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

23. Twenty-Three

Twenty-Three

Darcy

T he Bennet ladies were preparing to leave, a flurry of cloaks and chatter as they gathered at the carriage. I stood a short distance from the door, doing my best to keep out of the way, while Bingley hovered near Jane, still glowing from the victory of his declared ball.

Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst, however, were far less enthusiastic about the whole affair, their polite smiles barely hiding their displeasure at Bingley’s impulsive decision.

I watched from the edge of the entryway, half-expecting Ewan to make his presence known again at any moment, but the ghost had been suspiciously absent since the previous night. My relief was tempered by the knowledge that this calm wouldn’t last. Ewan was up to something—I just didn’t know what.

As I turned to follow Bingley back inside, movement from across the courtyard caught my eye.

Elizabeth.

She stood at the carriage, adjusting her shawl, but her eyes met mine in a brief, secret glance. No one else seemed to notice—her sisters were too busy fussing over who would sit where, and Mrs. Bennet was too focused on reminding Jane of something—but Elizabeth held my gaze for just a moment longer than necessary. Then, with a subtle tilt of her head, she glanced toward the woods. It was so faint, so perfectly timed between movements, that no one else would have noticed.

But I did.

My heart lurched in my chest. It was a signal. She wanted me to meet her at the gamekeeper’s cottage again, where we could speak freely.

It was unwise, incredibly so. Her reputation could be jeopardized if we weren’t careful—if anyone saw us. This was not like a few days ago, when fresh snow promised to cover our tracks. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky today, and our footprints would stand out clear as a bell—but the temptation to talk to her, to unburden myself of everything I knew about Ewan, was undeniable.

Before she could turn away, I mouthed, “One hour.”

She caught my meaning immediately, gave the smallest nod, and stepped into the carriage, her face calm and unreadable as the Bennet party departed.

W hen I arrived, Elizabeth was already waiting. She stood near the small table, her back to me, her hands tracing absentmindedly over the spines of the books that littered the table—no doubt the latest pillaging of Mr. Bennet’s trove. She didn’t startle when I entered, and I could tell by the slight tilt of her head that she’d heard my approach.

“I was beginning to think you might reconsider,” she said, turning to face me with a half-smile.

I closed the door softly behind me. “I nearly did.”

Her eyebrow arched slightly. “And yet, here you are.”

I gave a short nod, moving to stand opposite her. “I needed to tell you the rest. About Ewan.”

Elizabeth’s expression softened instantly. Her sympathy for the ghost—a man she had never seen, who wasn’t even real to her—was remarkable. I hadn’t expected that when I first confided in her.

“All I knew was that he fled the battle at Culloden. Did he tell you why? Anything else?”

I nodded, running a hand over my face, trying to organize the pieces of Ewan’s chaotic confession into something that made sense. “Yes. He told me the story. He wasn’t proud of it, but he didn’t mince words. He was… trapped between loyalty to his clan and the knowledge that staying would mean certain death. The fighting was over by the time he turned back, and he carried the shame of it—of not going down with the others.”

Elizabeth frowned, her fingers resting on one of the books. “I can’t imagine the guilt, even though I… I am certain I would have done the same.” She paused, her brow furrowed in thought. “He told you all of this himself?”

I nodded. “In his own way, of course.”

A soft sigh escaped her, and she leaned against the table. “I am sorry for him.”

I blinked at her. Sorry?

“You pity him,” I said, more a statement than a question. “He’s not even real… not in the traditional sense… and you pity him.”

“I do. If you hadn’t told me about him, I would have never known he existed. But he’s real enough to you, Mr. Darcy, so he’s real enough for me.”

The warmth that spread through me at her words caught me entirely off guard. It wasn’t just what she said, but how she said it—without hesitation, without questioning my sanity or doubting me. Her belief, even in something as absurd as a meddling ghost, stirred something deep inside me.

I let the moment settle before I spoke again. “I’ve been wondering how Ewan plays into all of this. Especially given the matter of the ball.”

Elizabeth’s eyes narrowed, and I could see the wheels turning in her mind. “Ah yes, the ball. I have my suspicions as to how that came about, but I’d like to hear it from you first.” She folded her arms, a smile tugging at her lips. “Mr. Bingley seemed just as surprised by the whole affair as I was.”

I sighed. “That’s because he was. None of us placed the order with the butcher, and yet, the provisions for a ball are being prepared.” I glanced around the room, half expecting something to materialize out of thin air. “It seems we have a third party pulling strings.”

Elizabeth’s eyes twinkled with amusement. “I wonder who that could be.”

Before I could respond, there he was.

Ewan, sitting on the table between us, his legs swinging over the edge as he perched atop one of Mr. Bennet’s books like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Well, I cannae leave ye tae fumble through this ball without a bit o’ help, now can I?” he said with a grin, folding his arms across his chest. “Ye’ll thank me yet.”

