Page 26 of The Winter of Our Discontent (Pride and Prejudice Variations #1)
FITZWILLIAM DARCY
I leave for London in the morning. The roads will be bad, but the snows have not come, and I intend to go.
My sister has charged me with purchases. Priority is to be given to acquiring, on her behalf, Christmas gifts for her to give to my wife and Mrs Annesley. I am to find fur-lined gloves, bespoke sheet music, and a brace of novels by Madame de Stael.
Georgiana’s manner towards me has changed.
She is not so in awe of me as she was, for which I am grateful, but neither is she disposed to seek my company.
I recall many days when she was twelve that I had to resort to evasions to avoid her, so faithfully did she want me.
Now, she observes me with a tiny frown creasing her brow and speaks to me in a slightly distant way.
Perhaps I should buy her a new pianoforte for Christmas.
Since the library meetings have been suspended, I have had no direct news of the confidential matter from Mrs Darcy.
I regret allowing her to dictate the end of our daily appointments, having belatedly realised the practicality of the arrangement.
If I were to insist upon renewing our meetings, however, I risk giving the impression I want her company, which I do not.
When I indulge in the fantasy of commanding her to appear in the library at the prescribed time, she arrives—in the theatre of my imagination—with every expectation that I have something specific to say, such as to apologise for my boorish behaviour the last time we met there.
She has somehow wrestled power from me in this and every other matter, hence my retreat to London. She has worn me to a frayed string. When—if—I return to Pemberley for the yuletide, I hope to have Richard with me and perhaps I will then say something offhand about resuming our daily appointments.
Meanwhile, I had yet to hear where matters stood with Mrs Travers et al, so yesterday, I rode to Yardley’s cottage.
I was lucky. He was at home but planning to ride out to visit the Pointer children, all down with the cough, a visit he claimed was not urgent and could be made later.
On pretence of offering to purchase apothecary items for him in London, I presented myself as being at his service.
He invited me in and heated water on the hob and put together a serviceable tea.
His cottage was clean, with dried lavender in a crock on the table, a checked cloth on the board, and a banked fire in the grate.
He was amiable and forthcoming, and I found myself slumping into my chair—indeed, it was a chair from my study three years ago.
I was suddenly limp from the sheer relief of not having to hold myself so ‘en garde’ as I do at Pemberley.
We spoke for a long while about the venereal disease on the estate.
He admitted his own relief at being able to speak to me directly, adding he had planned to solicit a private appointment for that purpose.
He then confided that he had been vague with Mrs Darcy, since the details are too sordid for a lady to hear.
He has treated seven farmers already, in addition to the three women I was aware of and one more besides.
Curious as to the source of this contagion, he discovered her to be a recent addition to the local gin hut—a youngish woman with blonde hair and a comely figure.
Relating his similar experiences with midshipmen and newly commissioned lieutenants let loose at Gibraltar, he shook his head at the prospect of the youngsters on the estate coming into enough coin to visit her on quarter day.
I shared his alarm when I considered the likelihood and suggested that we pay this unfortunate woman to leave the area.
Yardley, being practical, agreed, adding that he should dose her first to spare the next neighbourhood she visits.
I gave him my note of hand, the amount of which was excessive, but I wanted him to have the power to negotiate an end to our present troubles.
He laughed and said his hope was a humbler wish to have to dole out no more mercury, a principal item on his list of needs.
Our tea ran out. We progressed to a decent sherry, compliments of the squire’s lady who consulted him for bursitis.
The conversation became far ranging. I found him much more tolerable when I was not fretting he would cause someone in my household to fall in love with his limpid ease and smoky-eyed looks.
These thoughts led me to ask if he considered taking a wife, and with a rueful smile, he said he had lately been crossed in love, that the lady would not have him, and that he would rather not partake for the nonce.
The sherry bottle being empty, we progressed to a tipple of brandy.
Yardley then enquired as to my health, and I confessed to him my fatigue.
He was quick to blame the demands of the estate which is partially true.
I did not add that my slow burning anger was the deeper source of my exhaustion.
Thankfully, he thought better of prescribing for me. I do not like to be physicked.
Several hours later, I stumbled away, slightly foxed and very sleepy, with a long list of potations and compounds to requisition while in London.