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

3. Three

Three

Darcy

T he rain had started up again by the time I reached Arthurson & Wilkes. Fitting, I thought. Of course, it would rain on the day I was dragged away from the comforts of Netherfield for some inheritance I didn’t even know existed.

The office was unremarkable. Dark wood, old volumes lining the shelves—what one might expect from any respectable solicitor in London. A man behind the desk looked up as I entered, giving me the kind of look that said he was used to dealing with men of means but found them all rather tedious.

“Mr. Darcy,” he said, standing quickly and giving a brief bow. “John Arthurson. Please, do sit.”

I did not sit. “You sent for me about an inheritance.”

His lips twitched into something like a smile. “Indeed, sir. The matter concerns a recently deceased connection of yours—one Miss Isobel McLean.”

McLean. The name didn’t spark the faintest recognition. I stared at him, hoping this was some ridiculous mistake. “I don’t know anyone by that name.”

Arthurson nodded as though this was perfectly expected. “No, I didn’t imagine you would. Miss McLean was quite an elderly lady, passed just last month at the age of eighty-three. The connection is somewhat distant, but the legalities are clear. She was... shall we say, an associate of your grandmother’s.”

I frowned. “An associate?”

“Yes, it seems your grandmother—on your father’s side—had a brief friendship with Miss McLean before her death. The details are not necessarily clarified, but we do have a record of Miss McLean living in Derbyshire some twenty years ago.” He cleared his throat. “It’s a rather convoluted connection, but Miss McLean named you in her will as a beneficiary, as you are your grandmother’s closest living descendant.”

I straightened, crossing my arms. “And what, exactly, am I inheriting?”

He rifled through a few papers on his desk before pulling out a document. “Primarily some personal effects, a modest property near Edinburgh, and a few heirlooms. It’s not of any significant monetary value, but the will was quite specific in naming you as the recipient.”

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. “Why me?”

Arthurson coughed. “It seems your grandmother left quite an impression on Miss McLean in her later years. She had no close family left, and as a mark of her esteem for your grandmother, she chose to pass on what remained of her estate to you.”

So, I was being handed down a collection of ancient relics from some woman I’d never met, purely because she once liked my grandmother. Wonderful.

“And the heirlooms?” I asked, wondering if this was going to involve some ancient piece of furniture or worse—a collection of cats.

“Yes, there’s one in particular mentioned in the will,” Arthurson said, pulling out another document. “A brooch. According to the inventory list, it’s a white rose brooch—a piece of jewelry Miss McLean treasured and kept from her family’s history. There’s some... sentimental value attached to it, I believe.”

A brooch. Just what every gentleman longs to acquire. I could almost hear Caroline Bingley’s shriek of delight at the thought of a new bauble to pin to her gown.

But there was something odd in the way Arthurson said it. Sentimental value. A brooch hardly seemed the sort of thing a solicitor would put much weight behind, unless...

“You seem hesitant,” I said, narrowing my eyes at him. “Is there something else I should know?”

He shifted uncomfortably, avoiding my gaze for a moment before answering. “Well, there are some... unusual stories attached to the brooch. Nothing official, of course. But there were rumors—local legends, you understand—about its significance. Some say it’s been passed down through the family since the Jacobite Risings.”

I raised a brow. “Jacobite?”

Arthurson nodded. “Yes, sir. The McLeans were known to have supported the Stuart cause, and the brooch is thought to have belonged to a member of the family who was lost after the Battle of Culloden. Some say his spirit lingers—though, of course, that’s just superstition.”

I stared at him, waiting for him to admit he was joking. When he didn’t, I let out a short laugh. “You mean to tell me this brooch is supposedly haunted?”

Arthurson cleared his throat again. “That’s one way of putting it, sir.”

“Absurd,” I muttered, turning to look out the window. The rain had picked up, pounding against the glass. It matched my mood.

“Yes, well, I’m certain there’s nothing to be concerned about,” Arthurson added quickly. “Most of these old family heirlooms come with some kind of legend. It’s purely decorative, I assure you.”

Of course. Because what else could this day possibly throw at me? A haunted brooch, a friend of my grandmother’s I’d never heard of, and now some nonsense about Culloden ghosts.

Still, the sooner I dealt with this, the sooner I could return to Netherfield and be done with it.

“I’ll take the brooch,” I said shortly. “And the rest of the inheritance?”

“We’ll arrange the details for the property transfer in due time. But for now, the personal effects, including the brooch, are already here in London. I can have them sent to your residence at your convenience.”

