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

11. Eleven

Eleven

Elizabeth

T he morning of our departure from Netherfield had finally arrived, and I could not remember the last time I had felt such overwhelming relief. While Jane had been the perfect patient, slowly regaining her strength, the rest of my stay had been something akin to a fever dream. And the strangest part of it all was, of course, Mr. Darcy.

He had spent the last few days lurching from one awkward interaction to the next, and I still couldn’t make heads or tails of him. At dinner, I would catch him glaring—not at me, precisely, but just past me, as if something dreadful lurked over my shoulder. His eyes would dart back and forth like a man watching a duel no one else could see. If anyone else noticed this behavior, they certainly didn’t say a word. And on the rare occasion someone did seem to notice, Miss Bingley would wave it off with one of her insufferable explanations.

“Oh, Mr. Darcy is always so very deep in thought,” she would say, with that saccharine smile of hers. “His mind is simply elsewhere.”

“Elsewhere” was the understatement of the century.

The most uncomfortable encounter, by far, had been in the library yesterday. A rainy afternoon, and both of us had wanted to read—simple enough—but the air had felt as thick as porridge. He’d fidgeted the entire time, flipping pages and scowling at the book as if it had wronged him. Every now and then, he would look up and glance at me—or near me—with that same intense, searching expression, as though waiting for me to do something... unexpected.

I’d asked if he was enjoying his book.

He’d nearly dropped it, stammered something incomprehensible, and promptly resumed glaring at the spine like it had insulted his ancestors.

It had been a long few days.

As Jane and I made our way downstairs to the waiting carriage, I felt lighter with every step. The suffocating atmosphere of Netherfield, the endless politeness that masked so many undercurrents, and—above all—Mr. Darcy’s increasingly strange behavior, were all things I would be happy to leave behind.

I glanced at Jane, who, though still pale, was clearly much improved. She smiled at me, her calm and serene demeanor a stark contrast to the whirlwind of confusion I’d been living in. At least one of us had had a normal stay here.

When we reached the hall, the others were there to see us off. Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst stood with their usual expressions of polite detachment, though Miss Bingley was doing her best to appear genuinely concerned for Jane’s health. Mr. Hurst seemed to be staring off into the distance, probably lost in a dream about the next meal. Only Mr. Bingley seemed sincerely glad for Jane’s recovery, stepping forward to offer his warmest wishes for her swift return to full health. He was the one beacon of normalcy in this odd household.

And then there was Mr. Darcy.

He stood a little apart from the others, hands clasped behind his back, his posture rigid as ever, but... different. For the first time in days, he wasn’t glaring at invisible threats, wasn’t flinching or darting nervous glances everywhere. Instead, he looked at me— really looked at me—as if I had something he wanted but couldn’t bring himself to ask for.

It was strange, unsettling even, but there was a flicker of something else in his expression too—something that almost resembled... interest? No, not quite. Curiosity, perhaps. Disapproval, probably. I couldn’t say for certain, but whatever it was, it made me pause.

For all the oddity of his behavior, for all the discomfort he had caused me, I found myself feeling a shred of sympathy for him. This was not a house full of particularly warm or understanding people—apart from Mr. Bingley, who was lovely but oblivious to anything more nuanced than polite conversation. Whatever mental malady Mr. Darcy suffered from, it clearly wasn’t something the others had noticed or cared to comment on.

As Jane stepped into the carriage, I heard Mr. Bingley’s voice again, full of genuine concern. “I do hope you’ll recover fully soon, Miss Bennet. Your health is of the utmost importance to us all.”

Jane smiled warmly at him, and he gave a small, almost bashful bow before stepping back.

Then it was my turn.

Mr. Darcy approached, his eyes meeting mine with that same strange intensity I’d noticed earlier. There was something flickering behind them, something unreadable but definitely there. He bowed, far more formally than I’d expected him to manage, and for a brief moment, he held my gaze longer than was proper. And for once, he did not swat at shadows or jump at the sound of his own voice.

I wasn’t sure what to make of it. His expression was... softer than usual. Less guarded. Almost... vulnerable?

But just as quickly, he straightened, his usual air of aloofness snapping back into place like a lock clicking shut. Without another word, he turned and walked away, leaving me standing there, more confused than ever.

As Jane and I settled into the carriage, I couldn’t help but feel a strange mix of relief and curiosity. Relief to be leaving the oddities of Netherfield behind, yes, but curiosity about what, exactly, had broken inside Mr. Darcy to make him behave in such a manner.

Whatever it was, I could only hope it wasn’t contagious.

