22 • Hypothetical

It was the pencil scratching softly across paper that pulled Jamie to consciousness. He knew without looking who sat beside him in Jane’s place. A candle was lit as the faint sunset glowed through the curtain. James’ lungs stretched as he heaved an inhalation, rolling over to see the edge of the book in which his father wrote.

His feet were crossed as he scribbled away, his baritone voicing softly, “I like to make corrections in scholars’ tomes. It makes me feel superior without stepping on delicate toes.”

James eyed the book groggily while the pencil worked. “A great many?”

“It is astounding how academia requires a certain complicated diction which results in masters of field but not masters of writing.”

James’ countenance was gentle with a smile. He recognized the shape of Latin on the page and a scribbled verb conjugation in the corner. Mr. Bennet slashed through another word, leaving a tiny number corresponding to the proper conjugation.

“Quid agis?” 

“Fessus sum,” Jamie murmured.

His father hummed a sound of understanding. After a moment he said, “My chief wish is to have as little trouble in this business as possible, now. I have already revealed my mortal infirmities by being overcome by the first transports of rage, but have since returned to my customary indolence.”

He turned the page while James’s lashes beat against his cheeks. His father continued, “I have given the particulars to Edward and a settlement is established. He is thankfully briefer than his sister, despite my begging to know further particulars of how much I am indebted. I am left now with the anger that keeps me from messaging Lydia.”

“You mustn’t consider it a debt to our uncle,” James tried to console. “The only salvation in this business is the sentimentality of family. The paperwork is done. Let it all be done.”

Mr. Bennet’s head turned from the book in his lap, the pencil falling into the crevice as he moved a palm over his son’s forehead. “There is but a two-part satisfaction to all this. The first, in prevailing on one of the most worthless young men in Great Britain to be Lydia’s husband. The second, how my selfishness has been appeased in having my son return home. But at such a cost…your uncle told me what occurred at the inn.”

The back of James’ throat was immediately sore. “I’m fine.”

“It has been a long time since you had such an attack.”

“I’m fine.”

“All right,” his voice rustled. “It was good of Darcy to look after you. It makes me wonder how else his lordship has taken us under his wings.”

James’ lashes slowly lifted up to him. “Would it matter?”

Mr. Bennet’s features opened as he inhaled deeply. “For me, no. I would never be able to repay him. For you, perhaps.”

James blinked, and then felt himself laughing. “Indebted to his lordship for the rest of my life. What romantic irony.”

“Romantic?” Mr. Bennet chimed inquisitively. “I suppose as long as you don’t mind, yes. Though that does beg for certain details to be discovered.”

“Papa.”

“I leave them all at your leisure of disclosure.”

James laughed some more, but it soon faded as he asked again, “Would it matter?”

His father sighed, closing the book on his pencil. “I’ve heard a great many opinions change about the man. And my youngest has taken nearly the worst path for her life. I am now the last person to make audacious predictions about anything. But of course, this is under the assumption that Mr. Darcy has done anything for us at all.”

Those silver eyes fell on him. James shook his head. “I don’t know. He said he was going to London…but he said he would write. He hasn’t written.”

“Oh?” his father chirped. “As bad as me, then? Well, that means you would, theoretically, need to be the proactive one.”

“Good grief,” his son crossed his arms over his face.

Mr. Bennet chuckled. “A man may enjoy being chased as much as a woman.”

“There is no chasing.”

“Fair enough,” his father finished. “I came here for the quiet, but also to inform you that our exertions are not over.  Your mother has not yet returned from Meryton, but already the ripples of her conversations have returned to our abode. Lydia herself would only do better in her arrival, or the happiest alternative, secluding herself from the world, in some distant farmhouse.”

James smiled. “In her mind, she’s already lived thusly her whole life.”

“I suppose you are right. There is much to be talked of in her marriage, and the good-natured wishes for her well doing. I admit to finding the spiteful old ladies in Meryton fascinating, how their minds turn from one conversation to the next, from one thought to an entirely different voiced opinion. They may wish Lydia all the well while nevertheless condemning her position.”

