My Dearest Mr. Darcy: An Amazing Journey into Love Everlasting

Chapter Eleven George Darcy

George continued to take his “holiday” very seriously. He spent large periods of time in the vast library becoming personally reacquainted with each shelf. As at Darcy House, Darcy often gravitated toward wherever his uncle was, not fully aware that his heart was seeking the older man out. The relationship germinated over the summer months was blossoming with each passing day. Darcy gradually continued to open up, sharing more of himself to the man who was so incredibly like his father. George unconsciously did the same, the bond being forged with his nephew growing daily deeper.

One such incident occurred two days after George's return to Pemberley. They sat in the library enjoying the breezes flowing through the open windows. Darcy sat at the small secretary located near one window composing a letter to Mr. Daniels, while George leafed through the London Times from the enormous Chippendale several feet away.

“Did you read this article?” George tapped a printed column on the day's newspaper.

Darcy glanced up from the letter he was writing, squinting to see what article his uncle was indicating. “Which article is it?”

“The one about William Blake's speech at the Guildhall in Cheapside. More of his free love and religious mysticism nonsense.” He shook his head in disgust. “I may not be the best one to point fingers at another for disturbing the societal mores, but the man sees visions for goodness sake! They have a name for such people.”

“I have heard him speak a couple of times. I concur that he is odd, but he does forward some positive notions regarding equality and abolition of slavery. His artwork is interesting, and I actually own two of his relief etchings. Of course, he has opposed our King and spoken out against many of the Church's tenets.”

“Exactly!” George sat forward in agitation, fluttering the paper in the air. “The latter appears to be his primary theme these days as this is the second such expose I have read since coming home. It disgusts me.”

Darcy was gazing quizzically at his uncle with head cocked. “Forgive me, Uncle, as I mean no disrespect, but I am frankly rather amazed at your vehemence. I would have suspected that your religious views had altered somewhat after your years in India.”

George's left brow shot up, but then he fell back into the huge chair with laughter ringing. “Yes, I suppose that would be the natural assumption,” he said, tugging on the edge of his blue silk tunic. “In truth the opposite is the fact of it, William.” He paused, smiling with eyes distant in memory. “I confess that by the time I had finished my education my mind was far more centered on science and medicine than religious doctrine. Nonetheless, I was raised by your grandfather and you know how staunch he was. I think I was permitted to absent myself from weekly worship two or three times in all my youth, and two of those times was only because I had the mumps!”

They both fell silent, smiling inwardly with personal memories of the somewhat imposing but dear man who was the anchor at Pemberley for five decades.

George broke the quiet, voice calm and introspective. “It is interesting, William, to see how differently men deal with trauma and the ugliness of the world. During my studies and clinical employment at London's hospitals, I saw a tremendous amount of both. Yet I was still young, naïve, and hungry for knowledge, so I placed a shield about my heart, so to speak. Forced the realities of what I saw out of my ready consciousness and focused on the cold facts of science. Once in India I quickly became immersed in the culture, which I still adore to a great degree, but was rapidly sunk into the harsh brutality of suffering. It breaks men far stronger than me. Many leave after short enlistments or become so hardened they are stony of soul.” He paused, shaking his head in sadness.

“How did you learn to deal with it?”

George smiled. “Ah well, I could impress you and say I am of sterner stuff, a better man than that.” He met Darcy's eyes with a twinkle. “Primarily I made a choice. I chose to focus on the good I was doing. I chose to focus on the people themselves, to dwell with them, be friends, learn who they are, share their joys and sorrows. In essence I chose to expand my heart, let it encompass these people who are so wonderful and real regardless of their skin color or odd beliefs. Additionally I returned to the roots of my faith.”

He paused again, staring at his folded hands with a flicker of old grief crossing his face. Darcy waited. Finally George resumed, “After Alex died I retreated from the world for a spell. On the day of the funeral, once it was over and before the guests had even departed, I packed up a sack of essentials and went to the cave. For two weeks I stayed there, alone, fishing for food, eating wild berries and such. I had no plan, you understand, unless it was a vague one of dying myself.” He shrugged and laughed faintly.

