Page 23 of The Winter of Our Discontent (Pride and Prejudice Variations #1)
FITZWILLIAM DARCY
Whatever Richard has to say for his companion’s reputation and experience, Yardley strikes me as far too young to serve as a physician here.
He is approximately the same age as my cousin, at two-and-thirty, favoured with a look of intelligence, breeding, and refinement that calls to mind George Wickham.
I have come to understand that a certain appearance almost guarantees a man social success, and this man has the winsome grey eyes and long elegant nose of a poet that would make him the rage of London’s saloons.
Although I could not take exception to anything in particular about him, I heartily wished not to be obliged to invite him to Pemberley.
Recollecting the situation at hand with Mrs Travers and Mrs Pirtle, however, I unbent and did my duty. Mr Yardley is now my guest.
Richard has since accused me of behaving towards the man as if I am in need of surgery to remove a riding crop from my personal anatomy.
He then felt the need to goad me with the remark that I cannot hate my wife at the same time as I guard her like a jealous hound.
He prated on that perhaps Mrs Darcy and Mr Yardley should be thrown together so that they could conduct an affair, and I could then submit myself to the scandal-broth of divorcing her for adultery.
After sitting silently while this waterfall of gibberish poured forth, I said—in a rational tone—that my concern was for Georgiana.
I do not want my sister falling in love with some itinerate clap doctor.
To this he laughed aloud and slapped his leg, saying I was a worse prude than Mr Grundy, which I took to mean that he classed me in the same mould as Lady Catherine’s righteously moralistic, nitwit parson.
Richard left me to stew after a parting quip that Mrs Darcy may well have entrapped me, but she did not strike him as entirely awful, and perhaps I ought to have that riding crop removed if I plan to fill my nursery.
My cousin enjoys his crass humour very much, and I began to hope Wellington would send him to Spain.
Meanwhile, I am charged with running a significant estate, a burden he refuses to try to comprehend, and I must now arrange for Yardley to meet my wife, so the three of us can develop a plan for the confidential matter.
I have yet to anticipate any meeting involving that woman without a feeling of trepidation.
I did not tear this entry out of my diary, having given up censoring my entries. I had nothing to write if I could not write what was, for me, reality. The exercise was too cathartic, too valuable, and in the back of my mind, I supposed I would burn the lot of my diaries at some point.
Upon the designated time of our meeting, it fell to me to make the introductions.
“May I present my wife?” They curtseyed and bowed and said meaningless things between them. I minutely observed them for signs of sexual interest. Discerning nothing of the kind, I continued to observe them for any such signals that might arise.
Mrs Darcy was dressed in a slim, elegant gown that did not appear to be new, unusually expensive, or even particularly remarkable.
I could hardly accuse my wife of dressing to impress and seduce, as was Caroline Bingley’s sartorial habit.
But I did not absolve her of exercising a form of allurement in the manner in which she carried a gown so offhandedly—as complementary, yet secondarily to herself.
She did not glide forth like a swan, a particular style I found lightly irritating, but she moved like a brisk breeze that ruffled the room.
It was this vigour—her vitality, in fact—that I resented.
Yardley’s eyes brightened, his somewhat artistic posture improved, and he seemed to hang on the woman’s every word.
Suddenly, they both looked at me expectantly, and I was forced to clear my throat to give me time to think of what I should be saying to them.
“Yes,” I said, pacing towards the window. Once there I turned. “We have a delicate problem at Pemberley. Mrs Darcy has been approached by two?—”
“Now three.”
“Three?”
“Mrs Butters, sir.”
“Bloody hell! Butters as well?” I resisted the rote, customary apology required after cursing in the presence of a woman, because I was not sorry at all.
I would now have to conduct this already awkward meeting in a state of unbecoming agitation for which I blamed the well-dressed woman who looked at me with her unblinking crow eyes.
Turning to the doctor, I spoke in an officious tone.
“A complaint, common to apparently several women on the estate now, has arisen.” I pulled Mrs Darcy’s letter out of my pocket.
“This is a letter my wife wrote with the intent of soliciting a second opinion from a physician in London. After consulting me, I determined to locate someone to review this matter first hand. I would prefer she not recite to you the particulars, but you will see for yourself what my conclusion has been.”
Yardley looked quizzically between my wife and I. He was rather too all-seeing for my taste, but the days of comfortable assurance were so far behind me, sharing a teaspoon of my marital infelicity with another man left me feeling slightly less harassed.
After a cursory review of the letter, Yardley looked up, not at me as he should have, but at Mrs Darcy.
“And now you say there are three women with similar complaints?”
“Yes. Mrs Travers has seen a man in Derby and was prescribed a remedy, but I am given to understand she still suffers. This is a matter of delicacy, sir. I have been approached by all three with the assumption of confidence but also with the expectation I will break that confidence with discretion in order to provide them with some assistance. I really do not know how to proceed.”
“No, how could you? This is a situation you did not expect to face when newly married and thrust into a large holding as mistress.” The doctor then had the effrontery to look upon my wife with commiserating tenderness. “What of the families?”
My wife explained the number of children and their approximate ages, a troop of a dozen youngsters ranging from infancy to thirteen.
She assured Yardley, upon his questioning, that none of the women were in expectation of more children, that according to her sources, the husbands were not known wife beaters or raging drunks, and that the individuals involved struck her as solid, reliable men.