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

2. Two

Two

Darcy

“ Y ou know,” Bingley said, staring at his plate with a dreamy smile, “I believe I have never met a more amiable woman than Miss Bennet.”

I nearly choked on my tea. Amiable was one word for it. Passive might have been another. But before I could remark on his absurd infatuation, Caroline Bingley swept in to fill the gap.

“Yes, Miss Bennet is charming, of course,” she purred, carefully buttering a piece of toast as though she hadn’t been rolling her eyes the entire night before. “So elegant, so composed.”

Composed? I glanced at Bingley, half-expecting him to challenge the blatant exaggeration, but he just nodded, eyes shining like a schoolboy. Nothing about that entire family was composed . Apparently, he and I had been at two entirely different assemblies.

Louisa Hurst hummed in agreement, adding, “It is unfortunate, though, about the rest of her family.”

Caroline Bingley’s knife clattered to the plate with a bit too much enthusiasm. “Yes, it is rather difficult to overlook their... boisterous nature. And that mother of hers—dear me, you could hear her voice echoing across the room like a town crier.”

I could feel Bingley’s distress rising beside me, so I stared harder at my plate and let the sisters continue. There was no need for me to interject. They would do enough damage on their own.

“And those sisters!” Miss Bingley’s voice had dropped to a scandalized whisper, though we were hardly in the company of anyone who cared. “That youngest! Lydia, was it? Absolutely wild. Flirting with every man in uniform—”

“Young girls are lively,” Bingley interrupted. He was grasping at straws now. “Miss Lydia was just... youthful enthusiasm. It’s perfectly harmless.”

I nearly rolled my eyes. One more assembly like that, and Miss Lydia Bennet would likely be causing a scandal that would be heard of from here to London.

“Harmless,” Miss Bingley repeated with a delicate sniff. “Well, I suppose you’re more forgiving than I, dear brother. I only wonder how Miss Bennet can manage to stand out amidst such a... lively family.”

I let Caroline Bingley’s words hang in the air and pretended not to hear them. Bingley sighed, looking mournfully at his plate as if it might offer him a solution.

“Darcy,” he said suddenly, turning to me as though I could save him from the conversation, “you must have noticed Miss Bennet. Was she not the very picture of elegance last night?”

I looked up from my cup, slowly. The cold tea wasn’t going to save me from this, apparently. “She was pleasant.”

“Pleasant?” Bingley echoed, looking at me as if I’d said fire was hot. “Well, of course. More than that, though. She’s delightful.”

Miss Bingley’s smile tightened. “Delightful, yes... as long as you can overlook the rest of Meryton’s rather provincial charms.”

“Provincial charms,” I muttered under my breath, eyeing Caroline across the table. I wasn’t sure whether I was impressed or irritated by her ability to turn snobbery into an art form.

But before anyone could continue the debate over Miss Bennet’s superiority despite her family, the door creaked open, and a servant entered, carrying a letter on a silver tray. He crossed the room with the expression of someone who had interrupted one too many of these charming breakfasts and handed it to me.

I frowned, unfolding the letter and reading it over, my mood shifting from mild irritation to outright confusion.

Fitzwilliam Darcy, Esq. Darcy House, London and Pemberley House, Derbyshire Dear Mr. Darcy,

I write to inform you of an unexpected development regarding the estate of an elderly widow, one Miss Isobel McLean, with whom you may not be acquainted. Her passing last month has brought to light a connection to your family, and as such, you have been named the beneficiary of certain assets and properties under her estate.

This matter requires your immediate attention, and I urge you to travel to London as soon as you may to review the legal documents and finalize the transfer of inheritance. Please come at your earliest convenience so that we may discuss the particulars.

Yours faithfully, John ArthursonSolicitorArthurson & Wilkes, London

I flipped the letter over as if the back of it might contain further enlightenment, but alas, it was as blank as it was when I broke the seal. A relative I had never heard of? No… I squinted at the letter again. It only said she had a “connection” to my family, which could mean anything under the sun. What in the world...?

“Bad news?” Bingley asked, leaning forward with the kind of wide-eyed curiosity I found mildly alarming.

I folded the letter slowly and placed it next to my plate. “It seems I’m required in London.”

Bingley blinked. “London? Whatever for?”

“A matter of inheritance,” I said. “From a connection I was not even aware of.”

Caroline Bingley raised a brow. “A relative you didn’t know? How... strange.”

Strange didn’t even begin to cover it. McLean? That sounded Scottish, but I had no Scottish relations. That I knew of. But I wasn’t about to launch into the complexities of my family tree over breakfast, especially not in the company of Caroline Bingley, who had made it clear that she wished to become a branch in said tree.

“It seems the situation demands my attention,” I continued, doing my best to sound as though the whole thing didn’t perplex me as much as it did. “I will send for my carriage and leave at once.”

