Hypothetically Married

by Renata McMann

  “So, you see, that’s why I just sit here all day,” Lydia concluded. “I can’t go out, even with my family, when I can’t afford the right gowns and gloves, and slippers, cloaks and hats. I mean, it’s all well and good for you three to walk around appearing so unfashionable, but I’m a married woman.”

  Elizabeth, who’d deliberately worn her worst dress so as not to taunt Lydia, stifled a reply. Jane remained serene, as always. Kitty rolled her eyes ceilingward.

  Lydia’s expression brightened. “Any one of you could loan me money. You all live with the Gardiners. You haven’t any expenses.”

  Jane opened her mouth, but Uncle Phillips raised a staying hand. “Mr. Wickham doesn’t provide you a generous allowance, but you should be able to save for what you need.”

  Lydia made a face. She turned to Jane, expression hopeful.

  Jane looked between their uncle and Lydia, and clamped her mouth shut.

  “Do you know what’s ever so much fun, Lydia, walking in the park,” Kitty said brightly.

  “Ugh. Walking. I only go out to shop and won’t go more than a few blocks until we can afford a carriage,” Lydia proclaimed.

  Kitty cast Elizabeth a look that clearly said, I did my best.

  Elizabeth wondered just where her sister’s allowance went. She wasn’t saving it, yet she only had one new hat, which was trimmed differently every time they visited. Knowing Lydia, she was spending it all on sweets and ribbons and feathers to trim her hat.

  Once it was clear their uncle’s questions were through, Jane changed the subject, with little success. Elizabeth tried next. No one spoke of Lydia’s husband or finances for the rest of the visit. Soon, all other topics were exhausted as well. After what was hardly an hour, they were marching back down the steps to the foyer.

  They all climbed into the carriage in silence. Elizabeth felt almost guilty using the conveyance. She peered out, looking up, but didn’t see Lydia in any of the windows.

  “I don’t understand it,” Uncle Phillips said as the carriage lurched into motion.

  Elizabeth turned to him questioningly.

  “Understand what?” Jane asked.

  Uncle Phillips frowned. “A large portion of their income simply isn’t accounted for.”

  “Mr. Wickham is likely spending it,” Elizabeth suggested.

  “On what?” Uncle Phillips asked.

  Elizabeth gave him a startled look, for that avenue of speculation was fraught with peril, then glanced meaningfully at Kitty, who watched the exchange with interest. “I couldn’t say,” Elizabeth settled for.

  “What I mean is, he’s always struck me as a vain man,” Uncle Phillips clarified. “Yet, he’s obviously not spending on clothes or accommodations. If he’s spending, no matter on what, you’d think he’d also have new boots, a new coat, hat and whatnot. Instead, it looks almost as if he’s sold much of what they had.”

  Elizabeth shrugged. She could think of several ways Wickham could be spending money without gaining possessions, none of which she would bring up to their uncle, or in front of Kitty. Or Jane, for that matter.

  “Maybe he’s saving,” Jane said tentatively.

  Uncle Phillips shook his head. “I suppose it’s not our concern. At least, if he allows Lydia what she claims, she isn’t poor.”

  “Even if she spends frivolously,” Kitty added with a sniff.

  Chapter Fourteen

  The Hursts and Miss Bingley did eventually return, prompting Mr. Bingley to rent the box beside Mr. Darcy’s for an opera, so they could attend en masse. Each box held eight, putting Miss Bingley in the box with Elizabeth’s usual companions, seated between Mr. Darcy and Mr. Searle, with Jane on the other side of Mr. Searle. If she wanted to be charitable to Miss Bingley, Elizabeth might have thought the seating was arranged to give Jane a chance at attracting Mr. Searle, but Elizabeth was not in a charitable mood with regards to Miss Bingley. She was certain Miss Bingley either wanted to present Mr. Searle as a possible rival to Mr. Darcy or wanted to separate Jane from her brother.

  Miss Darcy almost aggressively headed for the box away from Miss Bingley’s seating arrangements. The frown on Miss Bingley’s face suggested to Elizabeth that Miss Darcy was supposed to sit next to Mr. Bingley. Undoubtedly, Kitty would have been relegated to the other box.

