Hypothetically Married_A Pride and Prejudice Variation

by Renata McMann

  Searle’s eyes narrowed. “I can appreciate that, I really can. Now that I have someone to investigate those I give to, however, a donation made to my fund truly would be well made.”

  Darcy was more inclined to guffaw than be offended. He’d walked into that.

  Searle sat forward in his chair, expression earnest. “I realize it’s difficult for people to understand that someone who is disabled by war wounds might still be able to earn a little money, even if it isn’t enough to support his family.”

  “Not that difficult,” Darcy conceded. “A man might be injured in a variety of ways and be taught a variety of skills.”

  “Precisely, and the majority of your donation would go to investigating potential employment and teaching skills, so men can be placed where they can work,” Searle said. “My organization only gives money directly to people who only partially depend upon it. The best candidates are those who manage, despite their hardships, to do what they can to support themselves.”

  Searle went on to describe his philosophy as giving a cane to a man who needed it to walk rather than carting him around in a wheelbarrow that had been used on the farm. That, he felt, doomed the man and reduced the productivity of the farm. Listening to Searle, Darcy worried he had been freer with the wheelbarrow than the cane.

  Fortunately for his own self-image, Darcy realized he routinely gave to families that had an unusual hardship that led to temporary problems. He did not want any of his tenants to eat their seeds because a broken leg temporarily limited their income, for example. In that, he wasn’t creating people dependent on charity, but seeing them through hard times. By the time Searle was done, Darcy was writing out a donation order for his man of business.

  “Thank you,” Searle said with a cheerful grin.

  “I’m happy to help.” Darcy meant it, but his tone was dry.

  Searle’s smile slipped. “Finally getting a donation out of you really isn’t why I came.” He leveled a worried look on Darcy. “Do you think Miss de Bourgh would be unhappy if she couldn’t live at Rosings?”

  “I don’t know,” Darcy admitted. “I’m unsure how much the prestige of living in a beautiful country estate means to Anne.”

  “Could you find out for me?” Searle asked. “Without, well, letting her know why you want to know?”

  Another hypothetical situation. Darcy wasn’t sure he wished to commit to that. His role as matchmaker was beginning to verge on the absurd. “Why don’t you just ask her?”

  “It is a bit delicate,” Searle replied. “You know, since I’m thinking of marrying her.”

  “Then, why not directly ask that?” Darcy suggested. “Surely, Anne is capable of understanding the connection between a proposal and the risk of losing the right to live at Rosings. She’s the one who broached the subject of her father’s will, after all.”

  Searle shook his head. “It’s not simply the issue of Rosings.” He gave a helpless shrug. “If I ask and she says no, we’ll both be embarrassed. It will ruin our comradery, and the group’s.” He offered a wistful smile. “I’m not often accepted by people who are as wealthy as I am, and less wealthy people heap a great deal of expectation on me. I’m rather enjoying having friends. I don’t want to lose this.” His gesture included him and Darcy, seated on either side of the desk.

  “My friendship, or Bingley’s and Richard’s, is hardly so mercurial,” Darcy pointed out, tone dry.

  “No, of course not,” Searle hastened to say. “But, things wouldn’t be the same. You know that.”

  Darcy nodded, acknowledging the fact. He, too, was enjoying their group of eight, and things would change if Searle offered for Anne and his cousin refused. “You underestimate yourself. You have much to offer.”

  “Maybe, but Miss de Bourgh is so much above me. She’s the daughter of a baron and the granddaughter of an earl. I’m the son of a printer and the grandson of a cobbler.”

  “Your father was hardly just a printer,” Darcy pointed out.

  “Well, he left before his apprenticeship was over, so he wasn’t even a printer,” Searle said with a slight smile. “But I know what you’re alluding to.” He shook his head. “In a way, this is his fault. He had me raised as a gentleman, and now I wish for a gentleman’s life and have come to care for the sort of woman a gentleman would marry.”

  “Not to be indelicate, but why did he send you to Eton and Oxford?”

  Searle’s gaze became slightly abstract. “He planned for me to marry into the gentry. He originally decided I would become a gentleman and would be given a comparable amount to my sisters. Then my older brother, who was supposed to inherit my father’s empire, died when I was twenty. When I became the heir, my training had not gone in the intended direction.”

