The Scotsman’s Ghost: or How to Wreck a Yule Party (Christmas With Darcy and Elizabeth)

1. One

One

Darcy

I loathed country assemblies.

The room was stifling—far too small for the number of people packed in there. And yet, I could not find it in myself to make an excuse and leave, though I had conjured no fewer than six in the last ten minutes. My patience had already been tested beyond its limits. The heat, the noise, the suffocating stench of roast meats and cheap perfume—it was a kind of assault on the senses that made one question why one agreed to leave London at all.

I stole a glance toward Bingley. He was entirely absorbed in some light conversation with a local family, his smile bright, his eyes alight with the easy charm that always seemed to work for him, no matter the company. Charles Bingley could find something to admire in the plainest of towns or the most vapid company, and somehow, he could not seem to find a single word of criticism for any of it.

This was Meryton. A provincial town with provincial people, where the height of entertainment was watching people humiliate themselves at one of these so-called “gatherings.” It was an absurd spectacle—overly bright dresses, all lace and ruffles in colors so garish it was as if the entire countryside had turned out to celebrate a jest only they found amusing.

I shifted my weight uncomfortably, the polished leather of my boots catching on the worn floorboards, and resisted the urge to roll my eyes. This was beneath me. And yet, here I was.

It wouldn’t do to abandon Bingley, of course. He was far too kind for his own good, and I doubted the poor fool would know what to do with himself without a steady hand guiding him through these situations. He saw good in everything—and everyone, apparently. It was charming in its own way, but also reckless. He refused to acknowledge how deeply out of his element he truly was here.

Across the room, Caroline Bingley stood with the practiced air of someone who believed she was above it all. Which, frankly, she was—though she took every opportunity to remind others of it. She cast her icy gaze across the room, scanning it like a hawk searching for prey, while tossing yet another veiled insult toward her brother.

“These assemblies are so very… quaint, Charles. One must admire the simplicity of country life, of course. Simple amusements for simple people, wouldn’t you agree?”

I almost pitied Bingley for the way his smile faltered, but he caught himself before the comment could do any real damage. That was the way of it with Caroline. Her insults came wrapped in fine lace, soft enough to seem like compliments unless one truly listened. Bingley, as ever, did not listen.

I caught his eye, and he shot me a pleading glance—a silent request to engage with the locals or, at the very least, offer him some kind of escape from his sister’s barbs.

Not tonight.

I had had my fill of shallow conversations with people who only wished to know me for my fortune or name. I hadn’t come to Meryton to mingle with the locals—I had come because Bingley was too easily charmed by novelty and needed someone with sense to keep him grounded. Now, I wondered if it was too late.

Still, I could not leave. Not without appearing rude, though I do not know why it bothered me that I might make enemies in this town. It was not as if I would be staying long.

It was then that I noticed Bingley moving toward me, his eyes bright with excitement as he seemed to sweep through the crowd with ease. I should have known he was plotting something. Bingley was like that—he would make twenty new acquaintances in a matter of minutes and somehow remember them all the next day. I could already sense where this was going, and it filled me with dread.

“Darcy!” he called, a bit too loud for my taste, though no one else seemed to notice. “You’ve been standing here long enough. I’ve someone I want you to meet.”

I glanced around, hoping he might mean anyone other than that brunette I had spotted earlier this evening. She had been laughing with her sister—the blonde Bingley had danced with… twice. Surely not her , of all people. The last thing I wanted was to be used as a sort of fourth for some misguided double-matchmaking endeavors this evening.

But no. Bingley was already steering me through the crowd, and there was no mistaking the direction we were headed.

My stomach clenched as we approached. The lady stood near the refreshments table, her eyes sparkling with laughter as she spoke to her companions. Indeed, there was an ease about her that I could not ignore, no matter how hard I tried. She seemed utterly at home in this room full of people I could barely stand to be near.

Bingley was grinning like a schoolboy as he approached her, oblivious to the tightening of my jaw.

“Miss Elizabeth Bennet,” Bingley said cheerfully, “may I present my friend, Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy?”

Miss Elizabeth turned toward us, her gaze flicking to mine with an unreadable expression. If she was surprised or displeased by the introduction, she hid it well, offering a small curtsey and a polite smile.

“Mr. Darcy,” she said pleasantly, though I could detect the slightest hint of irony in her tone. “We are already acquainted.”

Her gaze settled on me, and I felt a sharpness there that was unmistakable, even as she kept her expression demure. She was judging me. Again.

