Mr. Darcy's Great Escape (29 page)

“Well,
I
didn't, and
I'm
tired of dealing with an obstinate husband who won't let his body rest, is making himself sick, and is cross with us because of it.” She kissed him on the cheek. “I did it because I can't stand to see you suffer for one minute longer. And I don't regret it. I love you, Daniel, but you sometimes have no idea of what's best for you and must cede that authority to your wife. Now, lie down and rest.”

“I—here? Now?” Because, honestly, he was feeling quite wonderful and had no desire to just sleep it off. Well, maybe exhaustion was finally getting to him, but this was the first time he wasn't in pain… in as long as he could remember. It was all a little fuzzy.

“Yes.” She helped him lie down on his couch. “I'll see that you're not to be disturbed. Now be still and rest, Daniel.”

“Yes, marm,” he said, trying to raise one hand to touch her before she left, but it just flapped up and fell down. She seemed to blow him a kiss as she had the double doors to the room shut behind her. She'd taken off his glasses too, so that didn't help. Yes, there was no reason to fight it. It felt different this time. He'd been drugged for the surgery, of course, but that was unavoidable and necessary to protect his heart from the pain. And then there was darkness after that, and he was back in England, falling asleep in his sitting room like any lazy rich man with a house in West London, while his wife did some pretty embroidery and his children ran circles around Nurse. Nothing had happened or changed, and all was right in the world. He could, at last, rest.

That was the last thing he remembered until he was listening to the same servant repeat something over and over again. He had the feeling he'd heard it many times now, without any recognition, as he was cruelly pulled out of sleep. He had a crick in his neck from his position. He managed to grab his glasses and put them on to face the very nervous but insistent servant. “Yes?” But it came out more of a
yesh.

“The—his Royal Highness to see you, sir.”

He was hallucinating. How delightful. “Terrific. Send him in.”

Sick Visit

“My God, man,” said the Regent. “I've never seen you so content. You must be taking some of your own medicine, if you know what I mean.”

“I do,” he slurred, gesturing for His Highness to take a seat. He was still lying on the couch, his head propped up by the pillows. “Wife—drugged me.”

“Is this a regular habit of hers?”

“I
wish
,” he said as they shared a laugh. “Seriously—I swore off it all years ago. Years and years. You know.” He closed his eyes. “I'm
serious
.”

“You are a terribly serious man. It is good for a doctor, but a bit frustrating at times. I imagine you will be in some fits when you come off this stuff and realize whom you were talking to.”

“Oh, I'd be in a
lot
of trouble,” Dr. Maddox said. “First, I can't even—even get up to bow. You have to do that a lot with royalty.”

“Of course,” said the Regent. “And your patient is probably an incomparable arse.”

“No, but I'm sick of treating his venereal diseases,” he said. “God. I told him not to sleep with people who must be so
obviously
diseased—”

“Come now, Doctor. Not all of us have your expertise.”

“Must I write an essay or something? Honestly.” He tried to pick his head up as he heard the sound of metal clinking and saw his son running through the exasperated legs of two guards with gigantic ceremonial lances, barring entrance to the now-open doors. Frederick Maddox was only five and so had no real trouble maneuvering around them and racing to his father's side.

“Aunt Nady wants to know if you want to eat with us later.”

“Where's—where is your mother?”

“Out. She said she had to get Uncle Brian new clothing because he dresses all crazy.”

“Your Uncle Brian does dress like a crazy person,” he said, petting his son's mop of brown hair. “Now turn around and say hello to our guest.”

“Yes,” said the Regent. “I would be delighted to make the acquaintance. I assume this is the young master.”

Frederick turned around and bowed politely to him. “Frederick Maddox, sir.”

“You have a sister, don't you?”

“Emily. But she's taking a nap.” He said, “Don't you know any manners, sir?”

“I know quite a bit about manners, Frederick!” said the Regent, and Daniel laughed. “Why do you ask?”

“Because you're supposed to stand up, bow, and say your name. It's polite.”

“Did your father teach you that?”

“He did! He taught me everything I know.”

“Well, then,” said the Regent, “he should have taught you that I am a prince and, therefore, not required to bow to anyone but my own father, who can't tell me from a tree anyway.”

“Really? My father can't see too well, but I think he could tell me from a tree,” Frederick said.

“You are much smaller than a tree,” Dr. Maddox said. “That is the giveaway.”

