Sharon Lathan - The Trouble with Mr. Darcy

“If you are not already with child,” Darcy’s subdued rumble broke the calm, “perhaps we conceived this afternoon. It was remarkable,” he finished with understatement.

There was humor in his tone but also a hint of hopefulness. She squeezed his waist once again before recommencing a tactile investigation of his figure.

“You no longer have any fears at the possibility? No lingering dismay for the ill timing?”

“I never felt dismay at the idea of another baby, my heart. My fears were only for your health and for our relationship.” He paused, voice dropping into a husky timbre. “Those fears were ludicrous. I should have trusted in what we have learned and in what we have built together. God in His mercy has given us many blessings and He will care for us.”

She lifted onto her elbows, lying half over his body, and looked into his eyes. “I have a strong suspicion that this afternoon’s assignation shall have no bearing on a conception that has already occurred, but it is nice to hear your positive thoughts on the subject. After all, there are dozens of rooms vacant at Pemberley to fill.”

“A dozen may be difficult to accomplish”—he laughed—“even for us! I am content to fill a portion of the bedchambers and leave the remainder to be occupied by visiting children. Pemberley has her limits and with the rapid procreation happening around us, I daresay there may come a day when we reach maximum capacity!”

Departures were becoming an ordeal these days. Two small children required an astounding amount of luggage and space, not to mention the addition of two servants and their bags into a second carriage. At least George had never hired a valet, his decades of traveling fast and light fostering self-sufficiency. Georgiana was to stay behind with her companion, Mrs. Annesley, in the care of Richard and Simone, so Samuel, Marguerite, Mrs. Hanford, and Miss Lisa were comfortably situated together without a third carriage necessary.

Adding to the sheer volume of persons and baggage to safely stow aboard with footmen working overtime, saying good-bye was now a grand spectacle. Alexander associated leaving his Aunt Giana behind to the long separation while she toured the Continent and no amount of explanation placated. Thus the tears and dramatics were on a massive scale, Darcy finally forced to pry the sobbing toddler out of his aunt’s arms and plop him onto the seat next to George, all of them attempting to ignore the tears and downcast expression that was as humorous as it was piteous. Not wanting to augment the perceived tragedy of the parting, everyone else jumped into the vehicle, Darcy knocking on the roof as the signal to move the second the door closed, and barely said farewell to the waving Georgiana and Mr. Butler.

Thankfully, Michael slept through the leave-taking foolishness—his temper tantrum not to start until the stop at Swanley—and Alexander regained his cheeriness when unfamiliar terrain was seen. “Where are we now, Papa?”

“We are in Eltham, Son. London is officially behind us and we are on the edges of Kent.”

“Be there soon?”

“Not as yet. Cousin Anne and Lady Catherine live far south and Kent is large.” He smiled and ruffled Alexander’s curls, the boy wearing a slightly confused expression.

“Do you remember your cousins Anne and Raul?”

Alexander’s frown deepened at his father’s question, his young mind trying in vain to place faces to the names that were vaguely familiar.

“It has been over eight months,” Lizzy noted. “Do not worry on it, love. You will remember once we arrive, especially when you lay eyes on scary Lady Catherine.”

“Elizabeth,” Darcy chided, without extreme emphasis, returning his attention to Alexander and ignoring Lizzy’s smirk. “Your Aunt Catherine,” he stressed, “will be thrilled to see you.” Lizzy snorted. “But I suspect you will have the greatest fun playing with the Collins twins. Do you remember Miss Rachel and Miss Leah?”

Alexander thought on it for a few moments, and then brightened. “We played with furry little dogs on lawn, yes, Papa?”

“Indeed you did, although I might suggest refraining from mentioning that fact to your Aunt Catherine. She prefers to think of her corgis as special dogs who do not play with children.” He paused, Alexander’s confused face at such a bizarre concept initiating a lengthy dialogue on show quality dogs versus dogs that protect and are to be played with. Clearly Alexander thought that was the strangest idea imaginable, a notion Darcy could not argue with.

Nevertheless, between reminders of the various Rosings and Hunsford inhabitants, canine discussion, and observations of the passing scenery, time passed swiftly. After a brief halt to rest the horses and quiet Michael, he definitely not adjusting to carriage travel despite the recent journeys, they resumed their course. Alexander hopped between his father and Uncle Goj, depending on which window offered the most exciting view.

It was as they passed the iron gates marking the northern boundaries of Rosings Park, the Gothic spires of the mansion visible in the distance beyond the trees, that Alexander’s hazy memories from his visit here the prior year began to reemerge.

“That the dark house, yes, Papa?”

Lizzy laughed. “Yes, it is quite dark, especially compared to Pemberley. Narrow, twisted hallways with few lights and gloomy tapestries combine for an interesting dwelling place. Not sure about you, but I am always relieved to walk out the door into the sun.”

“I wonder if Anne secretly looks toward the day when she is in control and can rip those horrid wall coverings down,” George muttered, eyeing the approaching house with a sour cast. “I pray she discards the dreary carpets and more than half the furnishings. Only then will the place be moderately hospitable.”

“Have no fear, Son. It really is not that bad,” Darcy addressed to Alexander with a stern warning to his uncle. “You will not be alone and I insist on lamps in our quarters.”

