The Passions of Dr. Darcy

by Sharon Lathan

  “They are hanging out there but cooler than yours, I imagine.” George took the knife and then used it to point at James. “What makes you think I am in love?”

  “Oh please! I may be a bit preoccupied but I’m not blind. Despite the years apart, I still know you fairly well, Brother. Not that I think one needs to know you well to see the signs.”

  “What signs exactly?”

  James ticked off on his fingers. “One, the use of the word ‘we’ here and there. Two, the dreamy expression on your face at unguarded moments, particularly when fiddling with that mysterious medallion you wear around your neck. Three, that you haven’t dallied with a single maid since arriving and ignored Mrs. Hurt’s brazen seduction. We were all shocked at that, by the way, both her attack and your dismissal. Four, your evasion when I ask about your current living situation in India. Five, there is a look about you that is different. Don’t laugh but you have a glow, for lack of a better term, that I can detect, having seen it in my own countenance. I know a man who is in love, George. Six, the carving you are working on is shaped like a woman. Seven—”

  “Very well. I get the point. I am transparent and not the smooth deceiver I thought I was. Damned annoying, that is, and a blow to my ego. I’ll need to practice my acting skills. Who is the ‘we’ sitting around gossiping about the amorous Mrs. Hurt? I was taken aback by her demeanor, I shall confess. Considering her husband died, what, eight years ago I think she said, I imagine—”

  “That is not a topic which interests me nor does it interest you. What is the big secret here, George? Why the hesitation to tell me about your life? It is because of Anne?”

  George sighed and set the whittling knife and wooden figurine onto the table. He rubbed over his chin and avoided James’s eyes. “It would not be kind for me to prattle on about my happiness when you are suffering the loss of Anne, James. It still makes me uncomfortable, so we should change the subject.”

  “Nonsense! Maybe if you had opened with that news seconds after arriving I may have punched you instead of the other way around. I still owe you for that, just so you know and aren’t taken unawares. But to not tell me at all is ridiculous.” James leaned to the right until in George’s line of sight, forcing him to meet his eyes. “Brother, do you have any idea how often I have prayed for you to find a woman to share your life with? It is the greatest blessing, and I was beginning to lament that it did not appear to be in the cards for you. This makes me very happy!”

  “I feared you might grow bitter at the whole concept of love. It makes me happy that you can see past your pain.”

  The cloud of grief perpetually lurking over James’s head grayed his skin for a moment, but with a visible shake he cast it off. The smile directed toward George was wan but genuine. “There are times, I won’t deny it, when in the deepest of my despair I wonder if the love was worth all this pain. I am not changing the subject here, so you aren’t off the hook.” He wagged his finger at George, who could not help but laugh. “I am telling you that despite my fury at God or fate or whatever for taking Anne from me so soon when I wanted another thirty or forty years with her, I would not change anything. Every hour I miss her. Every day I wake feeling lost and wondering how I can survive the years of my life without her. It has taken me a while to climb out of the pit I was in and I am not on solid ground as yet, but I am struggling to get there. I owe you a debt of thanks for your intervention, Brother. You motivated me and I appreciate that. What will keep me from falling back into the pit are memories of the incredible blessing that was my wife, the hope that we will be together again, and the two amazing children created by our love.” He paused to blink away the tears and inhale past the tightness in his chest.

  George observed his brother’s grief and wondered what disturbed him most: that he might someday be the one overcome by paralyzing sorrow or that he wouldn’t. Losing Jharna was a prospect he cringed from imagining, yet he could not help but consider it when the reality of death was square in his face. Would his happiness cease if Jharna died? Would he be frozen in an icy existence? Frankly, he could not envision himself losing all will to live or being so depressed as to stare at a cold grave for hours on end. It wasn’t in his nature. Even after Alex and the powerful melancholy, a small part of his mind knew that he would have rallied in time. Maybe it was different with the woman you give your heart too. Somehow he did not think so, at least not for him, and this was both a relief and unsettling.

  He shook his head, shoving that character study aside for the present to attend to what James was saying.

  “What I am trying to say is that love is a wonderful emotion. Rather than distressing, as you feared, hearing of your felicity is soothing. So quit tiptoeing around me like I am made of glass and tell me about your lady.”

  George removed the braided cord from around his neck and handed the pendant to James. Hanging from the thick cord was an oval disc made of porcelain, fired until glossy and bright. On one side was the portrait of a woman painted in such fine detail that she appeared about to speak, or more likely to laugh, with the way her dark eyes sparkled and plump lips curved upward.

  “Is this her? She is beautiful! What is her name?”

  “Jharna.”

  “Jharna,” James repeated. “Lovely name. How did you… wait. Wasn’t that the name of Dr. Ullas’s wife?”

  “Yes. And it is the same Jharna.”

  “Well, well. I see you have a story to tell!”

  “Trust me. There is nothing improper to it. Well, at least not in how we fell in love.” George proceeded to tell James the tale of their gradual dawning feelings toward each other, including the way they finally admitted their love. “We laugh about it now. We were as unsure as adolescents with a first infatuation rather than mature adults.”

