Chapter 2 #3
Darcy sighed and huffed his annoyance, but he knew his cousin was right. God forbid he had some horrible infection that needed to be rooted out. Best to get it over with.
The apothecary saw him that very afternoon. The old man took Darcy right up to the window to see the irritation in the light. He turned his arm this way and that, poking at the flesh and pressing the red skin down until it appeared pale again.
“I think I see the problem, young man,” he said in a voice that creaked like old attic stairs.
“What is it?” asked Darcy, his voice laced with worry.
“You are coming into a soul mark.”
Darcy could only stare at him.
The old man looked right back, his eyes made large and owl-like by the spectacles he wore.
“Pardon me?”
“I said your soul mark is coming in. That is why it itches. It is a large one, and quite intricate I believe. That is good,” he said with a conspiratorial smile. “Those often lead to the best matches.”
Then the man winked at him. Winked! At Fitzwilliam Darcy of Pemberley.
“I cannot have a soul mark.”
“But you do.”
“I did not have a marking ceremony.”
“You have one just the same.”
“But I do not want one!” Darcy heard the petulant tone in his voice, but he was powerless to stop it. In fact, he had a strong desire to stomp his foot, clench his fists, and scowl. But he did not. He was the heir to Pemberley and a gentleman of twenty. He would not behave as a young boy of five.
The old man clucked and patted his arm roughly. “Do not worry, young man. You will come to peace with it soon enough. Then you will have the greatest treasure you could ever wish for.”
Darcy only scowled at him.
Understanding that he was the bearer of unwanted news, the apothecary quickly packed up and left, leaving a seething Darcy behind him.
How dare she! How dare some ridiculous little tart mark herself and take him along with her.
It was not fair! He did not wish to marry for a great while yet.
Truly, he did not know if he wished to marry at all.
He did not know more than two women he would willingly spend above an hour with, and they were his relations!
He paced back and forth, treading heavily on the carpet in his distress. Finally, he took himself off to the hunting club. Shooting something would make him feel better.
Over the next several months, Darcy’s mark made its presence known. It was enormous, taking up the entirety of his upper arm and half his shoulder. He could admit that the design was well-formed and that the colors were rich. It did not look like a cheap sailor’s marking as some he had seen.
But that did not mean he was happy to be marked.
Due to the mark’s location, it was often remarked on by his peers.
When he fenced in his shirt sleeves and rolled the cuffs up as was his habit, the bottom of the mark was visible where it ended just below his elbow.
If he was hot and wished to remove his jacket, the deep greens of the forest trees showed through the lawn of his shirt.
And when he went for a swim, the entire ghastly thing was on display for all and sundry.
His classmates made no effort to hide their amusement at his predicament.
They teased him and howled with laughter when he scowled at them.
They made wild conjectures about the identity of the lady and where her mark might be found.
Did he think it was as large as his own?
If it was, only certain parts of her body could accommodate it, and would that not be delightful to discover?
Darcy seethed with the indignity of it all.
This was not how it was supposed to be, not at all.
He was supposed to complete his studies, then go on an extended trip for his Grand Tour.
After a year of travels, he would return to Pemberley and his father’s tutelage, where he would spend the next few years learning the intricacies of running a large estate and managing an army of servants and laborers.
Then, if he wished to, he would begin looking for a suitable wife.
He would be at least five and twenty before he even considered it and preferably much older before it came to be.
He had always known on some level that he would have to marry and sire an heir, for the sake of Pemberley and the Darcy family.
But he was not looking forward to it and had hoped to put it off as long as possible.
Now, the chit who marked him would likely be out in four years’ time.
Five if he was lucky. It was likely he would run into her in Town—he seemed to run into everyone in Town—and then he would fall helplessly in love with her and his will would no longer be his own.
If he did not meet her, well, Darcy did not wish to think about that either.
As appealing as simply avoiding London was to him, he did not wish to find himself the recipient of mate sickness.
No one was entirely certain what it was, or why it struck some and not others, but it was a phenomenon that had been known to happen to soulmates who did not find one another for many years.
John Harrison, an estate owner near Pemberley, began showing signs of the illness when he was five and thirty.
He had taken a mark at thirteen—foolish man—and after two and twenty years, his body began to suffer from the absence of its chosen mate.
He was frequently tired and his muscles were weak.
He did not sleep well and his skin appeared sallow and dull.
His hair began to fall out and he lost interest in riding or tending to his usual affairs.
Luckily, a neighbor had a cousin visiting—a young lady of six and twenty who happened to be marked and had not yet met her match—and Harrison felt a remarkable pull toward her.
It was soon discovered that their marks were a match, and within a fortnight of this revelation, his complexion was rosy and healthy, and a wedding date was set.
Being married before one wished to sounded awful to Darcy, but even worse was the threat of losing his strength and vigor.
He was a young man in the prime of his life.
He could ride for hours, fence against four opponents before he tired, and his hair was thick and lustrous.
He had no wish to sacrifice his health for his stubbornness.
He was not one to cut off his nose to spite his face.
As much as he hated to admit it, he would marry, and likely before he was thirty.
Enough men at Cambridge had seen his mark.
If anyone saw a woman with a similar marking, they would write to him immediately.
It was a common courtesy. He doubted he would make it beyond four and twenty without meeting her.
He would simply have to stop hating her before that day, or they would both be miserable.