Hypothetically Married_A Pride and Prejudice Variation

by Renata McMann

  “I say, is that you, Darcy,” a male voice called.

  Not all of five minutes, Darcy thought, amused. He looked over his shoulder to find an acquaintance, Mr. Searle, bearing down on them. Not one of the gentlemen Darcy had expected, he realized as Searle fell in step beside him. Searle didn’t need to marry an heiress. He was already quite well off.

  Of course, so was Darcy, yet he expected a wealthy bride. He frowned slightly, wondering why. He already had more money than he would ever need. Perhaps because a wealthy bride brought better connections?

  “Searle,” Darcy greeted, not halting their pace, which was still too slow to suit him. “Anne, this is Mr. Searle. Searle, my cousin, Miss Anne de Bourgh.”

  Searle leaned forward to peer around Darcy, nodding without missing a step. “Miss de Bourgh, it’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance. I don’t mean to interrupt, but may I have a moment of Mr. Darcy’s time?”

  “Of course, Mr. Searle,” Anne said.

  “My time?” Darcy repeated.

  “Yes, and am I glad to see you.” Searle smiled affably. “Have you thought any more about my plan to create a fund for injured soldiers, to find employment for them? I could use your thoughts, and your bank role.”

  Darcy hid a grimace. So, Searle did want to speak with him and on a subject he’d been avoiding.

  “A fund to help injured soldiers find employment?” Anne said. “Why, what a noble cause, Mr. Searle. Tell me, do you mean while they recover, or do you refer to the permanently disabled?”

  Darcy shot her a grateful look. With him between her and Searle, Anne offered Darcy a wink the other man couldn’t see, adding another surprise to his day. Anne winked?

  Searle seemed happy to reply to Anne, though his answer was brief. Anne pressed for more information, asking surprisingly insightful questions. This drew Searle into a longer explanation. Darcy walked on, quite content to be talked across so long as it kept him from being put on the spot regarding a donation.

  He applauded Searle’s efforts and thought the cause noble. Darcy has a strict belief, however, that charity belonged within the community. He already made similar efforts on behalf of those returning to his lands in Derbyshire. Not only would donating to Searle’s cause divert resources from those Darcy was responsible for, doing so would also open the door for numerous others of Darcy’s acquaintances to expect charitable donations to any number of funds. He would become hounded.

  Darcy watched Anne askance, thankful to her for helping him out of a delicate situation. In truth, she was a much better walking companion than he’d expected. He recalled Richard’s earlier words, about Anne not wishing to marry him. His feelings on the matter hadn’t changed today, but he was beginning to realize he didn’t even know her. He hadn’t rejected her, but rather the idea of capitulating to Lady Catherine. He hoped Anne knew as much.

  The path became too narrow for three abreast, bare branches stretching out to tug at skirts, coats and cloaks alike. Darcy took the opportunity to step back, letting Searle offer Anne his arm. To his surprise, Elizabeth came up to walk alongside him. Realizing she must seek to further their acquaintance, he was both flattered and alarmed. He didn’t care to encourage her when there was no hope of a union.

  For someone who wished to win an offer from him, she was oddly silent. They walked for some time, the couples drawing apart once more. The path widened again, but Darcy had no desire to rejoin Searle and Anne. Elizabeth remained by his side, heightening his worry that she was pursuing him. He sought about for a way to dissuade her without giving offense.

  Finally, he decided an opportunity might come if he gently broached the subject of unions. On top of that, there was something he wished to understand. Why had Miss Bennet hidden her pleasure in seeing Bingley?

  He turned slightly to Elizabeth. “I would like to ask you a hypothetical question.”

  She didn’t look at him but nodded.

  “If a woman wishes to ensnare a man into marriage, why would she try to conceal her pleasure at meeting him?”

  The silence that met his question made him regret he’d said anything.

  After a long pause, she cast him a sardonic look. “Perhaps you are misunderstanding the woman’s motives. Since it is unlikely that a woman who wanted, as you put it, to ensnare a man into marriage, would conceal her pleasure at seeing the man, perhaps the hypothesis of your hypothetical statement is false.”