  “It is a unique circumstance, so I can understand the hesitation. I am sorry you had to leave her to come here, George. It must have been a difficult decision and sacrifice on your part. I am touched.”

  “Don’t nominate me for saint of the year yet. It wasn’t easy, I’ll be honest. If I was still with the Presidency, I would not have been able to come even if I could have left Jharna. At least we have not had that interference since last October when I resigned.”

  James was frowning. “Hold on. How long ago did all this happen with you and Jharna?”

  “Two years ago.” George did not flinch from the truth and remained calm as James processed the information, his face flashing through several emotions.

  “Let me get this straight. You have been with Jharna for two years and never told me? Not blurting it after Anne’s death is one thing. I can understand that. But to not tell me at all? I have received a half-dozen letters from you in the past two years! How could you not tell me of this?”

  George did wince at the hurt tone. “Please, Brother. Hear me out. I wanted to tell you in every letter, believe me. I simply did not know how. It is a long story. I have only told you a third of it, and I did not think I could explain our relationship well enough in a letter. To be honest, I was not sure how you would react.”

  “React to what? That she was your friend’s wife or that you are not married? I am assuming the latter or you would have addressed her as your wife, yes?”

  “Yes. And no, we are not married.”

  “Hell, George. I am not that much of a prude. Father would have had a seizure but not me. Most of the men I know are unfaithful to their wives and had relationships before they were married. I am the odd one for loving my wife and never having been with another woman. As repugnant as the idea is to me now, even I can’t swear I will live the rest of my life without a female. Marry again? Highly doubtful. Abstain? Not so sure. You don’t have to explain yourself to me, Brother, although I am curious as to why you don’t marry her. I have never heard you express disdain for the idea and you wanted to marry other women long ago.”

  “That is wher
e it gets complicated, James, and why I never wrote about it.” He retrieved the pendant from where it lay in James’s lap. “Jharna had this painted for me and gave it as a gift on the first anniversary of when we…” He glanced at James’s amused face and grinned. “Well, you can guess and already have. Abstaining isn’t something I do well either and never have, although no one has compared with Jharna. For the first year, I was away from her home in Junnar more often than I was there. It was agonizing but I was very busy. I wanted to marry her and had every intention of asking but wanted to wait until the timing was right. Maybe the real reason is that I knew she would say no.”

  James gaped. “Why? You said she loves you so… why? I don’t understand.”

  “Like I said, it is complicated. James, I have lived in India for a long while now. It is a unique culture, and I do love it, but there are aspects that are difficult to grasp and accept. It isn’t a big secret that Englishmen marry Indian women. It happens far more than you hear about, trust me. But each situation is different and each woman is different. Jharna is a devout Hindu. I respect that, just as she respects my religion. We view marriage as a sacred vow. The problem is our vows and sacred beliefs regarding marriage are with different gods. As much as I want to argue with her and say it does not matter, I can’t honestly do that. I couldn’t ask her to renounce her religion any more than she could ask me to reject mine. In a practical sense, as she explains it, what is the point of us marrying? How would we do it? Who would marry us? What would it mean if one did not hold to the same philosophy as the other? On top of that, Jharna was married to Kshitij and to Hindus that is a bonding that lives on in the afterlife. Actually, that is not much different than what Christians hope for, but to Hindus it is defined.”

  “You make a strong case, George, but I sense you are not happy about it.”

  “God no, I am not happy about it! I love Jharna as I have never loved another woman. I had given up on the whole idea of love and marriage, told myself it didn’t matter all that much and I probably would have been fine if not for Jharna. She changed everything. Now I want a wife and perhaps children of our own. I want the assurance of God’s blessing and to see our names written in a parish book. I want to address her as Mrs. Darcy and introduce her as my wife. I want the whole damned package!”

  He broke off and ran a hand through his hair. He stared out at the glistening water of the pond and counted the blasts from the fountain as a way to calm. Minutes passed before he was able to continue in a level tone. “The irony is that Jharna wishes for the same. Yet it isn’t possible. At least not in a traditional manner. The other irony, or perhaps surprise is a better word, is that when we are together, it does not matter. I may not be able to call her Mrs. Darcy but she feels like my wife. I have no comparison as far as being legally wed, but I know for a fact that the bond we share is stronger by a million than with the other women. Jharna feels the same and she has been married before. She won’t say it directly out of respect and love for Kshitij, but her connection to me is deeper and her love powerful.”

  “Listen, George. This may sound heretical, but I truly believe that marriage is more than just a blessing from the Church. Am I saying God’s hand upon a union is unimportant? No. What I am saying is that when I fell in love with Anne, even when she was sixteen and we were forced to wait three years before our wedding, she was my wife inside my heart. Our love grew, especially once able to express it physically, and time added to the dimension. But we belonged to each other long before. What you have with Jharna is real, so if you are devoted to each other and faithful, I believe God will bless you. I don’t think He is as rigid as the preachers teach. Just don’t tell our reverend I said that or he will excommunicate me!”

  “Thanks, James. I hope you are correct, although I will face eternal damnation if that is the price to pay for loving Jharna in this life.”