“What happened?” Darcy, totally unconsciously, had risen and was now sitting in the chair across from his uncle, elbows on knees as he leaned forward and avidly listened.

“Your grandfather happened! He marched into the cave, bellowing at me to come out of the inner chamber as he was too big to squeeze in. I contemplated ignoring him for about a second, but one did not ignore my father. He did three things. First, he hugged me tight for about fifteen minutes until I finally broke down and cried. Then he abruptly pushed me away, patted my head, smiled kindly, but stated firmly, 'Enough, George. Time to get busy and move on.' Before two more days had passed I was buried in chores. He set me to working as a common servant about the Manor and volunteered my time serving the old curate, Reverend Halifax, and at the orphanage. It worked. Of course I would never forget my twin, but the aching grief ebbed in time and I learned to think beyond my own selfishness.”

He looked at his nephew, eyes serious. “Faith became very important to me. Part of the reason medicine drew me was because of Alex's death, the perhaps stupidly misplaced belief that proper care may have saved his life. Yet it also was the desire to aid God's creatures, all of whom are loved by their Creator even if they do not know Him.”

“You are a missionary, Uncle.”

George laughed. “No, not hardly! Only a man of superior medical expertise. I rarely share my religion with others, so that precludes me from being counted a missionary, but it is a vital aspect of who I am. I admire all people, even if they do not admire or respect themselves, and I do not see it my place to upset them in their religious beliefs. If they are comforted in their gods, then who am I to take that from them?”

“So, your convictions were never shaken by Hinduism?”

“You still sound surprised.” He grinned teasingly. “I am essentially a simple man, my boy. I do not like things too complicated, and the Hindu religion is far too complicated. Many tried to explain it to me and of course I do understand a great deal, but it only served to strengthen my faith. A dear friend loved to debate me on the subject, but she was never all that serious about converting me. Rather she preferred to stir me up for fun.” A tender smile lit his face, eyes soft. Darcy watched him closely, but George snapped out of his momentary trance with a cough. “Besides, they do not eat beef! Are mostly vegetarian, in fact, so it would never work!”

Darcy could make no claims to theological proficiency, having never specifically studied the subject, but his years of regular church attendance, deep faith, and regular Bible reading had translated to what he presumed was a superior knowledge on the topic. Imagine his surprise through frequent conversations with his wayward uncle to discover the far wider breadth of the older man's comprehension. They debated upon occasion, but primarily Darcy found himself listening and learning. It was the launching point where many of Darcy's preconceived ideas regarding his uncle's character and morals were proven false.

It was not that he had an overwhelmingly negative opinion of George. However, he could not previously claim to really know the man intimately, and George's general air of flippancy and irreverence had translated to Darcy as disregard for what was appropriate and moral. He eventually realized that the old prejudices of his own character that he thought eradicated after nearly losing Elizabeth were partially intact. Even his repugnance for George's keeping of a mistress ended up not being the moral debasement that he imagined.

A few days later Darcy and George accidentally discovered themselves alone, sipping lemonade on the eastern edge of the terrace.

Lizzy was resting and Georgiana was practicing her music. Richard was currently at Rivallain visiting with his brother. A stack of work requiring hours with Mr. Keith had occupied Darcy's afternoon, finishing just as the sun lay low on the western horizon. Informed by Mr. Taylor that Dr. Darcy reclined under the canopy erected away from the harsh afternoon sun, Darcy decided to join him with fresh drinks and victuals.

“Ah!” George declared upon noting the laden tray in his nephew's hands, sitting forward from his slumped repose. “What have you brought? Gooseberry tartlets and sweet cream! Divine!” He snatched one before the tray was safely placed onto the table, biting deep with a sensuous moan of delight. “Oh, Mrs. Langton, you genius. William, no matter how prestigious it is to have a French chef, if you ever replace that woman, I shall turn you over my knee.”

Darcy laughed, chewing with equal pleasure. “Have no fear, Uncle. I am a Darcy through and through, which means I appreciate excellent cuisine served in healthy proportions. If I want my son to grow as tall and hardy as me, then I would be unwise to restrict his diet to miniscule portions of rich fare. That only leaves one fat and lazy.”

