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

26. Twenty-Six

Twenty-Six

Darcy

I t had been, overall, a less than tedious afternoon. Bingley had tried to drag me out skating in the Meryton Square again, but the thought of another humiliation before the entire town had been too much to bear. So, I talked him into a brisk ride instead.

The winter weather was fair for a change, the horses were swift, Bingley only mentioned the words “Miss Bennet” and “Angel” a couple of times, and we had not seen even one of the militia officers on our outing. I daresay, it ought to have been everything pleasant to set my thoughts at ease.

But the ride had not done what I had hoped—clear my head and rid me of some of the more inconvenient notions nagging at my mind. By the time I dismounted, I was in no mood for pleasantries. The last thing I wanted was an invitation to take tea with Bingley’s sisters as soon as we returned. Yet, as ever, Bingley was enthusiastic about it.

“Come, Darcy!” he called, far too chipper for my taste. “Caroline was lamenting only yesterday that we hardly see your face. She will start to think you are avoiding her.”

Perhaps because I was avoiding her. Tea with Miss Bingley and her sister was about as appealing as having my boots tied together, but I could hardly refuse outright. So, I followed him into the drawing room, dreading what was sure to be a painfully long half-hour of simpering smiles and inane conversation.

Caroline Bingley was already seated, her eyes lighting up the moment I stepped inside. “Mr. Darcy, how lovely of you to join us. I trust the ride was invigorating?”

I gave a curt nod, offering nothing more.

Her smile tightened, but she persisted. “Would you care for some tea?” She already had the teapot in hand, a cup half-filled before I could even open my mouth.

“None for me, thank you,” I said quickly, settling into the farthest chair I could find. The fire seemed a better conversationalist than anyone in this room.

Caroline’s lips twitched. “Oh, but surely after such a ride, you must be in need of refreshment.” She extended the cup toward me with a forced smile.

This— this was why I avoided these situations. She was relentless, forever seeking to find favor with me, despite my best efforts to remain distant.

“No, really,” I replied, sharper than I intended. “In fact, I am hardly decent to be in company. I would not like to make myself an unpleasant presence in your drawing room.”

Beside her, Mrs. Hurst looked up from her embroidery, a knowing smirk tugging at her lips. “Mr. Darcy has been... distracted lately,” she said, in a tone that made it clear she thought she was clever. “Preoccupied, perhaps?”

Distracted. That was one way to put it. The dead quiet from Ewan over the past three days had me on edge. His presence was irritating, but his absence was perfectly unnerving. If Ewan was silent, it meant he was planning something.

Miss Bingley beamed, clearly pleased that her sister had noticed my “distraction.” “Indeed, Mr. Darcy has much on his mind, I’m sure,” she said, her eyes gleaming. “With the ball and... other matters to think about.”

I stifled the urge to roll my eyes. The ball. She would, no doubt, be expecting me to open the evening with her, just like the last time.

“And how fortunate that we’ll have such an event to look forward to,” Mrs. Hurst added, with a glance at me. “Though I do hope Mr. Darcy will save a dance or two for the deserving ladies.”

“Quite,” I muttered, though I had no intention of discussing the ball any further. If I had my way, I’d be far from the dance floor.

Bingley finished his tea and set the cup aside, looking pointedly at my cup where it sat on the table beside his, still steaming. “Well, I’ve some letters to write. I believe I shall attend to some business before I retire to dress for dinner. Caroline, Louisa, you’ll excuse us?”

I followed Bingley out of the drawing room without a second glance, grateful to escape the stifling atmosphere of simpering smiles and forced pleasantries.

“Darcy.” Bingley wheeled on me the moment the door closed behind us. “Are you unhappy here at Netherfield?”

I straightened in alarm. “Good heavens, no. What gave you that idea?”

“It is plain as the nose on your face. You avoid my sisters, you hardly speak to me, and your behavior of late has been waffling between distant and irrational. Really, Darcy, is something the matter?”

I sighed. “No. Nothing that is within your power to correct, at any rate. Forgive me, Bingley, but you are correct that I have not been entirely myself lately. Nor have I been a very gracious guest. I shall attempt to remedy that.”

Bingley studied me for a few seconds, then his face brightened as if the matter were settled. “Well, do be sure to tell me if there is anything you need. I could send for Mr. Jones, of course.”

“That will not be necessary.”

“Oh, well, then, very well. But the offer stands, should you choose.” I thanked him, and we parted for our separate rooms.

Dash it all. That blasted Scotsman had nearly made a very good man think I despised him and disdained his home and family. How I longed to be rid of the nuisance, once and for all!