  Darcy nodded. He’d heard something to that effect, but he didn’t care to trust rumor. “As I said before, I don’t believe Anne cares.”

  “Will she care, do you think, about my sisters? They were given good dowries, but they married into trade.” He firmed his expression. “Anyone who marries me will have to accept my sisters. They have their own families, but they will be part of my family.”

  “I would hope so,” Darcy said. Just as anyone who married Elizabeth would have to accept Mr. Phillips, which wasn’t difficult, and Mr. Wickham, which would be very difficult.

  Darcy hated the hard ball of anger that formed in his gut at the thought. Why did Wickham have to attach himself to the Bennet family? Not that it truly mattered. Elizabeth wasn’t interested in permitting Darcy to bind himself to her family, and he wasn’t interested in her. He frowned slightly, trying to recall, aside from Mr. Wickham, why exactly that was again.

  “What is it?”

  Darcy brought his focus back to Searle to find the man studied him intently. “Pardon?”

  “You were frowning. Do you fear Miss de Bourgh won’t be able to accept my sisters and their families?”

  “I have no such thought,” Darcy assured him. “She went out of her way to befriend Miss Elizabeth and her sisters, and all of their remaining relations are in trade.”

  Searle seemed to consider that for a long moment. “Befriend and marry aren’t the same, though, are they?” He shook his head. “And even if Miss de Bourgh can accept my sisters, could she accept being denied Rosings?”

  Darcy took in the note of desperation in Searle’s voice. Resigned, he said, “How about I find out for you?”

  “Could you?” Searle was even more enthusiastic than when he spoke of his charitable endeavors. “But, with care, so if she doesn’t want to defy her mother and lose access to Rosings for me, we can carry on as we are now.”

  “Don’t worry,” Darcy said. “I’ll make sure any questions put to Anne are asked purely hypothetically.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Elizabeth was unaccountably agitated. After much teasing on the part of their group, Mr. Darcy had finally invited them all to dinner at Darcy House. She hadn’t participated in that teasing, knowing his reason for putting off the inevitable was because Georgiana must be called on to play hostess. Mr. Darcy had been waiting until his sister grew more comfortable around his newer acquaintances before putting the pressure of a gathering on her.

  To Elizabeth’s relief, he’d somehow conspired to hold the dinner on an evening when Miss Bingley and the Hursts were unavailable. She knew this was out of consideration for Miss Darcy, who showed a marked disinclination toward Miss Bingley. Elizabeth liked to imagine Mr. Darcy also preferred not to entertain Bingley’s sister. Certainly, Elizabeth didn’t enjoy having the woman around. Although she and Mr. Darcy were only good friends, watching Miss Bingley hurtle herself at him was almost maddening.

  As an added boon, Lady Catherine had plans with Uncle Phillips and Mrs. Searle. Elizabeth didn’t know how Mr. Darcy had managed that, but she was impressed. He was subtler than she’d realized, and very considerate of his shy sister.

  She’d been surprised, and dismayed, not to have found time yet for her piano play
ing with Miss Darcy. As much as Elizabeth enjoyed her friends, once she had a reason to spend time without the group, she’d quickly realized they all filled each other’s days. Of course, soon Jane and Kitty would be wed, and maybe Miss de Bourgh and Mr. Searle, if Elizabeth carried out her mission for the evening successfully. Then, she would have plenty of time to spend with Miss Darcy.

  Uncle Phillips had given them the carriage to go to Mr. Darcy’s, as Mr. Searle had two and Mrs. Searle had offered him a seat in hers. To Elizabeth’s mind, when Jane and Kitty were finally ready, and they set out toward Darcy House, their coachman was particularly slow. Or maybe the streets were excessively crowded. She peered out the window frequently. They seemed only to inch toward Mr. Darcy’s home.

  “Elizabeth, what are you looking for?” Kitty asked, watching her from across the carriage.

  “Yes, Elizabeth, whatever are you looking for?” Jane repeated, expression amused.

  “Nothing.” Elizabeth dropped the curtain back in place. Immediately, her fingers twitched with the desire to pull it open again. “I’m simply wondering at our slow progress.”

  Twin lines appeared on Kitty’s forehead. “Slow? We’re moving right along.”

  Elizabeth shrugged and peeked out the window again.