I returned her polite nod. “Indeed, we are.” In fact, I was acquainted with the lady, her preposterous mother, her gossipy aunt, her uncle the solicitor, all four of her sisters, and sadly, not her brother. Because… ah, that was right. She did not have one, which meant the daughters were scouring the landscape for loose males all the more diligently.

Bingley clapped his hands with pleasure. “I thought as much! Well, no harm in reintroducing friends, eh?”

I resisted the urge to contradict him, though I knew any attempt would fall on deaf ears. Instead, I kept my expression neutral, doing my best to ignore the increasingly satisfied look Miss Elizabeth was casting in my direction.

“I hope you are enjoying the evening, Mr. Darcy,” she said, almost as if she were preparing to dismiss me. “Assemblies such as these must be quite the novelty for you.”

Ah, there it was. The needle, subtle but unmistakable. I had known this was coming from the moment Bingley dragged me over. In fact, I had noted a glint in the lady’s eye earlier this evening when we were introduced, and my guess was right. She was the village wit.

Perfect.

I gave a small, tight smile. “They are certainly… lively.”

Her brow lifted in response, the corner of her mouth twitching as though she were trying very hard not to laugh. “Indeed,” she murmured. “I suppose one could call it lively. Though you do not appear to be enjoying it overmuch.”

“I assure you,” I replied, keeping my voice flat, “I am tolerating it with perfect equanimity.”

That seemed to amuse her even more. Her eyes danced with something I could only interpret as triumph, as though she had expected exactly that answer. “Well, I am pleased to hear it. I should hate to think you find our company wanting.”

“Miss Elizabeth,” I said stiffly, “you should not presume my thoughts.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t dream of it, Mr. Darcy.”

There was a brief, awkward silence before Bingley cleared his throat. Apparently, this conversation was not going as he had envisioned.

“Well, Darcy,” he said, clapping a hand on my shoulder with a force that nearly made me wince, “I shall leave you to it, then. Miss Elizabeth, I hope you’ll save me a dance later.”

She smiled at him, genuinely this time. “Of course, Mr. Bingley.”

And then he was gone, leaving me alone with her, standing awkwardly by the refreshment table as the conversation—and my discomfort—lingered in the air.

Miss Elizabeth’s smile faded slightly as she glanced toward the dancers. I should have taken the opportunity to excuse myself, but curse it all, I couldn’t think of another place in the room to stand that would not be worse.

“Do you not dance, Mr. Darcy?” she asked suddenly, breaking the silence.

I blinked, caught off guard by the question. “I do,” I answered curtly, “though I find it more agreeable in certain settings.”

Her lips quirked. “Certain settings?”

I gestured vaguely toward the crowded dance floor, where couples were stumbling through the movements with varying degrees of success. “A room less crowded. More… select company.”

Her eyes narrowed, and I immediately regretted my words.

“I see,” she said slowly. “Then I suppose you find our company here somewhat lacking in refinement.”

“That is not what I meant,” I said quickly, though the damage was done. She knew exactly what I meant. Of course, she did.

“No?” she asked, her voice light but her gaze sharp. “Then what did you mean, Mr. Darcy?”

I had no answer that would satisfy her. So, I did what any sensible man would do in such a situation. “Miss Elizabeth,” I said, bowing stiffly, “if you will excuse me.”

I didn’t wait for her reply.

Elizabeth

I suppose it would have been too much to hope that Mr. Darcy might find some excuse to leave early.

I had noticed him, of course. How could I not? He loomed near the back of the room, his expression inscrutable but distinctly unwelcoming. His eyes scanned the assembly as though he were cataloging every last one of us—and finding us all thoroughly beneath his notice. He stood apart from the merriment, barely engaging with those around him, though all evening, Mr. Bingley had been attempting, with almost painful determination, to pull him into the fold.

It wasn’t working.

I turned away from the sight of Mr. Darcy, letting my attention drift back to the more pleasant scene unfolding before me. Mr. Bingley was dancing with Jane, and she looked beautiful—flushed and smiling, though I could see the tension in her posture whenever Lydia’s giggles rose above the music. My youngest sister had already made quite the spectacle of herself this evening—laughing too loudly, flirting too boldly—and Jane was doing her best to ignore it.

I felt my own face heating at the memory of Mama’s remarks earlier. She had practically thrown Jane at Mr. Bingley, as if that would secure him for more than just a dance. It was mortifying, and Jane, bless her, had simply smiled through it all.

Mr. Darcy’s disapproval had been written all over his face. He hadn’t said a word, but I’d caught him watching us, his brow slightly furrowed, his gaze drifting over my family as if weighing each of us in turn. I supposed he found us lacking. I couldn’t fault him for that entirely. The way Lydia was carrying on—and Mama, for that matter—I could hardly deny we were putting on quite the performance.

