Hypothetically Married

by Renata McMann

  Elizabeth could read on Mr. Darcy’s face that he was also struck by how sad that statement was, although Mr. Wickham didn’t seem to realize it. “Well, Lydia is our sister and you are our brother now, so we care,” she asserted.

  “Thank you,” Mr. Wickham said, the words touched with surprise.

  By then, they’d reached the Gardiners’ home, somewhat of a line forming as everyone shuffled in. Elizabeth didn’t know where the servants would put all the outerwear and belatedly hoped Mrs. Gardiner had formed a plan with them. The Gardiner’s parlor and dining room would be filled to bursting.

  After some waiting and minor jostling, the entirety of the party was gathered in, about and spilling from the Gardiners’ dining room and everyone had a small glass of bubbling French champagne, supplied by Miss de Bourgh for the occasion. A toast was made to each couple, and glasses raised in happy support. After the final toast, people began to turn toward the table, set out like a buffet, as most guests would need to eat standing.

  “I hope you all saved a sip,” Uncle Phillips called into the rising din. “There is one more toast I should like to make, before we set to dining.”

  Everyone turned back, dutifully. Elizabeth wondered what more there was to say, as he’d already given a nearly tearful toast for both Kitty and Jane. There was a ripple in the assembled mass of people as Mrs. Searle, unaccountably, made her way to his side.

  “Mrs. Searle has graciously and generously consented to be my wife,” Uncle Phillips declared. “And following her son’s example, a fine gentleman whom I hope will consider himself to be my son, I have here a special license.”

  There was a moment of stunned silence. Elizabeth stared at her uncle, taken completely off guard by his declaration. Well wishes erupted to fill the room, hers among them. Soon, everyone had formed into a loose queue. Friends, family and acquaintances alike filed past the two, offering individual congratulations, before heading to the table to partake of breakfast.

  When Elizabeth, Darcy beside her, reached her uncle, she wrapped him in a happy embrace. “Congratulations. This is wonderful, albeit unexpected, news. I can’t believe you hid this from us.” She released him to aim a mock-glare on Mrs. Searle. “The both of you.”

  “You youngsters had your own concerns,” Mrs. Searle said. Her eyes drifted past Elizabeth to Darcy. “Some of you still do.”

  Elizabeth wasn’t sure what that meant, but she impulsively hugged Mrs. Searle. “I shall be honored to call you my aunt.”

  “Elizabeth,” Uncle Phillips said. “Your sisters are married, but I am still your guardian. Mrs. Searle and I will be living in London.”

  “And we welcome you to live with us,” Mrs. Searle said warmly.

  “Thank you.” Elizabeth hugged them both again, then moved on so Mr. Darcy could offer his congratulations. She watched, a smile on her face, but as she looked about the room, that happy expression threatened to falter.

  The Gardiners’ home was so full. Life, happiness, festivity. Even Mary was there with her husband. After today, that would all be gone. If Elizabeth remained there or moved to live with her Uncle Phillips and Mrs. Searle, something she certainly wouldn’t do right away, she would be alone.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Though she didn’t exert any effort toward the knowledge, as she didn’t care to gossip, Elizabeth couldn’t help but hear some rather interesting rumors about Lady Catherine, many of which included Uncle Phillips. One said that Lady Catherine had burned down her parlor. Another that she’d demanded Uncle Phillips leave Mrs. Searle and marry her instead, which couldn’t be true because Elizabeth’s uncle hadn’t announced his engagement until days after his argument with Lady Catherine. Yet another claimed she’d beat her servants over the head with porcelain figurines. They devolved from there, descending into wild tales of shrieking and smashing that Elizabeth refused to believe.

  All Elizabeth knew for certain was that Lady Catherine didn’t attend her daughter’s wedding because she’d already left London. It came out that she’d departed very early in the morning, the day immediately following the dinner party where Miss de Bourgh and Mr. Searle announced their engagement. Uncle Phillips wouldn’t confirm or deny any of the other bits of information floating around, and Elizabeth respected his reticence, though Uncle Gardiner put considerable effort into teasing the information from him.

