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

6. Six

Six

Darcy

I stumbled around the corner of the house, barely keeping myself upright as my legs threatened to give out beneath me. My lungs burned from running, my head swam with confusion, and my entire body felt like it was one wrong breath away from expiring completely. I needed to get back to my room—back to safety.

For a moment, Ewan had vanished. That small mercy allowed me to breathe, but just barely. My hands still trembled, and I was fairly certain my legs wouldn’t hold me much longer.

I reached the stairs, my hand gripping the banister like a lifeline, when I heard it—Caroline Bingley’s voice drifting from the hallway. My heart nearly stopped. Of all the people to find me in this state, it had to be her . I pressed myself against the wall, trying to steady my breathing, hoping against hope that she wouldn’t turn the corner.

“Has anyone seen Mr. Darcy this morning?” Her voice echoed closer, and I could hear the scrape of her shoes on the floor. “I haven’t had the pleasure of speaking with him yet today.”

Pleasure . The word made me want to scream again.

My body locked up. I wasn’t sure if I would faint or simply crumble into a heap right there, but I could not— would not —let Caroline Bingley find me. My shirt was still half untucked, mud caked my breeches, and I had the bedraggled look of a man who had been wallowing with the pigs. No doubt my aroma was equally distinguished. If Caroline Bingley saw me like this, the news would reach London by dinner.

I pressed my back to the wall, heart hammering in my chest, every muscle tense. Ewan McLean, thank Heaven, had chosen this moment to disappear. Or maybe he was never really there. A small grace, though I had no illusions it would last.

Miss Bingley’s footsteps paused, and I held my breath, waiting.

After what felt like an eternity, they resumed, fading in the opposite direction.

I exhaled shakily and bolted up the stairs two at a time, stumbling through the door of my room and slamming it shut behind me. I leaned against it, gasping for breath, my hands trembling uncontrollably.

For a brief moment, I allowed myself to relax. I was alone. No Scottish nuisance, no ghostly figures popping up behind me. Just the blessed, quiet solitude of my room.

But then the humiliation of what had just occurred hit me like a blow to the gut.

Elizabeth Bennet .

Of all people to witness my disgraceful flight across the lawn, it had to be her. The one with the razor-sharp wit and speaking eyes that were positively laughing at my discomfiture. I closed my eyes, groaning as I slumped against the door. Of course it was her. It figured that she would be the one to see me unraveling like a lunatic.

But… at least it hadn’t been Caroline Bingley.

Miss Bennet was a country girl—no one would listen to her. She could say whatever she pleased, and society would barely blink. But if Miss Bingley had seen… I shuddered. I would have been the subject of gossip from here to London for the next decade.

Or she would use it to blackmail me into marriage. Quite frankly, I’d rather have the gossip.

Shaking all over, I pushed myself upright and took stock of my appearance in the mirror. My shirt was torn and smeared with mud, my breeches filthy, my hair drenched and sticking out in every direction as if I’d spent the morning wrestling with demons—which, frankly, didn’t feel far from the truth.

I didn’t waste another second. I stumbled over to my hair trunk, yanking it open with clumsy hands, and began stuffing clothes into it without rhyme or reason. I needed to leave. Now . London, Derbyshire, the Orient— anywhere but here. I couldn’t wait for a footman or explanations. I had to be gone before Ewan McLean appeared again or, worse before Caroline Bingley sniffed me out.

As I crammed the last of my shirts into the trunk, I heard a sharp knock at the door.

I screamed. Again.

My knees buckled, and I clutched the edge of the bed to stop myself from collapsing. No . Not again! I couldn’t take another confrontation with—

“Darcy?” came Bingley’s voice from the other side of the door. “Are you hurt?”

I exhaled in relief, nearly sinking to the floor. It wasn’t Ewan. It was Bingley. A real, living, breathing human being. I could handle this.

My heart was still racing, but at least I wasn’t about to face another ghost. Thank Heaven.

“Darcy?” came Bingley’s voice again, far more urgent now. “Are you—er—alive in there?”

I hauled myself to my feet, gripping the bedpost like it was the only thing keeping me upright. “Yes! Yes, I’m… here.”

The door creaked open, and Bingley stepped in, taking one look at me—mud-smeared breeches, shirt hanging out, hair as if I’d been struck by lightning—and stopped dead in his tracks.

“Good heavens, man,” he said, blinking. “What happened to you? You look like you’ve been trampled by a herd of cows.”

I straightened up, but my legs were still shaking beneath me. “Cows? No. No cows,” I stammered, trying to smooth my shirt—though that was a futile effort. “I was… startled. That’s all.”

Bingley raised an eyebrow, clearly not buying it. “Startled? Darcy, I could’ve sworn I heard a scream. A rather… high-pitched one.”