  Elizabeth was left seated in Mr. Bingley’s rented box, between Miss Darcy and Mr. Hurst, Mrs. Hurst beyond him. Behind them were Mrs. Annesley, Mrs. Searle, Uncle Phillips and Lady Catherine.

  Though she’d observed Miss Bingley’s machinations, Elizabeth had permitted them to succeed. Not to avoid Mr. Darcy, to whom she’d grown quite accustomed, but on behalf of Miss Darcy. She recalled the young woman’s reaction to the idea of spending time with Miss Bingley. As demure as she was, Miss Darcy couldn’t help but prefer to avoid Bingley’s sister. Elizabeth was in no way demure, yet even she found the woman trying.

  She also noticed that Miss Darcy arranged to be seated on the end of the front row, with Elizabeth beside her and Mrs. Annesley behind her. Elizabeth didn’t mind being employed as a buffer. It showed Miss Darcy was coming to feel at ease with her. She did doubt the precaution was required, as Mr. Hurst, from what little she recalled of him, would almost certainly go to sleep the moment the performance began.

  In that Elizabeth was mistaken, for Mr. Hurst proceeded to go to sleep the moment they were all settled into their seats, not waiting for the performance. Beyond the Hursts, from Mr. Darcy’s box, Elizabeth heard laughter. Leaning forward, she could make out just enough to see Miss Bingley leaning toward Mr. Darcy. Her back was to Elizabeth, but she undoubtedly displayed her assets to their fullest. Elizabeth could see Mr. Darcy looked only at her face.

  Elizabeth leaned back, not wishing his gaze to travel past Miss Bingley’s feather-adorned coiffure and find her watching. She didn’t want Mr. Darcy to think she cared if he flirted with Miss Bingley, because she did not. Even if he’d turned out to be more reticent than haughty, reserved than proud, she still suspected him of splitting up Jane and Mr. Bingley, and he had still said she wasn’t handsome enough to tempt him even to dance.

  While he showed no inclination to repeat the one crime, she still had the luxury of knowing he didn’t find her attractive. Likely, that was why he was so at ease with her, for she’d noticed he was. With her, he sometimes even joked, or teased. If she hadn’t overheard his unguarded words, when he first arrived in Hertfordshire last autumn, she might even assume he was attracted to her. Fortunately, she needn’t worry over that.

  Yes, she thought as Miss Bingley laughed again. It was very fortunate she knew Mr. Darcy didn’t care for her in that way, and that she didn’t care for him like that either. Otherwise, sitting nearby while Miss Bingley flirted with him all evening would be torture.

  Elizabeth resolutely angled her shoulders away from them and toward Miss Darcy. She was, after all, happy to further their friendship and to help Miss Darcy learn to converse in public with more ease. Elizabeth suppressed a grimace as Miss Bingley’s laugh sounded a third time. The woman was being ridiculous. Mr. Darcy couldn’t possibly be saying anything that entertaining.

  Behind Elizabeth, Uncle Phillips and Mrs. Searle were talking quietly, though Mrs. Annesley and Lady Catherine were silent. Elizabeth composed herself, considering and discarding various topics she might employ to draw out Miss Darcy.

  “Mr. Phillips,” Lady Catherine said loudly, breaking into his conversation with Mrs. Searle. “Don’t you think you should take advantage of London and find a better tailor?”

  “I can’t afford a London tailor,” Uncle Phillips said with no sign of discomfort at that admission.

  Elizabeth recognized a hint of amusement in his voice, although she couldn’t understand why. Lady Catherine’s brash tones, coupled with Miss Bingley’s incessant titters, scattered the topics she was sorting in her mind. She let out a sigh, wondering when the opera would begin.

  “It must be embarrassing for your nieces to be seen with someone who
se clothes are so outdated,” Lady Catherine said.

  Elizabeth considered interjecting that she wasn’t embarrassed. When she was younger, she was often embarrassed by her mother, making her well aware of that feeling. Mr. Phillips might be common, but she recognized his good heart and respected him for it.

  Besides, embarrassment was a silly emotion. Elizabeth could only dream of when Mrs. Bennet was alive to foster it. She would endure an eternity of mortification to have her mother back.

  “His nieces don’t act as if they’re embarrassed,” Mrs. Searle offered in her usual soothing tone.