Elizabeth

I hadn’t meant to laugh, but when Darcy lurched backward in his chair as if something invisible had yanked at his coat, the sound just slipped out before I could stop it. Almost at once, a book slid across the table toward me, stopping just before it toppled over. Something—or rather, some one —had shifted it.

I reached out to steady the book, biting back another laugh. “He’s here, isn’t he?”

Darcy shot me a look that could only be described as long-suffering. “Yes.”

“Good. Then I’d like to ask him a few questions.”

Darcy’s brow furrowed, clearly not thrilled with being the middleman in this conversation, but after a deep sigh, he relented.

“Ewan,” I said, keeping my voice even though I felt slightly ridiculous speaking to an empty room, “why are you manipulating this ball?”

Darcy crossed his arms and turned to the space where I assumed Ewan was lingering. “Yes, I’d like to know that as well.”

There was a pause, during which Darcy’s expression shifted to one of growing irritation, and then he let out a low, frustrated groan. “He says... if I want to be rid of him, I’ll need to play along.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Play along with what?”

Darcy’s gaze flickered to the table, where the corner of another book lifted slightly, then settled again. I could see him trying to parse out Ewan’s words, clearly as confused as I was.

Darcy finally sighed. “Christmas Eve is a... magic time, according to him.”

I tilted my head, considering. “I’ve read something like that in one of my father’s books. There are myths about spirits walking freely on Christmas Eve. The time between worlds is... thin. But honestly, Mr. Darcy, is any of that…” I was going to say “true” or “possible”, but the fact was, I was speaking to a ghost, so those questions went out the window already.

Darcy shifted uncomfortably. “Yes, well, he’s certainly acting as if it’s his magic time.”

I leaned forward, intrigued. “What does he mean?”

Darcy pressed his lips together before turning back to the empty space. “Ewan, what happens on Christmas Eve? What exactly are you planning?”

The room fell quiet as Darcy focused on whatever response Ewan was giving him. His brow furrowed deeper.

Finally, Darcy relayed what he’d learned. “He says Elspeth will be waiting for him. And... the brooch.”

I frowned. “The brooch?”

Darcy nodded. “Apparently so. Though what exactly that means is as much a mystery to me as it is to you.”

There was another pause, followed by Darcy’s sudden stiffening and a deep red flush spreading up his neck. He spluttered, his hands flying up in frustration, and I knew instantly that Ewan had said something else—something Darcy did not want to repeat.

“What did he say?” I asked, amused.

Darcy’s response was immediate and adamant. “ No.”

I bit back a smile. “Come now, Mr. Darcy. What was it?”

He clenched his jaw and avoided my gaze, muttering something under his breath that I couldn’t catch, then refused to speak any further on the subject. Whatever Ewan had said, it was clearly embarrassing, and there was no prying it out of him. I made a mental note to ask Ewan directly if I ever had the chance.

Still, I wasn’t ready to let the conversation end on such a mysterious note, so I tried another angle. “Very well. We’ll leave that for now. But regarding the ball, Ewan clearly has a hand in it. Are there... any unusual requests? Anything he expects us to do?”

Darcy blinked, clearly reluctant to ask the question, but after a moment’s hesitation, he tilted his head slightly, listening for Ewan’s response. He sighed. “He’s being difficult.”

“It sounds as if that is rather the norm, sir. Well, at least we will have dancing. Perhaps you’ll redeem yourself on the dance floor, Mr. Darcy.”

His head snapped toward me, cheeks flushing again. “There were reasons for... my previous lack of coordination,” he said, his gaze darting pointedly toward the empty space where Ewan was likely still sitting.

I chuckled. “Oh, I’m sure. But if you do find yourself indisposed, I’ll have to look elsewhere for a dance partner. Perhaps my cousin Mr. Collins? Or... Mr. Bingley, of course.” I paused, letting my voice drop teasingly. “Or perhaps... Mr. Wickham?”

As soon as the name left my lips, Darcy stiffened. The way his eyes flicked immediately to the far wall, glaring at it as though he might burn a hole through the plaster, told me everything I needed to know.

I knew there was something between them. Something more than Darcy had let on before.

I crossed my arms, waiting him out. “Mr. Darcy?”

His gaze snapped back to mine, but the look on his face was different now—graver, more like the first night I met him.

“What happened between you and Mr. Wickham?”

For a long moment, Darcy said nothing, his jaw tight. I could see the internal struggle playing out in his mind. Finally, he let out a long breath, as though resigning himself to the truth. “You already know enough to ruin me in all good society,” he muttered. “What’s one more thing?”

I stayed silent, sensing that this was not a moment to press. Darcy seemed to gather himself, then spoke in a tone that was quieter than I’d ever heard from him.

