Hypothetically Married

by Renata McMann

  Bingley nodded and turned to Mrs. Searle. “Thank you for a rather exciting evening,” he said with a grin. He offered an amiable smile to Anne and Searle. “And, once again, congratulations. By the way, may I ask when you intend to marry?”

  Anne exchanged a look with Searle. “We planned to speak to you, Miss Bennet, Richard and Miss Kitty on that matter.”

  Bingley frowned. “Why?”

  Searle cast a quick look at his mother. “We rather thought we would pursue a special license. We were hoping we could, well, wed at the same time as you and Miss Bennet, and Colonel Fitzwilliam and Miss Kitty.”

  Anne glanced at Mrs. Searle as well. “We’ve all spent so much time together, it seems right.”

  Bingley shrugged, his usual amiable smile in place. “It’s a splendid idea as far as I’m concerned. You know Jane will be happy with the idea, certainly.”

  “Are you sure, dear?” Mrs. Searle asked Anne. “You don’t want an event? Pageantry?”

  “The last thing I want is an event,” Anne said. She smiled at Searle. “We simply wish to begin our life together.”

  “Exactly,” Searle agreed. “We just want to get married. We can take the money we would have used for a lavish affair and put it toward charity.”

  Darcy took in the look of perfect harmony the two exchanged. Perhaps Searle did know what he was getting into after all. Pleased, he stood. “Anne, I’ll send the carriage back for you. Will you be able to collect your maid and trunk? I assume you’ll have Bruce and Brice with you?”

  “She will,” Searle said firmly.

  Where they stood against the wall, as unobtrusive as large red-headed twins could be, the two footmen nodded. “We’ll go in for you, miss,” one of them said.

  “Thank you,” Anne said.

  Darcy bowed to Mrs. Searle, then offered Searle a nod. “Thank you for, as Bingley so adroitly put it, a rather exciting evening.”

  “You’re welcome, Mr. Darcy,” Mrs. Searle said. “Let us hope future evenings are just as joyous, if a touch less tumultuous.”

  Darcy and Bingley both bowed again and made their way out. Darcy called for his carriage, pleased to be in the crisp evening air. He wondered if Elizabeth had felt the same relief and return of calm when she stepped out onto the street that evening.

  “Do you think Colonel Fitzwilliam and Miss Kitty will mind if Miss de Bourgh and Searle add to our joint wedding day?” Bingley asked.

  Darcy’s carriage came to a halt before them. He gave his coachman directions and then turned to Bingley. “I can’t see Richard protesting. I’m uncertain about Miss Kitty, but if the three of you agree, she will as well.”

  Bingley nodded and headed around to the other side of the vehicle. “You know, there’s no reason not to have four weddings,” he called back.

  Darcy faltered mid step, which gave his footman enough time to open the carriage door for him, something Darcy was going to do himself. He gave the man a nod of thanks and got in to find Bingley waiting. Darcy took in Bingley’s grin and ignored it.

  “Come now, Darcy, we all have eyes,” Bingley said. “What’s the trouble?”

  Darcy shook his head. He wasn’t in the mood for a heartfelt confession. “She’s not interested.”

  Bingley let out a surprised laugh. “Impossible.”

  Darcy shrugged. “We… touched on the subject that first day we all walked. She wasn’t unkind, but she made her feelings plain.”

  “And what did you say?”

  He shrugged again, annoyed with the line of questioning. “I concurred.”

  “You mean to tell me you don’t wish to wed Miss Elizabeth? I’ve seen the way you look at her.”

  “I didn’t, and I told her as much.”

  “Didn’t?” Bingley latched onto that word. “Didn’t then. What about now?”

  “It’s immaterial. We agreed we weren’t courting. She agreed.”

  “In my opinion, you should ask her,” Bingley said.

  “I do not recall seeking your opinion,” Darcy said stiffly.

  Bingley shook his head, but he let the matter drop. They rode in silence until they reached Lady Catherine’s. Darcy alighted, still annoyed enough not to address Bingley.

  Darcy jogged up the steps, his mind more on Elizabeth than where he was or why. The door at the top jerked open. Lady Catherine’s butler, looking exceedingly frazzled, stepped out and closed the door behind him.

  “Mr. Darcy, thank you for coming, sir. You’ve got to talk to her,” the butler said.