  “I doubt they are.” Lady Catherine’s voice was officious as she delivered that contradictory statement. “It’s obvious their dresses were made in the country. I’m sure they don’t know any better.”

  “The eldest would be beautiful in sackcloth and the other two are beautiful in what they are wearing,” Mrs. Searle said firmly.

  “But they aren’t fashionable.” Lady Catherine’s tone conveyed her condemnation. “It’s an embarrassment for Anne and me to be seen with them. I’d thought we would be seated with the Bingleys and Hursts, who dress fashionably.”

  Elizabeth suppressed a laugh. The woman was insufferable. She didn’t know why Miss de Bourgh hadn’t wed yet, to escape her mother.

  “Yet here you are seated beside me,” Uncle Phillips said, still amused.

  “Yes, well, you’re the only person here capable of sensible conversation,” Lady Catherine declared. “Although, your nieces conversation would be better if they, and you, dressed with more of an eye toward fashion.”

  Elizabeth pressed a hand to her mouth to keep her amusement in. What a ridiculous notion.

  “I’ve encouraged my nieces to save,” Uncle Phillips said, speaking slightly louder as the orchestra had begun tuning up. “Fashionable dresses are expensive.”

  “And you teach them by example.” Mrs. Searle, too, sounded slightly amused, though Elizabeth could hardly make out her words over the increasing din.

  Elizabeth’s uncle spoke again, but now she couldn’t hear what was said. The orchestra had launched into full swing. Elizabeth directed her eyes toward the stage. She truly did hope to enjoy the opera, Miss Bingley and Lady Catherine aside.

  A tentative hand touched her sleeve. She turned to find Miss Darcy regarding her with wide eyes. Elizabeth raised an inquiring eyebrow.

  “Your dress is lovely,” Miss Darcy said, barely loud enough to be heard.

  Elizabeth smiled. This was the first time Miss Darcy had ventured to speak to her without being prompted. “Thank you, but I’m not upset by Lady Catherine’s observation.”

  “Really? Only, I would have been embarrassed. I thought…” Miss Darcy’s courage failed, her words trailing off and her cheeks reddening. She dropped her gaze.

  “You thought I would need support,” Elizabeth finished for her. “Thank you for that. Your consideration for me is worth more than any compliment.”

  Miss Darcy’s eyes darted back up. “It’s just she’s so intrusive,” she said quietly. She cast a guiltily look behind her, although it was unlikely she could be heard by even the most acute listener.

  Elizabeth looked too. Lady Catherine was talking to Mr. Phillips. Mrs. Searle, ever polite, conversed with Mrs. Annesley. “Yes,” Elizabeth agreed. “She is.”

  “Anne, I mean Miss de Bourgh, told me about how Mr. Searle talked back to her,” Miss Darcy confided. “I wish I could have heard it.”

  “Are you close with your cousin?”

  “Yes. We write regularly. She’s the only one who understands what it’s like to be… to be me.” Miss Darcy offered a tentative smile. “She said you gave her courage.”

  “Me?” Elizabeth wondered if there was some confusion about Miss de Bourgh’s source of courage. “I can’t think of a single act of courage I’ve carried out around her.”

  “No. It’s not like that.” Miss Darcy shook her head. “My brother wrote me all about some conversations he had with you. There was a conversation about what counted as being accomplished.” She blushed again, obviously aware she was, in truth, accomplished. “He said you were very clever and quoted to me some of the things you said about being accomplished. He wrote in another letter about you standing up to him about something.”

  Elizabeth’s mouth twitched into a smile. “I’d hardly call any of that courageous.”

  Miss Darcy’s look was incredulous. “But it is. My brother can be very intimidating. When he’s angry, he becomes very frightening.”

  “How so?” Elizabeth asked, suddenly concerned for this timid young woman. She glanced toward the other box. No. She couldn’t imagine, even for a moment, Mr. Darcy raising his hand to his sister, or even his voice.

  “Once, I did something very wrong, or rather, almost did something very wrong.” Miss Darcy’s face flushed a bright red. “He was very angry with me. I love my brother, but he was so angry he frightened me. He didn’t hurt me or anything. He didn’t even punish me.” She shook her head, as if to expel the memory. “When he wrote about you, I passed some of what he said on to Anne. She said if she ever met you, she would try to get to know you, so she could learn to stand up to her mother, like you stood up to my brother. That’s why she decided to join you in the park that first day.”