  When they finally arrived, she ascended the wide steps with a strange abundance of nervousness. She wondered if the feeling was at all akin to the nerves her mother used to claim. She hoped she wasn’t becoming susceptible to them.

  The exterior of Darcy House wasn’t truly any different from the other stately homes along the street. Maybe neater, she thought, and in the best repair. Certainly, it appeared stately.

  Inside, the same could be said for the foyer. Stately. Clean lines, to her relief. Considerably more elegant than Mr. Searle’s home, but not as lacking in function as Lady Catherine’s. If Elizabeth had any small complaint, as they were shown to a large parlor, it was that Mr. Darcy’s home was dark. Not through lack of light, but through taste in wood and wall colors. She felt a touch of sympathy for Miss Darcy and Mrs. Annesley, for Darcy House was an almost oppressively masculine place.

  For once, Elizabeth and her sisters weren’t the first to arrive. When they were shown into the hunter green and walnut accented parlor, Colonel Fitzwilliam and Miss de Bourgh were already inside, along with Mr. Darcy, Miss Darcy and Mr. Bingley. All three gentlemen came to their feet immediately and hurried across the room. Elizabeth was aware of the amused look Miss de Bourgh cast toward Miss Darcy, and equally aware that Miss Darcy didn’t notice.

  Miss Darcy had her face angled toward her hands, which were clenched in her lap. She was obviously doing her best to look small, rather than rise to greet the influx of guests. Elizabeth felt both sympathy and exasperation. Over the past few weeks, Miss Darcy had come to know her, Jane and Kitty. There should be nothing frightening about them.

  Then Mr. Darcy stood before her, filling Elizabeth’s view. He was, as always, dressed with understated perfection. Mr. Darcy, unlike Mr. Bingley, didn’t dabble in bright colors or elaborate embroidery. He bowed over her hand, reawakening nerves that had settled somewhat.

  “Welcome to my home,” he said, his voice pitched low.

  Elizabeth rather thought he should be welcoming her sisters as well, but each was already being led back to the collection of chairs and couches by their betrotheds. Under the circumstances, she couldn’t fault Mr. Darcy for neglecting them. Or for focusing all his attention on her.

  She pressed down the inexplicable urge to blush. “And a very lovely home it is, Mr. Darcy.”

  He let her hand go, his touch lingering as if in reluctance, then cast his gaze about the room. “I am fond of it.” He turned back with the slightest of smiles. “But I sense a caveat in your tone.”

  Elizabeth was startled into a low laugh. “I truly do find your home elegant.”

  “But?” he prompted.

  “Well, it’s only, and mind you I’ve seen very little so far, but it does seem rather a dark pallete.”

  He looked around again, thoughtful. “In the daylight with the curtains open, there is considerable light.”

  “Of course,” she murmured. “But then, light doesn’t really change what colors are used, does it?”

  A smile played across his lips. “You never let me prevaricate.”

  “What sort of friend would I be if I did?”

  “Not half so dear a one as you are.”

  Again, though he’d said nothing out of the ordinary, she felt oddly compelled to blush. Ruthlessly, she squelched the inclination. “I do not mean to cut our conversation short, but I suppose I must apply myself to the mission you and Mr. Searle have set me. Once he arrives, as he’s bound to at any moment, I’ll be hard pressed to speak to Miss de Bourgh alone.”

  Mr. Darcy nodded and turned to gesture Elizabeth toward the couches. She thought perhaps he appeared disappointed, but perhaps she simply wished him to be. If he was, the fault was his. He was the one who, during their walk the pervious afternoon, had tasked her with taking Miss de Bourgh aside to discover her feelings.

  Mr. Searle had asked Mr. Darcy to do it, but Mr. Darcy worried that if he spoke in private with Miss de Bourgh, word would somehow reach her mother. Mr. Darcy was always exceedingly careful not to provide Lady Catherine with fuel for her obsessive insistence that he and Miss de Bourgh wed. For that matter, so was Miss de Bourgh.

  Elizabeth left Mr. Darcy’s side and crossed to the sofa on which Miss Darcy and her cousin sat. She had the length of the room to formulate a plan for getting Miss de Bourgh alone, but still hadn’t settled on one by the time she reached them. Could she simply sit between the two and whisper in Miss de Bourgh’s ear? She could hear Jane, Kitty, Mr. Bingley and Colonel Fitzwilliam all discussing their plans for what they’d decided would be a joint wedding. Perhaps only Miss Darcy would overhear. She certainly wouldn’t repeat anything.