Darcy

“ Y ou’re off your form, Darcy. Missed that shot by a mile,” Bingley said with a grin, reloading his fowling piece while I fumbled with mine.

“I wasn’t aiming for anything,” I muttered, though the truth was I hadn’t even seen the birds take off.

Bingley gave me a look like he didn’t believe me, but he was too cheerful to care. “What’s got you so distracted? You look like you’re still at Netherfield in body, but the rest of you is somewhere else.”

“I’m here, Bingley,” I said, lifting the fowling piece to scan the horizon for movement, though it was clear Bingley was less interested in shooting and more interested in talking.

“Well, I’m not,” he continued, unbothered by my terse response. “My thoughts are still very much with Miss Bennet.”

Of course, they were. I sighed, finally lowering the piece and giving him my full attention. “You barely spent ten minutes with her the entire time she was here.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, my friend.” Bingley’s smile only widened. “I saw plenty. More than enough.”

“You hardly saw her at all,” I countered. “She was bedridden for most of her stay.”

Bingley shook his head. “That’s exactly why I’m convinced that she is the one, Darcy! Seeing her in her illness was the best possible test of her character.”

“Her illness convinced you she’s the one you wish to marry?”

“Absolutely!” Bingley stopped walking, clearly gearing up to make his point. “Think about it. People show their true colors when they’re at their worst—when they’re tired, unwell, or uncomfortable. Miss Bennet was patient, kind, and sweet, even while she was unwell. I spoke with all the maids, you know. She never complained, never asked for special attention. If she can be like that when she’s ill, imagine how wonderful she must be when things are going well.”

I pinched the bridge of my nose, half in disbelief, half in resignation. “You’re jumping to conclusions based on a few days of observing her while she was incapacitated.”

“Not at all,” Bingley argued. “It’s when people are at their lowest that you truly see them, Darcy. Miss Bennet showed me exactly the kind of woman she is—graceful, even in adversity. If that’s not a good sign, I don’t know what is.”

I had nothing to say to that, at least not without sounding like I was tearing down Jane Bennet, who, despite my reservations, had done nothing wrong. Bingley was far too enthusiastic to listen to reason anyway.

As we resumed our walk through the coveys, I found my thoughts turning to my own recent struggles. Ewan had been nothing but adversity since the moment he appeared, and I couldn’t exactly say I’d handled it all with grace. In fact, I had probably failed every test of character thrown my way. Not that I cared about offending him . Ewan wasn’t a person; he was a nuisance. Still, my behavior… well, it left much to be desired. Especially in front of company.

Particularly in front of Elizabeth Bennet.

The thought of her crept in, unbidden, and my viscera started to crawl. But hang it all, she was the only one who seemed to notice or care about my… troubles over the past few days, while the rest of the household was blissfully oblivious.

If I were to use Bingley’s measure, she was kind, too, in the way she cared for her sister without a hint of complaint. And as much as I tried to avoid it, I couldn’t deny that I found her appearance… striking. Her eyes, especially. They had a way of looking right through me, as if she saw more than I was willing to show.

Not that I would ever admit that. Not to Bingley. And certainly not to Ewan.

“You’ve gone silent again,” Bingley said, giving me a nudge. “Still thinking about something?”

“Only about how you’ll explain to the world that you’ve decided to marry a woman after observing her from across a sickbed,” I replied, dodging the true direction of my thoughts.

Bingley laughed, unfazed. “Oh, Darcy, you think too much. That’s your problem. You wait for things to be perfect, but life doesn’t work that way. Sometimes, you just know.”

“And sometimes, you end up shackled to a nightmare,” I retorted dryly.

And as we continued through the fields, I couldn’t help but wonder if, in some small way, he was right.

Elizabeth

T he moment the carriage wheels churned up the gravel outside Longbourn, the familiar chaos of home washed over us. Before the driver had even pulled to a full stop, the front door flew open, and Lydia’s voice rang out like a bell.

“They’re here! Finally!”

Lydia bolted down the steps with Kitty on her heels, both of them nearly tripping over their excitement. Behind them came Mary, holding a book in one hand and looking as though she had dragged herself away from it under great duress.

Lydia reached the carriage first, flinging the door open so forcefully I half expected it to come off its hinges. “Jane! Lizzy! Tell us everything!” She seized my hand and nearly yanked me out of the carriage in her eagerness. “Did Mr. Bingley propose yet? Oh, I know he did. He must’ve!”

Kitty, breathless and wide-eyed, bounced beside her. “Did he, Jane? Or was it someone else? Oh, you have to tell us!”