Where in blazes was he?

I shrugged out of my coat and tossed it aside, already anticipating the relief of solitude. Perhaps I was only tired. I’d hardly slept since October, and a brisk ride on a cold day certainly set the chill into my bones. A bath would be just the thing, and since there had been no Ewan to loiter about to humiliate me in a state of undress, why… I stepped to the bellpull and rang for my valet.

I was half-listening as the valet set about his usual tasks—hanging up my coat, preparing evening clothes for later, directing the maids on the bath water—but my mind wasn’t on any of that. Oddly enough, it was the wisp of lavender fragrance that kept capturing my attention.

I opened my hands to stare at my palms and sniffed them surreptitiously. I had not handled the journals since yesterday. Where was that fragrance coming from? I had no notion, but it no longer reminded me of my grandmother. It was another lady who also favored that scent, one with dazzlingly fine eyes…

My valet cleared his throat, drawing my attention back to the present. “Sir, the bath is prepared. Shall I assist you?”

I nodded, not bothering to glance at him as he opened the door to the next chamber, where the last maid was just leaving with her bucket. The scent of lavender steam rose through the room—the answer to my question, I suppose, but I’d no notion why that fragrance had suddenly been added to my bath water.

I assured my valet I needed no further assistance and made quick work of stripping off my clothes. My skin prickled with gooseflesh and I felt obscenely exposed until I hurried into the tub to restore some measure of my modesty. It was tempting to rush through the whole thing, but the warmth of the water as I slid into the tub forced a reluctant sigh from me.

I leaned my head back, trying to relax. If only I could wash away the thoughts of Ewan as easily as the mud and grime from the ride.

For a few moments, the room was blissfully silent, the heat soaking into my bones, the water rising just below my chin. Perhaps—just perhaps—if Ewan did decide to reappear, he would have the goodness to wait until I had enjoyed an hour of peace.

A thought that lasted precisely three minutes.

As soon as I heard the window creak open, my body tensed, the splash of water shifting in response. The gust of cold air that followed sealed my fate.

“Yer lookin’ quite... soft, laddie. And pink like a wee piglet.”

I sat up with a start, the water sloshing over the edge of the tub, and turned to find Ewan perched casually on the windowsill. He grinned, swinging his legs as if he hadn’t just burst in on a very private moment.

“Ewan!” I sputtered, grabbing for the nearest towel to cover myself.

He only raised an eyebrow. “Aye, ye missed me, then?”

“This is hardly the time!” I hissed, trying—and failing—to keep the water from soaking the towel as I struggled to shield myself from his amused gaze.

Ewan chuckled, hopping down from the window. “Oh, I’d say it’s the perfect time, lad. Ye’re all nice an’ relaxed, open tae a wee bit o’ conversation, aye?”

“I’ll be open to tossing you out that window,” I muttered under my breath, hastily trying to gather my dignity. “Where have you been?”

Ewan ignored my question, sauntering over to the desk as if he owned the place. “It’s a fine thing, isn’t it? A wee break from me fer a few days?” He paused, looking me up and down with that insufferable smirk still plastered across his face. “But I knew ye’d come crawling back.”

“I did no such thing!” I snapped, water dripping from the towel as I tried to wrap it around my waist before standing. “You’ve been scarce for three days, and I have questions. I need answers.”

He sauntered over to the fireplace, ignoring me entirely as if my current predicament was of no consequence to him. “Aye, aye, now ye’re wantin’ answers, eh? Funny how that works.”

I was too furious to care anymore about my current lack of clothes, stepping out of the tub as I pointed an accusatory finger at him. “I found my grandmother’s journals.”

That stopped him in his tracks. His face flickered with something I hadn’t seen before—guilt, perhaps? Annoyance?

“Aye,” he finally muttered. “Thought ye might.”

My patience was running thin, and I grabbed for my robe, securing it around myself. “You’ve known me since I was a boy, Ewan. Since Isobel—your sister—was at Pemberley. You’ve been tied to my family for years. Why? What is your game?”

Ewan, for once, didn’t crack a joke. Instead, he stared at the flames, silent. The playfulness was gone, and for a moment, I saw something darker lurking behind his eyes.

Finally, he sighed, his voice losing its usual edge. “It was never aboot ye, Darcy.”

I blinked, not understanding. “What?”

“It’s not ye , lad,” Ewan repeated, turning toward me. “It’s her. ”

“Her?” My heart thudded in my chest as I tried to make sense of his words. “Miss Bennet?”

Ewan’s lips twitched into something resembling a sad smile. “Aye. It’s always been aboot her.”