  “Eternal damnation? Indeed she must be remarkable then.”

  George laughed and nodded. “You have no idea, my brother.”

  “Then enlighten me.”

  After that, George was open with his feelings, the topic leading to many conversations about women, wives, family, intimacy, and so on. As hesitant as George had been to broach the subject, his relationship with Jharna and accompanied appreciation for romantic sentiments brought the brothers closer and helped James refocus his thoughts on Anne during their happier years. George persisted in teasing him for his whimsical sentimentality, James always the poetic type ready with a maudlin verse or fanciful gesture. George was too practical for extreme displays of affection. He did jot a few mental notes, however!

  The remaining three weeks of his month-long sojourn in England were spent in London. George arranged for their sister Estella and her family to meet them at Darcy House on Grosvenor Square, unbeknownst to James. His brother was in the dark about most of George’s machinations during that first week, as it turned out. Messages were leaving the gates of Pemberley several times a day and heading to destinations all over the country. George was rather proud of how well his sneaky agenda paid off, even to the point of enlisting Georgiana and William to his cause.

  William claimed that since he was planning to begin his studies at Cambridge in the fall, it was logical to prepare in advance and acclimate to the new environment. It was a sensible proposition, as it turned out, which was fortuitous because William was a horrible liar and even the tiniest hint of deception, especially toward his father, was beyond his capabilities! George had to convince him of the necessity before the young man was able to use the argument to sway James. It was an exhausting piece of scheming.

  Georgiana was easy. A few cleverly dropped comments about Town and how he had not been there in decades added to seemingly offhand remarks about the shopping, beautiful parks replete with ducks and ponds and colorful gardens, breathtaking activities such as Astley’s Circus and horse racing, grand palaces with potential glimpses of royalty, and the crowning perk of ices at Covent Garden sent Georgiana running to her father with pleads to visit the magical city called London.

  James’s heart melted as it always did with Georgiana, and he concurred with William’s reasoning, but he glared at George, not fooled one bit. It took more finagling and a fair amount of bullying to ultimately convince him. Even then James never would have left the cocoon that was Pemberley if George hadn’t handled all the arrangements and all but shoved him into the carriage.

  By the time James embraced George at the East India Company dock before he embarked on the return voyage to India, there wasn’t a shred of residual pique.

  “I love you, George. You will be missed, by all of us. Keep the letters coming and try to return for another visit before too many years slide by. I will be counting the months.”

  Partings of long duration are inevitably bittersweet. Yet as George bid adieu with his patented blend of lighthearted banter and serious emotion, he was encouraged by the renewed vigor James showed. The haunted sadness of loss would never disappear from his countenance, but it had lessened. His eyes were clear and smile intact. He had put on weight and no longer walked as if trudging through quicksand. A month prior, George had been sure his brother was on a short path to his own death. As he waved from the ship’s railing and shouted a final farewell, his heart was light with relief that James was on a solid path to health and long life. Neither of them fancied for a second that this would be the last time they laid eyes on each other this side of Heaven.

  George’s Memoirs

  April 10, 1806

  Father, this time I swear it was not my idea. I was fine with residing in Junnar with Jharna for the duration of my life and could envision myself working at the hospital until my hands were too decrepit to hold a scalpel. If there is any doubt, you can read every journal entry for the past two years. Never a word about embarking on another mission abroad. Then last week, Nimesh comes to dine with us and breaks the news that he has accepted a post wi
th Drs. Reddy and Desai for a two-year assignment studying and practicing Yunani medicine in northern India between Delhi and Agra. Now, I confess that this was intriguing to me. How could it not be? I have longed to learn more of the blended Greek and Persian healing system created by Avicenna a thousand years ago. I have read The Canon of Medicine a dozen times and sought out every Yunani practitioner during our travels. I have been fascinated by those techniques and medications that are undeniably Ayurvedic yet incorporated with unique methods that must be of an Islamic or other root. Indeed, I have long wished to travel into the north where Yunani physicians are thickly located. Nevertheless, I am content with the knowledge and skills I have. Truly I am! So I was listening to Nimesh and politely asking questions about his travel plans when Jharna interjects, “I have long desired to travel north. Kshitij traversed the breadth of northern India from Punjab to Nepal to Bengal, even to the roots of the Himalayas, and the stories he told were spellbinding. It filled me with yearning. Oh, to see the Taj and stroll the banks of the Ganges!” At this point, the drama was running high, I have to say. I was taken aback by the emotional velocity she was employing but thought it was to placate Nimesh that she wasn’t too upset over him leaving for two years. Then she looks at me and says, “George, we must accompany him. My wanderlust is reasserting itself, and you are growing musty.” Musty? ME? I was severely offended! I don’t intend to ever be musty until moldering in a box six feet under! Nimesh jumped on the idea faster than a grasshopper, saying that he intended all along to invite us. He yammered on about it being a dream of mine followed by additional nonsense that he “needed my expertise and superior comprehension to decipher the finer nuances” of the techniques, etc. Schemer! I sat there stunned while they laid the entire agenda. Jharna was jotting notes and barking orders like a general! As if there is a major rush.