away from Bombay Island.

  “I was impressed by the facilities in Diu. The Portuguese have a modernized structure with wide spaces and adequate equipment. As always, there were challenges to overcome and interesting cases to learn from, but of course I will not upset your delicate sensibilities with the unsavory details, my lady. It may please you to hear that the voyage across the Gulf of Chambay was pleasant enough. Nevertheless, it was fortuitous that I had some time to recuperate before today’s party. And now, after gazing upon your beautiful face, my heart soars and I am whole.”

  Sarah giggled and looked up at his grinning face. Bolstered by the positive effect, and because it was true, George held her gaze and continued, “Your eyes sparkle brighter than the sun that has been dimmed behind the gray clouds of my distance from you.”

  “You are ridiculous, George Darcy. Promise me you will never attempt to write poetry? The Muses would be forced to embarrass you publicly for the sake of preserving integrity for all poets down through the ages.”

  “You wound me, madam! I practiced those pretty compliments for days!”

  Sarah laughed harder and shook her head. “I have missed you, Dr. Darcy—”

  “George,” he amended. “Or ‘sweetums’ or ‘honeydew’ if you prefer.”

  “Honeydew indeed! George is adequate for the present, I think.”

  “I can accept that. For now.” He caressed his thumb over the small, gloved hand resting on his arm and drew it to his lips for a lingering kiss to each knuckle. “I missed you as well, Sarah. More than I can say with bad poetry or plainly spoken sentences. You know how important my profession is to me and that I can easily lose myself while working. I shan’t pretend that this summons wasn’t as fulfilling as the others. However, I was exceedingly anxious to be back in Bombay. Much more so this time.”

  They had reached the copse of trees near the edge of the Powis estate. Several stone benches were set into the soft turf under the shade of the trees with a stunning view of the sea. George steered to a particular bench located in such a way that they had a measure of privacy yet were not entirely invisible. Once seated, George broached the topic most pressing upon his mind.

  “The first bit of news I sought upon landing at the docks was whether Lord Powis had indeed returned to Bombay. I cannot tell you how thrilled I was to hear that he was back, Sarah. I might have danced a jig right then and there if not afraid my stomach would rebel. I have waited two months for his return so that I could ask for the honor of your hand in marriage, Sarah Chambers. If possible, I intend to speak with him today, unless you have changed your mind about me, that is.”

  The last was said in jest, George shooting a quick look around before leaning to plant a gentle kiss to her lips.

  Sarah’s breath hitched and her eyes fluttered closed, but she pulled away sooner than he wanted. “George, I haven’t been completely honest with you. I haven’t told you everything about our family and if my holding back changes your mind about me—”

  “Sarah!” George interrupted sharply, and then bit his lip when she cringed. Cupping her cheek with his palm he turned her head until she was facing him. “Look at me,” he commanded in a whisper, waiting until she obeyed. “I love you. Nothing you say will change that. I am sure I have not told you everything about my family either.”

  “You have told me of Alex. I know he is your dearest memory and deepest secret. I know you have shared him with no other and the honor shown me by telling of your twin is why I feel so wretched.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “I lost someone special to me as well.” Her words were spoken so softly that George was not sure he had heard her correctly. Tears welled in her eyes and George swept one thumb across her cheek to catch the first to fall. The second tear he missed because she drew back and stood.

  Sarah stared out at the waves, her voice hollow. “Six years ago, my sister died while giving birth. Neither survived. It was in every way a horrible time, George. Jane’s husband remarried in four months to his mistress of many years and six months later they had a child. Everyone pretended not to be able to count as they hailed the new ducal heir. Father was devastated. Jane’s marriage to a duke was a triumphant reflection on him. Her death without a surviving son he interpreted as a black mark. He packed our belongings and brought us here. Since then he refuses to speak of Jane in any way and we are forbidden to mention her.”

  “My God! I am so very sorry, Sarah. You were obviously close to Jane. Was she your twin?”

  “No. We were dear to each other but not in the same way as Alex and you, I am sure. Yet I feel her loss keenly. Jane was beautiful, sparkling with verve and charm. She was witty and easy with everyone. She was all that I am not, and sometimes I envied her for it, but mostly I admired her and wished…”

  “Wished what?”

  “Wished that I could be like her. Jane was the only person alive who accepted me as I am. She never thought me a freak.”

  She murmured the last through trembling lips and George almost missed it, several seconds passing before the implication struck him and the anger welled. “Freak? Who dares to call you that?”

  “No one now, at least not within my hearing. And I do not mind, really, since it is true.”

  “Sarah! It is not true! How often must I tell you that your shyness is not a fault of yours? There is nothing wrong with you!”