Still, Mr. Darcy’s quiet disdain rankled. He seemed to think himself above the room. Above us. Above everything.

And yet… for all his superiority, I couldn’t help but notice that he never once allowed himself to truly slip. His posture was impeccable, his coat perfectly tailored, his expression carefully neutral, no matter how ridiculous the evening became. While others flitted about the room, laughing too loudly or stumbling through a dance, he remained still.

Controlled.

Almost unnervingly so.

It made him all the more absurd, really. To stand so stiffly amidst such chaos, to guard himself so carefully against the prospect of enjoyment. How exhausting it must be, to never allow oneself a moment’s unguarded amusement.

As I wandered toward the refreshment table, I caught a glimpse of Kitty and Lydia at the other end of the room, practically hanging off the arms of two soldiers, their laughter ringing out above the music. I winced, glancing toward Jane, who was clearly doing her best to ignore the spectacle. If she was embarrassed, she would never show it.

But I wasn’t quite as patient. I could only imagine what Mr. Darcy made of the scene. Why I cared, I had no idea. What did it matter to me if he was a prig? But I still noticed.

He was near the fireplace now, standing perfectly still, his eyes flicking across the room as though cataloging every flaw in the evening. And yet, something about him remained so... steady. I found myself studying him in spite of myself. He was so unlike any man I had ever met—so fastidious, so very controlled, even in a setting like this where most men would have grown frustrated or bored.

My father, for instance, had long since retreated to a corner of the room, where he could sit in peace, nursing a glass of wine and casting the occasional amused glance at Mama’s efforts to herd my sisters like a determined sheepdog. But Mr. Darcy? He remained in the thick of it, though he hardly participated. He was like a marble statue, observing, never reacting.

I supposed I should find it irritating—his insistence on remaining aloof. And yet, there was something strangely fascinating about it.

“Lizzy!”

I turned just in time to see Charlotte approaching, her face flushed with exertion from her recent dance. She smiled as she reached my side, following my gaze toward the refreshment table, then across the room to where Mr. Darcy stood, still glowering at the crowd.

“He doesn’t look as though he’s enjoying himself,” Charlotte remarked quietly, her smile fading.

“No,” I said, unable to suppress a smile of my own. “I don’t think Mr. Darcy was made for country assemblies.”

Charlotte shook her head. “Or any sort of assembly at all. How can a man be so disagreeable? And with Mr. Bingley as his friend, no less!”

“Perhaps that is why Mr. Bingley is so eager to befriend everyone else. He must balance out the company he keeps.”

Charlotte chuckled at that, though her eyes flicked back toward Mr. Darcy, her expression thoughtful. “Still, there’s something about him, isn’t there?”

“Something unpleasant, you mean?”

“No, something... steady. You can’t quite shake the feeling that he’s always in control.”

I raised a brow at her. “You find that appealing?”

“Not appealing, exactly.” She frowned, considering. “But intriguing. He doesn’t seem the type to let anything get the better of him, does he?”

I glanced back toward Mr. Darcy. He was watching Mr. Bingley and Jane dance, his expression as impassive as ever.

“He doesn’t,” I admitted. “But he also doesn’t seem the type to enjoy anything either. Where’s the fun in that?”

Charlotte shrugged, her smile returning. “Perhaps he finds enjoyment in other things.”

I doubted that very much, but I kept the thought to myself. We had spent enough time analyzing Mr. Darcy for one evening. Whatever his faults—and there were many—I could at least be grateful that he was no threat to Jane’s happiness. Mr. Bingley, for all his good nature, seemed unlikely to be swayed by the opinions of his stiff-necked friend.

The evening wore on, and the room grew even more crowded, the air thick with the mingled scents of sweat, perfume, and the increasingly warm bodies pressing closer together. I stayed by Charlotte’s side for much of the night, grateful for her company—and her good humor, which made it far easier to ignore the more embarrassing behaviors of my family.

At one point, Jane and Mr. Bingley passed by us, both of them glowing from their second dance, and I smiled at the sight of my sister so obviously happy. If only we could escape Mama’s loud declarations long enough to let Jane’s natural grace shine through.

And if only Mr. Darcy weren’t there to witness the whole evening.

I glanced back toward him one last time just as he turned away from the dance floor. Our eyes met briefly—his expression as hooded as ever—but there was something in his gaze that made me pause.

For a moment, I thought he looked almost... tired. Not the disdain I had seen earlier, but something far more ordinary.

I quickly looked away, unsure what to make of it.