The Plight of the Darcy Brothers (22 page)

“Have you spoken to Grégoire about this or have you just decided?”

“'Just decided,'” he said. “He is wasted in that awful monastery.”

“That does not mean he is meant to be a proper English gentleman. His devotion to his religion is real, Darcy.”

“I am not discounting it. But he should see his father's grave, and Pemberley, at least once in his life. Surely he cannot put up an argument with that.”

“If you say it in the way that you say things when you want no such argument, then yes. Which you are intending to do.”

“Lizzy, you can read me quite well.”

“You are realizing this just now?” she said, happily nestled into his shoulder. “But, truly, do not be harsh on him. If he wishes to be a monk, let him be a monk.”

“Perhaps,” Darcy said. “But maybe somewhere else—safer. Belgium, maybe. There must be a suitable monastery there. It would take some adjustment on his part but then… he would be safer. There are places where they are still destroying churches in France. Lizzy, what do you find so funny?”

“For all of your jokes about sending your sister to a nunnery,” she said, “now you seek to toss your brother out of one.”

“Technically half brother, but yes, there is some irony in that. Or karma, as Bingley would say.”

“What?”

“I've no idea, either,” Darcy admitted. “He's positively obsessed with the ways of the Indians.”

“Where that interest came into his brain, I have no idea.”

He smiled. “I love you.”

“I admit to some fondness for you as well.”

“You intentionally torture me,” Darcy said. “See? All we have to do is get Grégoire a good woman with your wit, and he will have his hands full.”

“I cannot quite imagine him even approaching a woman.”

“Wouldn't know what to do with her, despite my detailed description the other night,” he said. “I suppose I could conspire against him the same way…” But realizing where he was going, he trailed off and fell silent.

Elizabeth nearly climbed on top of him. “Darcy! What do you mean?”

“Uhm, I am inclined to keep my mouth shut at this point.”

“Then I am inclined to hear what you have to say. In fact, I am positively inclined to demand it of you, Mr. Darcy.”

Darcy put a hand over his eyes so he didn't have to look at her. “Very well. Again, I am at your mercy and must tell you a story that reflects well on neither person in it.”

“Since we said his name would be unspoken—”

“—we shall not speak it. But suffice to say, there was a time, during my first semester in Cambridge, when a certain person who may or may not have been a brother designed upon me that I should overcome my shyness and… become a man, as he put it.” Sensing from her body language that she had no objections to this story and was most enjoying it, he continued, “Rather drastic measures were taken.”

“Drastic?”

“To be blunt, he purchased the services of a courtesan, got me soused, and then locked me in a room with her and would
not unbolt it, despite all of my protests.” He added, “I have to admit, it did the job admirably.”

There was a moment of silence before they both erupted in laughter.

“You, of course, cannot employ this on poor Grégoire,” she finally said. “
Brother
Grégoire.”

“I suppose. If he is truly devout, then we will at least have a
discussion
before he takes his final vows and forces himself to a life without a lovely woman by his side. A very lovely woman.” He kissed her. “Lizzy, I could not have done this without you.”

“Save my sister? You did the job admirably once without my knowledge. You're becoming an expert on saving Bennet girls.”

“That is not what I mean, and you know it,” he said. “I love you.”

“And I cannot imagine my life without you,” she said. “I love you.”

Despite the fact that they were to leave early the next morning, the strain of traveling, and the emotional turmoil the dual situations wreaked on them both, the Darcys found enough peace for themselves that night as husband and wife. By morning, they were ready for the long journey ahead of them, arms clasped tightly together.

“I'M NOT GOING TO have to shave my head, am I?”

“I don't believe so,” Daniel Maddox said as he found the spot at last, a suspicious lump between brown hairs that he approached with his tweezers. “It appears merely to be a tick of some kind, not lice.”

“Good,” said the prince. “How did I get a tick? What is a tick?”

“Perhaps by putting your head on an unsanitary mattress. And I believe it is a type of beetle,” he replied, and motioned to the servant for the bottle of whiskey. “This may sting a bit. Hold your head still, please, Your Highness.”

The prince managed to do so, and Maddox poured a small amount of alcohol on the site, causing the embedded bug to pull back so he could pull it out. “Scissors.”

“My hair!”

“Only a snip,” he said as the servant took the bottle from him and handed him the scissors. The tick was also wrapped in hair, which he snipped, and at last he had the insect in his
tweezers. “Jar, please.” When it was handed to him, he deposited the tick and sealed the jar.

The prince looked around. “What are you going to do with it?”

“Try to determine the species. But you should be fine, sir. Though, if I may recommend, you should keep your head and any other hairy areas away from whatever conditions you previously subjected them to. These things can carry disease.” He looked at the bottle as he replaced his glasses. That was when he noticed a man in a white undergarment charge into the room, enraptured by what he was holding.

“'And thus sayeth the Lord,' burn it with fire!” said the wiry man with white hair, before walking across the room and back again, and then out the opposite door.

While Maddox was gathering his reaction to the spectacle, the prince chuckled. “You probably should have bowed to your king.”

“That—”

“—was my father, yes. But you did not recognize him, so I'll excuse it this time. And all other times that he's completely out of his head.” The prince gave him an encouraging slap on the back. “You can see why they want me to rule, eh?”