  She smiled at him even while shaking her head. “I was only fifteen when we settled here, but I soon realized that my parents were evaluating the prospects for my marriage. I was utterly terrified at the idea. Every dinner party or casual introduction is designed as an evaluation of me as prospective bride. My… condition overpowers and I know Father’s frustration is growing. After three years, I have learned to control myself enough not to fall apart publicly, but the control comes with a price. I know what is said of me.”

  “Sarah—”

  “There is one other thing,” she interrupted before he could reassure her. “I told you that I disliked Dr. White because he is unkempt and not doing enough to help my mother.”

  “Yes, and I can’t argue o
n either count. I suspect your mother’s heart condition might benefit from digitalis. The studies by William Withering are impressive, but also so new that I doubt White has ever heard of him. There are other treatments that might help her as well, but of course I can’t be sure unless I were her physician and could examine her fully, and that is not going to happen with White around. It frustrates me as well, Sarah.”

  “You must try, George. Anything to remove Dr. White from my mother’s presence!”

  George cocked his head and frowned. “There is that passionate dislike again. What else do you know about Dr. White?”

  “He was my sister’s doctor,” she whispered through a choked throat. “Mother had an attack while at the funeral, Dr. White swooping in and taking advantage of the situation. I know it was his fault Jane and her baby died. Dying in childbirth is not unusual, but his… incompetency and… uncaring attitude are enough proof for me. My parents do not agree. It was Father who arranged Dr. White’s position here in Bombay.”

  “I wondered how he managed to become Physician General.” With an effort, he willed his boiling blood to calm to a low simmer. Standing, he pulled her further into the shadows of the trees. He lifted her hands to his lips and planted a long kiss to each palm, after which he enfolded them between his hands and laid them against his chest.

  “Thank you for sharing Jane with me, Sarah, and for giving me further insight into your life. My heart aches at what I know has been a painful period for you.”

  “Thank you, George. The greatest pain is how disappointing I have been to my parents. It never takes long for one of the many gentlemen introduced to realize I will never be an adequate wife.”

  “That is nonsense. I have no doubts you will be a most excellent wife.”

  George pitched his voice into a light tease and swept his gaze over her body, returning to her face and grinning in a suggestive manner that even she understood. Instantly, her cheeks flamed to brilliant red and she bowed her head, several deep inhales necessary before she could speak above a choked whisper. “I meant in that I cannot be a proper hostess or lady of the manor. I cannot carry a conversation for more than a minute!”

  “You are conversing with me quite well, my lady.”

  She nodded, still unable to meet his eyes. “Yes. You are different, in every way. I can talk to you as I can few others. My sister Jane, my maid Hannah, our butler Mr. Chives, and Lieutenant Dawson.”

  “Yes, I noticed that you and the lieutenant were on friendly terms,” George said in as even a tone as he could muster.

  “He has been very kind and helpful while Father has been gone.”

  Sarah did not see the grimace that momentarily marred his face, her eyes focused on his hands that were clasping hers. With a free finger, she traced the silvery scar running across his left thumb. It was the result of a surgical scalpel slicing into him rather than a patient when a bungling fellow student shook during a procedure. He told her it was a constant reminder of incompetence and the result of not being confident.

  “Lieutenant Dawson is a bit like me as well, shy I mean, if not as much so. I suppose it is natural to feel comfortable around those who share my problem. Those who are kindred souls, as you say.” She raised her head, a perplexed cast to her face and brows knitted. “I have yet to understand why you suffer my deficiencies, you who are so assured and open with the world. In no time at all, you will grow vexed with a wife who cowers in the corner.”

  He reached up and stroked over her cheek. “I am confident that in no time you will grow vexed with a husband who brashly hogs the spotlight and will then shove me out of the way!” He flashed his most arrogant grin. “Whichever happens, I am content as long as you are waiting for me. We shall have a modest house of our own, perhaps in Byculla, you will want for nothing, and we shall be together, eventually with our children. What more can a man ask for in life? I have to tell you, Sarah Chambers, that if you meant to frighten me away you have failed.”

  He bent his head, his mouth zeroing in on the soft lips begging to be kissed. His touch was gentle, barely more than a brush of moistened lips tentatively savoring the sensation in anticipation for more, when a shout caused him to jerk away and hastily take a step to the side so he could see beyond the wide tree trunk they hid behind.

  “Help! We need help! Has anyone seen Dr. White or Dr. Darcy? Dr. Darcy! Dr. White!”

  In an instant, love and passion were forgotten, George dashing toward the frantic man as he shouted, “Here! I am here! What is it?”

  The man swung about, relief mixed with blind panic. “The terrace. Hurry!”

  “I left my medical bag with the servant at the door. Fetch it for me. Quickly!”

  Brute force and George’s baritone raised in command opened a gap through the press of bodies on the terrace and created space around the woman lying on the floor.

  It was Sarah’s mother, Lady Powis, her face pale and eyes filled with pain and fear as she gasped with each breath and clutched her left arm with a right hand stiffened into a claw. One of her lady friends knelt with Lady Powis’s head resting on her lap and smoothed a wet cloth over her forehead.

