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

19. Nineteen

Nineteen

Darcy

I slammed the door to my room and tossed the book onto the desk. The chair creaked as I fell into it, not wasting a moment before cracking open the pages. An Account of the Glorious Fight at Culloden ... Thanks to Elizabeth Bennet, it was the most promising lead I’d found since this nightmare began, and I wasn’t about to squander it. Oh, but first, I had those letters to write.

I reached for my pen and scratched out the letter to my solicitor—my handwriting barely legible in my haste. I needed details. Why Isobel McLean had named me her heir was a mystery I had neglected for too long, but it could hold the key to this madness. The letter done, I moved straight to the next—one to Mrs. Reynolds at Pemberley, instructing her to send anything of my grandmother’s she could find. Letters, journals—anything that could give me answers.

But even as I sealed the letters, my eyes kept drifting back to the book. I hadn’t seen Ewan McLean’s name in it yet, but surely, it was only a matter of formality. There were hundreds of names listed after the battle—soldiers who had died, clansmen taken prisoner—but no Ewan yet.

I flipped through the pages again, scanning for any hint of Ewan’s name, but nothing stood out. McLeans, yes—but not him. It didn’t make sense. Ewan had sworn he’d died at Culloden, and yet there was no trace of him here. Had he lied? Or was this list incomplete? That seemed the most likely case. Too many bodies to count—it was a wonder there was a list of names at all. The whole thing was maddening. I rubbed a hand over my face, wondering if there was any end to this insanity.

It was Elizabeth Bennet’s voice that interrupted my thoughts—a memory of her questioning tone from earlier. “ Why not simply get rid of it?” She had made it sound so simple, as if tossing away the brooch would end everything. As if I hadn’t tried it already! But it was not the obvious question that made my thoughts keep returning to her. It was the pragmatic way she had asked, with such honest curiosity that, for a moment, it had made the madness seem... like she believed me. And somehow, that alone made the whole thing feel somewhat more manageable.

Elizabeth Bennet. The afternoon with her had been… revealing. And not entirely unpleasant. Her sharpness, her refusal to accept things at face value, had been a surprise, but perhaps not as much as the fact that she had taken me seriously at all. She had looked at me as if she wasn’t sure whether to pity or believe me, but she had still helped. That alone was... unsettling. She’d not only humored my tale but had brought real help, something tangible, like the book that now sat in front of me.

I flipped through the book again, my patience wearing thin as I scanned page after page. Ewan’s name wasn’t there. My pulse quickened.

“Where are you?” I muttered, flipping through the pages faster, frustration mounting with every name I scanned.

“Ye’ll no’ find it, ye ken.”

I froze, the now-familiar brogue making my skin prickle. Ewan leaned against the bedpost, arms crossed.

I didn’t look up from the book. “You told me you died at Culloden. Your name should be here.”

“Ach, it’s there,” he replied with a shrug. “Ye’re just no’ lookin’ right.”

I scowled, scanning the list of McLeans again. No “Ewan” in sight. “I’ve looked twice.”

Ewan stepped forward, peering over my shoulder. “That one there—aye, could be me. Or that one,” he added, tapping the name of another McLean. “My…” he squinted. “My brither.”

“Eoghan?” My tongue twisted as I tried to wrap it around the word.

“Nay, ye’ve got it wrong. Say it like ‘Ohh-wen.’ Aye, but it looks like my name, does it no’?”

“But it is not your name,” I snapped, glaring at him. “You’re not even listed.”

Ewan waved a hand dismissively. “Wee bit of confusion is all. Happens when ye’ve got half a clan fightin’. Hard tae keep us all straight, aye?”

I slammed the book shut and stood up. “You expect me to believe that?”

Ewan’s grin didn’t waver. “What else d’ye think, lad? I told ye I was at Culloden, didn’t I? I’m dead, nae matter. Not my fault if some scribe forgot to put me down proper.”

“Not your fault,” I echoed, seething. “That’s convenient.”

“Aye, it is. Now quit yer fussin’ o’er that wee book an’ get on wi’ it.”

I narrowed my eyes. “And I suppose you have nothing more to offer me? No more half-truths or obnoxious riddles?”

Ewan’s gaze flickered, just for a moment, but then he shrugged again. “Truth’s there if ye’ve got the eyes to see it, lad.”

I was about to demand more when his expression softened unexpectedly. “So... the lass gave ye the book, eh?”

My jaw tightened. “Miss Bennet helped, yes.”

Ewan’s grin returned, though it seemed a touch wistful. “Ah, Elspeth…”

I frowned. “What?”

“Elspeth,” he repeated, his voice almost distant. “Reminds me o’ her.”

“Elspeth,” I repeated, taking a step forward. “Who was she?”

Ewan’s eyes darkened as he straightened up. He reached forward and slammed the book cover closed. “Ach, keep yer nose out, lad. Some things are best left buried, ye ken?”

And with that, he was gone, leaving me to stare at the closed book on the desk and wonder if I’d ever get a straight answer from him.

