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

8. Eight

Eight

Elizabeth

I had hoped to slip into the library quietly, just long enough to select a book for the evening before joining the others in the drawing room. Jane was resting at last, her breathing soft and steady, but after spending most of the day in her room, I longed for a distraction. A good book was exactly what I needed.

The library at Netherfield was a peaceful room, normally. But the moment I stepped inside, I realized it wasn’t empty.

Mr. Darcy was already there, standing near the back shelves, frantically pulling down one book after another, examining their spines with all the intensity of a man searching for money he had hidden somewhere, or a cure to some terrible disease. He flipped through the pages of each volume briefly before shoving them back in place, only to repeat the process with the next.

I nearly turned around and slipped out the way I’d come, but I hesitated. He hadn’t noticed me yet, and he was clearly preoccupied. Perhaps I could simply choose my book and leave without much interaction.

But just as I began to step away, Mr. Darcy turned sharply, as though he’d been pricked in the breeches by a sewing needle. His eyes were wide, and his breathing was still a bit too rapid for my comfort. He looked pale, though not as alarmingly so as earlier that day. There was a tension in his posture, but it wasn’t as frantic. He offered me a bow, though it was more a reflex than anything polite.

“Miss Bennet,” he said, his voice tight but civil.

For a moment, I weighed my options. I could leave now—there were plenty of other books to read in the drawing room. But something about his current state intrigued me. He looked… lost. Panicked, even. And yet, strangely harmless in that moment.

After a brief hesitation, I returned his bow with a slight nod, deciding that a few minutes wouldn’t hurt. I turned back to the shelves and began scanning for something suitable. His eyes followed me for a moment before he returned to his frantic search, his hands moving faster now as he flipped through more volumes.

“There are a few here you might find interesting,” he said suddenly, his tone more casual than I expected. “That green volume on the second shelf—historical essays. Or perhaps the blue one near the end, third shelf, travels in Italy. And if you prefer fiction, there’s a collection of stories, dark cover with gold lettering, just to your left.”

I blinked, surprised by his unexpected recommendations. “Thank you, Mr. Darcy.”

I pulled out the green volume he’d mentioned, more out of curiosity than anything, and glanced toward him. He was back to pulling books off the shelves, though his movements were no less frantic. After a moment of silence, I couldn’t help myself.

“What exactly are you looking for?” I asked, clutching the book to my chest.

He didn’t turn around but muttered, “A book on myths. Legends. Nonsense.”

That was unexpected. “Legends? I wouldn’t have thought such a subject would interest you.”

He gave a short, humorless laugh. “I’m just as surprised as you are, Miss Bennet.”

I studied him for a moment longer, feeling an odd mix of curiosity and unease, but the tension in the room was too thick to linger.

“Good evening, Mr. Darcy,” I said, and before he could respond, I slipped out of the library.

Darcy

I paced the length of the library, the book clutched in my hand like it held the secrets of the universe. I flipped it open, read two lines, and snapped it shut again. The idea of retreating to my room, locking the door, and burying myself in Scottish myths was tempting—tempting in the way jumping into a freezing lake seemed like a reasonable option when one was on fire. But even the thought of pretending to relax felt absurd. I hadn’t had a moment’s peace since Ewan barged into my life, and now I was grasping at straws—no, at books—hoping one might explain how I’d come to be haunted by a dead Scotsman .

But I had spent far too much time alone today. Between the hours of pacing my room, being haunted by an infuriating ghost, and now hiding in the library, I was beginning to wonder if being around others might stabilize whatever remained of my fragile sanity.

And then there was Elizabeth Bennet.

The way she had looked at me just now—like she was contemplating whether I might leap at her at any moment. Terrified . That was the word. Terrified of me , of all people! If she went about spreading tales of Mr. Darcy of Pemberley behaving erratically, looking pale and wide-eyed, heaven only knew what gossip would start. The last thing I needed was more rumors about my temperament.

No, perhaps some company would be good for me. If Elizabeth Bennet could see me seated, reading calmly, acting like any rational gentleman ought to, maybe she’d reconsider whatever nonsense she might be imagining.

With that thought, I tucked the book under my arm and made my way to the drawing room, silently steeling myself against whatever lay in wait. Ghosts or no ghosts, I would behave like the model of calm, collected civility.

When I entered the room, the scene was as predictable as ever. Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst were gathered around a card table with Mr. Hurst and Bingley, the former looking bored out of his wits and the latter delighted as usual. Miss Bingley cast a quick glance my way, her lips curving into that familiar, predatory smile. Thankfully, she returned her attention to the cards without comment.