“What does Elizabeth Bennet have to do with any of this?”

He rubbed a hand over his face, and for the first time, I saw something almost... regretful in his expression. “’Cause she’s got the same spirit as Elspeth. The love o’ my life.”

My head swam, my hands gripping the edges of my robe to keep my composure. “Elizabeth... is Elspeth?”

“Nah, not exactly. But they’ve the same... light,” he said softly. “Same soul, ye might say. The moment I clapped eyes on her, I kent.”

I folded my arms as the thin garment soaked more water from my skin. I was already dripping all over the floor, but this was a matter beyond niceties, beyond modesty and manners and good breeding. “What, exactly, did you know?”

Ewan leaned against the desk, his gaze far away for a moment, as if seeing something I couldn’t. “It’s in the way she moves, lad, the way she laughs. A fire in her, same as Elspeth had. Hard tae put in words, but soon as I laid eyes on her, I kent it. Her soul’s bound tae mine. Like the auld stories say—two souls yoked, no matter the time nor space between.”

I stared at him, still trying to make sense of it. “You think Elizabeth is... what? A reincarnation?”

He shook his head, his expression softening, almost reverent. “Nay, lad, not that. It’s deeper than that. It’s as though my Elspeth’s spirit lives on through her—no’ in flesh, but in essence. There are some bonds that dinnae break. Fate’s seen fit tae bring her tae me... and tae ye.”

“But if that were the case, why did you not simply hunt her down yourself? Why was she not Isobel McLean’s heir? Why do I have any part in this?”

“How was I tae find her mesel’? I needed ye for that, lad.”

I shook my head. “Why?”

Ewan rolled his eyes. “Are ye deaf as well as blind? Because she’s your dìthchail . Ye and her, yer fates are bound—two lives linked across time, meant tae meet. It’s no’ a choice, no’ a passing fancy. It’s in the blood, in the spirit. Elspeth’s essence found its way tae Elizabeth, just as ye were meant tae find her.”

I stood there, reeling. My mouth opened to speak, but no words came. Her? Elizabeth? My mind stumbled over itself, trying to grasp the enormity of what Ewan had just said. Fated? Bound by some ancient connection to his long-dead lover? I didn’t even believe any of this stuff, and yet, here I was, entertaining it!

“What if I don’t want any part of this?” I shot back. “What if I don’t want to become… whatever it is… bound to Miss Bennet?”

“Too late fer that, laddie. She’s meant fer ye, an’ if ye’d just pull yer heid outta yer arse, ye’d see ye’ve already gone an’ handed that wee sassenach heart o’ yers tae the lass.”

I swallowed, but my throat wouldn’t work. Blinked until my eyes were dry, and struggled for breath until there were spots in my vision. Ewan thought I … and Elizabeth …?

Heaven and earth. This whole time, I had thought I was the one tied to Ewan’s fate, that I had been caught in the middle of some cosmic joke. But no—Elizabeth. It had always been her.

“You… you could have told me this from the start,” I managed, though my voice came out somewhat strangled. My pulse hammered in my ears, and heat crept up the back of my neck, embarrassment warring with confusion.

I’d dealt with Ewan’s interference before, his relentless schemes and cryptic nonsense, but this? This was beyond anything I could possibly imagine. Elizabeth— my Elizabeth—was somehow tied to this tangled web of fate? It was absurd. Impossible.

And yet...

I swallowed hard, my gaze drifting to the window where the last traces of daylight bled into dusk. Some part of me—some ridiculous, utterly foolish part of me—was intrigued. Drawn in by the thought of it. Could it be true? Was there some reason beyond mere attraction that I couldn’t seem to get her out of my mind, that no matter how much I tried to convince myself otherwise, she was the one I...

No . I clenched my jaw, forcing the thought back. This was Ewan’s madness, not mine. And yet the idea pulsed there, at the back of my mind, as if teasing me with some truth I wasn’t ready to accept.

“Tell ye? And ruin all the fun?” He quirked a brow, though it lacked its usual mischief. “Ach, ye wouldn’t ha’ believed me anyhow. Ye don’t even believe me now, do ye?”

The blighter was right. I… I was in love with Elizabeth Bennet. And it took some miscreant figment of my imagination… or whatever he was… to make me realize it.

“And the ball,” I muttered, my voice tight. “What happens at the ball?”

Ewan’s grin returned, a glint of that old mischief creeping back into his eyes. “Ah, lad, that’s where it gets interesting.”

I groaned, running a hand through my wet hair. “You know, I’m starting to hate that grin.”

He winked at me. “Ye’ll see soon enough.”