  Darcy stared at the man, surprised. “She’s still not recovered from her disagreement with Mr. Phillips?”

  “Recovered?” The man’s laughter bordered on hysterical. “She’s still yelling, and about once every five minutes, she smashes something. She threw a shepherdess at one of the maids and a mantle clock at my head. We’re all afraid to go in there.”

  “Threw?” Darcy was tempted to step back and take in the house, to make sure he was at the correct address, frantic butler aside. “Where is she?”

  Lady Catherine’s butler pushed the door open and gestured Darcy into the foyer. “She’s in the red drawing room.”

  Darcy nodded, divesting himself of outerwear as he said, “I’ll talk with her. Please have Miss de Bourgh’s maid pack up her things and make ready. A carriage will arrive shortly to move Miss de Bourgh into Darcy House. Bruce and Brice will oversee things.”

  “Move Miss de Bourgh?” The harried looking butler glanced in the direction of the red drawing room.

  As if on cue, a snarling yell sounded, punctuated by a crash. Darcy gave the man a startled look and hurried down the hall. He could hardly credit what he’d heard with his own ears.

  He entered the drawing room to find it cluttered with the remains of expensive china figurines and splintered wood. The paper on one of the walls was damaged in several spots. The curtains had been torn from two of the windows. Lady Catherine was weeping on a sofa, hands covering her face. Several candles were knocked over. The scorch marks on some of the elaborately embroidered pillows bespoke of how she’d put out the flames.

  He moved to stand before her, skirting a small, mother of pearl inlaid table that was smashed on the floor. She didn’t look up. Sobs leaked from behind her hands.

  “Aunt Catherine?” Darcy asked, incredulous. “What happened?”

  She raised a red, tear-streaked face. “I’ve never been so humiliated.”

  “About Anne’s engagement?”

  She shook her head.

  “The footmen, then?” he tried. “I think it works in your favor that the men you hired were loyal to her. It shows you chose well.”

  “Oh, that,” Lady Catherine said. She applied a bedraggled handkerchief to her face. “No. That isn’t it.”

  Darcy scanned the room again, still shocked by the destruction. “You shouldn’t be upset about Anne standing up to you. You raised her to be strong. You did well.”

  “No,” she snapped. “You don’t understand. It’s Mr. Phillips.”

  “What did he do?” Darcy suddenly wondered if he would be called upon to defend his aunt’s honor, but the idea was absurd. It was not only that Mr. Phillips wouldn’t do anything to offend Lady Catherine’s honor, he was Elizabeth’s well-loved uncle. On top of that, Darcy couldn’t challenge a man like Mr. Phillips to a duel. He looked around the room a third time. “What could he do to cause… this?”

  “He refused me.”

  Darcy didn’t understand. Refused her what? “Refused you?”

  Lady Catherine threw up her hands. “I’ve been hinting for weeks. I thought he just didn’t see it, or believed me too above him, despite my hints. He is always friendly and kind.” She let out a fresh sob, which bubbled into high pitched laughter. “Kind. What sort of a man falsely gives the impression he cares? Not a kind one.”

  “So, he isn’t kind?” Darcy asked, still with no idea what they were talking about.

  “Apparently not. He was honest with his wards, so I th
ought he would be honest with me. He was so pleasant, so kind. I knew Anne would leave me someday. I wanted someone who would listen to me, who would care. I told him he would have plenty of money and could live a life of luxury, but he said no. He said I should hire a companion.” She almost spat the last word.

  Darcy stared at her, incredulous as he gathered her meaning. “You asked Mr. Phillips to marry you?”

  “I did,” she said, then started laughing hysterically.

  Darcy wasn’t certain how to respond. He looked about again at the destruction in the room, flabbergasted. “Aunt Catherine?” Should he… strike her?

  Finally, she stopped laughing. She sat back on the couch, gasping for breath. Her head turned as she took in the room. “My last temper tantrum was when I was nine. I don’t even remember why I threw it, but my mother locked me in my room for a day without anything but water.” This time, her laugh was more normal, if shaky. “I didn’t know I could do this.”

  Darcy didn’t either. Any of it. Want to marry. Ask Mr. Phillips, of all people. Destroy her drawing room. He shook his head. Mr. Phillips had been wise to refuse.