“Until they forget all in the wake of some other family’s gossip,” James agreed.

“Oh,” he sighed, “your mother will make us the talk of the town for a while yet. Her spirits are oppressively high and she has been away from the head of our table for at least a fortnight. No sentiment of shame will dampen her triumph. It is a quality I have admired throughout our years together, but I want to warn you that soon, tonight even, may be the end of such fondness.”

James felt his heart in his throat and then its sliding down through his ribs. “What do you mean?”

“Nothing to fear,” his father recognized in his voice. “I mean only that I see an argument on the horizon, and I do not want you to be harmed by it. Your mother has wanted a marriage of her daughter—any daughter—since sweet Jane was sixteen. Her thoughts and her words run wholly on those attendants of elegant nuptials, fine muslins, new carriages, and servants.”

James snorted softly. “Lydia will never have servants.”

“I agree. But it is no longer your task to bring the lighter heads in our family back down to earth. I will take on that mantle, though an enemy I will therein make myself. Your mother will be most infuriated with me for a long while.”

Mr. Bennet kissed his fingers and then stroked them through Jamie’s hair before he lifted himself from the bed. “You may share my warning with your sisters as you see fit.”

“I may with Kitty,” James considered as Mr. Bennet paused in the doorway. “She might take it as a fright to see her parents quarrel so.”

“On the contrary,” his father countered, but in an appraising tone. “Our Kitty was old enough and far more aware than Lydia during the events of your fifteenth year. She is sharp and observant, and it is indeed her special peculiarity how she absorbs so much around her but none of it is the angry parts of ourselves.”

James listened to his father’s footfalls all the way to the faint closure of his study door. Not long afterwards, Jane arrived with a cup of tea for him as well as their adult cat, Alys under one arm. The cat rattled a startled purr when she was dropped onto the bed, then earnestly pushed her head into James’s palm. “Where is Darcy?”

“With Kitty,” she relayed. “So we are to have a storm in the house?”

“You heard?” he inquired, more so conversationally.

“Not much passes through these walls without everyone knowing. At least, ever since Lydia and mama’s noise has not been here to eclipse it otherwise.”

They both paused at the sound of the front door slamming, easily knowing it to be their mother. James’ lips returned to the edge of his cup. “And so it begins.”

“What are we to do?” Jane wondered.

“Hold an umbrella over Mary and Kitty,” he supposed.

He held Alys and his empty cup while he and Jane descended the stairs. Their mother was tossing her scarf and hat over the pegs while speaking a great deal to nobody in particular. “Lizzy! Put the cat down, dear, and tell Hill to brew his best for dinner, and splash something special into it! We shall also have a bowl of punch when Lydia arrives!”

James rushed nowhere and instead sat at the dinner table with Alys contently napping on his lap. Jane transferred the message to Hill, but with the alterations of a calming tea, with a slice of lemon to otherwise fool their mother that she was drinking something special. Her cheeks were red with merriment and exercise enough while they all gathered for dinner. Mr. Bennet was the last to join them, taking his place under the wary and observant gazes of Mary and Kitty.

There was almost hope during their soup course that Mrs. Bennet had talked her fill of Lydia in Meryton; instead she fancied a discussion with Jane over what supplies she might need during the summer and coming autumn, and when they might frolic through Meryton for the goods.

“I do so enjoy walking through town with my girls. It feels so long since we were all together among the shops, discussing this lace or that pie. Mary, you remember the music sheets we bought so long ago?”

Mary perked up with a subtle look of perplexity. “Yes. I play them every day.”

“Oh, and Lizzy, those berries! Whatever were they called—they made the most delightful jam.”

Mr. Bennet crossed under her words to assure, “A good choice, Mary. You’re more proficient everyday.”

Her matching silver eyes softened as she pressed her lips together, nodding once while James did not bother replying at all. His mother hardly needed it anyhow. She soon arrived exactly where she wanted.