  He digested this for a few moments. Did she think he spoke of her or realize he meant her sister Jane? Was Elizabeth trying to say that she didn’t care for Darcy or that Miss Bennet didn’t love Bingley?

  The latter couldn’t be it, for Darcy was now rather sure that Miss Bennet did. He’d read as much on her face. “Possibly. Let’s suppose that she doesn’t want to ensnare him into marriage, but that she was undeniably pleased to see him. What would her motive be? Why hide her pleasure in meeting him?”

  Elizabeth tipped her face up toward the winter-blue sky. The stiff breeze, which played endless havoc with her hem, tugged at her bonnet. “She might not want him to know how much she cares for him because she has evidence he doesn’t care for her. For example, he may have had a chance to propose and not taken it.”

  No, she didn’t feel he meant her. It was obvious she spoke of her sister and Bingley. Even if Darcy had let Elizabeth’s hopes rise too high, his interactions with her that past autumn could never be described as him having had a chance to propose. He’d been too careful for that.

  “She likely doesn’t wish to hurt him,” Elizabeth continued. “After all, if he’s worth ensnaring, she might like him enough not to want him to feel guilty because he didn’t ask her to marry him. This is especially true if she genuinely loves him.”

  “I would think if she genuinely loved him, she would be angry at him for not proposing.” The words were out of Darcy’s mouth before he could call them back. He desperately hoped that, this time, she didn’t correctly understand of whom he spoke. It ate away at him, though, Elizabeth’s clear dismay upon seeing him.

  “If she is selfish, she might react angrily,” Elizabeth said. “But you said she hid her affection. Therefore, she is unselfish and wishes the gentleman to be happy.”

  Relief swept through Darcy. Obviously, Elizabeth thought his words still applied to Miss Bennet and Bingley. So, she thought her sister cared for Bingley still. Darcy would need to consider what, if anything, to do with that information.

  On the other hand, by Elizabeth’s reasoning, her reaction to him meant she was either admitting to being selfish or didn’t actually care for him. Darcy found both difficult to credit. He decided to try another hypothetical situation. “Why would a woman react negatively to meeting a man who would be a good match for her?”

  “A good match,” she drawled, eyeing him askance. “You mean, the man is able to provide, as well as being decent, upright and kind? My Uncle Phillips fits into that category, but I doubt he’s considered a good match. After all, he is almost fifty and not wealthy.”

  She was deliberately misunderstanding him. “You must have some idea of what a good match is.”

  “I have a good idea of what you believe a good match to be.” Her tone was touched with more than a little sarcasm. “I prefer to assume that the two individuals involved define which qualities are most important to happiness in marriage. You, I believe, mean wealth, apparently regardless of other considerations.”

  Darcy shot her a startled glance. He hadn’t exactly said that. She wasn’t looking at him. The watery winter sun glinted off the curls that escaped her bonnet.

  “Does the man’s wealth have to be connected to land or does wealth from trade count?” she continued in that same biting tone. “Both will buy the same comforts.”

  “I suppose if comfort is all she is interested in, then it doesn’t matter,” he snapped back. “But some forms of wealth make it harder to become friends with the right people.”

  She cast him a look, lovely eyes wide and incredulo
us. “Oh, the right people. Of course,” she said, putting on a good show of total surprise at the idea. “Now, why didn’t I think of that consideration?” Her smile was benign. “Please enlighten me. Who are the right people?”

  Darcy scowled, aware he was being baited.

  “Come now, don’t keep it a secret. Not when my future happiness might depend on knowing,” Elizabeth said. “I’m expected to marry eventually, after all. I want to make a good match.”

  He remained silent, not deigning to answer.

  “You seem to reject those who are good and kind.” Her voice was mock-thoughtful. “How about those who are intelligent and well-informed? Clever and witty might be important to some. I suppose there are those who have what we call rank or, at least, are related to people with rank. I’ve been offering pairs of qualities, so I will pair rank with people who dress in the height of fashion. They seem to go together.”