  Darcy held out a hand to his aunt. “Why don’t you go to bed. The servants can clean this up.”

  “That is probably a good idea.”

  Darcy helped his aunt to her feet, then escorted her into the hallway. Fortunately, there was no sign of the flurry of activity that must be taking place to get Anne’s possessions in order. Hopefully, that would be contained to her rooms and Lady Catherine wouldn’t hear and would be abed before Brice and Bruce arrived.

  He handed his aunt off to a hovering, nervous looking maid, and overheard the girl saying a bath was already drawn, should Lady Catherine wish one. Darcy hoped, once she recovered, Lady Catherine would think to give a bonus to her staff for the trials of the evening. He reclaimed his hat, gloves and greatcoat from the thankful butler and left.

  ***

  It took only two days for Bingley to declare he couldn’t locate the Wickhams. Darcy had been holding back, knowing it was important to Bingley to try. Deciding the declaration counted as Bingley’s blessing, he went to the boardinghouse Elizabeth mentioned the night of Lady Catherine’s fit. If the woman who ran the house was concealing Mr. Wickham’s whereabouts, Darcy suspected a small bribe would bring forth the information he needed, but that Bingley would have been too naive to attempt it.

  Darcy wasn’t particularly interested in finding Mr. Wickham, but he was interested in locating Elizabeth’s sister for her. Were it his sister, even if she had behaved as poorly as Lydia Wickham, Darcy would wish to know she was safe. He’d been aware of a tension in Elizabeth of late and felt her little sister’s disappearance was the most likely reason. Hopefully he could alleviate that.

  Nor were his motives wholly unselfish. Darcy felt responsible for Mrs. Wickham’s fate. He’d let his pride about not gossiping, and not deigning to care what the people of Hertfordshire thought of him, stop him from revealing the truth about Wickham’s nature. If Darcy had been a touch less severe, Elizabeth’s sister might have been spared what would surely be a less than happy life.

  The boardinghouse was what he expected, barely reputable. He knocked and waited, happy he’d brought two footmen along with his coachman. The door swung open. Darcy stared in surprise at Mrs. Younge.

  Here was the woman he’d hired to safeguard Georgiana. The woman who’d betrayed his trust by allowing Mr. Wickham to court his sister. A person Darcy had never thought to, or wished to, set eyes on again. One of the very few people in the world whom Darcy actually viewed with hatred.

  “Well, well. It’s Mr. Darcy,” she drawled in the same cultured tones that had helped lead him to give her the position. “Are you looking for a room? I have a vacant one, previously occupied by a nice young couple, Mr. and Mrs. Wickham.”

  Darcy firmed his expression into cool indifference. “I am looking for Mr. and Mrs. Wickham.”

  “That’s too bad. They aren’t here.” She made as if to close the door.

  Darcy stepped into the doorway. Mrs. Younge glared at him, unafraid. He worked to keep his temper under control. He knew she wanted him to lose it. She knew him well enough to be aware that losing his temper would not mean he would harm her either physically or by using his wealth and position. All he would accomplish would be to show he was not in control.

  “Where are they, then?” he asked.

  “I told you, not here.”

  “Then where?” he asked through a jaw that ached with the desire to grind his teeth.

  “Why do you want to know?”

  To make Elizabeth happy, but that wasn’t something this woman needed to know. “I want them to attend a wedding.” Darcy named the time and place. “If they attend, I will give you ten pounds.” He turned and left. He heard the door slam behind him as he jogged down the steps.

  It was a ridiculously large amount of money for something so trivial. It was unlikely Mrs. Younge profited by that amount in a month. Whatever animosity she felt toward him, she would probably overcome it for such a sum. It was also all he could do, because he couldn’t remain in her presence any longer.

  He settled into his carriage, trying to regain his equilibrium. Had Elizabeth known he would meet Mrs. Younge? He shook his head. No, she wouldn’t know who the woman was, why the name was significant to him. Even if she’d thought to tell him the landlady’s name, he wouldn’t have believed it the same woman. Perhaps suspected, been on guard… he shook his head. It was all useless speculation. Better to put the woman from his mind.

