This is a “What-If” for my story, The Question of Consent. What if Miss Bingley had changed her mind about Doctor Maddox’s first proposal? Now with less of Darcy getting shot!

Takes place the day after the proposal and week before she meets Lord Kincaid.

It would pass.

Caroline Bingley assured herself of it, again and again. She had in all haste rejected him, so logically; she would in all haste dismiss him from her thoughts. The match was unquestionably unacceptable. Could they really expect to live off her inheritance and his paltry income? Of course Charles would support them, as he did the Hursts, because he was their baby brother and he would never leave them wanting, even at his own expense. She was lucky to have him.

No, it was better to not let her mind wander to those possibilities. The moment had passed and it was gone. It could not be further considered. It would only serve to give her headaches and bad dreams, not like the good (if somewhat unpardonable) ones she had been having the last few weeks.

Miss Bingley was a maid, but she was thirty, and her sister and almost all of her friends were married. That which was kept from the ears of maidens so astutely when she was younger had become less of a mystery as she grew older with them. She was, as a result, one of the least naïve maids of Town, and excused herself a few wandering thoughts that could be easily chalked up to loneliness. Damn Darcy, for leaving her in his dust for so many wasted years. Now she had only her inheritance and her feminine wiles to recommend her, and little good it had done. One proposal, from a penniless surgeon.

Maybe it would be easier if Mr. Hurst would silence himself. Never in her life could she remember him more vocal than when a message was sent – the next day, in fact – to say that the doctor thought Mr. Hurst’s gout was healing nicely, and he should rest his body from treatments for a few days. A few days! Mr. Hurst would not stand for it, of course, but there was little to do but go hunting down his doctor. Mr. Hurst could barely walk, and was hardly willing to do it in the district from where the notice came. This would not do, but again, there was nothing to be done. When Caroline washed her face, tied up her hair, and tried to look presentable enough to emerge for dinner as if she had not been crying all day, she had little conversation beyond Doctor Maddox. Doctor Maddox, whose name she very much wished out of her consciousness, whose very mention caused her so much pain. The second day of his absence, she excused herself from dinner early, complaining of a headache. If her sister suspected anything, Louisa said nothing.

Doctor Maddox – Doctor Daniel Maddox – No! She must strike his Christian name from her record. She had no business knowing it. Doctor Maddox was undoubtedly in hiding, a very reprehensible act, leaving poor Mr. Hurst with his gout! Ignoring a patient! Though, Mr. Hurst had just been commenting on how much better it was ... Maybe he was not truly a bad doctor, just a bad man for making her suffer like this –

But he was not a bad man. She could not bring herself to think of Daniel Maddox as a bad man. Damn, she had said his name again. Or thought it, but it was just as bad. Surely he was suffering as much as she. The look of desperation and disappointment on his face when he so politely bowed and left indicated it. She found herself imagining where he might be, where he might be drowning his sorrows –

No! This would not do! Surely she would be ill if this continued. She was constantly crying, shut up in her room, refusing her servants. It was as if she was in mourning, but no one had died, just all of her hope, hope that she didn’t even know she had-

- For what? A marriage to someone decidedly below her? At least her brother and Darcy had married a gentleman’s daughters. True, Daniel (Damnit!) had once been a man of wealth and the loss of it was only his older brother’s fault, and if circumstances were different, perhaps he would be the talk of society. But then he wouldn’t be peddling his services to lazy oafs like Mr. Hurst, then she wouldn’t have met him, and that thought she could not bear. He was part of her landscape now, and could not be removed.

I am in love.

He had been so ready to admit it and she had not. Of course, he had nothing to lose and everything to gain, if there was the smallest grain of hope in him that she would abandon her senses and accept, in professing what he felt for her. She knew it was something men did not say easily – well, men that weren’t Charles Bingley.

Will I ever feel this way again?

The terrible thing was that it did not seem possible. As dim as her prospects were, she was still a somewhat attractive match, but to have real feelings like this, with such innocent beginnings – that, she could not expect. She saw too many unhappy marriages. Her sister did not express her unhappiness, and seemed content with her lot, but Caroline did not want contentment. Now that she had tasted love, she would have nothing else.

It is a hopeless case.

There was no one to confine in. She had ostracized every good female in her family except her sister, who was not only no good in the matter of marital advice but would also be dismissive of it and even, maybe, look down on her. That she could not bear. She already had enough. Would she just sit and suffer in the prison of her own making, or would she set her life in fate’s hands?

On the third day, she had decided upon the answer.

“I’m inquiring after a Doctor Maddox,” she said, tempted to offer her card and leave. The woman’s not uncurious look was making her nervous. Yes, she did like to be appreciated – but not judged, and not with suspicion. Surely this woman didn’t think Caroline was some kind of exclusive escort?

After some hesitation, the woman cocked her head and said, “’e’s upstairs, but ‘e’s in a bad way right now, miss.”

Daniel? Sick? “Then it is all the more imperative that I see him.”

Again, more suspicion than before, the little lady gave a ‘humph’. “All the way up the stairs and on your left.”

Caroline did not speak another word with her as the landlady disappeared, probably to gossip or observe her through a hole in the wall.

“Marm?” said her horseman. “Shall I wait here?”

“No,” she said instinctively. “I will manage, thank you.” She did not stay to observe his puzzled expression. She braced herself and proceeded up the long, winding, and very creaky stairs of the boarding house. The walls had once been painted white, but were now a shade of grey with streaks from damage. From one room she passed, she heard a couple screaming in cockney brogue and shivered. At last, the top floor, barely more than an attic. It only had two doors, one of which was hanging open to a storeroom filled with broken furniture. The other was closed, and she tapped gently on it, no doubt staining her glove as she did. “Doctor Maddox?”

From within, there was some rumbling, but no coherent reply.

Again she tried, “Daniel?”

More shuffling around. One the other side, she heard only, “It’s open!”

He would not stand and properly receive her? He left his door carelessly unlocked? Perhaps he truly was in a bad way. Perhaps in these horrible conditions he had caught something and was rotting in this terrible place. She carefully pushed on the door, and it swung open, its hinges loose and uncared for.

There was a bed, but it was unoccupied. Doctor Daniel Maddox sat in the only chair in the room, a rocking chair, by his piped stove. He was without his coat or cravat, and his glasses were askew on his face. “Forgive me,” he said, “f’r not getting up. I’m havin’ ‘little trouble with it.” In his lap was a half-finished bottle of whiskey.

“Doctor Maddox!” she said with surprise, but could not bring herself to add contempt – yet. “What in the world are you doing?”

“’sn’ it obvioush?” he said. All of his usual stuttering and mumbling manner was gone, probably because he was soundly in the cups. “You’d ‘ave a few if the most wonderful woman in aaall of England, Shcotland, and Ireland rejected you.”

“What about your health? Do you not practice what you preach?”

“What worth am I, anyways?” he said, looking down into the bottle. “Ash a doctor, ash a man – I’m obvioushly nothing. Nothing.” He raised his bottle in offering. “Tastes terrible, but doesh the job.”

“The job?” She ventured to sit down on his bed, barely more than a mattress with ill-fitting sheets, but clean. In fact, the room was quite tidy. She also noticed the only thing keeping the mattress off the floor was four well-placed stacks of very heavy books.

The whole room was filled with books, in fact. For furniture, he had only the mattress, the chair, and a desk that was barely more than boards put together to form a tiny table, but he had books. Piles and piles of them, all neatly and carefully stacked against the wall in vertical rows, so much that she saw little of the actual walls.

“Forgetting,” he said, answering her question while she was lost in his tiny world. “If you need t’forget a woman – even for a little while ...” the last note was tinged with sadness. “Doesn’ work when you shtop.”

“I can imagine,” she said, a little confused at his temperament. Was this how he truly meant to greet her, or was he too drunk to tell who she was? “But I will decline.”

“Prolly for the best,” he said, taking a quick swig before resting his head on his palm, swinging gently back and forth in the chair.

“Are all of these books – yours?”