  “Stand back so she can breathe,” George directed the press of spectators, “and get this off her.” He grabbed the blanket that some well-intended person had thrown over her despite the oppressive heat and humidity and ripped it away. “A pillow, quick. That cushion there will do. Stay where you are, Mrs. Mason, and help me prop her up higher on your lap. Thank you. Slow your breathing, Lady Powis. Do you hear me? Inhale as deeply as you can. Yes, I know it hurts. Here, yes?” He held her eyes as he pushed the gauze fichu covering her left chest aside and lightly touched the skin over her heart. He paused to palpate the fluttering rhythm with his palm and then ran his fingertips up to her shoulder and down her arm until reaching the tight hand, kneading in a desperate attempt to ease the pain. He pried the gripping fingers away, soothing as he spoke, “Try to relax, my lady. Forgive me, but I need to listen to your heart.”

  Without waiting for consent, he bent and pressed his ear against her breast and closed his eyes to better concentrate on the faintly heard beats. Her heart was racing, the beats erratic, but he continued to auscultate for long minutes, his focus on ignoring the obvious for the subtle sounds hidden within and underneath. By the time he was satisfied with his diagnosis and lifted his head, Sarah had fought her way through the wall of witnesses and was kneeling at her mother’s side. He spared only a rapid glance, his attention drawn to the black bag placed into his hands.

  Mumbling his thanks, George opened the bag and withdrew two small, stoppered bottles. “I need a glass of water,” he said to no one in particular, sending three people scrambling for a pitcher. “Lady Powis.” He leaned forward inches from her face, holding her gaze and speaking with a unique melding of command and comfort. “Open your mouth and take the medicine I have here. It is bitter but will alleviate the pain in your chest. Trust me. It is crushed willow bark and hawthorn, the latter excellent for strengthening the heart and restoring a regular rhythm. There, that’s good. Very brave of you, my lady. I know it tastes horrid. Have a sip of water to wash the bitterness away, just a swallow for now. Concentrate on slowing your breathing if you can. Your heart is starved for oxygen, which is causing the pain, and breathing as deeply as possible will help. Now chew a bit more for me. Excellent.” He pressed two fingers against the hollow on her neck and smiled. “Your pulse is slower already and the pain is ebbing, isn’t it? Yes, I can tell. That is most excellent. I know this is frightening, but the short duration of your episode is a good sign of—”

  A series of abrupt exclamations and shuffling from the group watching the proceedings interrupted George’s softly spoken encouragement. People hastily stepped aside to allow Lord Powis to storm through.

  “Can she be moved?” Lord Powis asked.

  George blinked in surprise, the question not what he
expected to be asked first. “Yes. In fact I was about to suggest it. Lady Powis is swiftly recovering from her attack but rest in a quiet, hopefully cooler place is best.”

  Lord Powis nodded curtly, and with a snap of his fingers, several servants hastened to do his bidding. In no time at all, Lady Powis was lifted onto a cot and carried between two servants toward her bedchamber. George kept two fingertips on the pulse at her wrist and walked alongside until at the door, only letting go when Sarah grasped his arm.

  “Stay with her, George. Promise me you will not let him bully you away.”

  George did not need to ask who she was referring to. “Do not worry, Sarah. I am not so easily bullied and am certainly not afraid of Dr. White. I will stay with her.” He squeezed her hand and smiled to reassure. Hastily turning to enter the room before being shut out, on purpose or accidentally, George nearly ran into Lord Powis standing in the doorway.

  His lordship held the door open, waiting for George to enter and clearly privy to the familiar exchange between the physician and his daughter, but his face was unreadable.

  For thirty minutes, George attended to Lady Powis while her husband stood at the foot of the bed with arms crossed in front of his chest. His eyes trailed George’s every move, but he said nothing. George ignored him. His purpose was centered on administering the proper dosage of dried digitalis leaves—a tricky bit of work due to the potential for toxicity—and a mild sedative.

  Once Lady Powis was sleeping soundly, breathing normally and with a steady heartbeat, he rose from his perch on the side of her bed and approached Lord Powis. Just as he parted his lips with the intent to whisper a full report, a tumult and an angry voice was heard in the corridor.

  “How dare you stand in my way! I am Lady Powis’s physician and demand that you let me pass!”

  George’s anger flared, and he rushed toward the door with Lord Powis a mere half step behind. The crash of something falling to the floor was followed by the reverberating bang of someone hitting the wall. George grabbed the knob and wrenched the door open. A servant was tumbling to the carpet, having bounced off the wall, leaving a crack in the paneling at about elbow height. A second unfortunate servant dashing to aid his comrade was caught in the downward momentum, both footmen tangled in a heap. Dr. White stood on unsteady feet with one hand as a vise on Sarah’s upper arm and the other lifted with intent to strike.