Hypothetically Married Read online

  He’d sat a long time, thinking, knowing himself for a coward. Finally, near dawn, he’d risen and made ready for the day, intent on leaving for work before the girls woke. He couldn’t encounter Elizabeth, who would see something was wrong, or Lydia, whom it would pain him to look on. Jane, Mary and Kitty would be nearly as bad, for he’d failed them all.

  Once awakened to the flaw in Mr. Wickham’s character, Mr. Phillips had set out to learn more about him. What began as a tentative questioning of one merchant soon turned into a morning spent visiting every vendor in Meryton. He was not happy with what he learned. Nevertheless, later that day when Mr. Wickham and Lydia rather publicly announced they were engaged, Mr. Phillips had breathed a sigh of relief and assented.

  Now, he sat alone in his office drinking too much port, an unusual occupation for him, and reflecting that there were many things he could have done better. He could only hope he’d protected her finances well enough and that Wickham would treat her at least passing well. Mr. Phillips raised his glass and took a final sip, reflecting that he could also hope, for the sake of his other wards, that he could indeed do better.

  Chapter Two

  Mary’s error, Mr. Phillips reflected as he watched the ceremonies take place several weeks later, was in setting the date for her wedding before Lydia had set one. As Mary and Mr. Whitestone had gotten engaged before Lydia and Mr. Wickham, doing so made sense. That was, if one didn’t take into account Lydia’s boundless need to be the of center attention, which of course forced her to insist on sharing Mary’s wedding date.

  Sharing might work for some sisters, but Lydia simply couldn’t let the opportunity to overshadow one of hers pass. It was in her nature to torment in this way. In fact, the more he thought on Lydia’s actions the night Mary announced her engagement, the more Mr. Phillips realized he should have anticipated them.

  Now, watching Mary suffer through a joint ceremony in which the superficially stunning couple Lydia and Wickham made completely overshadowed her and Mr. Whitestone, Mr. Phillips felt sorry for his middle niece. What should be a happy day was turned into just another time in Mary’s life when little notice was taken of her. Hopefully, she took solace, as he did, in the knowledge that immediately following the wedding breakfast, the Wickhams were departing for London.

  He also took solace in knowing that Mary and her husband would be living a short walk from him. He resolved to tell her as much at the first opportunity. Sadly, one didn’t arise while at church.

  As they set out toward home and the joint wedding breakfast, Mr. Phillips resolved to keep his sentiment in mind. Soon, it became obvious that Jane, Elizabeth and Kitty were also determined to show Mary that she mattered every bit as much as Lydia. When the Wickham’s made a show of striking out ahead, waving to every passerby they saw, his other nieces fell back to walk with Mary and Mr. Whitestone.

  “Do keep up,” Lydia called back to her sisters when they neared home, she and Wickham striding ahead on long legs. “We have to have my wedding breakfast quickly. George and I don’t want to miss the coach.”

  “Nor do we wish you to,” Elizabeth whispered somewhere behind Mr. Phillips. Kitty, who walked arm and arm with her, giggled.

  Mr. Phillips kept his face bland as he hurried along, head bowed slightly against a blustery wind that seemed not to affect the youngsters at all.

  “Her wedding breakfast,” Mary muttered. “As if I’m not here.”

  “It’s your wedding breakfast, too,” Jane said firmly where she walked in line with Mary and her husband.

  “I asked cook to save most of the cakes and the hot chocolate until she’s gone,” Kitty added in a low voice.

  Mr. Phillips couldn’t condone that, but as he wasn’t meant to overhear, and eavesdropping was rude, he decided there was little to do about it except make sure he didn’t grin.

  “Kitty, that’s so good of you,” Mary whispered back. “Hot chocolate is Mr. Whitestone’s favorite, isn’t it, Mr. Whitestone?”

  “It is,” Mr. Whitestone replied staunchly.

  “She would only hog it all, anyways,” Kitty said. “She would play hostess and pour, but only so she can have most of the chocolate and make ours all milk.”

  “Undoubtedly.” Elizabeth’s murmured agreement sparkled with amusement.

  Ahead of them, Lydia reached Mr. Phillip’s home and swept inside. Mr. Phillips slowed his pace to match his other nieces. He had no need to enjoy the Wickhams’ company alone.