They ate in silence, enjoying the array of pastries provided. George Darcy, for all his natural jocularity, was much like his nephew in that he did not suffer the pressing need to fill the space with useless chatter. The men passed as much time together in quiet companionship as they did in conversation. They happily snacked while staring at the mesmerizing play of sunlight on the rippling waters of the lake and jetting fountains. The varied sounds of nature soothed their ears and lulled tired brains. It was quite some time before the hush was broken and then it was Darcy verbalizing unconsciously what he had been dreamily musing on.

“Elizabeth and I have discussed your recommendation that I stay with her during the birth.”

“And?”

Darcy chuckled lowly, glancing at George with an arched brow. “You recall my shock at the notion? Well, for all the difference in our physical features, I do believe her expression mirrored mine. I did not bring it up forthwith but waited until late one night…”

“You deemed it wise to wait until she was adequately pliant and amenable?” George interrupted with a naughty grin and a wink, Darcy flushing but shaking his head in resignation.

“No, I needed to consider the matter and come to grips with the notion myself. Anyway, we agreed to the arrangement, although convincing Mrs. Henderson before she storms out in a contemptible rage may take some doing.”

“Do not be ridiculous. You are the Master of Pemberley, Mr. Darcy of Derbyshire, etcetera. She has nothing to say about the matter and in the aftermath of your brilliance in the birth chamber will undoubtedly see the logic and spread the word, thus starting a fashionable trend that will benefit millions. It will be a revolution sweeping all England and then Europe. They will probably name it after you and you will be famous.”

“Precisely another valid reason why I should not be there, but, alas, you have planted the seed too firmly.”

George laughed. “Do not worry, William. I will break the news to Mrs. Henderson. Women are helpless against the George Darcy charm.” He waggled his brows, Darcy shaking his head in resignation.

“Whatever you say, Uncle.” He paused, George waiting as he sensed Darcy's seriousness and knew it best to remain silent until the younger man gathered his thoughts. With low, halting voice Darcy resumed, “Tell me truthfully, Uncle. Have you seen many men in the birth chamber and can swear that it is beneficial to the woman?” He stared fixedly at the distant fountain. “I will sacrifice my life for Elizabeth's comfort without hesitation, but I confess to not relishing witnessing what reputedly is a heinous trial for the woman I love.”

“You are not all that fragile, William. As to your question, yes, I have seen many men attend and assist in birth. It is not so uncommon a practice in India. And, of course, doctors have been doing it for centuries. Personally I have always been rather affronted, pridefully insulted at the concept that childbirth is a woman's purview. As if a man cannot have the stomach for it! Besides, there is nothing more miraculous then seeing your offspring come into the world. It is beautiful.”

He concluded in a bare whisper. Darcy glanced over sharply, noting George's faraway stare and the undisguised sorrow waving over his face. A rush of intense curiosity lanced through him, but he held his tongue. The months building their relationship had revealed a man astonishingly similar to himself, and if there was anything Darcy hated, it was prying. He was a fiercely private man and knew his uncle to be the same. If George wished to share what was clearly a painful subject, then he would do so without Darcy's urging.

Therefore silence once again fell, each man lost to internal memories and musings. Enough time passed that Darcy had almost forgotten the last words vocalized when George spoke.

“I was a father for a brief time.” He looked into Darcy's surprised eyes with a grim smile and then he shrugged. “I have spoken of this to very few people. Raja does not even know. My daughter was born two months early and lived for a week. She was perfect. Bronze skin, black hair, tiny fingers and toes. We named her Bhrithi, which means cherished. I did everything I could think of, but she was too fragile. She would be ten years old if she had lived.”

He paused to swallow audibly, eyes closing as he leaned back to rest his head on the cool stones of the Manor's outer wall. “Frankly I do not know why I yet hesitate to speak of these parts of my life. Years of maintaining secrecy are difficult to break, I suppose. James knew. He was my closest friend even with the distance between us.” He smiled fondly.

“Uncle, you do not need to share this with me if it is uncomfortable.”