  The day after his wedding, Mr. Bingley gave up searching for a suitable London home. Apparently, as soon as they were united, Jane and Bingley realized they didn’t need London any longer. Elizabeth suspected that, as well, once Mary arrived, Jane realized how much she missed her sister. They’d grown quite close in the past few years and had always spoken of raising their children as close friends.

  Instead of London, Jane and Bingley decided they should purchase the property Mr. Bingley had rented the previous autumn in Hertfordshire, Netherfield Park. While his search for a London home had been tedious, somehow the purchase of Netherfield was accomplished speedily. Not two days after Mary and her husband headed back to Meryton, Jane and Bingley followed.

  Kitty moved into Colonel Fitzwilliam’s family home, where she quickly came to like his mother and be tolerant of his older brother. They didn’t mean to remain but were waiting to see where Colonel Fitzwilliam would be stationed next. Elizabeth felt the couple’s impending move made it easier for Kitty to get along with her new husband’s family. Elizabeth had only met them briefly, in conjunction with the wedding, but they reminded her more of Lady Catherine than Colonel Fitzwilliam and Mr. Darcy. During the wedding breakfast, even Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst hadn’t had their noses as far in the air as Colonel Fitzwilliam’s older brother.

  Uncle Phillips married Mrs. Searle the day after the other weddings. The ceremony was smaller, with the Gardiners, Kitty and Richard, Mary and her husband, Jane and Bingley, the new Mr. and Mrs. Searle, Mr. Searle’s sisters and their husbands, and Elizabeth in attendance. The party made for a more reasonably sized wedding breakfast, and frankly more enjoyable save for Mr. Darcy’s absence.

  Elizabeth elected to remain with the Gardiners, who’d graciously welcomed her to stay. She didn’t wish to intrude on Uncle Phillips’ and his new wife’s generosity yet. Likewise, though each couple extended her an invitation to come live with them for a time, she’d declined. Those newlywed, she felt, deserved time together, without their unwed relation underfoot.

  Three days after her sisters’ weddings, Elizabeth found herself alone in the Gardiners’ parlor. She sat in the window seat with a book she wasn’t truly attending to, possessed of a terrible disquiet, bordering on a malaise. She’d been spoiled by the frequent outings and knew she should get accustomed to fewer activities, but the emptiness that filled the house was unusually deep.

  Mr. Gardiner was at work, of course. Mrs. Gardiner had placed most of her children in the care of their governess for their lessons and taken her eldest daughter out for a special treat. She’d confided in Elizabeth that, with all the guests and excitement, she’d been neglecting her children and meant to make time for each one that week.

  Elizabeth sighed, her gaze going out the window. Sleet splattered against the panes, the turn in weather reflecting her mood. Perhaps she could write to Miss Darcy. Now that there would be no more daily walks and dinners and trips to the theatre, there was more than enough time for their tea and piano playing.

  And if she visited Miss Darcy, well, she just might see…

  No, she couldn’t write to Miss Darcy. Elizabeth liked her too well to betray her in that way, employing their friendship to access her brother. Miss Darcy deserved better treatment than that.

  Elizabeth gave up the pretense of reading. She set the book aside, pulled her knees up under her chin, and turned her face toward the window. If only both of her remaining sisters and Uncle Phillips hadn’t all married at once and left her. She was used to a quiet life, until recently, but quiet wasn’t the same as lonely.

  And she was lonely. Over the past few da
ys, even when she was with her aunt and uncle and the children, a deep ache filled her. Nothing seemed bright or happy. Her laughter was forced, flat. There was an empty, gaping hole in her life now that her friends had all formed into groups and gone on to their new, happy lives. Joy no longer filled Elizabeth’s days.

  She hugged her knees tighter and leaned her forehead against the cold windowpane, trying to deny what she knew in her heart. She missed her sisters and uncle, yes, but there was one person in particular whose company she longed for. One face that would alleviate the anxious, horrible sorrow that threatened her. She’d made a terrible, terrible mistake when she told Mr. Darcy, hypothetically, that she had no desire for him to court her.

  Elizabeth watched the sleet, wondering how she could have fallen in love with him. She hadn’t liked him. She’d found him highhanded and arrogant and possessed of ridiculous snobbish notions.