Bingley’s face fell, and for a moment, I wondered if he might actually pout. “But Darcy, you’ll miss the shooting! We’ve been planning it for weeks!”

I glanced toward the window, where the grey sky had taken a distinctly menacing turn. “The weather promises rain,” I said, more to save myself than to comfort him. “I doubt there will be much sport today.”

Bingley looked as though he might argue, but one glance outside and his shoulders sagged. “Well, still. It’s only a passing shower, I’m sure. You won’t be gone too long, will you?”

I took another sip of coffee, considering the letter that lay neatly folded beside me. “I should return by tomorrow, or perhaps the day after next.”

Caroline Bingley sighed. “I do hope your business will not detain you too long, Mr. Darcy. We should all feel terribly bereft without your company.”

“I’m sure you’ll manage,” I said, allowing myself the smallest flicker of a smile.

Louisa Hurst laughed lightly. “At least you’ll be spared any further... local amusements today.”

I couldn’t argue with that. The thought of escaping Meryton, if only briefly, was one small consolation.

“Well,” Bingley mused, “at least we’ll have calls to look forward to, eh? I daresay we shall be full of visiting neighbors, and we shall start calling on our new acquaintances.”

A pity I was going to miss that. I stood, pushing my chair back with deliberate calm. “I will prepare for my departure.”

Bingley mumbled something about bad timing and poor luck as I excused myself, but my thoughts were already elsewhere. As the door clicked shut behind me, I couldn’t help but glance once more at the letter in my hand.

A connection I’d never heard of. Inheritance matters that couldn’t wait.

London called, and for once, I was glad of it.

Elizabeth

“ I don’t know why you insist on rifling through these old things, Lizzy,” my father’s voice sounded from the doorway, sounding half-amused and half-exasperated.

I looked up from where I sat cross-legged on the floor of his library, surrounded by books and a few scattered papers I had pulled from the shelf.

“I like history,” I replied, without any real guilt. “And you hide all the interesting things in here.”

He raised an eyebrow. “It’s not hiding. It’s my library, and I would rather it stay that way.”

I grinned, holding up a dusty old book I had just uncovered. “Is this a personal favorite? ‘A Complete Account of the Families of Hertfordshire’—sounds positively riveting.”

“Thrilling, I assure you,” he said dryly, stepping further into the room. “If you enjoy reading about long-dead people with too much land and too little sense.”

“I do enjoy that, actually,” I said, flipping through the brittle pages with care. “Though I must say, your taste in reading is a bit… practical. You don’t have any scandalous letters tucked away in here, do you?”

Father gave me a look over his spectacles. “If I did, I certainly wouldn’t tell you.”

I let out a mock sigh of disappointment and set the book aside, reaching for another stack of papers. “You must have something of interest to hide in here. Some secret will? A forgotten fortune?”

“What I have in here,” he said pointedly, “are old estate records and documents you likely have no business reading.”

“That’s what makes them interesting,” I said with a grin, holding up a particularly aged-looking paper. “Look at this—it’s from the year 1700! I’m practically touching history.”

“You’re touching something dusty,” he corrected, stepping closer to peer at the paper in my hand. “And most likely irrelevant.”

“Is it?” I squinted at the document, trying to make sense of the elaborate script. “What is it, then? Some kind of land agreement?”

Father sighed. “That, my dear, is a very old lease agreement for a tenant farmer. Hardly riveting.”

“Maybe not to you,” I said, glancing at it again. “But I find it fascinating how everything is so… connected. The land, the families, the history of it all.”

“If you’d been born a son, you’d have made an excellent steward, but a rather useless master. Far too inquisitive for your own good.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” I said brightly, rolling up the paper and setting it aside.

Father moved to sit at his desk, shuffling some of the papers I had displaced. “You know, Lizzy, not everything in this library is meant for idle curiosity.”

I shrugged, unrepentant. “Perhaps not. But you leave it all lying about as if you’re waiting for someone to discover it.”

“I leave it all lying about because no one else is usually fool enough to wade through these old ledgers and documents.”

“Foolishness or curiosity?” I asked, smiling at him. “There’s a fine line between the two.”

He chuckled softly, shaking his head. “One you seem determined to dance upon.”

I reached for another book, my fingers brushing the worn leather cover. “There’s so much history in these pages,” I murmured. “All these names and events, shaping everything around us, even now.”

Father leaned back in his chair, watching me with an indulgent expression. “And what is it you hope to find in all this history, Lizzy?”

I paused, thinking about it. “Maybe I just want to understand how things work. The estate, the land... why we’re all tied to it the way we are.”

“And here I thought you only cared for novels.”

“I’m more complicated than you give me credit for,” I said with a smirk, turning the page in the ancient book I had picked up.

“So you keep reminding me.” Eventually, he sighed again, a long-suffering sound I’d heard many times before.

“You really should leave these things alone, you know.”

I grinned. “I’ll take it under advisement.”