Elizabeth was seated by the fire, a book already in her hands, her expression focused. I could only hope she wouldn’t glance my way too often, lest she catch me doing something involuntary and… alarming. I chose a chair as far from the card game as possible and settled in, opening my book with every appearance of nonchalance I could muster.

The first page hadn’t even registered before I felt it: the unmistakable presence of Ewan McLean.

Of course. I should have known better than to think I could have one moment of peace.

He appeared casually—so casually that for a moment, I imagined the others might notice him strolling about. But no. There he was, completely invisible to everyone but me, pacing around the room and sniffing at the company I kept.

“Ach, they’re a right scunnerin’ bunch, eh?” he said, his voice low but just loud enough to make me jump and nearly drop the book. “That blonde one—” he nodded toward Miss Bingley—”she’s got a face on her like she’s sniffin’ somethin’ foul. Right bunch o’ bletherin’ gowks, this lot.”

I closed my eyes briefly, willing him to leave. Now.

Of course, he didn’t.

Instead, Ewan wandered over to the card table, peering over Bingley’s shoulder, his eyes narrowing in mock concentration. “Och, lad, ye call that a bluff? Might as well be holdin’ up a sign sayin’, ‘Help yersel’ tae all my coin.’ He’s near flashin’ his cards aboot like a bletherin’ eejit.”

I gritted my teeth, silently praying he’d keep his voice down. But since I was the only one who could hear it… well, perhaps it did not matter.

He moved to Mrs. Hurst’s side next, chuckling under his breath. “She’s tryin’ tae play coy, but she’s got the worst hand at the table, the poor lass. No’ that she’d ken it. She’s too busy pretendin’ she gives a toss.”

Mr. Hurst barely stirred from his spot, barely paying attention to the game at all. Ewan grinned and leaned in closer to him. “Ach, now here’s a sight,” he whispered. “The man’s sittin’ on a winnin’ hand, an’ he doesnae even ken it. Ha! He could walk away wi’ the lot if he could stay awake long enough tae notice.”

I bit my lip to keep from groaning aloud. Ewan was having the time of his afterlife, and I was moments away from losing my mind.

He circled back to Miss Bingley, who was frowning down at her cards like they had personally insulted her. “Och, an’ this yin,” Ewan went on with a smirk, “her face is gettin’ tighter wi’ every toss. She’s tryin’ tae bluff, but she’s as subtle as a cannon blast. Ye could read her mind fae the doorway.”

I gripped my book harder, trying to look engrossed in the pages in front of me, but I wasn’t reading a single word.

And Ewan, of course, wasn’t done. He sidled up to Bingley, shaking his head in mock dismay. “Now he’s the only one havin’ a grand time, the poor lad. Nae strategy, nae idea he’s bein’ outplayed by his ain sister. Here’s a man who finds joy in everythin’, even losin’.”

Ewan wandered away from the card table, clearly losing interest in the players, his eyes locking on Elizabeth, who sat by the fire with her book. I tensed at the look on his face. Nothing good ever followed that look.

He began to saunter over toward her, and I knew— knew —he was about to say something inappropriate. I silently prayed he wouldn’t, but what was the use?

“Now that,” he murmured, just loud enough for me to hear, “is a sight worth seein’.”

I nearly crushed the spine of my book as I fought the urge to shout at him. Of course, that would do no good. It would only make me look mad. But the way he was hovering over Miss Bennet—no gentleman, alive or dead, should behave this way.

“Get away from her,” I whispered, fighting to keep my voice low.

Naturally, he ignored me, stepping closer to Elizabeth, tilting his head like he was admiring some sort of portrait. “Och, she’s got a look, doesnae she? There’s somethin’ in those eyes...”

I clenched my teeth. “I said get away. ”

“Mr. Darcy?” Elizabeth’s voice broke through my frustration. She was peering at me over the top of her book, a delicate brow arched in confusion. “Did you say something?”

Blast.

My heart almost stopped as I scrambled for an excuse. “Ah... no. Just... reading. Aloud. To myself.”

Her brow arched higher. “I see.” She clearly didn’t, but she went back to her book, though with far more suspicion than before.

Meanwhile, Ewan was practically standing over her now, inspecting her like she was an exhibit at the Royal Academy. He even twirled his finger in a loose spiral of hair until she twitched absently at the tickle of it—as if a draft from the door had swept it aside—and flicked the ringlet back into place herself.

“There’s somethin’ aboot her,” he said softly. “The eyes... aye, reminds me of—”

“ Shut up, ” I hissed, hoping Elizabeth didn’t hear me this time.

“Mr. Darcy?” she said again, now more curious than confused. “Are you... quite well?”