But Alexander appeared the opposite of fearful. Rather he was grinning and bouncing on the seat. “Big house with real armor knights! And swords and shields and, and, pemmants, and canon, and…”

The adults burst into laughter, Darcy squeezing the exuberant child tight. “You would remember the armory! Perfect place for a boy to play, although it is best we do it quietly when your Aunt Catherine is away, agreed?”

Alexander nodded, his grin as broad as Darcy’s. “We have adventure, Papa? Exciting adventures?”

“We shall play adventures, how about that? I think we have had enough adventures lately, thank you.” Darcy’s voice was light and grin intact, but he could not control the shiver that ran through his muscles.

Lizzy leaned for a soft kiss to Alexander’s cheek, her hand warm and reassuring on Darcy’s thigh. “Life offers plenty of adventures, my sweet. Let us pray for only the normal ones of fun and play and siblings and travels from here on out, shall we?”

The nods of agreement were vehement, the silent prayers soaring heavenward. Michael chose that moment to release an ear-piercing screech of delight, apparently agreeing with the sentiment, and although they all winced, it was a humorous moment. Thus with laughter and lifted hearts the final short bend in the road was taken. The family universally welcomed the coming visit with loved ones and embraced the longer road of life that stretched out before them.

Ether was discovered in 1275 by Spanish chemist Raymundus Lullus, but it was Valerius Cordus in 1540 who synthesized ether into “sweet oil of vitriol” and praised its medicinal properties, chief of which was the alleviation of pain. His contemporary, Paracelsus, noted that sleep was induced when chickens ingested the liquid. The name was changed to “ethereal spirits” or “ether” in 1730 by German scientist W.G. Frobenius. Friedrich Hoffmann (1660-1742) combined it with ethyl alcohol and marketed it as “Hoffman’s Anodyne” as a treatment for cramps, earache, dysmenorrhea, and toothache. James Graham (1745-94), proprietor of the Temple of Hymen and the Celestial Bed, was a noted addict, habitually and publicly inhaling a couple of ounces several times a day. At this time ether became a recreational drug, along with nitrous oxide, with users celebrating parties called “ether frolics” to enjoy the hallucinogenic, euphoric effects before falling asleep. By 1790, inhaled ether was widely used by doctors in England to treat patients with consumption and other pulmonary ailments. It would not be until the experiments of Dr. Crawford Long in 1842 and Dr. William Morton in 1846 when cloths soaked in ether and inhaled by patients during minor surgery intrigued the serious medical community to develop techniques using ether as an anesthetic.

In 460 BC, Hippocrates described postpartum “fever,” which produced “agitation, delirium, and attacks of mania.” The 11th century writings of the gynecologist Trotula of Salerno note that, “if the womb is too moist, the brain is filled with water, and the moisture running over to the eyes, compels them to involuntarily shed tears.” Famed French psychiatrist Esquirol (1772-1840) wrote of the “mental alienation of those recently confined and of nursing women.” That some new mothers experienced unusual symptoms including melancholy all the way to psychosis was documented, but largely ignored by the medical community until 1858. Marcé’s Treatise on Insanity in Pregnant, Postpartum, and Lactating Women specifically delineated accounts of puerperal psychosis and depression, paving the way for greater studies and acknowledgement.

The fields of physiological and clinical chemistry—the study of chemicals in bodily fluids and how they work in the body—began in Britain in earnest around 1750. Dozens of physiologists lectured and researched, writing theses on the subject. It was this exploding area of science that gave Mary Shelley the ideas for Frankenstein, published in 1816. They built upon the ideals first proposed by others, including Descartes, who believed that life could be fully explained by chemical and physical principles alone.

Mental illnesses have been recognized from the dawn of time, although not well understood in general. Despite the inhumanity of many asylums and the bizarre “treatments” applied, there were doctors who strived to understand mental illnesses and apply science. The medieval Islamic physicians were highly advanced. As early as the 7th century they built hospitals and provided psychotherapy, medications, and even music and occupational therapy! The 11th century Persian physician Avicenna coined the term “physiological psychology” and associated mental illness with emotions. He also pioneered neuropsychiatry, recognizing the neurologic pathology to dementia, epilepsy, melancholia, and stroke, to name a few. England’s Bethlem Royal Hospital in London was founded in the 13th century and, despite the negative reputation, was the world’s first center for research and healing of the mentally ill. The location and official name has changed, but for more than 750 years Bethlem has been a part of London and maintained its specialization. In 1948 it combined with Maudsley Hospital and continues to be a leader in mental health research and services.

All of these sciences, and many others, interrelated and built upon each other. Physiological psychology—the branch of psychology that studies the biological and physiological basis of behavior—would not be referred to as such until around 1880, but the foundations to this understanding were laid in the centuries prior.

Growth is an inevitable by-product of being an author, but we do not get there alone. At least not as easily or with our sanity intact!

Trailblazing authors in the Jane Austen genre who boldly declared that writing characters created by another are a valid form of literature and worthy to be published are on the top of my list for thanks. They faced the ridicule first, forged ahead with the help of equally brave publishers, and made it possible. Now the number of published Austen fiction writers is expanding daily. So much so that a bunch of us formed a blog to share our love of Jane Austen and our pride in delving uniquely into her world—Austen Authors at www.austenauthors.com.

A special thank you to Carrie Flores, Regional Director of the Central Valley California JASNA. Carrie reached out to me and welcomed me with an open heart. Her kindness combined with the friendliness of others within our group has allowed me to be a part of the Austen community in a way I did not previously think was possible.