“Quite the contrary, William. Surprisingly I do not feel 'uncomfortable,' but merely do not wish to burden you with my affairs unnecessarily. It is all past now, but I yearn for the honest relationship I sense building between us to continue. I know you are aware that I had a mistress. Previously I was unperturbed by your reaction to the fact. I do not suffer from embarrassment or the fear of disparagement.” He laughed, opening one eye to peer at Darcy. “My towering self-esteem and arrogance is not a façade! If you thought less of me for living immorally, I honestly did not care. But, you see, this too has changed. Oh, I am still arrogant and likely will be until the day I die, but your opinion now matters. Quite annoying actually, but there you have it.”

He closed the eye, smiling dreamily. “Jharna was the wife of my mentor, Dr. Kshitij Ullas, and daughter to a marvelous friend, Thakore Sahib Pandey. She and I were friends but nothing more until after Kshitij died, well after in fact. Jharna and Kshitij were a rare find in that they truly loved each other. He was far older and a widower for many years when he married Jharna. It was an arranged marriage, as most are there, Jharna given as partial payment when Kshitij saved Pandey's life. Of course, all this transpired long before I came to India. By the time I met them they were the parents of two young boys, happily married and in love. Jharna was supremely fortunate in that she had a wealthy, influential father who doted on her and a husband who arranged for her to be cared for after he died.”

He sighed. “Hindu women have few rights, William, even worse than here, and their religion precludes them from enjoying life after being widowed. If not for a supportive family, Jharna would have been banished. Should have been, according to many, or encouraged to commit sati, suicide that is, when he died. Instead she retreated to a secluded house Kshitij prepared for her and lived as a recluse raising their sons. Our relationship evolved gradually. My love for Kshitij and grief upon his death brought us together as friends comforting each other. Two years passed before either of us realized our friendship had progressed into love. What we felt for each other, the relationship we lived was wrong on many counts from both our cultural beliefs, but nothing has ever felt so right at the same time. I begged her to marry me and come to England, but she refused. Jharna was a Hindu and her place was there. I understood this, respected her bravery and viewpoint, but the immorality of our situation distressed me. Not for what other people thought, but for my personal principles. Maybe it was weakness on our part or perhaps superior strength of conviction. I do not know. It never bothered Jharna so much. She was one of those rare souls who accept the whimsies of life as freely as the trees accept the wind and rain.”

“I wish I could have met her. She sounds remarkable.”

“That she was.”

“Tell me more.”

George looked at Darcy's trusting face, eyes full of affection, and he smiled. And he did tell him more, then and in numerous conversations that would span the future time they shared.

While the friendship and familial bond between Darcy and George flourished rapidly, aided by these solitary intervals, Lizzy's attachment was delayed. She liked him instantly at the first words out of his mouth when entering Darcy House and his compassionate care for Darcy's shoulder. Her delight in his humor was instantaneous. However, true affinity and devotion was longer in coming due to the plain fact that they passed little time alone together while in London or at Pemberley during the summer. This began to change as the fall months progressed with fewer people to entertain and divert attention. Gradually their conversations deepened, the two upon rare occasions alone for a pointed engagement.

One such incident occurred one morning as Lizzy lumbered with mildly waddling gait down the peacefully quiet second-floor hallway toward the coolness of her parlor. Breakfast was over and Darcy was already gone on a jaunt about the estate while Georgiana was with her tutor. The persistent heat combined with an ever-increasing physical burden sapped her strength, necessitating afternoons at rest and any household chores requiring her concentration be done early in the day before weariness consumed her. Thus she was heading for her parlor where a stack of papers and ledgers waited on her small desk.

Her attention was captured as she passed the yawning expanse at the top of the grand staircase. George stood in the foyer focused on one of the three gigantic tapestries that lined the southern wall below the window embrasures. With a smile she diverted from her pathway, carefully navigating the marble stairs with hand tight on the banister, and silently joined him in contemplation.