Jane, pale but smiling as ever, shook her head as she descended gracefully. “No, nothing of the sort, I’m afraid,” she said, though the blush that crept into her cheeks at the mention of Mr. Bingley didn’t go unnoticed—least of all by Lydia.

“Oh, he will soon enough,” Lydia declared, with all the certainty of someone who had never been wrong in her life. “Isn’t that right, Mama?”

Mama, who had been hovering in the doorway, rushed forward, flapping her hands like a mother hen, seeing her chicks return to the nest. “Oh, my poor Jane! You look so pale! Mr. Bingley had better make good on his attentions after all you’ve suffered, I’ll say that much! Did they feed you enough at Netherfield? Were the rooms warm enough? And the company—well, I don’t doubt the company was tolerable, but oh, if only Mr. Bingley had been quicker about it!”

“Mama, I’m perfectly well,” Jane insisted, though her soft voice was almost lost under the tide of our mother’s fretting.

At last, my father appeared in the hallway, wearing his usual expression of wry amusement, as if the entire household were some great entertainment put on just for him. He didn’t rush forward like the others but simply raised an eyebrow as we came inside.

“Well, well,” he said, “Jane, it is good to see you on your feet again. And Lizzy, it seems you’ve returned just in time.”

Jane and I exchanged confused looks. “In time for what, Papa?” I asked.

“To meet Mr. Collins. He’ll be arriving by evening, and I confess I’m on the edge of my seat to discover if the man has any sense whatsoever. Though I dearly hope not.”

I blinked. “Mr. Collins? Your cousin, Mr. Collins? I hadn’t realized he was coming.”

“Oh, yes. You’re in for a treat. You may recall, my dear, that my esteemed cousin is now a parson, and the man who will inherit this house when I’m gone. He has come to avail himself of the opportunity to look over his future inheritance.” He delivered this news with the same casual tone he might use to describe the weather.

The room went silent for a moment as we all took this in.

“I hope he’s tall,” Kitty muttered.

“I hope he’s handsome,” Lydia added, her eyes gleaming with the possibilities.

Mary cleared her throat as if she had already prepared a sermon on the virtues of cousins. “It is fortunate, indeed, to meet such relations. The fact that he is a parson is quite fortuitous, for he shall be a man of principle. I, for one, shall look forward to hearing his opinions on important matters.”

Jane offered a diplomatic, “I’m sure we’ll find Mr. Collins perfectly agreeable.”

“Oh, I’ve no doubt that he will be far from all expectations, Jane,” Papa said.

I simply sighed. “Well, let’s hope he’s not a complete bore.”

“Not to worry,” Papa said with a gleam in his eye. “If he’s anything less than perfectly absurd, I’ll be sorely disappointed.”

With that unsettling prospect hanging in the air, I grabbed Jane’s arm. “Come, Jane, let’s get you upstairs. You need some rest before we have to entertain the heir to Longbourn.”

Jane protested that she was perfectly well, but when Lydia and Kitty cried that Jane should stay and tell them all about Mr. Bingley, she relented and allowed me to lead her upstairs. Once we were safely in her room, I shut the door behind us and ran the bolt.

“Now,” I insisted, “to bed with you, Jane. You are already pale from a cold ride in the carriage, and this evening promises to be equally taxing. You ought to preserve your strength.”

She chuckled but let me guide her to the bed. “Lizzy, you’ve done nothing but look after me for days now. You needn’t fuss over me anymore.”

“Perhaps not,” I replied, fluffing the pillow behind her as if it were my mission in life, “but I’m going to fuss anyway. After all, you’ve only just recovered, and you’ve been through enough without dealing with all this chaos downstairs. Now, rest.”

“Rest,” she repeated, her smile widening. “Lizzy, I’ve hardly been able to stop you from hovering over me this whole time.”

I laughed, though I wasn’t ready to give up my role as the responsible sister just yet. “Not hovering, Jane—merely keeping an eye on you.”

“And here I thought you must have spent the entire time at Netherfield tending to me,” she said, teasingly. “Though I suppose you did have many hours to spend with the others in the house.”

I hesitated, half-wondering how much I should tell her, but Jane’s warm expression made it clear she was genuinely curious. “Well, yes,” I said slowly. “There were many hours with the others.”

“And how did you find them? What are your impressions, after spending so much time with them?”

I settled myself at the foot of the bed, resting my hands on my knees. “Well, you can imagine how Mr. Bingley was,” I began, carefully observing Jane’s reaction.

As expected, a soft blush rose in her cheeks, and her eyes brightened. “Yes?”

“He was every bit as good-natured and agreeable as you would hope,” I said, watching her expression soften with each word. “If anything, his manners were even more pleasing under his own roof than they were at the Assembly.”