  The implied triviality in her pairing rank with the ever-shifting whims of fashion made him feel nearly as if he’d been kicked. The dark edge to her tone showed her to be serious in her censure and rendered those qualities almost meaningless. Well, it was a good thing he’d never attempted to raise her expectations. He may very well have been rebuked. Inconceivable as it seemed, she did not seem to want him.

  In fact, she considered him rank. He smiled at his silent pun.

  “What is it that you find amusing?” she asked, tone light with genuine interest.

  So, she was watching him, even though whenever he turned to her, she faced straight ahead. His smile grew slightly. He changed his real thought into something he could use as a reply. “You seem to think that people in the last category you gave are rank.”

  Her cheeks turned pink, heightening her beauty. “I got carried away in my pairings. I apologize.”

  “No apology is needed. We were speaking hypothetically.”

  This time, she didn’t look away when he turned to her. She studied his face for a long moment. “Thank you, but I do need to offer an apology.”

  “Truly, you do not.” Not for setting him right in his worries and freeing him from the snare of her imagined affection.

  She shook her head. “Not for this conversation. For a previous one.” She wrinkled her nose in a grimace. “When we danced at the ball Mr. Bingley held, I defended Mr. Wickham.”

  Darcy tensed at the name. There were few people he loathed more than George Wickham, childhood friend turned bounder, who’d tried to seduce Darcy’s little sister for her dowry. “I recall.” He was unable to keep the anger from his tone.

  “I believed you’d wronged him.” She shook her head at her own foolishness. “As I came to know Mr. Wickham better, I learned to question his honesty. Once I did, I saw inconsistencies in his statements.” She sighed. “He isn’t trustworthy. I am sorry for my angry defense of him. I no longer believe what he told me.”

  Don’t ask, Darcy told himself. Keep Wickham out of your life, in any form. Yet, he had to know what she meant when she said she’d come to know Wickham better. If he’d wronged Elizabeth, Darcy would find him, and they would have words on the matter. Strong words. “What did he tell you?”

  She shrugged, gazing off toward a large, snow-frosted maple. “That your father willed him a living and you withheld it from him on some technicality.”

  Darcy let out a bark of laughter, but there was no amusement in the sound. “The technicality was the three thousand pounds I paid him to give up the living, which was his idea.”

  “I believe you.” The eyes she turned his way brimmed with sincerity.

  “What did Mr. Wickham do to you to make you finally believe me rather than him?” And how has he imposed on you? What harm has he done you?

  It took all Darcy’s will not to voice those questions. Why should he? Elizabeth didn’t care for him. He, therefore, did not care for her. Not that he ever had, her being touched by trade, possessed of who knew how small a dowry and with no connections. In his mind, those disqualifiers rang like a chant, to ward off her attraction and salve his ego, a bit bruised by her lack of regard.

  “First, the inconsistencies. Mr. Wickham specifically said he would neither avoid you, because he wasn’t the wronged party, nor publicly criticize you, because he respected your deceased father.”

  “And yet he avoided me and publicly criticized me?” In a bitter way, that amused Darcy. How like Wickham to be caught in his own lies.

  “Yes.” She let out a sigh. “Then he courted Lydia, my youngest sister.”

  Darcy shot her a horrified look. Fortunately, she’d returned to studying the maple. He prayed she was not going to say what he most feared, that Wickham had seduced and abandoned her sister. He recalled Miss Lydia as a silly creature, but she didn’t deserve to be ruined by George Wickham.

  “His attentions to Lydia led our uncle to discover Mr. Wickham has debts to nearly all the Meryton merchants. Mr. Wickham and Lydia married, but Uncle Phillips arranged for payment of those debts out of money that would have gone to Lydia, deeming Mr. Wickham too unreliable to pay them himself.”

  Darcy could hardly comprehend Elizabeth’s words about debts. All he heard was that Miss Lydia and Wickham had wed. Wickham married. To Elizabeth’s sister. Why, that meant Wickham was Elizabeth’s brother now. A part of her family. He looked down at the delicate, glove-encased hand resting on his arm and swallowed bile.

  Chapter Nine

  Darcy tried to make his mind work. Elizabeth would expect a response. He must formulate one or risk her guessing the depths of his disquiet.

  “What is it?” Elizabeth asked, her lovely face upturned toward his as they walked.