“You are looking at the old library of the Maddoxshes. A great thing it washz. Brian helped me slip ‘em out before the creditors came and took ... everything.” He played with the bottle of unmarked alcohol. “Some of it ...‘s too small now, the print. I should – I should shell them, and have some money, and then maybe she would –” He covered his eyes. “But I can’t. Maybe you don’t undershtand, but I jusht can’t.”

“Daniel,” she said, “I do understand.” What little he had, he did not want to part with, not for anything in the world. He would grasp at all of his straws until they were gone. She rose, and put a hand on his shoulder as he quietly sobbed. He was in as much misery as she was, but had much less space to do it in, and even less hope for his future. “They mean everything to you, don’t they?” She had to admit, the touching of his shoulder was sending a tingling sensation down her spine. She had never actually touched him before.

“No!” he nearly shouted in his drunken haze. “’Course – ‘course not. Caroline – she means everything to me. I would shell them all for her. Everything!” He waved his hands around, and nearly dropped the bottle. She caught it, and took it away from him. “I’d shell – everything. The shirt off my back. My licenshe – if I could shell it. Everything.”

“So you would still accept me?”

“You?” He looked up, but his glasses were now basically stuck in his bangs and she doubted he saw her even remotely clearly. “No! No one but Missh Caroline Bingley.”

“And what if I was?”

“Couldn’t be,” he immediately dismissed without looking at her. He did not stop her, however, from letting her hands stray to his hair. It was so frizzy and hopelessly tangled, in a way like her brother’s hair, so wild and uncontrolled. “She would never – she never – she would never lower herself to come to thish part of town. She’s a reshpectable lady and this ish a hovel.”

She said playfully, “And if you found her here, fondling your hair?”

“I would – I dunno,” he admitted. “No. No, no, no. She desherves so much better.”

Enough of this. Caroline walked around in front of him, and put his glasses squarely where they belonged on his face. “Daniel, I did not come to this so-called ‘hovel’ to listen to your drunken ramblings, as amusing and endearing as they are.”

“You –,” he blinked, squinting. “You are not – “

She could not bear it any further. He was so adorable, so enticing – she kissed him. He did not break it off, or attempt to push her away. He did the opposite, and she had to pick him up and seat him more properly on the bed. His old shyness returned, and he was hesitant to do what he so clearly wanted to do with his hands, so she guided them so his arms were firmly around her neck.

No one knew they were here – well, except for the landlady, and any spectators in the streets who did not know her identity, and the coachmen, who she had paid off on the way not to say a word. They were away from the outside world except for a window, haphazardly covered by a towel made into a shade. In his inebriated, confused state, would he take advantage of his position as the well-built male and overpower her slim female frame? Would he ravish her? Would she want it?

She was not accustomed to touching men except by taking an arm, but now she had free reign, and found it delightfully enticing. He was wearing little more than his white undershirt, and she fumbled but eventually released the sole top button, revealing most of his upper chest. Apparently running from patient to patient did well for his figure. Despite his haggard appearance he was quite a handsome man. Not that she was supposed to have any idea what a handsome man would look like, beneath his clothes, or had any experience in the area – but she did like it. She did like being touched. There was an insistence on space; it created barriers and propriety, but it was so tiring. And at thirty, Caroline was dreadfully tired. She was also quite forward, or prided herself on being so when she wanted to be. She had very few chances for this, and this was apparently one of them. She was not willing to pass it by. Perhaps that was why his touch, as his hands fretted and then eventually found their way down her shoulders, removing her shawl, was so invigorating. Perhaps that was why they were not sitting up for very long. He was certainly putting up very little fight about it. If anything, he was all encouragement, his lips trailing down her neck.

Her unintentional moan had an unintentional, unwanted effect. Daniel stopped, blinked, and pulled himself away from her. “C-Caroline?”

She cocked her head. Was he really so blind?

Apparently he was. He straightened his glasses on his face, leaned against the wall, and took a good, long look at the figure before him. She was dressed, her perfect hair only showing the slightest dishevelment.

The next three words were not what she wanted to hear. “Oh my G-d!”

“What? On one day you beg humbly for my hand, and on another you are imposed by the very sight of me?”

“No!” he said. “No, I just – Oh, G-d.” He ran his hands through his hair. “I thought – “

“You thought what? On this, I am extremely curious – “

“I don’t know!” he insisted. He was still red-eyed, but he seemed to be sobering up a bit. “I thought – I don’t know. It was a fantasy. I was soused. Am still such. I –” And then, it seemed, he lost all ability to speak.

He might as well have been putting down-payments on the bottle. Caroline Bingley was a woman of stature and wealth. Her brother owned an estate in Derbyshire and had inherited such a massive fortune from their father that he not only kept a lovely house in Town, but paid the expenses of having both his sisters and brother-in-law live there. Either he was fantastically gullible or fantastically rich. Or both.

Either way, Daniel knew his station, despite being raised to be a gentleman, was decidedly below theirs, even if they were technically tradesman’s daughters. He knew that Caroline and Mrs. Hurst enjoyed living in splendor, and that even if she truly loved him, she could not give him her hand. He could not provide for her. Four years prior, he had still been having trouble making his rent. His savings of barely more than two thousand pounds was owed to fastidious saving of every last farthing not required for his personal health and hygiene. Even conservatively, she probably spent that in a few years. If he came from wealth, and was an established doctor who had the freedom to attend the right lectures and make the right acquaintances, he could have a decent patient list and perhaps a suitable income, but he seemed to always be skating uphill in that regard.

Yet he had pursued her all the same, because he knew if he never asked he would always regret it. Yes, he would suffer the pain of rejection afterwards and wallow in misery for a while, but he would have tried. Laziness he could not be accused of so easily.

So down in the cups was he that he had little question about the woman, who showed up in his room as if in a puff of smoke. Clearly he’d been reading too many old legends and was imagining some faerie queen or mystical princess who happened to look like his red-haired beauty. Well, fine. He hadn’t known the comforts of a woman since his studies abroad, and there was only so much self-inflicted celibacy a man could take. This wasn’t the first dream he had had of Caroline Bingley and he doubted it would be the last.

It was only after she practically dragged him to bed (probably because he could hardly stand on his own) and pressed her suit that he began to get the sensation that something was amiss. Usually dreams had more ethereal qualities. This time she was alive, and he could swear he could smell Caroline’s perfume (a scent that he had memorized weeks before). He let it continue, but it was so real. He could taste her. Granted, to this date he had no knowledge of what she tasted like, but now he was fairly sure he instinctively knew. She groaned – not unpleasantly – and his body responded.

I think I may actually be awake.

If he had no scruples about him, would be perfectly fine. However, he was not that sort of man, and jolted out of his fantasy, he felt as if the world had gone askew. There was no way on earth that Caroline Bingley, the woman who had refused him and dismissed him but two – three? four? – days ago was in his bed and making obvious overtures. She was not that kind of woman. He was not that kind of man. Everything was terribly, terribly wrong.

Instinctively, he pulled away. He felt her tense, and he was able to establish, through a haze, that it was Caroline. All of the obvious questions – What are you doing here? And what in the hell are you doing here? – escaped his lips. He had to pull away. He needed a bucket of cold water to dunk his head (and his nethers) into. He needed to sober up and start acting like a gentleman, right now. Despite her protests, he sat up and put his head in his hands, trying to think.

“Is my presence so disgusting to you?”

“No,” he said softly. “I just – I-I never expected you to ... be here. See this.” His gesture to his apartment was not completely coordinated.

“You never implied that you owned a townhouse, Daniel.” When she said his Christian name, he just melted. Melted. This was not good. “And it does make you look well-read.”

He smiled wanly, but it did not solve the immediate problem of what the woman he loved most in the world, despite soundly rejecting him not an undetermined amount of days before, was doing in his flat, practically on top of him until he had stopped her. “I need ... some tea.” He did have some leaves, but with his stove it would take forever for the water to boil, and would give him the time he needed to sober up. Why had she invaded his private world of sorrow? To mock him? He couldn’t bring himself to think that of her. And yet, there she went, to pick up his only pot, fill it with water from the jug, and place it on the furnace’s shelf. Caroline Bingley, the domestic. Finally, he picked his head up and mumbled, “What are you – “

“Can we go back?”

“To where?”

She sat down next to him. Her proximity was unnerving and enticing at the same time. “To Monday.”