  “Do hurry up. I want to show you all where you must sit now that I’m married,” Lydia’s voice said, coming from above.

  Mr. Phillips looked up to see she’d opened the parlor window, in spite of the cold, and stuck her head out.

  She let out a squeal and a giggle and ducked back inside. “George, don’t pinch me there. You’re so naughty.”

  Mr. Phillips suppressed a grimace as the words echoed down into the street. The girl had no sense of decorum. He only hoped Wickham wouldn’t tire of her antics too quickly.

  “Naughty is one word for it,” Elizabeth pointed out in clipped tones.

  “Hush, it’s her wedding day as well,” Jane admonished.

  “And we won’t need to put up with her much longer,” Kitty added.

  Mr. Phillips turned and cast them a quelling look. Lydia was difficult enough when in a pleasant mood, so there was no reason to spoil the one she was in now. Besides which, her poor behavior didn’t excuse his other nieces to have bad manners. “Up you go to celebrate with your sister. I wish to speak to Mary and Mr. Whitestone for a moment. And do close that window once you’re up there.”

  “Yes, Uncle,” they chorused. To his surprise, first Elizabeth, then Kitty and Jane, gave him a kiss on the cheek as they passed.

  Mary took on a slightly worried look, turning to him expectantly. “Is something wrong?”

  Mr. Phillips smiled. “Nothing of the kind, dear. I simply wished to tell you both how happy your union makes me and how pleased I am you’ll be nearby. It warms my heart to know that, no matter what happens with your sisters, I’ll always have you, Mary, and you, Jonathan.”

  A smile brightened Mary’s face. She threw her arms about his neck. “Thank you, Uncle Phillips, and thank you for taking such good care of us.”

  He patted her on the back, not sure he deserved such praise. “Yes, well, I’m doing my best.”

  Mary stepped away, and Mr. Whitestone shook his hand. “Thank you, sir.”

  “Yes, well,” Mr. Phillips repeated. Embarrassed, he cleared his throat. “We’d best join the others.” A smile on his face, he turned and led the way inside and up to the breakfast parlor.

  ***

  Three days later found Mr. Phillips returned to his office as usual. He’d given Mr. Whitestone the week off to spend with his new bride, and therefore had his office door open so he could see anyone who came in. He was unsurprised when footsteps without resolved into the tall form of Colonel Forster, head of the Meryton militia and Wickham’s superior officer. While not looking forward to the visit, Mr. Phillips had been expecting it ever since sorting through his mail that morning.

  Wickham had left a letter saying that his trip to London wasn’t simply a week alone with his new bride. He was resigning his commission and wouldn’t be returning to Meryton. Coward that Wickham was, Mr. Phillips was certain he would have left a similar note for his superior, rather than admitting to his resignation in person. He’d likely celebrated his union with his comrades, accepted drinks and gifts, all the while planning to disappear the moment he was actually wed.

  The colonel, resplendent in his red uniform, looked about the empty front office. Mr. Phillips cleared his throat. Colonel Forster turned his way.

  “May I help you, Colonel?” Mr. Phillips called.

  A frown on his handsome face, Forster made his ponderous way into the back office. The space seemed to shrink with the tall officer in it. “You may, sir.”

  Mr. Phillips nodded, and gestured to the chair across from
him. Colonel Forster took it. That seat, Mr. Phillips reflected, fitted many a rear.

  “Colonel, how may I assist you today?”

  Colonel Forster cleared his throat. A glower settled over his features. “I received Mr. Wickham’s letter of resignation from the militia. Did you know about it?”

  In the grate, the logs shifted, letting out a rustle of sound and a puff of sparks.

  “I suspected as much,” Mr. Phillips admitted.

  “You didn’t tell me.”

  “I didn’t think it was my business to tell you.”

  Forster cleared his throat again, shifting in the chair. “Your business comes in the form of Mr. Wickham’s IOU’s, owed to many of my officers. They were under the impression he would pay them when he married your niece.”

  Mr. Phillips resisted the urge to sigh. “That is between your officers and your former officer.”

  Indignation covered Forster’s face. “But I’ve discovered you are paying Mr. Wickham’s debts in Meryton.”

  “I am using money that would otherwise go to his wife to pay off debts that could put him in debtor’s prison,” Mr. Phillips said crisply. There was no point in concealing his motivation.