  “Miss Elizabeth,” Miss de Bourgh greeted. She turned to Miss Darcy. “Georgiana, would you mind if I showed Miss Elizabeth the library here? I believe she’ll truly enjoy it, and once dinner begins, well, I may not find another moment to show her.”

  Miss Darcy looked up, seeming surprised to be addressed. She cast a glance toward her brother, but he was applying his attention to the wedding discussion. “I can show you,” she finally said, her words almost a question.

  There was a flicker of annoyance in Miss de Bourgh’s eyes, but she smiled at her young cousin. “That would be lovely of you,” she said and stood.

  Elizabeth followed the two across the parlor, answering Mr. Darcy’s questioning look with a shrug. She wasn’t disinclined to see the library, but Darcy House’s books couldn’t be half so interesting as learning Miss de Bourgh’s objective. In view of her dismay at Miss Darcy’s offering to accompany them, Elizabeth guessed Miss de Bourgh wished to speak with her alone. Elizabeth found their parallel objectives amusing.

  Elizabeth enjoyed their walk through the house, happy to take in every detail. When they entered the library, she was forced to withdraw her earlier assumption that the room and its contents wouldn’t be as interesting as her companion. Mr. Darcy’s library was the most extensive she’d seen.

  Further, the sight of so many books, obviously cherished, reminded her of her father. His library in Longbourn had been his favorite place. With a twinge of guilt, Elizabeth realized she hadn’t thought about her father for several days. Somehow, it didn’t seem right not to think about him daily. Elizabeth headed toward the nearest set of shelves, as much for a moment of privacy to shake off her sorrow as to see what they contained.

  “Georgiana, I am so sorry, but I misled you,” Miss de Bourgh said. “I knew Miss Elizabeth would enjoy the library, but that’s not my real reason for asking to show it to her.”

  Elizabeth turned back to find Miss Darcy staring at her cousin with wide eyes.

  “I would like to ask her advice on something private,” Miss de Bourgh continued. She turned to Elizabeth. “I�
��ve had trouble finding a time when we could be alone.”

  “Oh,” Miss Darcy said, crestfallen. She looked back and forth between the two. “I could stand in the hall until you’re done?”

  Elizabeth offered her a sympathetic smile. “It’s a large room. Why don’t you go to that corner to read, and we’ll talk over there, by the fireplace?” She didn’t like to think of Miss Darcy alone and forlorn, lingering in the hall.

  Miss Darcy’s expression brightened. “Let me know when you are done,” she said and hurried across the room. She went directly to a set of books bound in dark crimson and pulled one free.

  “That was very kind of you,” Miss de Bourgh said, and she and Elizabeth walked to the fireplace, elegantly clad in clean white marble.

  “What did you want to speak to me about?” Elizabeth asked, although she was sure she knew. She worked to keep amusement from her voice. How had she and Mr. Darcy become matchmakers?

  Miss de Bourgh drew in a deep breath. “I’ve become interested in Mr. Searle.” She angled her body so she stood with her back to Miss Darcy, who’d seated herself with her back to them.

  “Interested?” Elizabeth prompted. Not exactly an avowal of a love so strong that Miss de Bourgh would be willing to give up living in Rosings for it.

  “As in, I’m hoping he’ll propose,” Miss de Bourgh clarified, her voice pitched low. “And I believe he will, any day now.”

  Elizabeth couldn’t imagine what the trouble was, then. “Yet you’ve come to me because?”

  Miss de Bourgh bit her lip. “I’ve not had many suitors, ever. I’ve come to realize, over the years, that I don’t inspire great affection. Yet I do believe him interested.” She looked down at her tightly twined hands. “I’m afraid he might want Rosings, not me,” she said in a rush. “I’ve tried to make him aware that wedding me is unlikely to gain him Rosings for some time. More than that, though, I hate living there.”

  “First,” Elizabeth said, her tone a touch sharp. “I do not accept that you don’t inspire affection. My sisters and I have come to care a great deal for you. You’re a lovely, good natured, witty companion. If you’ve lacked suitors, it’s certainly because your mother scared them away.”