“I am not a magician,” he said, “but since I have no real idea of the current day or time, I am willing to accept the ridiculous possibility that it is Monday.”

“Good.” She took his hand, and kissed it. “Yes, I will marry you.”

He couldn’t breathe. That, he could not attribute to the drink. Nor did he have a history of some sort of mind disorder. “Caroline – “

“Did you hear me? I. Will. Marry. You.” She leaned in closer. He could smell her perfume again. “If you would still have me.”

“If I would still have you,” he said in disbelief. “I think it is abundantly obvious that I cannot continue my own existence without you.”

“Nor I. So we are in an intractable position.”

“I think – I do believe it’s called love.”

She kissed him. It took the full force of his remaining self-control to utter afterwards, “I can’t.”

“Why?”

He seemed flabbergasted at the very idea. “Because – because we’re not married! Because for all of the gentlemanly reasons that require me not to compromise – “

“My understanding of the situation,” she said, “was that a gentleman did not ‘compromise’ a lady against her will, and I think, unless you have lost all of your senses, that I have made my will perfectly clear.”

“Your understanding is - ,” he was clearly hesitating to say, ‘wrong.’ “It is my behavior that must be suitable.” He leaned his head onto her shoulder. “You deserve better than this.”

“What I deserve,” Caroline said, “or rather, what I wish, or want, is for people to stop making up their minds about what I deserve,” she said, clasping his hands. “All my life I have been instructed in how to act and what to expect of the actions of others. I have done all that was required of me and it resulted in nothing but unhappiness. Now, do you want to see your intended so unhappy?”

“No,” he said. “G-d, no.” Really, her logic was indisputable. Actually, he barely heard her words over the pounding in his ears. “But I will not see you ridiculed if you are found out.”

“I will be ridiculed anyway, Daniel. Surely you realize this.”

His heart sunk. “I do. I wish it could be another way.”

“It cannot be another way,” she said, lowering her voice. “Best not to fight it.”

No, he could not. She was too close to him and she was touching him and she had said yes! Or he was fairly sure of it. Not all of his senses were in full use. He desperately needed a cold bath, because his drafty attic flat was suddenly overwhelmingly stifling. Or maybe it was just all of the blood flowing to his head (and flowing down at the same time).

Even if it wasn’t real, he decided he didn’t care. It wasn’t so much a decision as most of his self-control dissolved around the third kiss. And then the fourth. And eventually he stopped counting altogether.

His silent agreement was still taken very seriously. If Caroline Bingley wanted to be deflowered, so be it. He was more than willing to oblige and his body was more than willing to tell him that. If this was their wedding night (and he dearly wished it was), he would have spent hours, no doubt, speculating the proper way to go about it. Now he had mere moments.

He was not unschooled. He had once been a young student traveling abroad, still shy and unprepared for the pleasures that awaited him beyond the learning at the Academy in Paris, but he unintentionally found a willing tutor. He was in Rome for a lecture by a distinguished physician, and found he liked the local wine in a particular tavern far too much. His natural timidity when it came to the subject of the fairer sex was abruptly overcome with the owner’s daughter, Lucetta. He was prim and proper and so English about it, even though their only common language was Italian, that it amused her endlessly. He wiled away the summer admittedly seeing much less of Rome than was previously on his itinerary. It was the sort of thing that was spectacular but meant to end with the chill of fall, when he had to return to France. There, he took a much keener interest in the textbooks that happened to discuss the particulars of female anatomy as it was known, but never availed himself of anything offered there. Nor would he when he returned to England, received his license, and was told the very same night by his elder brother and guardian that they were broke and Brian Maddox had to escape for his life to the Continent. Alone and without a farthing to his name, he saw only patients, and they held little attraction to him, usually because they were diseased.

It had been too long. The very sight of Caroline’s shoulders, arms, and her attempt at pulling free the ties in the back of her dress was enough to incite him. It’s not that simple, he wanted to say. We don’t just disrobe and ... He kissed her lightly on the shoulder, using the opportunity to take her hands off her clothing and into his. Despite her forwardness, they were shaking. “Let me,” he said softly. As he nuzzled into her shoulder, he fumbled with the laces. Why did English gowns have to be so complicated? While he normally admired the way Caroline dressed, at the moment it was a hindrance. And of course, she was wearing a slip. G-d help him.

“You’re so adorable when you’re flummoxed,” she giggled, and kissed him on the forehead.

“I’m happy to oblige,” he mumbled into the crook of neck, as it seemed like he had undid the last lace. “Caroline – tell me to stop, if you want to.”

“You’re so insistent upon it? Am I that disgusting to you – “

“I’m serious,” he said, looking up into her eyes. “Please, tell me if you want to stop.”

She seemed to grasp his severity, rarely used but effective. “All right,” she whispered.

They did not break their kiss, somehow, as they switched around on the bed. The act of physical separation was too much for them. He needed her now as a wife, a lover, a mistress, whatever – He would no longer deny it. Careful, Daniel. Her clothing removed was not casually tossed aside. As much as it pained him to turn away, he pulled his sole chair over and carefully folded it over the edge. Caroline must have been amused, because she laughed as he so meticulously went about caring for her clothing. Perhaps because she had nothing to do in the time it took, she reached for his breeches, but he took her hands off. “In time. The lady comes first.”

If she understood the double meaning, she gave no indication.

He removed his glasses, actually taking them off and putting them on the chair. He had to lean in to see her properly, yes, but he had every intention of doing so. “I’m nearsighted,” he said to her quizzical expression. “My vision is fine when someone is very close.”

“I’ve never seen you without your glasses.”

There’s a lot of me you have not seen, my dear. He wanted to taste her, and not just her lips or her perfume, so coating her neck. Yes, it was so much better to see things not through glass but with the part of his eyesight that naturally came to him. She had not, he discovered, scented or lotioned below where her dress ended. No sensible woman would waste good perfume that way.

Actually, he didn’t care how a sensible woman acted. He only cared about one woman, and so far her actions tonight were completely commendable.

A soft chuckle escaped him as she wove her fingers into his hair. “What is it?”

“I always – uhm – sort of wondered if you were a natural red-head.”

“You’ve never met my brother.”

“Lovely image. Thank you,” he said. Something about having the most beautiful woman he had ever seen in front of him made him light-headed. He certainly didn’t want to envision a male version of her.

Caroline laughed and the tremors went all through her body. He could feel it beneath his fingertips. “Hold on,” he said, and scrambled for the jug of whiskey. Fortunately, his apartment was pathetically small and he barely had to get off the bed to reach it. He poured some over both hands and wrung them out.

“What in the hell are you doing?”

“I’m a doctor,” he said, resuming his earlier position. “I believe in clean hands.”

“With whiskey?”

“Alcohol is very sanitary. Besides, Phil’s stuff is mainly water anyway,” he assured her with a smile. “Do you trust me?” he breathed into her ear. Of course, being willingly nude with a man over you implied a certain level of it, but he wanted to hear it. He needed to hear it.

“Yes,” she said desperately, and kissed him. It was what she seemed comfortable with. Intimate, and yet within the realm of her experience, as her hands found his back. Her hands were soft, not like his regrettably calloused fingers. When he touched her bare skin, he felt her jump a little bit. Her skin was a creamy white, contrasting to his own rather tanned and abused hands. It was a very concentrated act as he followed the trail down her body. She was timid, but not frightened.

She did, however, give a little gasp when he went further. “It’s all right,” he whispered. Tell me if you want me to stop. But he couldn’t say it, because he didn’t think he could. He kissed her on the breast and he could hear her heart beating as he slid his fingers through the curls of hair and under the flaps of skin that, probably for her whole life, had remain untouched.

There was definitely something to be said for knowing a lot about anatomy. Knowing where nerves were was especially key.

His gentle stroking of her clit elicited a squeal from Caroline, a woman who certainly didn’t squeal easily. “Shhh,” he said, using his other hand to caress her cheeks in reassurance. Yes, wait for it. Everything new was a little bit frightening. He was a bit frightened that he would hurt her, even though he knew he wouldn’t, beyond the scope of what was absolutely integral to a first time.