Elizabeth

A s I stepped into the warmth of Longbourn, the familiar clamor of home greeted me—a combination of Kitty and Lydia’s shrill laughter and Mama’s inevitable fussing. The contrast was jarring. After the eerie stillness of the gamekeeper’s cottage, where Mr. Darcy had just shared his outlandish tale, the noise here was almost too much. I shook the cold from my cloak, willing myself to act as if nothing had changed—though, in truth, everything had.

What had I gotten myself into?

“There you are, Lizzy,” my father’s voice floated out from his study. “A word, if you will?”

I cringed inwardly. I bet I knew exactly what this was about. With a deep breath, I approached his open door and peeked inside. He was sitting at his desk, spectacles perched on the end of his nose, leafing through what remained of the stack of books I had until recently pillaged.

“Papa?”

“Ah, yes,” he said, without looking up. “I couldn’t help but notice a rather curious gap in my library. Several books on history and even a handful on paranormal curiosities seem to have taken a walk—on their own, I presume, since no one in this house would ever dream of sneaking them out without asking.” He raised an eyebrow, finally meeting my gaze.

I bit my lip, trying to concoct a reasonable lie. “I… thought they might be helpful for—research.”

“Research, is it?” His other eyebrow joined the first. “Is that what they’re calling pilfering these days?”

I shifted uncomfortably. “A little harmless reading, Papa. Surely you don’t begrudge me that?”

He leaned back in his chair, his expression turning bemused. “As long as it’s harmless. But do tell, what is so fascinating about folklore that you’ve turned historian overnight? And is it merely a coincidence that my books on mania have also disappeared?”

“I—” I fumbled, trying to piece together something believable. “It’s just an interest. I-in Scottish superstitions, to be specific… you know, all the things that Mama would call nonsense.”

Papa snorted. “Well, as long as it’s not too serious. But do try to return them in one piece, my dear. I don’t fancy a ghost turning up to demand his books back.”

Ghosts. That was Papa being facetious, but if only he knew how close he was to the truth.

I managed a weak smile before escaping the study, only to find myself immediately ambushed by Lydia and Kitty.

“Lizzy, you’re just in time!” Lydia said, her cheeks flushed with excitement. “We’re going to Meryton again to see the officers!”

I groaned inwardly. “Didn’t you just see them yesterday?”

“That’s hardly the point!” Kitty chimed in. “We need to show our faces. If we don’t, they’ll think we’re dull, and I refuse to be thought dull.”

“I doubt anyone could accuse either of you of dullness,” I muttered, casting a glance toward the front door.

Before I could find an excuse to escape, Mama’s voice rang out from the sitting room. “Lydia, Kitty! You mustn’t go without your new bonnets. Only wait a moment until I have finished this ribbon.”

Lydia rolled her eyes. “Oh, nonsense, Mama! The officers adore us with or without our bonnets. We could have any of them wrapped around our fingers if we tried!”

“You’re delusional,” I said dryly, earning a playful shove from Lydia.

“You’re just jealous because Mr. Wickham has eyes for me,” she teased. “Oh, he was so handsome yesterday, wasn’t he, Kitty?”

I had to resist the urge to roll my eyes. Mr. Wickham. He certainly seemed gentlemanly enough, but there was no way he would indulge my sisters honorably. They could not conceive that a man, even a handsome man, must have something to live on as well, and they had nothing that might attract him besides themselves. Hardly a prospect I wished to see them entertain, but not one I could utter aloud in this house. I’d sound as mad as... well, as Mr. Darcy.

And that was a problem I wasn’t ready to face.

Still, the idea of Darcy lingered in my mind as Lydia chattered on. His confession had been... unsettling, to say the least. I could hardly make sense of it all myself, and yet there was something in the way he’d spoken, in his quiet desperation, that made me want to believe him. If it was a lie, it was a deeply convincing one.

But what if it wasn’t?

The floating glass. All those times I had seen Mr. Darcy looking like something had shoved him, tripped him, dragged him... And Mr. Darcy himself—a man I had first thought only proud and arrogant—seemed genuinely haunted and entirely earnest.

I shook the thought away. I didn’t have time to dwell on Mr. Darcy’s plight. At least, not right now. Lydia was tugging on my sleeve.

“Come on, Lizzy! You’ll come with us, won’t you? You never know what fun we might have!”

“Fun,” I echoed. “Is that what you call it?”

“Of course!” Kitty chimed in. “Besides, there are more than enough officers to go around. We need someone to keep them all entertained.”

“Well, I can assure you I’m not volunteering for that particular task.”

Lydia grinned. “Oh, but you’ll come anyway.”

And with a sigh, I allowed myself to be pulled into the fray, all while wondering how on earth I was supposed to balance this absurd mystery with my equally absurd family.

But then again, what else was new?

Darcy

A knock at the door.

I turned just in time to see Bingley step inside, his usually bright expression tempered by a touch of concern.

“Darcy, I—well, I hope I’m not disturbing you,” he said, hesitating a little at the door. “You’ve been quite... preoccupied these past days. I haven’t seen you for dinner, and we missed you at shooting yesterday.”