  Colonel Forster leaned back in his chair, expression contemplative. “And debts of honor are not legally enforceable,” he ventured after a long moment.

  “Correct.” At least the man was intelligent. Mr. Phillips only hoped he was also reasonable.

  Colonel Forster leaned forward again, expression beseeching. “Don’t you feel honor bound to cover his debts?”

  Mr. Phillips shook his head. He wondered if he’d been wise to let Mr. Whitestone take the day off. Mr. Phillips was not a young or intimidating man. Mr. Whitestone was much more upright. “On the contrary. My fiduciary responsibility to my niece demands that I only pay her husband’s legal debts, and none other.”

  A glower pulled the lines on Colonel Forster’s face downward, removing any amiability from his expression. “Look, Phillips, everyone knows the girls are heiresses. Their parents are dead. The estate sold. You have the money to pay off Wickham’s debts to my men.”

  “And yet, I have no legal obligation to do so, and will not,” Mr. Phillips said as firmly as he could.

  “I see,” Colonel Forster said tightly. “You will not be popular with my officers.”

  As if he ever had been? Well, they accepted his invitations, but he had no illusions it was because of him. Free food and wine, and congenial young people both from his household and the neighbors in Meryton, had been the incentive. “You believe I should ignore my responsibility to my niece to be popular with men who will be gone in May?” Mr. Phillips forced a chuckle, as if unintimidated by the large, red-coated man across from him. “Why should I?”

  “To restore Mr. Wickham’s reputation.”

  This time, Mr. Phillips’ chuckle was more heartfelt. “I don’t want to restore his reputation.”

  Colonel Forster’s eyebrows shot up.

  “I don’t want anyone to accept his IOUs,” Mr. Phillips continued. “I want him to live within his income.”

  “Good luck with that,” Colonel Forster barked, coming to his feet. “And good day, sir.”

  Colonel Forster stomped from the room, the staccato of his boot heels drowning out Mr. Phillips’ murmured good bye. He slammed Mr. Phillips’ door behind him as he left. A moment later, Mr. Phillips winced, hearing the outer door slam as well.

  With a sigh, he crossed to his office door and pushed it back open to the creak of the hinges. He really ought to have Mr. Whitestone oil it, he reflected as he returned to his desk. Mr. Phillips settled into his chair and brought out work that needed his attention.

  He neatened the short stack of pages. He pulled the inkwell nearer. He glanced once more at the closed outer door. A slight smile turned up the edges of his mouth.

  Mr. Phillips wondered just how much Mr. Wickham owed Colonel Forster.

  Part Two

  Feigned Flight

  Chapter Three

  Elizabeth’s fingers flowed over the keys. She’d become much more proficient since moving into her uncle’s home, a circumstance which pleased her. It made her smile to realize the improvement was indirectly her uncle’s doing, and that she’d initially resented his strategy.

  She’d been dismayed at first, when he’d ordered her to share a room with Kitty, not Jane. All her life, Elizabeth had shared with Jane. Eldest and kindest of the five of them, Jane was a foil to Elizabeth’s impetuousness, and to her tendency to judge quickly and harshly. Where Elizabeth would read deliberate malice into a disparaging remark, Jane would see that the speaker was having a terrible day or recovering from an ailment. Jane always offered many excuses for stray words that weren’t truly aimed at Elizabeth, but were instead the product of unrelated disquiet.

  Sharing a room with Kitty, relegated to discussing her days with her second youngest sister, Elizabeth found she had to be the reasonable one. She must apply perspective to the trials of the day. In essence, she must be Jane to Kitty’s weaknesses of character.

  And as they shared, and their friendship grew, Elizabeth had come to better understand her younger sister. Kitty had a deep fear of not being able to attract a gentleman. How Elizabeth hadn’t seen as much before, she didn’t know. The worry was very clear.

  Kitty deemed herself not as sweet as Jane, nor clever and accomplished like Elizabeth, nor as knowledgeable as Mary or as vivacious as Lydia. She’d tried, she’d confessed, to emulate Lydia, to be lively and appealing, but always she stood in Lydia’s shadow. Elizabeth didn’t actually consider herself accomplished but understanding how her playing might seem better to Kitty than no feminine skills at all, she’d offered her instruction. Then, she’d learned yet another lesson, thanks to her uncle. Teaching was the best form of practice.