“I do not scream,” I snapped, though I could hear how unconvincing I sounded. “I was… surprised, that’s all. Surprised.”

Bingley blinked again, his gaze flicking to the half-packed trunk behind me. “Surprised into packing your things without even waiting for a servant? Were you ‘startled’ by your shirts and cravats?”

“No,” I muttered, shoving a crumpled cravat into the trunk with far more force than necessary. “I simply thought it best to… return to London. Yes. Important matters. Cannot delay.”

“London?” Bingley’s frown deepened, and he stepped further into the room, hands on his hips. “Darcy, what’s this about? You only came back last night! The weather’s cleared up, and Hurst and I were planning to go shooting this morning.”

“Shooting?” I repeated, half dazed, as I glanced out the window. The sky, of course, was a perfect blue, and the trees shimmered in the sunlight like nothing strange had happened at all. “Yes, well, I’m sure you and Hurst will manage without me.”

Bingley’s eyes narrowed. “Are you sure? You look…” He searched for the word. “You look like you’ve been running across the fallow fields already this morning.”

If only he knew. My head was pounding, my hands were trembling, and every part of me wanted to escape this house before Ewan popped up again to haunt me.

“It’s just… the matter of the estate,” I said weakly, stuffing a pair of boots into the trunk. “Can’t leave it unattended for too long. Must get back to Derbyshire.”

Bingley was not convinced. “You didn’t mention anything pressing before you left for London yesterday.”

I groaned inwardly. “Well, things change. Urgently. There’s business. Papers. People waiting.” I was rambling now, and Bingley’s concerned frown was only getting deeper.

“Darcy,” he said slowly, “it’s a beautiful day. The rain’s cleared, the countryside’s fresh, and Hurst and I were hoping for a bit of sport. I daresay some fresh air would do you good.”

Fresh air? Fresh air was what got me into this mess, tearing across the lawn like a madman while a young lady looked on, no doubt thinking I’d lost my mind, and probably scandalized by how much of me my clothing did not cover. The village wit, no less, with the sort of tongue that could scald my dignity a dozen different ways before noon.

I shuddered.

Bingley, oblivious to my inner turmoil, kept going. “And besides,” he added with far too much enthusiasm, “I’ve just had word that Miss Elizabeth Bennet has arrived to visit her sister.”

Miss Elizabeth. The very last person on this earth I wanted to face again.

I felt my face pale, the trembling in my hands worsening. “Miss Elizabeth?” I croaked.

“Yes!” Bingley said brightly, either ignoring or missing the absolute horror in my voice. “You must join us in greeting her. It would be most improper not to.”

Most improper. How about most insane ? I was about to have a complete collapse, and he wanted to stand around exchanging pleasantries with Elizabeth Bennet?

“Surely… surely that’s not necessary,” I stammered. “After all, Miss Bennet has come to see her sister, not us. We wouldn’t want to disturb them.”

“Disturb them?” Bingley laughed. “Nonsense. She’ll be pleased to see us. Come, we’ll make a day of it. Some shooting, a pleasant visit with Miss Bennet. It’ll be just the thing to lift your spirits!”

Lift my spirits? The only thing that would lift my spirits was getting as far away from Netherfield as humanly possible. But I couldn’t leave without making myself look even more ridiculous than I already had.

“Right,” I said weakly, my voice barely holding together. “A day of it.”

Bingley beamed. “Excellent! I’ll have the footmen bring down your things, and we’ll head out to the lawn in just a bit. Miss Elizabeth is with her sister now, but we shall greet her in the drawing room after she has satisfied herself. I do hope she will find Miss Bennet somewhat recovered since last evening.”

I nodded, my stomach twisting into knots. Elizabeth Bennet. Again . I’d barely survived the last encounter, and now I had to face her again .

But at least that wretched Scotsman was nowhere to be seen. For now.

Elizabeth

I descended the stairs with a knot in my stomach. Facing Mr. Bingley’s sisters wasn’t high on my list of enjoyable activities, but Jane needed me to play messenger, and unfortunately, these were the people I had to deliver the news to. My brief meeting with them at the Assembly had been enough to assure me that the warmest thing about them was the fireplace they were sitting next to.

As I stepped into the drawing room, there they were—Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst, sitting like two finely dressed sphinxes, looking as if the greatest effort they’d made that morning was lifting their teacups. Mr. Hurst was there too, slumped in a chair, presumably pretending to be asleep so no one would ask him anything too taxing. He had all the air of a man who contributed absolutely nothing to the world except snoring.

“Miss Bennet,” Miss Bingley said, her voice a careful mix of civility and complete disinterest, “how is your sister this morning?”

I smiled as politely as I could manage. “Not well, I’m afraid.”