My mind flailed for something, anything. “Perfectly,” I said, far too quickly. “Just... enjoying my book.”

Her expression told me she was definitely not convinced.

Ewan, naturally, had no sympathy for the situation he was making worse. “Elspeth,” he murmured, completely oblivious to my rising panic. “My Elspeth.”

“ Who… what ?” I hissed, barely managing to contain myself. Oh, I was not going to stand for this madness! Was he now claiming he knew her? This was too much.

Elizabeth shifted in her chair, her eyes narrowing. “Who what?” she asked, tilting her head like she was trying to catch me in some sort of trap.

I blinked rapidly, trying to think of something clever. “Oh, nothing,” I said, forcing a smile. “Just... reciting something.”

She gave me a long look, clearly suspicious now. I could almost see her calculating how quickly she could leave the room if I started talking to myself again.

Ewan, completely oblivious to the chaos he was causing, leaned in closer to Elizabeth, shaking his head as if marveling at some long-lost memory. “Aye, there’s a fire in her, lad. Just like Elspeth. Ye dinnae see it?”

Oh, so he was not claiming to know her, but that she reminded him of someone. That… no, that was not better. I squeezed my eyes shut for a moment, silently begging for this to end. “She is not your Elspeth,” I whispered.

“Ye canna deny it,” he said, ignoring me as usual. “Aye, she’s a bonny one! What’re ye doin’ over there, lad? If ye had even half an eye, ye’d be over here where ye can reach—”

My knuckles were white around my book. “Get away from her!” I muttered, my patience on the verge of snapping entirely.

“Darcy?” Bingley’s voice interrupted the chaos in my head, loud enough to make me flinch. “Something amiss?”

I snapped the book shut, desperately trying to force a calm expression onto my face. “I’m quite well, thank you,” I lied, my voice strained to the breaking point. “Just... deep in thought.”

Bingley gave me a curious look, his eyebrows knitting together in confusion. He clearly wasn’t convinced and seemed on the verge of pressing further when Miss Bingley jumped in.

“Oh, Brother,” she said, waving her hand dismissively. “Mr. Darcy often appears pensive when he is thinking on matters of great importance. His mind is far too noble to be occupied with trivial things. It’s quite natural for him to appear a little distant in company.”

For once, I couldn’t even muster my usual irritation. I shot her a brief, almost grateful glance before returning to the book in my hands. Miss Bingley—defending me. The irony was not lost on me, and yet, at this moment, I’d take any excuse that spared me from further scrutiny.

But Elizabeth Bennet—the look on her face was enough to make me want to sink into the floor. She wasn’t fooled. Not by Miss Bingley’s flattery or my forced composure.

I cleared my throat and gave a stiff nod. “As Miss Bingley says... just thinking.”

She stared at me for a moment, her eyes narrowing slightly as if trying to decipher what , exactly, I was thinking. No doubt, she already thought me strange after our encounter in the library. Now, this only added to her growing suspicions. She didn’t buy a word of what I was saying, and frankly, I couldn’t blame her. I wouldn’t trust me right now, either.

Ewan, though, was still staring at her, and my frustration only grew. “She cannae even see me,” he said, grinning. “It’s a right laugh, eh? Admirin’ her, an’ she’s nane the wiser.”

“Get away from her!” I whispered again, my temper barely in check.

“Relax, lad,” he said with a wink. “She’s nae yer problem—more’s the pity.”

“Mr. Darcy?” Elizabeth interrupted again. “What are you doing?”

I realized too late that I’d been glaring daggers at Ewan, who was standing beside her, and she had caught me mid-glare.

“Ye might want tae stop starin’ at her like that,” Ewan chuckled. “Yer Sassenach charm’s no’ exactly doin’ ye any favors.”

I cleared my throat, forcing my expression into something resembling calm. “Just... thinking. Deep thoughts. About... Scottish myths, and the fools who believe them.”

She didn’t look remotely convinced. In fact, she looked ready to bolt at the slightest provocation.

Meanwhile, Ewan leaned in closer, still smirking. “Ye’d best watch yersel’, lad. A lass like that doesnae come around often. Ye might want tae keep an eye on her.”

I could only stare back at him, my frustration mounting. “Get. Out,” I whispered one final time.

He chuckled, stepping away as though he’d won some battle only he was fighting. “Aye, I’ll leave ye tae it. But mind what I told ye, eh?”

With that, he vanished, leaving me standing there, gripping my book as though it were the only thing keeping me tethered to reality. I stole a glance at Elizabeth Bennet, who was still watching me like I might burst into flames at any moment.

It took everything in me to force a smile and return to my book. But I knew—I knew —my sanity was hanging by a thread.