Her hands wandered up to his hair, her fingers running through it, then abruptly grasping it and tugging it down as she moaned with pleasure. The actual pain of it was mollified by his relief as he allowed himself a private smile while buried in her chest. For once in his life, he was doing something right. Caroline was inarticulate, but he knew how to read a body, and it said one thing to him: More.

Happy to oblige. Actually, he was more than happy. He tried to take to his task – satisfying his future wife – with absolute seriousness and care, but he was losing his senses, this time not from any whiskey. His arousal was so long in waiting that it was becoming painful. Cautiously he slid one finger inside of her and found sticky moisture there. She wanted him. Maybe she couldn’t express it – maybe they had never taught her the proper way to express such a passion – but she wanted him.

He knew of no faster way to remove his trousers without tearing them off, and this was his last clean pair. Momentarily distracted (damn belt!) he didn’t notice Caroline releasing her tight grip on his locks and guiding her hands down to help him. In a hurried scramble the last of his clothing was removed, while she was still flushed and overexcited. “This is going to hurt a little,” he said between kisses. “I won’t lie.”

“I know.”

Already smarting a bit himself from holding his own body’s frantic desires in check, he distracted her with kisses as he slid inside her, keeping one hand below. Ten years of pent up sexual frustration was not helping the matter, but his conscience stabbed at his heart as she gave a startled moan that was quite noticeably one of pain. He’d pierced her Maidenhead, a stupid name for a perfectly well-named - medically - length of flesh, but he’d barely noticed it. All of his efforts were expended towards not spending himself. Again, this was not the time to rush, or so his mind said in a violent quarrel with his body. Eventually she did relaxed, that one pain passed, and he pressed more insistently, both with his length and his hand, because he needed that moan, that sigh, that possible squeak of pleasure from Caroline. She had to crest first; it was something he promised to himself. Now it seemed impossible to demand of him, and he had all but given up hope as she shuddered beneath his grasp. Her hands happened to be on his shoulders, and he discovered the non-delight of a woman with very long nails deciding to grasp his flesh very tightly. But at this point, he didn’t care if she even drew blood.

They peaked together. His intention was not held to; he spent as quickly and furiously as he felt her orgasm. In the fervor, he was not quite sure who cried or if they both did, but eventually he recovered enough to withdraw.

Blood. Oh. Yes. His brain was off-track, a contented sigh escaping him, but he did see the blood. He grabbed the nearest thing – ironically, his last clean shirt – and dabbed it up quickly before collapsing next to her in an exasperated heap.

His eyes could not focus. It was from exhaustion, maybe, but he saw only a blur for a while as Caroline turned on her side and kissed him on the cheek. Aside from that, there were no sounds aside from their heavy breathing, no touching besides from the distinct desire to hold each other.

“Daniel?”

“Mmmm?” he mumbled, resting his face in her shoulder.

“I love you.”

“I love you, too,” he said, kissing the nape of her neck. “Marry me.”

“I said I would,” she reminded him gently, her own voice a little ragged, or just overwhelmed.

“I want to hear it again.”

Caroline Bingley would humph at that, but his Caroline, the person with whom he had just forever altered, said only, “I will marry you, Daniel Maddox.” She paused. “I don’t know your middle name.”

“Stewart.”

“Like the kings?”

“I don’t know. It was my father’s name. It’s spelled the Scottish way, even though the Maddox clan is Welsh.” He finally pulled apart, far enough away that he could lie on his side and see her expression. Her hair, though never formally taken down, was in a state of severe distress, with long strands free of their pins at least. “Why do you ask?”

“So I have something to call you when I’m cross.”

He gave a little chuckle. “I don’t want you to ever be cross with me.”

“I am intolerably bad at delivering bad news, but I must inform you that some day it will happen,” she said, then resumed smiling. “But perhaps not very soon.”

They fell back into their contented silence. The simple pleasure of being beside each other was enough to satisfy both parties. Only Daniel’s incessantly responsible part of his brain prodded him out of it enough to say, “Are you going to be missed?”

“I have dinner back at the house, but not for a bit,” she assured him. “I wish I could invent a proper reason to invite you.”

“I know,” he said. Separation of any kind now seemed impossible. “How long do you wish me to wait?”

“For what?”

“For asking for consent from – your brother, is it? Mr. Bingley.” He laced his fingers into hers. “By all dictates I should do it tomorrow morning.”

“You can’t. He’s in Derbyshire anyway, but he’s due in Town at the end of the week on some matter with his steward. I just don’t know – “She seemed hesitant to continue.

“Don’t know what?”

“How long can we stay engaged?”

“When are you due for your courses?”

Caroline looked at him in mild horror, but considering he had just compromised her, it was not so great, as it might have dawned on her that she had to talk of these things, and they were far less intimate than what had occurred. “Three days.”

“Are you regular?”

“What do you mean?”

“Does it always come at the same time each month, or does it vary a bit?”

“You’re very well-informed about the nature of my sex’s affliction.”

“I am a doctor,” he reminded her with a smile. “And it is very important information.”

“Fine. I am due in two days, and I am regular, if that is what you wish to call it in your medical terms,” she said with a mocking tone.”

“So in three days, we can have some certainty about it.” When she looked at him rather blankly, he said, “If you are with child, your courses will not come.”

“Oh,” was her entire response.

“Then we can have however long an engagement your brother dictates.”

“Charles has never dictated anything in his life,” she said. “If you’re even the slightest bit concerned about asking for his consent, know that he is a pushover and an utter romantic. All you have to say is that you love me and he will be rushing to acquire the license before you’ve finished your sentence.”

“Oh,” he said. “That is certainly reassuring.”

“And he will provide for us, I have no doubt. He already does with my sister because Mr. Hurst gambled away most of their fortune.”

Daniel swallowed. “He shouldn’t have to. At least, I promise to provide for myself. I have some savings.”

“One thing no one will ever accuse you of is being a fortune hunter,” she said. “Your nobility will get you nowhere, you know.”

“It got me a wife,” he said with a sly smile.

This, Caroline did not contradict.

They made love once more before she had to leave. It was quieter and more simplified by familiarity, but no less passionate. They were both inclined to rest afterwards; only the necessity of Caroline appearing at home in time for dinner – and in good condition – prevented that. Daniel attempted to help her retie her gown, and then confessed that he had no idea how.

“Do not tell me you are inexperienced,” she said.

“It was a decade ago, and she was Italian. They have their own style of dress.”

“What will your landlord say to a mysterious woman calling on you in your home?”

“If she says anything at all,” he said, “it will be to ask why it’s never happened before.”

To which all she could reply was, “Oh.”

Chapter 2

The person who appeared to be the most excited about Doctor Maddox’s resumption of regular appointments was Mr. Hurst, mainly because in imitation of Darcy, Caroline had perfected her mask of indifference years ago. She was fairly confident that she expressed no accidental emotion at the breakfast table. She made sure she was in the drawing room with her sister, who was doing embroidery when he arrived. Fortunately, the doctor came at his usual time of half past ten and Louisa went for her day’s shopping at eleven.

Caroline lost no time hurrying up the stairs. Mr. Hurst’s sitting room had its door ajar. While his presence was not required during the actual soak, Mr. Hurst preferred to have his physician within at least shouting distance.

Daniel was present, sitting on the settee nearby. More accurately, he was sleeping on the settee; his head slumped over onto the arm of the chair. First she cleared her throat, and then thumped the ground – all to no avail. Finally, she said, “Doctor Maddox!” Because even though he was very adorable when asleep, the desire to talk to him was a bit greater.

“– huh? – what?” he stirred quickly, straightening his glasses quickly and jumping to his feet. “I’m sorry, I –” He blinked, then remembering his manners and where they were, stammered and bowed. “Miss Bingley.”

“Doctor Maddox,” she said. “I apologize for the intrusion. So noble of you to come. You’re obviously still recovering from you sickness.”

“Yes, well ...” but he wasn’t as good a liar as her, and even though they were alone in the hallway, there were certainly servants nearby, so he switched into Italian. “Non ho ottenuto ad alcun sonno la notte scorsa. O questa mattina. Chiedo scusa.” (I didn't get any sleep last night. Or this morning. I apologize) He smiled nervously at her and continued, “Come siete?” (How are you?)