Miss Bingley’s eyebrows rose just enough to suggest she was mildly interested, but not so much that it would wrinkle her perfectly powdered forehead. “Oh dear,” she said with the kind of concern one might express for a misplaced glove. “I do hope she recovers swiftly.”

“I’m sure she will,” Mrs. Hurst added, although she didn’t look sure of anything, least of all Jane’s fate. “And, of course, if her condition worsens, we’ll send for the local apothecary. I trust there is one?”

I clasped my hands behind my back, trying to ignore their not-so-veiled slight about our village. “Ah, yes. His name is Mr. Jones. He is quite competent.”

“Yes, Mr. Jones,” Miss Bingley echoed, her fingers gliding delicately along the rim of her teacup. “We wouldn’t want her to suffer unnecessarily.”

The word “unnecessarily” hung in the air, and I couldn’t help but wonder what level of suffering would qualify as “necessary” for these women. I smiled again, tighter this time, and nodded.

“Thank you,” I said, fully aware that their offer to call the apothecary was about as heartfelt as a garden statue. The way they spoke, you’d think they were offering to save the nation.

I shifted uncomfortably, glancing toward the door as if some magical rescue might appear. It was clear they weren’t planning to offer anything more helpful than that. They looked perfectly content to sip their tea and hope Jane either recovered or discreetly perished without disturbing their breakfast.

The thought left me feeling rather cold, and worse—there was something else on my mind, something much stranger and far more unsettling.

Mr. Darcy.

The sight of him earlier, sprinting across the lawn like a man possessed, still made the hair on the back of my neck prickle. Was he mad? That was the most logical conclusion, given how he’d behaved. And yet… there he was, upstairs, presumably roaming the halls in his usual brooding manner. If Jane wasn’t already feverish, I’d worry she might catch madness simply from being under the same roof as that man.

Just as I was contemplating this disturbing possibility, the door opened, and in walked Mr. Bingley, smiling as brightly as ever. He was a walking sunbeam, all charm and ease.

“Miss Elizabeth,” he said warmly, “how is your sister this morning?”

I gave him the same report I had given his sisters. “Not well at all, I’m afraid.”

Unlike the ladies, Bingley’s face immediately fell into genuine concern. “Not well? That won’t do at all,” he said, frowning. “I’ll send for the apothecary right away. Mrs. Nicholls will know whom to send for.”

Finally, someone with a pulse.

But before I could express my thanks, Bingley added, “And of course, you must stay with her, Miss Elizabeth. We wouldn’t want her to be bereft of the comfort of her family. I’ll have your things sent for at once. You should be by her side.”

I blinked. Stay here? At Netherfield?

Before I could think of an appropriate response, my eyes drifted to the door—where, as if summoned by some dark force, Mr. Darcy appeared.

I tensed immediately. He was still pale, his eyes darting nervously around the room like he expected someone to leap out and throttle him. His pupils were blown wide, and he flinched every time someone so much as moved a teacup. If anything, he looked worse than before. The man was shaking, for heaven’s sake, and it wasn’t from cold.

I didn’t want to be anywhere near him.

But Jane needed me, and I couldn’t leave her here, sick and vulnerable, while I fled back to Longbourn. It was bad enough she had to endure Caroline Bingley’s tender mercies. The last thing she needed was to be stuck in a house with Mr. Darcy, who was clearly on the verge of some kind of mental collapse. What if he snapped and went about murdering people in their beds?

Still, I forced a smile. “That’s very kind of you, Mr. Bingley,” I said, even as my insides screamed “Get out while you can!”

As I glanced around the room, I caught Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst exchanging a quick look as if they were silently communicating some unspoken dread. They weren’t the only ones.

Mr. Darcy, who had been standing in rigid silence, suddenly gasped. Yes, gasped —like a man who’d just been told he was going to be executed at dawn. His hand shot up to his cravat, yanking at it as if it had just turned into a hangman’s noose.

Without a word, he turned on his heel and fled the room.

Fled .

Mr. Darcy, the most composed, aloof man I had ever met—at least, he sure seemed that way at the Assembly—had just sprinted out of the drawing room as if the devil himself were after him.

I stood there, dumbfounded.

Bingley chuckled awkwardly, glancing after his retreating friend. “Darcy has been acting… rather distressed this morning. Quite a lot on his mind, I shouldn’t wonder. And a deal of travel, and… I’m sure he’ll be back to himself soon.”

“Distressed” didn’t begin to cover it. I wasn’t sure if I should be more concerned about Jane’s fever or for Mr. Darcy’s state of mind.

“Right,” Bingley continued, clearly trying to salvage the moment. “I’ll speak to Mrs. Nicholls about your things, Miss Elizabeth. You should be settled in no time.”

He gave me a polite bow and hurried after his friend, leaving me standing in the drawing room, staring at the door in complete disbelief.

What on earth had I just got myself into?