  Perhaps worse, he thought her unattractive, and she knew he often found her provoking. What woman fell in love with a man who thought her plain and annoying? She sighed, her breath clouding the pane. Why hadn’t she comprehended her feelings sooner? She wouldn’t have changed who she was, but she could have made some effort to attract him.

  She dropped her face to her knees and wondered how long she would have to endure this new suffering. She still mourned her father, and her mother. She even missed her Aunt Phillips, though they hadn’t been close. Was a broken heart the same as a death? Would she spend another year, or more, mourning a relationship she’d taken too long to realize she wanted and had willfully sabotaged from the start?

  Casting a covert glance about the room, though she knew herself quite alone, Elizabeth tugged Mr. Darcy’s handkerchief free of her bodice. She pressed the square to her face, but the scent of him had long since departed. Jane had months to get over Mr. Bingley, with no success. As Elizabeth traced Mr. Darcy’s initials, she judged her affection for him to be at least as deep. She clenched the precious handkerchief tightly. Unable to stifle tears, she hugged her knees close and cried.

  ***

  The following morning dawned fair. Once again, after breakfast the house emptied, save for the servants and the children closeted with their governess. Elizabeth thought she might go mad if she spent another day alone in the parlor. A walk was what was called for, before the sky returned to rain, but she’d no one to walk with. Unlike in Hertfordshire, she couldn’t simply walk the streets of London alone. She wondered how much trouble it would cause the household if she asked one of the maids to walk with her. Everyone, except Elizabeth, had duties to see to.

  She’d yet to formulate a plan when one of the maids appeared in the parlor doorway. “Mr. Darcy is asking if you’re at home, miss.”

  “Mr. Darcy?” Elizabeth breathed.

  She sprang to her feet. Her aunt didn’t have a mirror in the parlor. Elizabeth patted at her hair and smoothed her skirt. She resisted the urge to pinch her cheeks, a habit of her mother’s she’d always decried as silly but now understood. What were pinched cheeks compared to giving the man you loved a favorable impression?

  “Shall I tell him you’re at home, miss?”

  “Yes, please, show him in.” Elizabeth clasped her hands before her. Should she sit, then stand again when he entered? Should she smile? Should—

  Mr. Darcy strolled into the parlor. He wore her favorite of his dark suits. Coincidence, or attendance to her words, for she’d once alluded to liking it. He’d divested himself of hat, coat and gloves, as if he intended to remain and take refreshments. He came three strides into the room and halted before her to bow.

  “Miss Bennet,” he greeted.

  Elizabeth felt a twinge of sorrow that he couldn’t use her name now that Jane was married. She suddenly longed for him to call her Elizabeth. “Mr. Darcy.” She knew she ought to say more, but no words would come.

  “Should I fetch tea, miss,” the maid asked from where she hovered in the open doorway. “Or… or sit in the corner?”

  “Would you care for tea, Mr. Darcy?” Elizabeth asked.

  He nodded. “Thank you.”

  Did he, like Elizabeth, simply wish the maid to leave for a time? There was an unaccustomed tautness to his frame. His eyes, darker than usual, seemed to burn into hers. Behind him, the maid slipped out, the movement glimpsed on the edge of Elizabeth’s gaze.

  Elizabeth swallowed against the dryness in her throat. Words. She must summon words. “Would you care to sit, Mr. Darcy?”

  He moved a step closer. “I’ve been trying to decide on something, which perhaps you can help me with,” he said, ignoring her question. “I would think, hypothetically, that if two people are good friends, a proposal of marriage should not destroy the friendship. Yet, I have recent, strong evidence to the contrary.”

  “Evidence to the contrary?” she repeated, feeling somewhat dizzy in the wake of his mention of a proposal. “What evidence?”

  He contemplated her for a long moment, then shook his head. “It would be a betrayal of confidence for me to give details. Please understand, I in no way mean that as a commentary on you. I trust you implicitly, but it’s not my tale to tell.”

  Understanding hit her, and on its heels, pain. He didn’t mean the two of them. He meant— “Are you saying that Lady Catherine proposed to my uncle?”

  Mr. Darcy winced. “Apparently, I’m not so subtle as I believe.”