I nodded. “Do that. I’ll review the rest when I return to Pemberley.”

Arthurson gave a small bow, clearly relieved the meeting had concluded. “Very good, Mr. Darcy. If you have any further questions, you know where to find me.”

I took the letter from his desk, pocketing it without another glance. The sooner I left this office, the better.

The idea of returning to Netherfield suddenly seemed far more appealing than it had that morning.

And perhaps this time, the rain would let up.

Elizabeth

“ I t is such an honor for Jane, of course,” Mama was saying as she bustled around the sitting room, holding up first one and then another sample of ribbon beside Jane’s gown to see which suited it best. “An invitation to dine at Netherfield! And only a day after the assembly. You see, Mr. Bingley is quite taken with her!”

I watched Jane as Mama darted around, issuing instructions as though preparing her for a royal engagement rather than a simple dinner. Jane smiled and nodded in all the right places, but I could see the faintest hint of hesitation in her eyes.

“You do want to go, don’t you, Jane?” I asked, watching her carefully.

“Oh, yes,” she said quickly. “I’m looking forward to it.”

But there it was again, that flicker of uncertainty. I knew she liked Mr. Bingley, of course—who wouldn’t? He was all charm and smiles. But dining at Netherfield, with that gentleman’s cheerful presence sadly absent this evening, wasn’t likely to be the most relaxing evening. Especially when one took into account that Caroline Bingley could be as sharp as her gown was fashionable.

“It’s only a few miles,” Mama continued, adjusting Jane’s bonnet as though it were a crown, “and a fine day for a ride. You shall go on horseback.”

I blinked, glancing at the window where the sky had taken on a distinctly gray hue. The clouds were thick and dark, promising rain that might begin at any moment. “On horseback?”

“Of course,” Mama said. “The carriage is too much of a bother for such a short journey. Besides, a little ride will give her a healthy glow! Jane always looks loveliest with a bit of color in her cheeks.”

I shot Jane a look, and she gave me the faintest smile in return. She knew better than to argue with Mama once she had her mind set on something. I, on the other hand, had no such restraint.

“It looks like it will rain,” I said, more firmly this time. “Perhaps the carriage would be a better option.”

“Nonsense, Lizzy!” Mama replied, dismissing me with a wave of her hand. “The rain won’t start for hours. And besides, a bit of fresh air will do her good.”

A bit of fresh air? More like a thorough soaking. But before I could say anything more, Jane was already stepping toward the door, her riding gloves in hand.

“I’ll be well enough,” she said. “It’s not far, after all.”

I sighed, knowing this wasn’t a battle I would win. Jane was too good-natured to protest, and I could hardly argue with both her and Mama in the same breath.

“Well,” I said, following her to the door, “at least wear your warmest cloak. If it does start to rain—”

“I’ll manage,” she interrupted, giving me a gentle smile. “I promise, Lizzy. It’s only dinner.”

Only dinner. Yes, but dinner at Netherfield, with the weight of Mama’s ambitions hanging over her like a cloud just as heavy as the one outside.

“Very well,” I muttered, though I wasn’t satisfied. “But if you catch a cold, I’ll never forgive Mama.”

Mama’s voice floated from the sitting room, as if she could hear every word despite being across the house. “Jane, don’t dawdle! You mustn’t be late for such an important engagement.”

Jane gave me a quick, rueful look, then stepped out into the brisk air. I watched as she mounted the horse with practiced ease, the sky already darker than it had been mere moments ago.

“Be careful,” I called after her. She waved, offering me one last smile before urging the horse forward.

I stood in the doorway for a long moment, watching her figure disappear down the lane. The wind had picked up, rustling the leaves in a way that made me even more uneasy.

“Well,” I muttered to myself, “this ought to be a disaster.”

Darcy

T he carriage rolled to a stop outside my townhouse, and I stepped out into the afternoon air. I had hoped the rain would ease by now, but it seemed London had no intention of obliging. The streets were wet, and the sky remained a dull gray, though the steady drizzle had at least turned into a fine mist.

The door opened before I even had time to knock. Mrs. Hodges, my housekeeper, was already standing there, hands folded, ready for whatever instruction I might give.

“Welcome back, sir,” she said with a small curtsy. “Shall I have the kitchen prepare a full supper for you this evening?”