  Darcy kept his boot-clad feet marching through the dusting of snow that covered the gravel path. What had she said after her horrifying revelation about Wickham and her sister? Mr. Phillips paying Wickham’s debts? Something Darcy had done more than once. “I’m surprised your uncle could make the payments after the marriage.”

  “He set them up before,” she replied, but she still studied his face, searching for answers.

  Darcy had no notion what expression he’d given, what emotions he may have revealed to her. He tried to mold his features into polite indifference, as they should be. Wickham. Elizabeth’s brother by marriage, in the eyes of God. Couldn’t Wickham have found some other family to inflict himself on?

  Why hadn’t he found some other family? The Bennet sisters couldn’t possibly have enough money to entice Wickham. Had he done this to get back at Darcy for foiling his attempt to seduce Georgiana? Darcy shook his head. No, Wickham couldn’t know… Know what? There was nothing to know. Nothing between Darcy and Elizabeth at all. “If your uncle knew about Wickham’s debts, why did he consent to the marriage?”

  “Because Uncle Phillips felt Lydia had to marry Mr. Wickham.” Elizabeth blushed again, a bright crimson this time. She dropped her gaze to study the path at their feet.

  Certain he didn’t want to know the details or to embarrass Elizabeth any further, Darcy said, “I accept your apology. Mr. Wickham fooled many people, including my father, who was usually difficult to fool.”

  “Thank you.”

  They walked on in uneasy silence for a time. Darcy cleared his throat. He needed to understand this unfortunate union. “I suspect I should have followed the gossip more, but I really don’t understand your situation. You are living with Mr. Phillips, who is a small-town attorney and not wealthy.”

  “That is correct.”

  “Forgive me for making an assumption, but why would Mr. Wickham marry your sister?” He caught her raised eyebrows from the corner of his eye. “Meaning no disparagement to your sister, but I know Wickham. I can’t imagine him marrying without wealth.” Were Elizabeth and her sisters somehow heiresses?

  “Now that I know Mr. Wickham better, I can only agree with you.” She let out a sigh. “Would that we had all understood him better before we permitted him into our home.”

  Darcy winced. He considered gossip beneath
him. He didn’t pay it heed. It had never occurred to him that his reticence might have a price. If he’d paid better attention to what was happening around him, he could have exposed Wickham’s lies. The people of Meryton would have seen him for who he was and he wouldn’t have been welcomed into Mr. Phillips, or anyone’s, home. Instead, he was Elizabeth’s brother.

  “My father owned an estate,” Elizabeth was saying. She smiled a somewhat dreamy smile, gaze focused on the past. “It wasn’t so grand, but it was lovely, and brought in enough money for us to live well.”

  “You miss it,” Darcy realized.

  She turned to him with the first real smile she’d directed his way, though her eyes were shadowed with sorrow. “It was a wonderful place to grow up.” The sorrow won out. Her smile slipped. “When Father died, he left all his property evenly to the five of us. My uncles decided there was no way the estate could reasonably be divided without selling it, especially since neither of them felt competent to run it. A generous purchase offer came, and the estate was sold.”

  She looked down again. Darcy could read her sorrow in the way her shoulders sagged. Why hadn’t he paid more attention to the chatter about the Bennet sisters while in Hertfordshire? He didn’t even know how long ago her father had died or what had become of her mother, obviously also gone. He recalled, vaguely, something about the sisters coming out of mourning for an aunt. When he first met them, all but the youngest had still worn tones of gray.

  “I’m sorry you lost your father’s estate,” Darcy said, unsure what other comfort to give.

  Elizabeth shrugged. “My uncles were right. Neither was brought up to manage a place like Longbourn, and they have their own concerns. We could have hired a steward, but that would have required constant scrutiny. Then, too, some of us would have put income back into the property, while I imagine some of my sisters would have taken all of their share. Resentment would have built, and the estate would have suffered. It’s better this way.”

  Darcy nodded, for it was, though that was scant comfort for Elizabeth. “Likely it was better, but it means Mr. Wickham gets a fifth of what the estate went for.” That wasn’t good. He would run through the money.