  Elizabeth took a moment to reorder her thoughts. Was that why he’d come? To seek her aid in reconciling her uncle and his aunt? So, he wasn’t there to see Elizabeth of his own inclination, but rather on the former Miss de Bourgh’s behalf. Elizabeth supposed she could understand that. She expected the Searles had enough trouble dealing with Lady Catherine without her hating Mr. Searle’s mother for winning Elizabeth’s uncle.

  She clasped her hands more tightly, trying to gain some feeling of equilibrium. It was difficult with Mr. Darcy standing so near and looking down at her so intently. “I don’t seek gossip, or credit it, but I did see my uncle when he returned to Mr. Searle’s, after having walked back, and if even a fraction of what I’ve heard about that evening is true, it’s unlikely your aunt and my uncle will be friends for years, if ever again. If she had behaved better after Uncle Phillips’ refusal, they might have been able to do so.”

  Mr. Darcy’s gaze searched hers. “So, you feel her proposal ruined their friendship, but, hypothetically, it needn’t have done so? A proposal could be made and refused and a friendship not be broken beyond repair?”

  Elizabeth studied his face, her heart pounding against the inside of her chest. Was he talking about them after all? Could he be? “I believe it would be sad if two reasonable adults could not remain friends. After all, a proposal is a compliment, and a refusal is only a refusal of marriage, not a repudiation of friendship.” She took a half step closer. “But, hypothetically speaking, I don’t believe such a proposal is likely to be refused. Far from it.”

  Behind him, two maids bustled into the room, carrying the tea service and light snacks. They must have hurried and had water still warm from breakfast. Frustration at the interruption shot through Elizabeth.

  Face heating slightly, she realized she and Mr. Darcy stood quite close. She took a step back. He frowned as he watched the two young women set out tea. They did their very best not to look at him or Elizabeth.

  When they were done, one slipped out. The second stopped near the door. “Will there be anything else, miss?”

  “Not just now,” Elizabeth said in as normal a voice as she could muster.

  “I’ll be near if you require anything, miss,” the maid said and backed from the parlor.

  Elizabeth pulled her gaze from the empty doorway. “Would you care to sit now and take tea?” she asked, tentative.

  To her surprise, Mr. Darcy turned from her. He went to the parlor door and pulled it closed. She caught her breath. Two long strides brought him back to stand before her.

  “I do not want to sit and have tea,” he said. “Nor d
o I wish to be disturbed again or to speak in hypotheticals.” He captured her hands in his.

  Elizabeth stared up at him, hardly able to breath.

  “I don’t know when I fell in love with you, but it wasn’t very long after I met you,” Mr. Darcy continued. “I’ll admit, I resisted. I thought your lack of wealth and connections to trade made it undesirable for me to marry you. Undesirable.” He repeated the word as if confounded by the meaning of those five syllables. “You are the most desirable woman I’ve ever met. The most desirable woman in all the world. That’s half the reason I left Hertfordshire, to flee the temptation of you.”

  “You love me?” Elizabeth’s voice came out a whisper, relief and joy making her dizzy. “Since Hertfordshire. But, you agreed we were only friends. You gave no indication.”

  “Because when I saw you in London, I discovered you didn’t like me.”

  She flinched at that, because it was true.

  “And because, as much as I want you to be my wife, I value the friendship we’ve developed and do not want to lose it.”

  “Yet, here you stand,” she said, hardly able to believe her fortune. Was she awake? She glanced toward the window seat, half convinced she’d fallen asleep there. This could only be a dream. Bright sunlight streamed between the curtains.

  “Yes,” he said, his voice low. “Here I stand. I cannot go on as friends. I will, if I must, but not without trying for more. Elizabeth Bennet, I love you. Be my wife.”

  “Yes,” she said.

  He stared down at her, so surprised, she worried she’d misunderstood his offer. “You’ll marry me?”

  “Yes, gladly. Eagerly.” A smile lifted the corners of her lips. “Why wouldn’t I marry you? I love you.”

  He drew her into his arms and kissed her. Hypothetically, Elizabeth imagined it was the most amazing kiss there’d ever been. Practically speaking, it was only the beginning.

  Part Seven