“I… have no comment.”

“Discreet as always. Well, everyone knows he's batty, anyway. He called me king once,” the prince said, lifting the whiskey bottle from the table and taking a swig himself. “King of Prussia, to be precise.”

To this, Maddox had a very hard time not responding.

When Dr. Maddox returned to his townhouse, his wife was there to greet him. “Charles is here. He's joining us for dinner.”

“Is there some news?”

“No, but he had business. Or needed a break from the Bennets,” she said as the servant removed the doctor's complicated and expensive wig, and he fluffed his hair back up. “How's the prince?”

“You know I can't tell you that.”

“I was just curious,” she said, kissing him on the cheek as she escorted him to greet their guest. Charles Bingley was in the sitting room, reading a book that Maddox did not recognize. They bowed to each other, and Maddox excused himself to change into proper attire.

“Georgiana is joining us as well—am I correct in that?” he said at his dressing station.

“Yes. But Louisa and Mr. Hurst have another engagement, so it's just us.” She lay back on the chaise, and he smiled unintentionally because she was beginning to show. “So how is the prince?”

“He is fine, and that is all I will say on the matter.”

“So discreet.”

“It is what he pays me for,” he said, and excused himself to bathe. By the time he was washed up and dressed, it was nearly time for dinner, and Georgiana Darcy had arrived.

“I've gotten a letter from Elizabeth,” she said, as they gathered, and Charles put his book away. “She even sent a little picture of Calais. Doctor, have you seen it?”

“Many times,” he said, as he eyed the card with an etching of the old city walls. He gave it to his wife. “Once, it was an impressive fortress of a city.”

“So she says. They are going south now, I imagine, to catch a boat to Rome.”

“I received a letter from Darcy,” Bingley said. “They must be some way south of Paris by now.”

“They are going all the way by carriage? If only there was some better way that was as quick,” Dr. Maddox said. “Does Mrs. Darcy mention anything else?”

“Only that she has little time to write,” Georgiana said, putting the letter away. “Mr. Bingley, what in the world are you reading?”

The book had mysterious characters on its cover, alongside English ones. “It is a book on the various languages of the Indias. Did you know there are twenty-seven?”

“Charles, if you intend to learn them all, we must find you another hobby,” Caroline said.

“Yes,” Maddox said. “Where this Bingley family obsession with languages comes from, I have no idea. Most perplexing.”

For that he got two looks—a stern one from Caroline for undercutting the chastising of her brother and a thankful one from Charles. Fortunately, the dinner bell rang, and the line of conversation did not have to be pursued.

Over dinner, Charles announced that everyone currently residing in his household was just fine, and that Georgie had finally said her first word. “Actually, it was a whole sentence.”

“My goodness,” said his sister.

“Yes. Apparently she was just saving up or something,” he said. “My wife was right on the floor. I would have been if I hadn't been carrying Geoffrey at the time.”

“Carrying or throttling?”

“
Carrying
, Caroline,” he said. “The second came later, but that is another story entirely.”

“From Eliza's side, no doubt.”

“I will have to correct you and say that, with all due respect to Darcy, I've known him since his college days and heard enough stories to say that he may have contributed to a certain child's personality.” He decided to change the subject entirely away from sibling banter. “So, how is our prince? Or I suppose you can't tell us.”

“I've never yet told you anything about a patient who wasn't a direct relative of yours or mine, and I don't intend to start now,” Maddox said as the second soup course was served.

“Have you met the king?”

“As he is not a patient, there I can relent and say yes, I have met the king. Today, in fact. We were not properly introduced, because I was an anonymous servant of his son and the king was completely out of his mind when he came in the room.”

“Now you have to finish the story,” Caroline insisted in the way that only she could.

“It is not a very long story. He came into the room half-dressed, told me to kill it with fire—not explaining what he referred to—walked around a bit, and left.”

“You saw His Majesty in his undergarments?” Georgiana whispered, as everyone was suppressing their laughter.

“I did. I didn't actually recognize him at the time, and I was not told who he was until he was gone.”

“Darling,” his wife said, “I must comment that you seem terrible at recognizing royals.” This, she did not explain to their guests.

Bingley was staying the night, with plans to leave for Derbyshire in the morning. It was not until Caroline retired and Georgiana went home that the gentlemen were left alone, and Maddox finally got to inquire as to Bingley's sudden appearance.

“Some business, some buying of books, some pleasure,” he said. “Though my sister would not be overly fond of the idea that the Bingley family is still secretly involved in trade. She thinks I am an idle gentleman. Then again, she did not marry an idle gentleman, so maybe she has warmed to the idea.”

“Perhaps,” the doctor said with a smile as they shared a glass.

“So I suppose her confinement will have to be in Town. I was going to invite you to Chatton. Perhaps you will not mind a semi-frequent guest?”

“Of course not,” Dr. Maddox said.

“She is getting along well? Jane has been wonderful, but I think the twins have worn her out. God help me if she gets pregnant again anytime soon.”

“Caroline is doing fine,” Dr. Maddox said with a smile, amused at Bingley's concern for his sister. “Her only complaint so far has been that she is going to need her gowns adjusted, because she will not go about the house in nightclothes like so many women. Or, that's how she puts it.”