“Benissimo.” (Fine)

“Just fine?” he continued in Italian.

“No, it’s the polite thing to say. Why don’t we sit?” And so they did. Caroline reminded herself that they were basically in public, even if they appeared to be alone and no one around them understood Italian, so they sat apart. She found the process of looking unconcerned by his presence exhausting. He just looked exhausted. “How are you?”

“The happiest I think I’ve ever been in my life,” he said, smiling as he leaned over the rim of the couch. “But still tired. There was a fire at the docks and actually I haven’t - ,” he yawned, rubbing the bridge of his nose, “– slept since yesterday. But for some reason, I couldn’t miss this appointment.”

“For some reason.”

Their hands had strayed dangerously close to each other. In a moment of realization, they both retreated to a more appropriate distance.

“When does your brother come?”

“In two days, if something doesn’t keep him in Derbyshire. His wife is in confinement.”

“Really? Congratulations.”

“Perhaps you will take the time to wish him well.”

He said nervously, “You’re serious about – he will be obliging?”

“Charles? My baby brother? I held him in my arms when I was four!”

“Well, I didn’t.”

She laughed. “Still, it is nothing to worry about. He would do anything to see me happy.”

“I do hope so.”

“It’s going to be all right,” she said. “You realize, though, once we’re engaged, we shall be properly chaperoned.”

“Oh, I know,” he replied. “But some things are worth the wait.”

“Are you going to make me stand in the hallway all day?”

He could not open the locks – and there were several of them –fast enough. “Caroline – “ He wanted to apologize for being in his bedclothes, for not receiving her properly, for being still half-asleep, but he was stopped by her very insistent kiss, to the point of being pushed up against the wall. “ – Perhaps we should shut the door.”

“Perhaps,” she said, removing her bonnet and stepping into the door as he relocked it. “Do you have burglars?”

“I used to have people ... looking for my brother,” he explained. “Not that bolting the door would really stop anyone. The hinges would come right off. But I sleep better with them – w-when I’m not drunk.” He grinned, and it must have had an effect on her, because she pulled him down into another kiss. Well, she hadn’t come here to practice her Italian or take in the sights of the east end.

The incredible tension of seeing her yesterday and having to pretend they were not in love, engaged, and had never violated all the boundaries of priority in his dingy attic flat, had been agonizing. He was no good at acting, nor did Caroline seem so unaffected. If all went well, tomorrow they would be engaged and though he would be able to see her, and talk to her, it would all be stupidly light conversation. There probably wouldn’t be any of her sneaking off, either.

He hoped it was a very short engagement. But society dictated at least a month, unless she was with child, which wouldn’t exactly please her brother. And he did, regrettably, have to please her brother and vie for her hand without looking like a penniless fortune hunter. Not that he knew her inheritance, but he assumed it was over ten thousand pounds. Maybe when they were done, he would ask. Otherwise he was utterly distracted.

They made love in a frenzy as if something truly terrible had happened the day before and this was the only way to relieve the suffering. He barely had his clothes off before he was inside her, having discovered it was easier just to pull her gown over her head and toss it off. Not truly necessary for the actual act, but he liked it. There were no actual coherent thoughts in his head as he came, but all he could think of, as they both collapsed in a sweaty heap on his bed, was why he had denied himself this pleasure before. Waiting for Caroline, he supposed. He could not imagine himself with anyone else besides his Gaelic goddess.

There was some silence for a while, and the only movement was him pulling the sheet over them and some rearranging of limbs for comfort.

“When do you have to be back?”

“Not for a while.”

He didn’t ask her to specify. The answer suited him well enough.

“Where were you last night?”

“Hmm? Were you looking for me?”

“No,” she said. “I was just wondering ... what the night shift entails.”

“Oh,” he said. “All kinds of nasty surgeon things. You really don’t want to know.”

She sat up, just a little. “Daniel, do you think I’m some porcelain doll?”

He blinked, and broke into laughter. “... You have very fair skin, my dear.” He kissed her knuckles.

“That’s not what I mean and you know it,” she teased, in that half-serious sort of voice of hers. “If I’m going to be imagining you and wondering where you are and what you are doing, it will be a help for you to enlighten me.”

“A hindrance, really. Though I am honored that you were up thinking of me,” he said in all seriousness. “Caroline, aside from servants in charge of chamber pots, I have possibly the most disgusting job in all of England. I would prefer if you don’t imagine me doing it.” But he was in the mood to satisfy her. “The first time I saw a surgery, it was in a class at King’s College, before I went to the Academy in France. I had to leave in the middle of the lecture to lose my breakfast. The second time, I fared only a little better by making it through most of the class.”

“The professor must have been cross at you.”

“Hardly, since about everyone else was in the same proverbial boat and most of them didn’t even return for the second. It was just a corpse, not a person screaming for their life.” He watched her lose a little of her composure, and stroked her chin. “See? I am very honest about the nature of my work. No sensible person – man or woman – would want to have anything to do with it.”

“Then why do you do it?”

“Because it was required in France, as a set of courses. None of this British nonsense of doctors who just look at you and then prescribe some tonic. If you go into the medicinal field to do some good, not treat people’s coughs, some things are required which English doctors will not do.”

“So very noble of you.”

“If you find it attractive, then I will seek out only the most gruesome jobs in Town,” he said. “But hopefully, you will give me some leniency on this and I can continue to see cranky, overpaying patients like Mr. Hurst.”

Caroline kissed him. He took that as a positive.

“Good luck,” Mr. Hurst said as Maddox was halfway through the door. Already a bundle of nerves, he decided not to stop and inquire as to what his patient meant.

Caroline was waiting for him at the bottom of the stairs. “He’s in his study.” She took his shaking hand. “You’ll be fine.”

“He doesn’t even know who I am.”

“He’ll see you’re a good person. My brother thinks that about everybody anyway. Even bad people. He’s rather stupid that way.” She kissed him on the cheek. “Now go.”

“He doesn’t like to be kept waiting?”

“He doesn’t know you’re coming. But I don’t like to be kept waiting.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he said. “I don’t suppose you – “

“I got them.”

“Oh,” he said, knowing exactly what she was referring to. “Well, then. It does not complicate things then. Wish me luck.”

She rolled her eyes. “You don’t need it.”

He gave her a wary smile and continued to the study, where he was announced by a servant, who was better dressed than he was; he nervously entered the study of Mr. Bingley, master of the house and a great estate in Derbyshire.

Caroline had apparently not been joking when she made the comment about the coloring of her hair. Charles Bingley’s hair was identical to his sister’s except in length and style. He looked very much like her; in fact, to the point where Doctor Maddox might have guessed they were twins if he didn’t know Mr. Bingley was younger. And young he was, in his mid-twenties or so, writing in his ledger without spectacles. Where he differed from Caroline, aside from gender, was his demeanor, which was sort of a nervous natural affability so extreme that it was detectable even within a few seconds. He seemed more concerned with his ledgers, but nodded when the doctor entered and bowed.

“Doctor Maddox,” Mr. Bingley said. “I must say, Mr. Hurst has spoken nothing but praises of you since I arrived.”

“Thank you,” his voice coming out very small and meek, as he wrung his hands behind his back.

“Can I help you with something? There isn’t some error in accounting – “

“No,” he said. “No. Thank you.” He took a breath. “Mr. Bingley – sir – I’ve come to ask for your sister’s hand.”

The look on Mr. Bingley’s face, while not unpleasant or dismissive, did resemble, upon reflection, as though he’d been struck between the eyes and was seeing stars. And Doctor Maddox did have time to reflect upon it, because there was a staggering silence on the other side of the desk before Mr. Bingley finally mustered up a “What?”

“Uhm, precisely what I’ve – what I’ve said, sir,” Maddox said, not sure his hands could be further wrung without causing pain. “I’ve asked Miss Bingley to marry me and she has consented.”

“What?”

Does he want me to keep repeating it? Maddox was at a loss for words. Mr. Bingley didn’t seem angered or affronted in any way – the best term to describe his state was stupefied. So he just shrugged. “I love her,” he added, with no lack of emotion in his voice when he did it.