  Elizabeth’s smile slipped as she continued to play, for the song was a sorrowful one. A sigh escaped her lips. She closed her eyes for a moment, fingers finding the keys from memory, for she played the tune often.

  Too often. Her eyes popped open. Mid-bridge, she switched to a different song. There was no reason for such sorrow. The emotion must be exorcised. Mary and Lydia were wed. Life was moving forward again, no longer paused in a purgatory of mourning.

  But their mother hadn’t lived to see the occasion. Mrs. Bennet had longed for her daughters’ weddings. Thought about, schemed about, little else for as long as Elizabeth could remember. It would have been nice if her mama could have seen two of her daughters safely wed.

  More importantly, it would have been wonderful if Mrs. Bennet had lived to know that their father’s cousin, Mr. Collins, had died. Elizabeth didn’t normally wish death on anyone and hadn’t wished it on Mr. Collins. Still, she couldn’t deny his passing before her father did was a happy circumstance. Mr. Bennet had certainly thought so. Not to mention, there seemed no one in the entire world who mourned Mr. Collins’ passing, so no harm was done.

  Elizabeth’s finger’s faltered on the keys, unable to maintain a cheerful tune. Not as when Mr. Bennet died. Everyone mourned her father’s passing. It seemed to Elizabeth the very earth and sky lost all brightness and warmth, and remained cold and barren for over a year, in sympathy with the loss. She reached up and brushed tears from her eyes.

  “Elizabeth?” her Uncle Phillips said behind her.

  Elizabeth hoped he couldn’t see her tears. Poor Uncle Phillips, to lose his in-laws, then his wife, and be burdened with five daughters not his own. If anyone should still be shedding tears, the sorrow in their heart not alleviated by the joy of Mary’s and Lydia’s recent nuptials, it was her uncle.

  She cleared her throat but didn’t turn. “Yes, Uncle?”

  “Where are you sisters?”

  Elizabeth drew in a quiet breath. She swiped her fingers quickly across her cheeks and turned to smile at him. “Kitty is mending a tear in the dress she wore to the weddings and Jane is over at Mary’s helping her get settled.”

  Unc
le Phillips nodded. “Please go get Jane and Mary. I should like to speak with the four of you.”

  Elizabeth frowned. “Is anything wrong?”

  “Not wrong,” he said in his usual calm way. “Things are simply moving toward an eventuality for which I’ve prepared.”

  Elizabeth’s frown deepened, but she’d learned her uncle was a careful planner and tight with his council. There was no point in badgering him. He would explain once they were assembled. He was always upfront with them. “I’ll fetch them immediately.”

  She turned back and carefully closed the pianoforte, then went to get her bonnet and cloak, although it was warm for winter. She trotted down the steps and into the street, finding the day not unpleasant. A playful breeze swirled through Meryton, plucking at her hem and creating spiraling trails of the few stray raindrops.

  It wasn’t far to the neat little cottage Mary and Mr. Whitestone had taken. Jane’s and Mary’s laughter spilled through a cracked open window as she approached, drawing out Elizabeth’s smile. She stopped before the door, plain but painted a cheerful green, and knocked.

  Mary appeared a moment later. “Elizabeth, how good of you to come. Jane and I are nearly done in the parlor, but we’ve still the dining room to do, if you would like to help?”

  Elizabeth shook her head, hit with a sudden pang of guilt, for Mary appeared cheerfully happy to see her. “I should like to, but not this moment. Uncle Phillips sent me to fetch you both for one of his meetings.”

  “Oh dear.” Mary pursed her lips, becoming for a moment the Mary of old, the one now dimly recalled from before two years spent under Jane’s sunny influence. Then her smile peeked back out. “Well, I’m sure it’s nothing too dire. I’ll fetch Jane. Do come in if you like.”

  Elizabeth nodded, but remained without as Mary slipped back inside, leaving the door slightly ajar. Elizabeth could hear her middle sister calling for Jane, but it was Mary’s earlier words that echoed in her mind. It couldn’t be anything too dire, could it? Uncle Phillips had appeared calm… and in good health. Yet, what more could befall them but to lose him too?