“You know, if Lydia settles near us, it may be quite like no time has passed at all! Haye Park might do, if the Gouldings would quit it, or the great house at Stoke, if the drawing room were larger; but Ashworth is too far off! I could not bear to have her ten miles from me; and as for Purvis Lodge, the attics are dreadful.”

James and Jane peeked at their father while their dinner of chicken, potatoes, and carrots were arriving. He allowed Mrs. Bennet to talk on without interruption, while their small staff remained. The rim of his wine glass was speckled with condensation, as it was filled with hot water instead of wine. His fingertips held it for a long moment, before he took a slow drought and when the staff had withdrawn, he spoke.

“Mrs. Bennet, before you take any, or all of these houses, for your son and daughter, let us come to a right understanding. Into one house in this neighborhood, they shall never have admittance. I will not encourage the impudence of either by receiving them at Longbourn.”

Kitty’s eyes widened like circular spectacles but she dared not pull them from her plate. Mary was somber. James was exhausted while Jane reached under the table for Kitty’s hand. Though it was one of the few occasions in which they had seen their father silence their mother, it did not last.

A long dispute erupted at the table, their mother’s puzzled and then livid speech allowing James to meet Kitty’s gaze and twirl a finger in the air. Leave.

She flew up, bobbed a curtsy, and nobody noticed how she took her plate with her. A moment later, Jane gave Mary a nod, and she followed suit.

Mrs. Bennet blazed through her tirade, and at the end of it found, with amazement and horror, that her husband would not advance a guinea to buy clothes for his daughter. “She is to be married like a pauper?” she exclaimed.

“That is to be determined by her beloved husband,” Mr. Bennet said without emotion. “With so much money bestowed upon them, he may decide exactly what finery shall start their marriage. After so little consideration was given to us by Lydia, she will receive a matching amount of affection on whatever occasion by me. Our wild Lydia has been so privileged to only see devoted families all around her. Now she must learn the hard way that family is exactly what you put into it. Lace and satin are pretty but do not change what lies beneath them.”

Mrs. Bennet could hardly comprehend this. “You’ve been driven so far, to such a point of inconceivable resentment, as to refuse our daughter a privilege without which her marriage would scarcely seem valid!”

“Really?” he countered. “A woman’s clothes make a wife while manners make the man? Then Lydia and Wickham are truly ghosts.”

“You are being ridiculous!” she cried.

“I merely attempt to understand things as you present them,” he replied. “The disgrace which a want of clothes will reflect on a daughter’s nuptials, as you say, does not outweigh the shame of her eloping and living with Wickham a fortnight before they took their hands in marriage. But do go on. Society may see her silk slippers and not care about any of that.”

“Do not pretend you’ve ever held a great care for what society thinks!”

“Quite right. I have not. Then dismiss that and instead think on the hypocrisy to our sweet Jane. Have you not cared about her happiness? Or merely the sight of so fine a house as Netherfield and your carriage visiting it?”

Jane released a long sigh while her mother’s complexion turned scarlet from her hair to her gown. “I only ever desire my children’s happiness and security! Bingley’s income and Jane’s being so close would keep her safely near her family and she would want for nothing. Lydia’s betrayal and disgraceful marriage will be less harried if she portrays herself happily sustained. The easiest defense a woman has is her raiment! Do not blame me or our daughter for the critical eye that judges every curl, every loop of thread, and tread fall with which a woman carries herself!”

James slowly grew numb to the argument and instead let his thoughts drift toward Mr. Darcy. He was heartily sorry for bringing this whole affair to the man. The forces driving Lydia’s fate so parallel with Georgiana’s, met by William’s insistence and compassion in lending his aid in the whole debacle were processed by a great deal of shame alongside warmth. James was embarrassed how they were for so long misunderstanding each other, and now stood upon the same bridge built by Lydia’s foolish tyranny. Indeed, only William could understand him during these times…

So why hasn’t he written?