I blinked, caught off guard. How many days had it been? I’d been so buried in papers, sending letters, scouring through what little information I had, that I’d nearly forgot the world around me. “Yes, I’ve... had much to attend to,” I muttered, feeling a wave of guilt.

“You have,” Bingley agreed, his brows drawing together. “I don’t mean to intrude. Only, Colonel Forster has been asking about you—wondering when we might call on him.”

“Forster…” My heart swirled in dread. I’d managed to avoid any face-to-face encounters with the colonel during the ball, and my last brush with him in town had been… somewhat less than dignified. “Why… er… would Colonel Forster be asking about me?”

Bingley came all the way into the room, wandering toward the mantel with his hands clasped behind his back. “Oh! Nothing particular. But any good militia colonel would like to know all the principal gentlemen of the neighborhood—it helps him to keep the peace, of course.”

“Well, I am not the master of any of the local estates.”

“Come, Darcy, you know perfectly well what I mean! Forster is in town today, and I thought it might be a good chance for us to mend fences after... well... last time.”

Last time . When Ewan had made a spectacle of me in front of the entire square.

I resisted the urge to groan. “Must we?” I asked, rubbing the back of my neck. “I doubt Colonel Forster is waiting with bated breath for another encounter.”

“He is a fair-minded man,” Bingley said diplomatically. “I’m sure he holds no grudge against you for an accident. Besides, it’s been a few days since you’ve been in company. A little conversation might do you good.”

I stared at him for a moment. Bingley had no idea of the storm that was brewing inside my head. He knew nothing about my outing yesterday afternoon, when I had spent hours cloistered with Elizabeth Bennet. And here he was, as polite as ever, practically begging me to make myself sociable… to join him in town. He didn’t deserve to be ignored. And it would be impolitic of me to alienate him, for he was the one gentleman in all of Meryton who was still speaking to me—though Heaven only knew why.

“You’re right,” I said finally. “I owe the Colonel—and you—a call.”

Bingley brightened. “Splendid! We can leave within the hour.”

“Within the hour?” I grimaced. It seemed a bit sudden, but then, if I didn’t go now, I’d probably put it off for another week, or never. “Very well. I’ll be ready.”

T he market square of Meryton was bustling when we arrived. Townsfolk moved about in their usual hurried manner, while a handful of officers milled about near the shop fronts. Colonel Forster was among them, standing with his hands clasped behind his back, his sharp gaze surveying the crowd.

As we approached, Bingley waved a hand in greeting. “Colonel Forster! Good to see you, sir!”

The Colonel turned, his face lighting up in recognition. “Ah, Mr. Bingley! And Mr. Darcy as well!” His gaze lingered on me for a moment, and though his expression remained polite, I could sense the lingering memory of our last encounter.

“Colonel,” I said stiffly, nodding my head in greeting. “I trust you’ve been well.”

“Quite,” Forster replied, though there was a curious gleam in his eye. “I’m glad to see you out and about again, Mr. Darcy. We were beginning to wonder if you’d taken permanent refuge at Netherfield.”

Bingley chuckled lightly. “Darcy’s been buried in work these past days, but I finally managed to drag him out for some fresh air.”

“Yes, work,” I muttered, though the lie tasted bitter. “A number of letters, you see.”

“Well,” Forster said, clasping his hands together, “you’ll be pleased to know that Meryton has been peaceful lately. No runaway horses or flying laundry lines to speak of.”

I swallowed a groan. So, the rumors still lingered. Of course, they did. I glanced over Forster’s shoulder, hoping against hope that Ewan wouldn’t take this moment to make a scene.

But then, as if summoned by my very thoughts, a familiar voice chimed in behind me. “I’d no’ stand fer such an insult tae my face, lad.”

I froze, my knuckles tightening on the reins as my shoulders drew back.

Forster tilted his head, watching me with a raised brow. “I certainly did not mean to offend you, Mr. Darcy. Only a bit of a jest, sir.”

“No offense taken at all,” I managed to choke out, though Ewan’s presence was now unmistakable, lingering far too close for comfort. “Just... a chill in the air this afternoon.”

Forster nodded slowly, but I could tell he wasn’t entirely convinced. He gave Bingley a pointed look before saying, “I trust we’ll see you both at dinner with my officers next week?”

“Of course!” Bingley answered with a broad smile. “Darcy and I wouldn’t miss it.”

I glared sideways at him. Dinner? When was this invitation accepted? I gritted my teeth, offering Forster and Bingley a tight smile. “I wouldn’t dream of missing it.”

Forster nodded, though I caught the brief flicker of amusement in his eyes. “We look forward to it, Mr. Darcy.”

Wonderful. More time in the company of Colonel Forster, Wickham, and every other person who now suspected I was teetering on the brink of madness.

Bingley tipped his hat to the colonel and turned his horse. He clapped me on the shoulder as we walked our mounts back up the street. “See, Darcy? It wasn’t so bad.”

I gave him a weak smile, praying that the afternoon would pass without further incident.