“Wickham was my father’s steward’s son. He was given every advantage—every opportunity. My father was... too generous.” Darcy’s eyes darkened. “Wickham squandered his inheritance, then returned again and again, demanding more. Eventually, it came to this: he tried to elope with my sister last summer. She was fifteen.”

A chill ran through me. I could only imagine the scandal—how it might have destroyed his sister, his family. “That’s... horrible,” I managed.

Darcy nodded. “Yes. And the worst part is... she trusted him. He played the part of the charming suitor, the knight in shining armor.” He broke off, his gaze hardening as he glanced again at the empty space where Ewan presumably lingered.

Whatever Ewan said next, I couldn’t hear it, but I saw Darcy’s reaction clearly. His eyes narrowed at the invisible specter, and he said through gritted teeth, “Not another word, Ewan.”

I frowned. “What is it?”

Darcy shook his head. “It’s nothing. I wish for you to keep this in strict confidence, Miss Bennet. It could destroy my sister.”

I nodded immediately. “Of course, Mr. Darcy. I give you my word.”

His posture relaxed slightly, though I could still see the tension in his shoulders. He glanced around the room, clearly frustrated, and muttered, “That is why I did not try to return to London when this all started, much as I wanted to. He would have just followed me. I’ll keep him entertained at Netherfield forever if I must, so long as my sister is safe.”

Before I could respond to Darcy’s heartfelt confession, I saw him tense again, his eyes narrowing as though he was listening to something only he could hear. His expression darkened for a moment, and then, through gritted teeth, he muttered, “That will not be necessary.”

I tilted my head, amused. “I take it Ewan has something to say about all this?”

Darcy shot me a look—half irritated, half resigned. “He’s offering... assistance.”

“Assistance?” I repeated, a smirk already forming. “And what exactly would that entail?”

Darcy cleared his throat and shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “Apparently, Ewan would be happy to... throttle Mr. Wickham. Or any other redcoat, for that matter.”

The image of an unseen Scotsman going after Wickham, with Darcy caught in the middle trying to maintain his composure, was too much. I let out a laugh that echoed through the quiet room.

Darcy gave me a pained look, but I could see the corners of his mouth twitching, as if he couldn’t help but be slightly amused himself. “It is not as funny as you think.”

“Oh, but it is,” I said, biting back another giggle. “At least it seems Ewan is on your side.”

Darcy’s eyes flicked toward the empty space again, and he muttered under his breath, “It’s not loyalty to me. He just hates redcoats.”

“That is understandable, given his history.”

Before Darcy could respond, his body stiffened again, and his eyes suddenly shifted toward the far corner of the room. He went still, like a man holding his breath.

“He’s gone, isn’t he?” I asked, having learned by now to read the signs. The sudden stillness, the change in Darcy’s gaze—it all pointed to Ewan’s abrupt departure.

Darcy exhaled slowly and nodded. “Yes. For now, at least.”

“Well, that’s something, I suppose,” I said, leaning back slightly in my chair. “Though I must admit, I rather enjoy watching you squirm when he’s around.”

Darcy shot me a look, but there was no real heat behind it. “You would.”

“You know, you still haven’t told me what he said to you earlier. That thing that made you turn so... red.”

Darcy’s face colored again just at the mention of it. “Miss Bennet, I assure you, not everything that comes out of Ewan McLean’s mouth is fit for a lady’s ears.”

I raised an eyebrow, half expecting him to elaborate, but he clamped his mouth shut. “Ah, I see,” I said lightly, leaning forward with a conspiratorial smile. “I suppose I’ll just have to ask him myself, then. If he is capable of writing notes, perhaps he will write one to me.”

His eyes widened, and he sputtered slightly. “You will do no such thing.”

I couldn’t help but laugh again. “Oh, don’t worry, Mr. Darcy. I wouldn’t dream of putting you in such an uncomfortable position. For now, I’ll let it remain a mystery.”

“Thank you,” Darcy said, though he still looked slightly uneasy, as if Ewan might return at any moment to resume his antics.

I stood up from the table and adjusted my cloak. “Since our ‘chaperone’ has disappeared, I suppose I should take my leave as well.”

Darcy rose from his seat, ever the gentleman, though I could see a flicker of relief in his eyes. Perhaps he wasn’t sure how much longer he could maintain his composure with both me and a meddlesome ghost in the room.

“Miss Bennet,” he said, his voice softer now. “Thank you. For... listening. For everything. You’ve given me more grace than I deserve.”

I smiled, but there was an undercurrent of seriousness in his tone that caught me off guard. “It is I who should thank you, Mr. Darcy. You’ve entrusted me with something very important, and I assure you, I will keep my word.”

His gaze lingered on mine, and for a moment, there was something unspoken between us—something that felt deeper than the playful teasing or even the strange circumstances that had brought us here.

I nodded once more, then turned toward the door. “Until next time, Mr. Darcy.”

He inclined his head. “Until next time.”