“See? Your father is very clever,” the Regent said, putting one of his hands on Frederick's tiny shoulders. “He is one of the smartest men I know. You'd do well to listen to him, even when he's out of his senses, which I suspect he is at the moment.” He patted him. “Now, run along and play or whatever normal children do at your age.”

That was all Frederick needed to scamper off at top speed, leaving confused guards in his wake. The Regent was silent, and Dr. Maddox was sure he was close to nodding off when the Regent finally said, “I am not in the custom of visiting my doctors in their homes. Perhaps I should inquire beforehand as to whether they are sitting in a drugged stupor before making my appearance.”

Dr. Maddox giggled.

The Regent stood up, walked over to stand over Maddox, who put his glasses back on so he could see him more clearly. “You should know you were missed. Your temporary substitute is terrible.”

Dr. Maddox's mind couldn't quite process much of this. “Thank you?”

“And I commend you on your parenting skills. Good day, Dr. Maddox.”

“Good day. Night. Either one.”

He was already asleep again when the supposed apparition disappeared the way he came.

***

Dr. Maddox awoke some time later—how much, he could not tell—to a red blur that eventually became the form of his daughter, scrunched next to him on the couch. “Hello, darling,” he said. He had a foul taste in his mouth, but otherwise felt fine, almost calm, the pain in his hand reduced to a mild throb. He pulled her in and kissed her on the cheek. “I missed you.”

“Mama is very upset,” Emily said.

“Oh? What did your uncle do now?”

“It isn't Uncle Brian.”

“Oh?” he said, straightening his glasses. “What did
I
do now?”

“You got a letter.”

Mildly intrigued, he eventually sat up, set his daughter down, and meandered out of his sitting room. He made it only a few steps into the hallway when his wife held up a letter to his face. “What is
this
?”

“Hmm.” He took it from her—carefully, for it looked to be on very expensive paper—and held it up to his eyes, pushing his glasses up, where they promptly got stuck in his ridiculous wig. “It seems to be a letter from the Crown.”

“Well, read it, why don't you!”

It was indeed a very expensive document, not folded, and with the royal seal hanging from it. The handwriting he did not recognize, but all of the documents he received from Charlton were always written by the steward or some lesser person.

To Dr. Daniel Maddox,

I will excuse the lack of proper reception on the grounds that you were positively senseless, and a physician's home staff is not usually accustomed to a Royal Presence. Nonetheless I am relieved with your return, as the substitute surgeon is terrible in numerous ways that I will no doubt enumerate at my next appointment.

Your permission for leave with payment is still in effect for the remainder of your convalescence. When you feel well enough to return to the Service, do not tarry. Say hello to your wife, whom, I am assured, is nothing like my own Caroline.

His Royal Highness, The Prince of Wales,

Regent of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland,

George Augustus Frederick

“Oh God,” Dr. Maddox said, “I thought that was a dream.”

“How could you possibly think a visit from the Regent was a dream?” Caroline shouted. Actually, it was more of a shriek.

“Well, I was… quite
senseless
,” he said. “I don't quite remember what was said, something about a tree.” He thought to himself that it was probably better that he didn't remember what he might have said, as it would just lead to a lot of panic that neither of them could actually do anything about. “Was anyone else here?”

“Nadezhda and the children, but they were not requested, apparently. He came and went, according to the servants.”

“So Brian was not here? He is a prince, you know. They could have chatted about… princely things, I don't know.”

“You are not taking this seriously!”

“I suppose not,” he said rather calmly. “I think I am honestly too exhausted to care. Besides, he clearly wrote that there was no harm done.” He handed the letter back to her. “Where is Her Highness?”

“In the garden.”

“In the garden? In November?”

“She did grow up in Transylvania,” Caroline said, clearly trying to accustom herself to his unnaturally mellow mood. Caroline Maddox would keep her composure, thank you very much.

The still-befuddled doctor excused himself and put on a coat before opening the door to the small garden in the courtyard, where Nadezhda Maddox was working in the soil.

“Your Highness,” he said in German, standing in the doorway. Instantly his son came around the shrubbery, considerably better insulated than the foreign princess.

“Father! I met the king!”

“Really,” he said, frowning. “You mean the Regent? Come inside; you'll catch cold.” He turned his attention back to Nadezhda, who rose and turned to him and he bowed. “Was the Prince Regent here, by any chance?”

“Yes,” she said in German, unaffected by the searing winter winds. “Very briefly.”

“Did he speak to my son?”

“He did.”

“So Frederick was asked to join us?”

“No, I believe he ran in to ask you something, and ran out.”

