Page 2 of To Love And To Cherish
Darcy nodded. “With Napoleon pressing into Italy and threatening Austria, there is concern the borders may soon close.”
“You are fortunate,” she said with sudden wistfulness. Men may travel, study, and work, while a woman cannot even apply to university.”
Darcy looked down at her. “You would wish to attend?”
“I would,” she said without hesitation. “I would go to Edinburgh and study medicine. I should like to become a surgeon and help people.”
He regarded her with a mixture of surprise and curiosity. “A woman in the operating theatre? I confess, it had not occurred to me that a woman might aspire to such rigorous study. Do women possess the capacity?”
She halted and swung her reticule, whacking him smartly on the arm. “How dare you?”
Darcy blinked.
“I am a person, Mr. Darcy, with a mind capable of development. My papa says so, and he is the most learned man I know. Señor Darcy, me debe una disculpa por sus comentarios insensibles contra las mujeres.”
Suppressing both amusement and remorse, he inclined his head. “Miss Bennet, you dare to insult me in Spanish?” He grinned. “Very well. Forgive me, Miss Bennet, for my insensitive judgments against a woman’s ability to learn.”
She peered at him a moment, gauging the sincerity in his expression, then answered with perfect seriousness, “Yes, Mr. Darcy, I do forgive you. But you must learn to mind your manners. No woman will wish to marry you if you persist with such boorish and insensitive attitudes.”
He found he could not help it; he laughed. “A fair warning, Miss Bennet.”
“I am full of warnings,” she said brightly, and winced slightly as her elbow brushed her side.
He looked down at her and thought, not for the first time, that her eyes were most uncommon. Light brown, almost golden, and made unforgettable by thick black lashes. A very strange, very brave, very clever girl.
He was delighted that she had wandered into his path.
Chapter 2: Mrs. Gardiner
Madeline Gardiner had just finished decanting a fresh tincture of willow bark when the front door creaked open. She wiped her hands on a clean cloth and stepped into the passageway, prepared to scold her niece for lingering too long at the bookshop.
“Lizzy, you’ve been so long I was beginning to worry.” Her words faltered as she took in the sight before her.
There stood Elizabeth, cheeks flushed, bonnet askew; her elbow cradled awkwardly in one hand. Beside her, a very fine-looking gentleman, scarcely older than twenty, held a stack of neatly wrapped books. He was tall, immaculately dressed, with dark, wavy hair, of which one rebellious lock fell attractively across his brow. His bearing spoke of wealth and breeding, but he had the courtesy to look slightly self-conscious in the modest entry of their tradesman’s home.
“Aunt Madeline, may I present Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy?” Elizabeth said brightly, as though she had not a speck of mud on her hem nor a smear of blood at her elbow. “He rescued me after a rather dramatic encounter with a street urchin.”
“My pleasure, Mr. Darcy.” Then Mrs. Gardiner’s eyes narrowed as she caught sight of the raw scrape, still weeping and red. “Lizzy, that looks like it could scar.”
“It is nothing,” her niece said, though her voice lacked conviction.
“Come with me to the stillroom and I’ll tend it. Perhaps we may avoid the worst of it.” She turned to the young man. “Mr. Darcy, you may set the books on that table there.”
He obeyed with a respectful inclination of the head. “Thank you. Might I, that is, may I come to the stillroom as well?”
Mrs. Gardiner blinked. “You wish to?”
“My father considers it strictly women’s work,” Darcy admitted with a wry smile, “and forbade me from entering ours. But I have always had an interest. My mother spent many hours in the stillroom and said it gave her the greatest pleasure. She had a favorite tincture, with ginger and a few other ingredients, which worked wonders for disorders of the digestive tract. Our housekeeper still prepares it. I brought a vial with me for my travels.”
“Well then,” she said, warming to him, “you are most welcome.”
The stillroom smelled of beeswax and lavender, with dried herbs hanging in bunches from the ceiling. Mrs. Gardiner seated Elizabeth on a low stool, cleansed the wound with rose water, applied tincture of calendula, and then spread a thin layer of honey over the angry scrape.
“Perhaps the honey will reduce the risk of scarring,” she murmured, “but Lizzy, the scratch is deep. It will give your mother a heart seizure.”
“Not if she never sees it,” Elizabeth replied, amused.
Mr. Darcy examined the shelves. Bottles of all shapes and sizes lined the dark wooden cupboard, each labeled in a neat, feminine hand. He paused at one markedCinchona.