  Elizabeth stared at Miss Darcy, uncertain what to say. She didn’t consider herself courageous or consider Mr. Darcy intimidating. Sometimes haughty and in need of someone to ground him, but not scary. She felt a stab of sympathy for Miss Darcy and Miss de Bourgh. How terrible to be quite so timid. Not that a secondhand description of a conversation could give someone courage. More likely, Miss de Bourgh had simply needed an excuse to defy her mother.

  Song burst forth from the stage. Elizabeth turned toward the sound, realizing the actors had taken their places while she and Miss Darcy spoke. She sat back to watch the opera unfold, her mind going back over Miss Darcy’s words.

  So, it truly had been Miss de Bourgh’s idea to walk with them that first day, and she obviously enjoyed doing so. Why, though, had lady Catherine claimed to encourage the friendship? She’d only moments ago admitted that Elizabeth and her sisters were an embarrassment.

  Elizabeth shrugged. The riddles of Mr. Darcy and his relations would have to wait for another time. She was there to listen to the opera, something she found enjoyable, though she didn’t listen with the rapt attention she observed in Miss Darcy. On her other side, Mr. Hurst snored softly. As the evening wore on, Elizabeth occasionally took her eyes from the performance to look past him. As far as she could see, Mr. Darcy’s attention, like his sister’s, was on the stage, not Miss Bingley.

  Part Five

  Hypothetical Beginnings

  Chapter Fifteen

  During the interval at the opera, Bingley asked Darcy if he had time for a brandy afterward, at their club. As he deliberately chose a moment when no one was nearby to issue the question, Darcy instantly agreed. It was Bingley’s habit to seek Darcy’s council, and Darcy’s habit to give it.

  After the performance, made less enjoyable than usual by Miss Bingley’s incessant attempts to engage him, Darcy rode home with his sister and Mrs. Annesley. He was in a slightly dour mood, put out that Elizabeth had left him to Miss Bingley all evening, but he dropped his sister and her companion at Darcy House and directed his coachman to go to his club. All the way there, he mulled over Elizabeth’s possible motivations. To his way of thinking, they’d been getting along well.

  Entering the smoky interior of his club, Darcy made his way toward a table at the back, secluded enough for whatever topic Bingley had on his mind that evening. On the way, he politely fielded greetings and fended off invitations. Finally reaching the far side of the room, he sat with his back to the wall and called for a decanter of brandy and two glasses. They arrived before Bingley did.

  When Bingley finally showed up, Darcy sat back to watch his progress across the smoke-swathed room with wry amusement. A span that had taken Darcy nea
rly a quarter of an hour to traverse took Bingley more than half of one. When he finally pulled out the chair across from Darcy and sat, Bingley’s affability was clearly waning. He reached out and poured two fingers of dark liquid into the empty tumbler.

  “You look as though it’s something important,” Darcy observed. Otherwise, it would have taken Bingley two hours, several hands of cards, and possibly a wager or two to make his way through their club.

  Bingley knocked back a sizable swallow. “It is.”

  Darcy raised his eyebrows.

  “I’m considering asking Miss Bennet to marry me.” Bingley took another gulp of brandy.

  “That is important,” Darcy agreed. He lifted the decanter, for Bingley’s glass was nearly empty.

  Bingley shook his head in the negative. “Look, Darcy, you advised me to leave Hertfordshire because Miss Bennet didn’t love me.” One of Bingley’s fingers tapped against the side of his cut crystal glass in an agitated rhythm. “Do you still think she doesn’t love me? I see her every day, and I simply cannot tell. She’s always amicable, even welcoming, but she seems that way with everyone.” This last, Bingley uttered in anguished tones.

  Mulling over the question, Darcy poured a touch more into his glass and set the decanter down. “I’ve been observing her since we first met the Bennets in the park.” He shook his head. “I’m no longer convinced she doesn’t love you.”

  Bingley sat forward, expression eager. “So, you think she does love me?

  Darcy took a small sip. The brandy burned a trail down his throat. “I don’t know.”