Bingley slumped in his chair as if he’d been struck. “Miss Bingley? Caroline Bingley?”

“Yes.”

“Lives here? Has red hair? Wears a lot of gowns?”

“Yes.”

“And you’re the doctor treating Mr. Hurst, correct?”

“Correct.” Feeling oddly like Mr. Bingley needed some help here, he continued, “I believe I am supposed to be presenting my case for being an eligible husband to your sister.”

“Uhm ... yes?”

If there was anything Doctor Maddox was good at, it was procedurals, no matter how embarrassing. “I ... have very little savings despite being the nephew of an earl. My elder brother lost it all and fled the country. However, I do have an income of some four or five hundred pounds a year and am a licensed doctor as well as a surgeon, but I am fully aware that I cannot rely on my own finances to keep Miss Bingley in the lifestyle to which she is accustomed and deserves. She is aware of that as well. So, really, I have very little to recommend me.” He sighed. “But I do love her. She is ... everything I could ever want in a wife.”

There was more blank staring on Mr. Bingley’s end, to the point where Maddox was seriously wondering if this man had some kind of mental deficiency. “You – well, I suppose her inheritance would float you for some time.”

“I confess to – not knowing the amount.”

“What?”

Was everything he said going to shock this man? “I – I assumed it was high. Maybe ten – thousand? Perhaps?”

“You really don’t know?” Mr. Bingley scratched his head. “And you pursued her anyway?”

“It wasn’t the reason I ... pursued ... her.”

Mr. Bingley stood up, in a daze, and poured for himself and Doctor Maddox from the decanter on the shelf, handing him a glass. “My sister has twenty thousand pounds.”

Doctor Maddox’s very dignified response was to spit out his drink.

“Charles, stop torturing him and say yes!”

“Stop listening at the door!” Mr. Bingley yelled back at his sister. “I’m trying to have a conversation here!”

“Well, you’re doing a terrible job!” came her muffled reply.

“Hey! He has to have my consent!”

“Then shut up and give it to him!”

It was Maddox’s turn to be stupefied as Mr. Bingley turned to him and said, “It seems she cannot be moved. And I have no desire to move her. Of course you have my consent.” He held out his hand. “Congratulations, Doctor Maddox.”

“T-Thank you.” That was when, despite having his hand nearly wrung off by his now over-enthusiastic, soon-to-be brother-in-law, he needed a stiff drink, and swallowed the brandy whole as Caroline entered the room. “Charles. Daniel.”

“Daniel?”

“That’s his name, Charles. Even before you were engaged it was ‘Jane this’ and ‘Jane that.’” Her behavior towards her brother was as it was towards most other people the doctor had seen her encounter, and was occasionally still with him – dismissive, but not entirely unpleasantly so. There was an underlying connection between the siblings, obviously to the point of shouting at each other through doors like children. “Excuse my brother. He is so easily blindsided.”

“I was merely a little stunned that an hour after I arrive in Town, I’m presented with a marriage proposal from a man I’ve never met and only heard of from Mr. Hurst! Could you have written something to me? ‘Dear Charles, I’ve met someone?’”

“We don’t all go announcing our love to everyone in listening distance before the love even occurs,” she said, and kissed him on the cheek. “Thank you.”

“Of course. Of course! You may marry anyone you like! I just – was a little surprised,” he stammered. “By – everything. How long has this been going on?”

“Since a little while after he came under Mr. Hurst’s employ,” Caroline said.

“And Louisa also said nothing.”

“Because she doesn’t know anything.”

“I think Mr. Hurst guessed,” Maddox said.

“He did?”

“Before – can we slow down for a moment?” Mr. Bingley said. “At least tell me the wedding is not already planned.”

“No,” Caroline and Daniel said in concert.

“Then I would kindly ask that it wait until after Jane’s confinement. I’m sorry – Doctor Maddox, my wife is with child. She has only a few weeks to go, so it won’t be a terribly long wait, but there’ll be some time after that for her recovery, and it depends if we’re having it in Derbyshire or in Town, and – Oh my goodness, I have to plan a wedding!” He looked ready to tear his hair out. “I have to get the license and you have to get fitted and we have to decide – “

“Charles,” Caroline said, “calm down. Sit down and have a drink or something, and we can continue this conversation as if you are a sane person.”

This time, Doctor Maddox could not entirely hold back his laughter, though he did attempt to smother it with his arm.

There were congratulations all around when Doctor Maddox finally returned to his patient, who in fact did not seem the least bit surprised. Louisa Hurst smiled and nodded, but gave Daniel a cold look that did not make him particularly comfortable. Mr. Bingley had already promised them at a relative named Mr. Darcy’s townhouse, so the doctor was invited to dinner the following night. Daniel realized he would have to accustom himself to fitting Mr. Bingley’s schedule of when he could see his intended, no matter how affable Mr. Bingley was. It mattered little to him at the moment, his spirits so lifted by the consent and finally being released from the secrecy of their engagement. Not only did Caroline want to marry him, but he finally could marry her. If he had to wait, so be it. She was his. He was perfectly proper when good-byes were said, only bowing to her, and left with no idea of the conversation that, almost immediately, followed his departure.

Chapter 3

“Someone’s happy.”

Doctor Maddox had barely made it in the door before facing his landlady, Mrs. Audley, who had been giving him very queer glances for the last few days. He leaned against the doorframe and said, “I am engaged.”

“To your phantom caller, I assume.”

“Miss Bingley is not a ‘caller’ of any kind!” he said, pretending to be affronted before melting. “Yes, she is.”

“’sppose you’ll be out of here, then.”

“Yes. Or, I assume, yes. I don’t – I’m sorry, I’m just so overwhelmed.” He shook his head. “I’m so happy.”

“Then come in and have a drink then. My husband’ll take any excuse.”

This was not the first time he had been invited in to Mr. and Mrs. Audley’s slightly larger apartment on the first floor, which had a kitchen. They seemed to take pity on him in his earlier days, when he was without a farthing to his name and had creditors regularly shaking him down for his brother’s location (which he didn’t know). They were understanding, the few times he couldn’t make the rent on time, and he repaid them by treating Mr. Audley’s bunions. He was an obese man who rarely went anywhere, but was not unkind to his wife or his borders, or at least, not the doctor.

“Make way for the groom,” Mrs. Audley announced to her husband, who seemed to be perpetually at their tiny kitchen table.

“So that’s who that fine lady was,” Mr. Audley said, raising his mug. “Cheers. And congratulations, Doc.”

“Thank you.” Doctor Maddox took the liquor that was offered him and clinked glasses. It was swill compared to what he had tasted earlier, but nothing in the world could bother him now.

“Lady like that – whatsername?”

“Miss Bingley.”

“Miss Bingley,” he said, imitating the way he said it. “Dy’hear that? Miss Bingley.”

“The Doc’s always been a proper gentleman, and he’ll call her by her proper name all he likes,” she said.

“Right proper all the way up to his bedroom in the middle of the day,” Mr. Audley said, chuckling as Maddox colored.

“If you had a job, you wouldn’t be sittin’ by the window all day, watchin’ people coming and going,” Mrs. Audley said as she stirred a pot of whatever stew was for dinner. “’snone of our business. Isn’t that right, Doc?”

“... Yes?” This did bring him to an uncomfortable subject. “Uhm, if I could be so bold – if her family comes to inquire about my connections and such, could you possibly exclude the events of the past few days? It’s not that I wish to – well, you know. Caroline and I – “

“So she does have a first name!” Mrs. Audley said. “Didn’t know the gentry bothered with them. ‘Course, we won’t say a word. Will we, George?” Her husband nodded. “You’re a good man, doctor. You deserve someone who makes you happy, even if there’s got ta be a little lyin’ to get to that part. For the sake of propriety.”