His jaw rested in his hand while his eyes closed tiredly. His heart ached. It was not to be supposed that a Darcy would connect himself with a family whose youngest married under such terms, especially a marriage to the man who both Darcys justly scorned.

James’ eyes ached. His revenge would have been complete indeed. Was Wickham capable of it? Marrying Lydia to place himself in a family which Darcy could not associate with ever again? Denying William the person he loved by his simple presence…

James’ eyes opened to find Jane’s on him. We cannot live on assumption anymore. He smiled sadly at her inquiring gaze, and she mirrored it back to him. Together they left the table, leaving their parents’ dwindling argument to pick at their own plates in their room.

“What were you thinking of?” she asked around the pinched chicken in her fingers.

“I was thinking of William.”

She smiled nervously, like she didn’t dare smirk at him. “And?”

“And how I am convinced my foolish heart could have been happy with him. Just as it is no longer likely we should meet.”

She frowned. “Not likely?”

“Lydia married the man he hates most in the world,” he sighed like it was painfully obvious.

“Then he may be free to hate Lydia. Goodness knows papa isn’t the most fond of her right now either,” she remarked, catching him off guard.

James huffed a laugh as he leaned against the post of their bed. “I suppose your period of daydreaming over Bingley ends as mine for Darcy begins.”

A moment of silence. Then, “It hasn’t ended.”

His head rolled against the painted white wood as he gazed at her. “Here we are. Two pathetic specimens.”

His expression was wiped from his face as Jane heaved herself off the bed and vanished from the room. He gazed, puzzled, at the door until she returned to the room with a bottle of wine. “Oh lord.”

“If there was ever an evening for us to drink. It is now,” she declared.

She poured directly over their water, glasses chinking before they shivered. “You stole from papa’s cupboard,” James croaked.

“He has better taste,” she confirmed, her voice warm.

“I’ve been a marvelous influence on you,” he appraised, stroking Alys’s fur next to his leg.

Jane diverted, “What are we to do, then? Dream up hypothetical men with all of our specific requirements?”

“More like leave the men as they are and change the world around them,” James groaned.

Jane smiled, her cheeks flushing. “William is that lovely?”

Her brother sipped his wine again, feeling the heat slide down his throat as he confirmed, “I wouldn’t change a thing. It has been a just fate for me to find a man who suits me in every way, then to have both myself and outside forces erect barriers between us.”

Jane’s eyes rolled. “You deserve no such thing. Tell me why he suits you. Apart from how he’s handsome and rich.”

James guffawed. “I don’t care that he’s rich.”

Her smiling lips moved on the rim of her glass. “No, you never cared about such matters. What did you do at Pemberley?”

“He showed me his dogs.”

“Dogs?” she chirped. “Well that’s a fast way to your heart.”

“And his chef is undeniably magnificent.”

“Are we hypothetically losing you to Pemberley or to his lordship?” Jane teased.

They chuckled together, a silence eclipsing them until James relinquished, “He’s kind, Jane. I mistook his kindness for pride. His generosity. He’s intelligent enough to check my wickedness. He’s gone a great deal out of his way for my comfort, and I don’t know how to do the same for him. I’ll never have the chance to try.”

“Bloody hell, you’re gloomy.”

His eyes widened like saucers. “Jane!”

Alys uttered a rumbling exclamation as he threw his handkerchief at her. She was amidst a fit of giggles when Mary and Kitty arrived at their door. “Of what are we speaking?” the former inquired.

“All manner of unlikely events,” James disregarded as he waved them over. Kitty landed on the bed, earning another indignant sound from the feline. James handed Mary his glass while his head leaned back once more on the post. “God, can you imagine Lydia living alone with a husband?”

Mary replied, “It is not for us to imagine so much as to witness eventually. It is more to imagine how little of permanent happiness could belong to a couple who were only brought together because their passions were stronger than their virtue.”

Jane snorted into her wine while James laughed in his chest. Mary peered between them. “What? What have I said?”

Kitty appeared curious as well until she bloomed scarlet at James’s saying, “I never expected Mary to be the one to bring up intercourse.”