“Oh.” He was not quite sure what to make of it. He wondered if she knew the connection. Come to think of it, probably. “Well… this will probably never happen again, but if it does, keep Frederick somewhere else.”

“Ja,” she said, curtseyed, and then returned to her gardening.

Freezing himself, Dr. Maddox closed the door and turned immediately to Frederick, still bundled in scarves. “What did you say to the Regent?”

“Things.”

“Things?”

“Mother
already
asked me about it,” Frederick said, annoyed. “He's very fat.”

“He is, but I hope to God in heaven you did not say such a thing,” he said, trying to maintain some semblance of calm.

“Aren't you his doctor? Can you make him less fat?”

“I have tried, believe me, but every man is in charge of his own destiny,” he said, kneeling beside his son so they were eye level. “What did he say to you? Do you remember?” He put his arms on his son's shoulders. “Please, it is important.”

“Nothing! He just said you were smarter than him and his dad can't see very well, or something. He told me to listen to you.”

“Really?” he said.

“Yes! Why does everyone care so much? He is just a man.”

“Yes,” he said, laughing softly. “I suppose he is.” He pulled his son in and, despite some resistance on Frederick's end, held him as tightly as he could. “I love you, son. Always remember that.”

“Yes!” his son said. “Everyone's so queer today.”

He laughed, feeling his eyes tear up. “I wish that was the least of it.”

***

Darcy had no wish to visit Rosings. He did not make it known by words, but by expression that he had even less desire to be sociable than normal. He had irrationally resisted having his head shaved before giving in at the doctor's insistence and would not even be seen until his sides were beginning to grow back. He made his desire to return to Pemberley, as soon as possible, readily known. In fact, it was often all he said in a day that was not a monosyllabic answer.

There was one remaining issue that needed settling in Town. Sensing his reaction would not be an easy one to handle, Elizabeth had instructed Georgiana to keep the business with Lord Kincaid to herself, and instead fill him in on whatever else he was willing to listen to with a rather blank expression on his face.

Lord Matlock came by once before leaving with the papers for Rosings and reassured Elizabeth, “He needs time.”

“I've never seen him—”

“He's in a state of shock. It will wear off.” He added, “It cannot be made to happen any faster.”

When she decided it could be avoided no longer, Elizabeth sat down with Darcy in the study and carefully explained the long courtship between Georgiana and the earl, William Kincaid. She modified some of the dates, so it would not seem that Georgiana had already been in the earl's acquaintance while Darcy was still in England, to soften the blow.

There was a brief silence before Darcy, devoid of any passion or emotion, simply said, “No.”

She was not quite sure what to say to this. “Husband, you must further explain your answer.”

“I am not obligated to do so.”

“You are assuming too much of my abilities to read you. Do you mean you do not wish to consider this now, or you reject my consent for the courtship, or you simply do not believe me?”

An expression passed over his face. “You know what I mean.”

“Lord Matlock also agreed—”

“He was her guardian when she was a child,” he said coldly. “He is not her brother. This matter does not concern him.”

Elizabeth tried to be patient with him. She was told, quite clearly, by the doctor that being made continuously upset was bad for her condition, as if that had not happened enough times already in the last few months. “I am merely saying that I counseled with the next available authority in your absence, and we both agreed upon speaking to Lord Kincaid that the arrangement was entirely acceptable—”

“There is no agreement!” he shouted. It was a fearsome thing even without him moving much to do it. “Georgiana is not marrying—or courting—that Scot!”

“Do you have a complaint to lodge against Lord Kincaid's person?”

“I am not lodging a complaint!” he said. “This is not a court where I petition for a movement. He is not courting her, and she is not marrying him, and if she wants to hear that herself, she can come in here, and I will tell her!”

Elizabeth did allow herself a bit of loss of temper. “May I remind you, Mr. Darcy, that she is no longer of an age where she requires your consent?”

“Georgiana would not do something I did not consent to,” he said. “I know her, and I know she would never do such a thing.” She wanted to respond (even though he was technically correct in this regard), but he continued, “If she is so intent on marrying this man, why doesn't she make the request herself? Why must it come from you? Do you think you need to protect her from me?” His voice was now officially above the norm. “This is
my
sister, whom I have given my life to protecting! Do you think I do not have her best interests at heart? Or that you, of no blood relation, would have better ideas?”

“
Mr. Darcy!
”

“Mr. Darcy
what
? Yes, yes, I am Mr. Darcy!” he said. “You think yourself more intelligent than me?
You think I'm mad
?”