  It was odd, though, he thought. He detested Mrs. Younge for what she’d conspired to permit to happen to Georgiana. In the former governess’s eyes, though, he’d read a loathing to rival his own. He was the wronged party, yet he was certain she disliked him even more than he disliked her.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  After the tumult of the evening before, Elizabeth understood why they didn’t walk that afternoon and postponed attending the theatre. The change gave her plenty of time to hide in their room and work on her gifts for Kitty and Jane, and to grow somewhat bored. The only call they’d had was from Colonel Fitzwilliam, to tell Kitty he was returned and set a time for her to meet his mother. They’d used the parlor alone, though with the door open. The highlight of Elizabeth’s day was when Uncle Gardiner arrived home from work and they all sat to dinner. He, at least, was indifferent to the uproar of the previous evening and carried on a cheerful near-monologue about the happenings of the day.

  Now, with dinner over and the children abed, the parlor had become silent. Elizabeth’s uncles were engaged in a game of chess. She, her sisters and Aunt Gardiner all had various sewing projects to pursue. Elizabeth smiled wistfully, suddenly missing Mary and Lydia. One would have read to them, the other chattered blithely. Either would have filled the silence.

  A maid appeared in the parlor door. Elizabeth looked up from the hem she was sewing, surprised. It wasn’t so late as they would be abed but was an odd time for anyone to appear uninvited.

  “A Mr. Searle, missus,” the maid said. “Shall I say you’re at home? He asked for all of you.”

  “Please, show him in,” Aunt Gardiner said.

  Elizabeth folded her work. Her uncles turned in their chairs to face the door. Kitty looked at Elizabeth and shrugged. Mr. Searle came in, serious but not agitated, and greetings were exchanged. Once an offer of refreshments was declined, they all retook their seats.

  He turned toward Kitty and Jane. “I’ve come on multiple points, but let me begin by asking, Miss Bennet, Miss Kitty, if you would consent to permit Miss de Bourgh and me to wed alongside you both? You should know I’ve put the question to both Mr. Bingley and Colonel Fitzwilliam, and they both said it’s up to you.”

  Jane, of course, was already nodding. “I think that would be lovely.”

  Kitty frowned. She looked to Jane, then back at Mr. Searle. “But how can you? There isn’t time to read the banns.”

  “
I made arrangements for a special license today. It really would mean a great deal to us, Miss Kitty.”

  Kitty’s expression was thoughtful, but she nodded. “Miss de Bourgh is our dear friend now, as are you. If Richard said yes, then certainly I agree.”

  “Thank you,” Mr. Searle said, looking relieved. “Between us, my mother has always said she would move out when I married, since I’ll no longer need her as a hostess. It’s not only that Miss de Bourgh and I want to be wed, but also that I hope to bring my wife home before my mother can arrange to go. We both care for her, and I’m certain she’ll quickly see that she and Miss de Bourgh will get along well and there’s no need to leave.”

  Uncle Phillips shifted in his chair, the movement catching Elizabeth’s attention. She looked over to see a secretive smile flitter across his face. The expression was gone so quickly, she half-thought she’d imagined it.

  “My second question is for you, Mrs. Gardiner, and you, Mr. Gardiner,” Mr. Searle said.

  “How can we be of assistance, Mr. Searle?” Uncle Gardiner asked.

  “I was hoping we might also join you all here for the wedding breakfast.” Searle offered a smile that was half-apologetic. “We don’t want to intrude, but Miss de Bourgh says you are her only real friends and there’s no one she’d rather celebrate with.”

  Elizabeth hadn’t considered that aspect of Jane’s and Kitty’s assent. Obviously, Miss de Bourgh and Mr. Searle would want to come to the wedding breakfast at the Gardiners still. What would they do, hold a competing one at Mr. Searle’s home? That would put everyone in an awkward position.

  “We would be happy to have you.” Aunt Gardiner smiled. “You were already invited, just not as additional guests of honor.”

  “Surely, someone as kind as Miss de Bourgh must have other friends,” Jane said. She turned to their aunt. “We could fit a few more at the table.”

  Mr. Searle shook his head. “She claims not. She says you three and Miss Darcy are the only true friends she’s ever had.”

  “That very well may be true,” Elizabeth said. “Mr. Darcy told me that Lady Catherine tended to annoy people enough so that only the extreme toadies would visit.”