He was in Town for business and he arrived at the Bingleys for dinner at the proper hour, only to discover them in the worst family squabble he had ever seen, and he rated that on a considerable scale. This time, it was not Charles who stood under accusation for bad behavior – to Darcy’s surprise, it was Miss Bingley. She was engaged to a doctor or something, and Louisa showed her sisterly affection for this notion by accusing her of “anticipating their vows” (to put it nicely). Or perhaps the doctor had forced her so that he could marry her for her fortune. Darcy’s own good opinion was that the matter needed a thorough investigation within the Bingley house before an investigation could be begun elsewhere, because there seemed to be – in his very quick assessment – a matter of seriously conflicting opinions. In the event that a scandalous breach of propriety had occurred – and Miss Bingley’s weak denials made it clear from the first moment that it most likely had – he still could not bring himself to imagine her not being a willing partner in it. He could not imagine Miss Bingley would lower herself to any man without a fortune unless there was some affection.

Of course, Darcy realized he was largely an outsider in this affair, and could afford to give her a measure of consideration. Mrs. Hurst was too busy playing the horrified firebrand, undoubtedly more upset with the nature of the doctor’s social status than whatever had occurred behind closed doors. Bingley had his own role to play as the overprotective father figure despite being younger, and he had to be indignant and see to Caroline Bingley’s protection and dignity. Mr. Hurst seemed to just be enjoying the fireworks as an amusing spectacle, which of course was no help whatsoever, but Darcy hardly expected any help from Mr. Hurst’s end on anything. He was more than moderately surprised when Hurst spoke up for the doctor at all.

There was nothing to be done. Even if Doctor Maddox was the cruel seducer as Louisa Hurst was so ready to brand him, then the only way to resolve the issue was with marriage, something neither party involved – the party of two – seemed bothered by the notion of. So there was really no point in going across Town to yell at this man, whoever he was, but it would let Bingley get his nervous frustration off his chest while Darcy would get a chance to more carefully assess his character. That was, if they both came out of this alive. Emerging from the carriage, Darcy was not so sure.

The boarding house was wedged between two others, with little more than steps leading up to it and a small garden on the side that resembled more of a patch of unkempt grass. Maybe they intentionally kept the street lamps burning lower in this part of Town, but it was very dark indeed when Bingley knocked on the front door with his walking stick. After a few moments, a lady with her hair half-up opened the door. “What’ya want?”

“We’ve come to see Doctor Maddox,” Bingley said, offering his card. She glanced at it but didn’t take it. Darcy doubted she could read.

“I’m sorry, but ‘e’s probably on a call. You can knock on his door, if yeh like, but I doubt ‘e’s there.”

“We’ll do that,” Bingley said. “There’s no other way to reach him?”

She shrugged. “The doc could be anywhere, this time of night. Anyway, up the stairs, on your left.” She stepped aside and seemed surprised when they bowed politely to her before entering. Their weight made a lot of noise on the creaky steps, but they did eventually make it to the top, and to the closed door. There was no answer when they knocked, or a light inside, and it was still relatively early yet, just dark.

“Can I have a light?”

“You do nothing for your family name with your burglarious hobbies, Bingley,” Darcy said as he lit a match.

“I don’t recall you complaining in King’s College.” One of Charles Bingley’s few closely-guarded secrets was that he was quite a good hobbyist lock pick, which had gotten them out of a scrape or two when trying to get back into the dormitory after hours. “There.”

“What is this going to accomplish – “

“It will accomplish much more if we are quiet about it, Darcy,” Bingley whispered as he lit his lamp and stepped into the room. When Doctor Maddox had said he had little monetary resources, he was apparently not just being modest about himself. He lived in a one-room hovel with nothing but stacks and stacks of books and the basic necessities of living. Darcy pulled one of them off the top of its stack. Dante’s Inferno in the original Italian. He opened it, and found the only mark was a seal on the inside cover of an earl, probably the earldom of Maddox.

“What costs two shillings?”

“What?”

Bingley held up a note, one of the few things on the doctor’s desk, little more than a coffee table propped up by even more books. “An address and a price.”

“I could list you any number of things that cost two shillings, Bingley, but I imagine it’s a designation for payment for a surgeon’s service. Do you really wish to rummage through the poor man’s things all night?”

“No.” Maybe Bingley was coming to his senses. But then he added, “We should look into this.”

Darcy shrugged. “Be sure to get your sister’s hair pin off the dresser.”

“Darcy!” He spun around. “My G-d. You aren’t kidding.”

“No. Now, which house shall we be burglarizing next?”

Bingley passed by him with his lamp and a cold stare.

As it turned out, the address on the note was not terribly far from where they were. People and noise from every corner lighted up the streets, they were practically assaulted by beggars, but they did at last manage to come to what seemed to be the right house number. The woman who answered the door was not nearly as pleasant as the previous lady had managed to be. She was older and heavier, and in a state of distress that had boiled into anger, and she looked at both of them with un-tempered rage. “What’ya gents want? The doctor? Well, go ‘way, you can’t ‘ave him. I paid ‘im.”

“Please,” Bingley said, “we would just like to speak with him. It is a matter of utmost importance.”

She took a hard look at both of them. “What are yeh, sent by the crown?”

“No,” Darcy said.

“Then bugger off,” she said, and slammed the door in their faces.

“Smashing,” Darcy said.

“Stop acting like you’re enjoying this,” Bingley said. If anything, chasing Maddox around made him all the more worked up. Again, he persisted on rattling on the door until Darcy was sure his cane would break from the force, but the lady did reopen the door. “Madam, excuse me, but I only wish a few words.” This time he managed to do the correct thing, which was press a coin into her hand.

“’e’s in the back. Lemme get ‘im. If he can be disturbed,” she said grudgingly, allowing them entrance into what seemed to be the sitting room, or the dining room, or the kitchen – with all the things scattered about, it was hard to tell. The only other room was the adjoining one, with the door closed. She opened it and went inside, and there was some yelling that was audible but not comprehensible, almost entirely on her side. If it was Doctor Maddox on the other side of the wall, his responses were too quiet to hear. Finally, she opened the door, looked at both of them, and called back, “Naw, too fancy. Probably lords or somethin.’” There were some other noises coming from inside, which halted, to which she responded, “I didn’t ask their names. There’s th’ tall guy and the little Irishman.”

“Hey!” Bingley said.

“’e’s comin.’ One of you’d better help ‘im,” she mumbled, and stepped out of the doorway to make way for Doctor Maddox.

Darcy had never seen this man before, but he assumed that he had been in a slightly different condition when he applied for Miss Bingley’s hand that morning. Doctor Maddox’s tall frame stood a little slumped from exhaustion, sweat matting his curly hair. The rest of him – basically, literally – was covered in blood. A long smock covered most of his clothing. He had a face mask on that Darcy assumed had not once been red, which he pulled down, and the lower half of his face stood in marked contrast to the upper half, which was coated in blood. “Hello?” He wiped his glasses, which had previously been resting on his head, on a clean (well, cleaner) towel and replaced them on his face, his eyes squinting in the dim light. “Mr. Bingley?” He relaxed his posture a bit in his confusion, and his right hand, which was previously held out of their sight, slumped down and was obviously holding a bone saw.

That was precisely the point when Bingley decided to be ill. It probably wasn’t a well thought-out decision on his part as much as an instinct, but the protective sentinel of a brother lost his lunch in the nearest available receptacle, which was a cooking pot of some sort.

Doctor Maddox, apparently not at all surprised, merely bowed politely and turned to Darcy. “Excuse me. I’m Doctor Maddox. Is everything all right?”

“Yes,” Darcy said, not feeling particularly lovely himself.

“Is Caroline all right?” the doctor said, either oblivious to his own condition’s alarming nature or so used to it that he ignored all responses.

“She’s fine,” Darcy mumbled, because Bingley still had his head in the pot.

“Well,” the doctor said, very politely and calmly, “if you don’t mind, sir – “

“Mr. Darcy.”

“Ah, yes. Mr. Darcy, I regret that I am engaged at the moment, so would you mind waiting?”

“No,” he said quickly.

“It may be a while. If you wish, I can just call on Mr. Bingley tomorrow, if it isn’t pressing.” Doctor Maddox took the opportunity to take a swig of whatever was in the mug on the table beside him. “Also, you should try to find Mr. Bingley some tea when he’s done vomiting. Preferably with ginger.” With that, he disappeared back into the room.