I paused in the entryway, shrugging off my coat and considering her question. The familiar smell of my own home and the quiet warmth of the house were inviting enough, but I was annoyed enough after wasting an entire day, coming to London just to claim a few silly baubles. The sooner I got my carriage turned around, back for Netherfield, the sooner I could forget about this whole blasted day.

Before I could answer Mrs. Hodges, there was a firm knock at the door. A footman promptly stepped forward to open it, revealing a man in a dark coat holding a large, neatly sealed box. He bowed slightly before speaking.

“From Arthurson & Wilkes, sir,” he said, glancing between me and the footman as he stepped inside.

I stared at the box. The contents were inside—the brooch, the other items from Isobel McLean’s estate. I had no desire to open it just now to look. In fact, the idea of sitting alone in the quiet of my study, rifling through the belongings of a woman I had never met, seemed like the worst possible use of my afternoon.

If I left now—immediately—I could be back at Netherfield just after dark. I’d miss supper, but Bingley wouldn’t mind, and frankly, I would rather that than trouble Mrs. Hodges to make up my room for just one night. Besides, then Georgiana would hear I was in town and I would have no peace until I called on her and Lady Matlock, smoked some cigars with my uncle, got dragged to the club with Richard…

I made my decision. “No need for supper, Mrs. Hodges. I’ll be leaving again shortly.”

She blinked, clearly surprised, but only nodded. “Very good, sir. Shall I have your room prepared for your return?”

“That won’t be necessary.” I glanced at the box once more. “Have this placed in my carriage. I’ll look through it later.”

Mrs. Hodges gave another curtsy before signaling for a footman to handle the task. I turned away from the door, stepping into the house for only a brief moment to collect my things.

I had planned to rest here, spend a night while attending to other matters in town, but now I found the thought of staying in London unbearable. The house felt too quiet, too empty, and I was too irritated with the contents of that box. The idea of sitting alone, poring over old relics and trying to unravel some distant family connection to a woman I didn’t even know—it all seemed pointless.

“I’ll be leaving straightaway,” I said. “No need for further preparations.”

“As you wish, sir,” she replied. “Shall I have a basket readied for you?”

“No need,” I said, already stepping out into the misting rain. “I’ll manage.”

The box was loaded into the carriage, the horses already stamping impatiently as I climbed inside. I settled into my seat, glancing briefly at the sealed package sitting on the opposite bench. It sat there, unassuming, a simple wooden box. Someone’s entire life, their most prized possessions. And now they were mine to dust. I sighed.

As the carriage jolted forward, I forced myself to look away. The rain began to tap softly against the windows, and I settled back, determined not to think of what was inside until I had to.

The sooner I returned to Netherfield, the sooner I could put this ridiculous business behind me.

Elizabeth

T hree hours later, I found myself sitting in the drawing room, my needlework abandoned beside me as I listened to the steady drum of rain against the windows. It had started only half an hour after Jane had left, and I could feel a knot of anxiety tightening in my chest with each passing minute.

“She’s not back yet?” I asked, for what felt like the tenth time, glancing toward the door as though expecting her to materialize out of thin air.

Mama, who had been sitting by the fire with her sewing, looked up with a frown. “Of course not, Lizzy. She’s dining at Netherfield. I’m sure they’ve kept her for some conversation or perhaps even a little music. Mr. Bingley is quite attentive, you know.”

“Mr. Bingley was not even to be there, Mama. Miss Bingley’s note said he was dining with Colonel Forster this evening.”

“Oh, but surely the ladies have detained her at least until his return. Like enough, they are all singing and playing until the gentleman comes home.”

Or she’s drenched, chilled to the bone, and stranded somewhere along the road , I thought grimly, but didn’t say.

I stood, pacing across the room to peer out the window. The rain was coming down harder now, turning the lane into a muddy mess, and I cursed under my breath. If Jane was not chilled or feverish after her first ride through the rain, the second—in the dark—would finish her off. Why hadn’t I insisted on the carriage?

“She’ll catch cold,” I muttered, more to myself than anyone else.

Mama sighed, setting aside her sewing. “Lizzy, you worry too much. You will see, all will be well! And even if she does catch a small chill, it will hardly harm her. Why, Mr. Bingley will probably insist on nursing her back to health himself!”

I rolled my eyes but said nothing, returning to my seat by the fire. Mama’s matchmaking fantasies knew no bounds. To hear her tell it, a little cold might be exactly the thing to seal the match. Still, my stomach twisted in worry, and I found myself glancing at the door every few minutes, hoping Jane would return before the night grew any worse.