“I cannot recall how many times I lost myself in staring at these, attempting to trace the interwoven lines and memorize all the names. Do you know we actually were tested on our family tree?” He turned to Lizzy with a grin and she shook her head. “Oh yes! You would think our tutors part of the family as vigorously as they enforced our ability to readily trace our ancestry. I was always gifted in rote memorization, but Alex was pathetically inept, poor soul. The first time, I think we were maybe eight or so, I told him to just toss in a ream of Alexanders and Jameses and Henrys and Roberts and he would fool the tutor.” He laughed. “I was wrong, of course, and we both received lashes across our knuckles.”

“The first time I visited Pemberley, with my uncle and aunt, we breezed through the foyer and I confess I was struck more by the ceiling and sculptures. It was the following day that William, Mr. Darcy as he was to me then, brought us here for a closer inspection at my request. I think he was a bit embarrassed, not wishing me to think him unduly proud of his home. He was trying so hard to impress me with his humility, you see, not realizing that I was already in love with him. He steered me to the opposite side, away from the tapestries, but I noticed them anyway.”

The tapestries under discussion were enormous, masterpieces of weft-faced wool hung from four-inch-thick rods of polished oak. The first, woven in shades of forest green and gold, was ancient, tracing the Darcy family from Baron John D'Arcy in 1335 to the late 1500s. The second tapestry, maroon and silver, resumed the lineage, noting the elevation of Conyers Darcy to Earldom in 1682, a peerage that became extinct when Robert Darcy died childless in 1778. The Pemberley line of Darcys had long since diverged from the noble line when a second son, Frederick Darcy, had taken his inheritance and settled in Derbyshire to raise sheep in the mid-1400s. While the noble antecedents dwindled, the Darcys of modest wealth and prestige multiplied and financially prospered. The majority of subsequent lines were left unrecorded as the family proliferated and disseminated, but the uninterrupted chain from the current Master of Pemberley to that distant baron was explicit.

The final tapestry, navy blue and copper, was half filled with spidery lines and stitched names with dates. They stood gazing at the recent decades' entries with soft smiles elicited by the memories evoked.

“What were your thoughts?”

Lizzy laughed. “That I was woefully inadequate to ever imagine my name woven next to his. That the Bennets would be hard-pressed to trace their ancestry five or six generations, let alone nearly five hundred years! That Mr. Darcy must be thinking the same exact thing and wondering what insanity possessed him to propose to me in the first place. So many false and unimportant thoughts.”

“And here your name is,” he pointed to the embroidered Elizabeth Bennet now linked with gold filigree thread to Fitzwilliam Darcy, “and soon your child will be added. Families are all the same, Elizabeth. Filled with scoundrels, lovers, saints, sinners, noblemen, and paupers.”

“Do you not experience a sense of overwhelming pride to belong to such an auspicious heritage?”

“Indeed I do, but then it does not take much for me to be overwhelmed with arrogance.” He grinned rakishly, Lizzy shaking her head and chuckling. “Seriously, I recognize the eminence of belonging to an ancient legacy, but it is the living people who thrill me more profoundly.” He encircled her slender shoulders, hugging to his side. “Without William, Georgie, and you, none of this,” he swept a hand toward the woven genealogy, “would have any meaning. I love you, Elizabeth.”

He kissed the top of her head. Lizzy blushed, ducking her face to hide the stinging tears but patted the hand resting on her shoulder. “I love you too, George.”

Lizzy was incredibly moved by George's spontaneously offered declaration. Her affection for the older man had steadily grown in the months of his sojourn, but the frequent interruptions due to the individual travels undertaken along with the press of visitors had kept her from spending extended periods alone with him in serious conversation. Darcy managed to closet himself with his uncle dozens of times, equally for the express purpose of getting to know the older man and to avoid the unrelenting social fervor that had invaded their lives. Lizzy generally enjoyed his lively company in the presence of numerous others, rarely glimpsing the mature intelligence and earnest nature that her husband spoke of in their private moments.

This would change as the weeks of October and November unfolded. With the manor practically empty and Darcy often gone, George stringently applied himself to the dual role of manly protector and companionable entertainer. He took it upon his broad, if bony, Darcy shoulders to ensure the womenfolk were well cared for and entertained. Thus Lizzy discovered his lanky shadow looming every time she turned around. Thankfully she did not mind in the least, her affection growing until she felt as close to the good doctor as if he were truly flesh and blood.