“I am not surprised,” Jane said quietly, and I could hear the smile in her voice.

I couldn’t resist teasing her a little. “Oh, I’m sure you’re not. And as for the rest of the household—well, that’s where it gets interesting.”

Jane’s brow furrowed slightly, though the corners of her mouth twitched. “Go on.”

“The sisters,” I said, leaning in, “are precisely what you’d expect—polished, yes, but with a constant air of superiority hanging around them like bad perfume. Miss Bingley spends most of her time either fawning over Mr. Darcy or making veiled remarks about how everyone else in the country is dreadfully provincial.”

Jane chuckled softly. “Surely they cannot be that bad.”

“Oh, trust me, they can be. Mrs. Hurst is hardly better—content to watch her husband nap while she drops comments like she’s casting stones at anyone not born to fortune.”

Jane shook her head, still unwilling to think ill of anyone. “I’m sure there is kindness somewhere in them.”

I shrugged. “Perhaps. I’m not sure I’d want to spend the time it would take to find it, though.”

“And what of Mr. Darcy?” she asked after a pause. “What impression did you form of him?”

I straightened slightly, for I’d been saving the best—or rather, the most bewildering—for last. “Well,” I began, hesitating for effect, “I suppose I should tell you all about what really happened at Netherfield.”

Jane’s expression shifted from curious to concerned, as if she already half-guessed what was coming. “Lizzy, what do you mean?”

I leaned in, lowering my voice as if what I was about to share were some kind of dark secret. “Jane, Mr. Darcy is… odd.”

Jane’s brows knit together in concern. “Odd? In what way?”

I sighed, settling back against the bedpost. “Where do I even begin? He is the most rigid, uncomfortable man I have ever met. The moment I set foot at Netherfield, he barely looked at me. He spent most of the time glowering at everything and everyone—until, of course, he wasn’t.”

Jane tilted her head. “Wasn’t?”

“Yes,” I said, narrowing my eyes in confusion as I remembered the bizarre shift in his behavior. “One moment, he was the stiffest man alive, and the next… well, it’s hard to explain.”

“Please try,” Jane urged, her soft smile not quite masking her growing concern.

“Well, you remember how he looked at the Assembly—so proud and distant, I could’ve sworn he’d snap if one more person tried to talk to him.”

“Yes,” Jane said, “though I’m sure he was simply not at ease.”

I let out a short laugh. “Oh, I thought the same thing, but no. There’s more. Jane, you didn’t see him on the lawn before I came into the house. He screamed. Screamed , Jane, and then tore off like a man running from some terrible creature.”

Jane’s eyes widened in surprise. “Screamed?”

“Yes! I thought he was being chased by a pack of wolves. But no, there was no one. Nothing . And after that—oh, after that, he did the strangest thing of all. He asked me to dance one evening. When nobody else was dancing.”

Jane blinked. “He did?”

I nodded. “He approached me with all the grace of a man who was being dragged by a team of horses. He practically stumbled across the room and then asked me if I would dance with him—stiff as a board.”

Jane was clearly struggling to process this. “ Mr. Darcy asked you to dance?”

“And not just any dance. We danced a reel, Jane. And do you know what happened next?”

She shook her head, looking even more perplexed.

“He relaxed. He was stiff, like someone was holding a pistol to his head, but then halfway through the dance, he… loosened. And not only that, he became a better dancer than I would have expected. He even smiled at me—twice! And by the end, I could’ve sworn he enjoyed it.”

“Perhaps he did.”

I scoffed. “I think he must’ve had some sort of fit. Or maybe it’s just his nature to be strange. But then—” I paused, trying to make sense of it all. “The way he looked at me, Jane. It wasn’t… normal. He looked at me like he was trying to figure something out. I am sure he disdains me mightily, but there were these strange times when it was almost as if—well, as if he was attracted to me.”

Jane gave me a knowing look. “That’s hardly impossible, Lizzy.”

“Impossible or not,” I said quickly, “I don’t trust it. The man behaves erratically. One moment, he’s glaring at the world and cursing at shadows, and the next, he’s practically dancing a jig. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say he’s mad.”

“Perhaps he is simply trying to find his place among strangers.”

“Oh, Jane,” I said, shaking my head with a laugh. “You wouldn’t speak harshly of Napoleon Bonaparte himself!”

She smiled and shrugged. “I only think we should be cautious in our judgments. Mr. Darcy may surprise you yet.”

“He’s already surprised me, but I can’t say any of it has been pleasant,” I replied, leaning back against the bedpost. “If there’s more to him, I’m not sure I want to find out.”