“To you, I am sure he is.”
“It was foolhardy of you to go so far. Surely you must share some responsibility for your current ailment.”
“I would agree with you if not for the fact that I did not truly understand the consequences. I expected to be a little stiff, not incapacitated. I had heard of the term ‘saddle sore’, but I did not know the condition involves…wounds. Mr Johnson scored his point because of my naiveté.”
“What point do you think he was possibly attempting to make?” he asked coldly.
“I believe he intends to punish me.”
“Punish you! For what?”
“For marrying you, for the pheasants, for not being someone else. I do not know, and perhaps he does not either. I came to Pemberley believing the only person with the right to punish me was my husband, but apparently, that, too, was naïve.” I spoke with quiet indignation, which I expressed through the raising of my brows and the waving of my hands.
Mr Darcy looked quite uncomfortable then and seemed to struggle for something to say but was interrupted when Harrison knocked and handed me the letter I had written to my aunt. I broke the seal and retrieved the smaller letter enclosed inside. This, too, I opened and handed to Mr Darcy. He took it and retreated to his desk where he laid it down and stood over it with both hands flat beside it, his head bent in concentration. He looked up briefly at me and then finished the letter.
“I see,” he said soberly.
“I am glad one of us does,” I crisply replied.
He drummed his fingers on the desk and did not speak for a full minute as he stared again at the page. “I am by no means an expert,” he murmured. “But,” he said at last, “these symptoms seem to be—well, I hardly know how to couch it.”
“Then pray do not couch it. I hope I am not a completeidiot and will be able to comprehend whatever you tell me bluntly.”
“Mrs Travers may have a venereal complaint.”
My hand went involuntarily to my forehead. “Good God,” I whispered.
“I will send to London for my own physician,” he said at last.
“That you will not, sir. Mrs Travers consulted me privately. She expects me to act privately. The arrival of your physician to see her will be much remarked upon by everyone, and she will rightly accuse me of sharing her distress with the world!”
“But what are you to know about these things?” he asked in exasperation. “Your father’s solicitor assured me that you were?—”
“Chaste. Yes, Mr Darcy, I am. But I am now a married woman and Mistress of Pemberley besides. I am expected to manage this delicate matter, and I intend to do so.”
“How precisely can you do so if you are as you say?”
“I may be inexperienced, but I am not ignorant,” I said stiffly. “Since we apparently no longer need the opinion of my uncle’s friend as to the nature of her complaint, I intend to find a doctor from Manchester or Sheffield or somewhere we can find a reliable man. This Mr Waverley—what can he be thinking to shush her complaints?”
“He has served the estate for thirty years.”
“Perhaps he has, but in this instance, he seems to be serving only her husband by protecting his secrets. Forgive me if this is a cynical view, but what else should I think if he is not to be accused of outright quackery?”
“He will not take the arrival of a newcomer very well.”
“Then I rely on you to make him reasonable or to determine it is time for him to retire.I can only do so much in this case, and I intend to be useful to Mrs Travers, even if it costs me this—thisdoctor’sgood opinion. How will I find someone to consult?”
“I will make enquiries.”
“Very well. I thank you. May I be excused?” I took up my letters and did not wait for an answer.
I felt cross, sore, and horribly ill-used.
A venereal complaint! Lord help me!
17
FITZWILLIAM DARCY