The lady of the house, apparently not thrilled with the prospect of two rich guests imposing on her doctor and one making ready use of her cooking items, decided it was high time for them to leave and explained that in no uncertain or polite terms. That was fine with Darcy, who now could identify from the noise from the next room as sawing and was eager to be gone, but he practically had to carry Bingley, who had barely recovered.

“Oh G-d,” Bingley said as he sat on the steps of the opposite house. The night air was foul, but it was cooler than inside, and he was at least for the moment recovering.

“We seem to have caught him at a bad time,” Darcy said. “Though I must admit he seems a very polite man.”

Bingley loosened his cravat. “What do you think he was doing?”

“I would tell you, but I lack a bucket.” Darcy was being fairly serious, still feeling grain himself as he sat down next to him. “Perhaps we should return to the house.”

“No moving,” Bingley said, his voice muffled by his hands over his face. “Not yet.”

Darcy put up no argument to the arrangements, and they sat in silence for some time before the door across from them opened and Doctor Maddox came staggering out, now wearing his vest and with his face wiped mostly clean, but still stained on his arms and some of his clothing. “Let me express my – “

“Yeh get out, yeh worthless shite,” she screamed, throwing his medical bag at him. Or, more accurately, his head, but he managed to catch it. “Suppose I still pay ya now? Yeh murderin’ butcher – “

“Mrs. Jenson – “

“Ya killed me husband!”

“Madam, I am sorry for your loss, but I did attempt to adequately warn you of the danger of this procedure – “

Her response was to kick him, which was surprising and hard enough to knock him onto his back against the cobbled street. Darcy stood up, but not in time as she tossed the coins on his chest. “Get out of me sight!” She slammed the door, darkening the street again.

By all rights Darcy should have turned away from such a public spectacle of humiliation, but Bingley was already standing and helping the poor doctor to his feet. Doctor Maddox did seem distressed, but he swallowed it down, straightened his vest, plucked up the coins from the ground. “There’s a public spigot up the road a bit,” he said quietly, picking up his bag. “I require no further assistance.”

“Should we leave him?” Bingley whispered to Darcy as Doctor Maddox began his travels up the road.

“Perhaps. Or perhaps we should buy him a drink. He’s to be your brother, Bingley, so you’d best decide.”

It did not take him very long. They followed Doctor Maddox to the small spigot by what had probably once been a hand well, where he cleaned himself up most fastidiously, as much as was really possible. “There’s a tavern I frequent. I can’t in all conscience recommend it to anyone else, but I would like to get something before my next appointment.” He didn’t seem to be interested in questioning their motives for so thoroughly seeking him out.

“Would you mind company?” Bingley said. All of his indignation seemed to be dissolved.

“No,” the doctor said simply, and they followed him.

It was indeed not the type of tavern either of them would frequent. Darcy did not comment that he had been in it once before, to look for Wickham, or maybe he was just confusing it with the dozens of filthy establishments he had searched, none of which seemed to have distinguishing characteristics. It was the sort of place where a man who had obvious blood stains on his clothing and traces of it around the contours of his face would be ignored. He merely took a seat at a small table in the back and a lady approached him. “The usual, doc?”

“Yes,” he said. “Thank you.”

“And you gents?”

Darcy took notice that Maddox was shaking his head at them. Bingley ordered a shot of the best whiskey they had. When it came, he spit it back out into the glass in disgust, which actually got a laugh out of Maddox, who sipped his tea, breaking the silence that had pervaded over them.

“I told you not to,” he said.

“Next time I’ll take your advice,” Bingley said, moving the glass away with distaste.

“May I ask you a question, Doctor Maddox?” Darcy said, because for the first time in his life, he was not entirely sure where the bounds of propriety lay.

“Of course.”

“I’ve been told you have a license,” he said hesitantly.

“Hence why I am called ‘Doctor,’” Maddox said.

“Yes. Is there a reason you still work as a surgeon? Obviously you have the training and talent to do otherwise.” And it would certainly make you more money, he added silently. Two shillings was a lot of money to many people in that district, but for what he had gone through to get it, it didn’t seem quite high enough.

“Ah, yes,” Maddox said. His voice was tired, and sort of detached, but still entirely fluent. “No decent doctor would put his hands on his own patient, after all. Or so I was told.” He set his cup down on the nicked and dirty plate. “The day after I received my license, my brother left for the Continent. We had spent the entire previous night making off with the library of our townhouse before it was repossessed. I’ve never been able to pin an accurate number on all of Brian’s debts from gambling, as scattered as they were, but it must have been near ... a hundred thousand pounds. The legal ones didn’t default to me, of course, but there was such a horrible scandal surrounding it that there were repercussions. This was – eight years ago.”

“I was in Cambridge,” Darcy said.

“I was being tutored to enter Cambridge,” Bingley added. “We lived outside of Town.”

“Anyway, I had no notion of any of this before Brian told me, precisely twelve hours before he fled. I was studying in France for my degree in medical arts. I came home, applied for my license, and Brian paid for it with money from a loan. And that was that.” A very sad shadow passed over his face every time he mentioned his brother. “The Maddox name – at least relating to myself and my brother, not the earl, who would have nothing to do with us – became somewhat disreputable and the board at London University made it very clear that they wanted nothing to do with me. But they could not, legally, pull my license. What they could do was prevent me from getting a patient list, which left me destitute for several years. Now I think they’ve largely forgotten it, but almost everyone I see as a doctor and not a surgeon is from a recommendation from another patient; as is the case with Mr. Hurst.” He added, “I imagine in another five years I will have a decent patient roster for a Town doctor and an increased income, but that is not at the moment the case.”

“But you could avoid these kinds of – “

“With all due respect, Mr. Bingley,” Maddox replied, “I am quite accustomed to losing patients in serious cases. I’ve been told I’m a good surgeon if I don’t lose half of them. Mr. Jenson, G-d rest his soul, was probably going to die from that operation. He was too old and too weakened by the injury that caused the infection that caused the gangrene. But I also knew that if I didn’t operate, he would definitely die, very slowly and painfully. So, the moral choice is actually somewhat clear, even if I did technically kill him with my actions.” He paused, and leaned his head against the wall behind him. “That doesn’t necessarily make it easy.”

“No,” Darcy said. “I imagine not.” His esteem for this man was forever rising, whatever had transpired between him and Miss Bingley. He doubted he knew a single man, himself included, with the mental fortitude to do any of the actions he had seen in that house and then endure the public humiliation of a tirade from a grieving wife immediately afterwards.

Why Miss Bingley seemed to care for him, Darcy had no idea. Having visited his apartment, she obviously had every idea of his finances and social stature. He was engaged in possibly the most gruesome profession known to man and she was a societal lady. On the other hand, he was obviously a man of great character. Maybe she saw that.

Maybe he had underestimated Caroline Bingley. Darcy mentally chastised himself. Perhaps she deserved more respect than they were giving her, running off to tell off her intended.

“I am sorry,” Maddox said, suddenly stirred out of whatever reverie he had been in. “I’ve been quite distracted. I assume you were looking for me for some reason?”

“It’s nothing,” Bingley said before Darcy could say anything. “I had a question, but it can wait. Nothing important. We shall see you at dinner tomorrow?”

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” the doctor said with a smile. “But I really must get to my next appointment.”

“Don’t let us hold you up,” Darcy said, and they said their good-byes and parted ways. The barkeep looked at them oddly when they asked where they could get a carriage, but did tell them, and after a bumping ride they were back on the safer side of London. Bingley was silent on the way back, oddly contemplative, but he was calm and collected (and considerably less green) when they returned to the house.

Unfortunately for him, everyone was up waiting for his return. More accurately, Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst were waiting, and Mr. Hurst was passed out on the sofa.

“If you all will excuse me, I’ll be retiring early,” he announced. “I have business to attend to in the morning. Darcy, thank you for accompanying me.”

Darcy bowed.

“Business?” Louisa demanded.

“Yes,” Bingley said. “Caroline will need a very special license to marry the nephew of the earl of Maddox. It may take a few weeks to come in. One shouldn’t hold up a wonderful thing like marriage over a silly thing such as a missing piece of paper.”

Darcy saw something he had never seen before, which was Caroline tearfully and thankfully embrace her brother. A week ago, he would not have thought her capable of it. How much things could change in just a few days.

The End