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

29. Twenty-Nine

Twenty-Nine

Darcy

I thought I’d seen the last of Wickham for the night, but Ewan clearly wasn’t done having his fun. As I watched Wickham march out of the ballroom, half-undressed and fuming, I turned my attention back to Elizabeth, who had barely managed to stifle her laughter.

“Miss Bennet,” I said, offering her my arm. “Would you care for a walk? I think we’ve both earned some air after that... spectacle.”

She hooked her hand through the loop of my elbow. “Lead the way, Mr. Darcy.”

We made our way toward the grand terrace doors, where the December air awaited, crisp and refreshing. As we passed through the ballroom, I caught sight of Ewan hovering by the refreshments table, pretending to inspect a tray of mince pies. The moment our eyes met, he gave me a wink and disappeared through the wall. I couldn’t suppress a sigh of relief.

“Ah, there it is,” she said softly.

“There what is?”

“That sigh. You’ve been holding your breath all evening—laughter notwithstanding. I was beginning to think you would turn purple from keeping that upper lip of yours so stiff.”

I smirked. “It’s become a necessity, I’m afraid. I keep waiting for some sort of disaster to strike, and so far, I have not been disappointed.”

She shivered slightly, pulling her shawl tighter around her shoulders. “Disaster seems to follow you, Mr. Darcy. But I must admit, tonight has been... eventful.”

“Eventful, indeed,” I agreed, glancing around the terrace. The night was clear, the stars scattered across the sky like diamonds. And, to my immense relief, Ewan was nowhere to be seen.

For the first time all night, I felt a strange sense of peace. Standing here with Elizabeth, away from the madness of the ball, the world felt... quieter. Simpler. And for a moment, it was just the two of us, with no ghosts, no Wickham, and no distractions.

“Thank you,” Elizabeth said suddenly, her voice softer now. “For what you did earlier.”

I let my hand trail down the edge of her laced glove to catch her hand. “I don’t know what you mean. What did I do?”

She let her fingers curl around mine. “Oh, well, when I saw Mr. Wickham approaching you, I came closer. I overheard some of what he said about the tracks in the snow. I had some inkling that he had seen something, but that he could have followed them all that way—I had been concerned about being found out. Such a thing would be... difficult.”

“Difficult is a charitable way of putting it,” I replied dryly, earning a soft laugh from her. “But you need not thank me, Miss Bennet. I’m merely trying to make it through the night without strangling him.”

“You showed admirable restraint. Especially considering what he tried to imply.”

“What, the madness? Or…” I raised my brow. “The other thing?”

She sucked in a breath, and her cheeks suddenly went crimson. “I… I would not presume to think…”

I released her hand to touch her chin, lifting her eyes back to me. “Elizabeth Bennet, you were the only person to see me—truly see me. You were the only one courageous enough to confront me and the only one who trusted me enough to believe me when all I had to offer sounded like madness. You may presume anything you want, and you will be right. You have made me wholeheartedly yours, and I can only hope—please tell me it is not in vain!—that you may, someday, come to feel the same for me.”

Her eyes rounded, and her lips parted softly, and for once, Elizabeth Bennet had no clever retorts. No witticisms or pert replies to set me back on my heels. Just… awe.

She swallowed. “Mr. Darcy, I…”

But before she could choke out another word, a soft rustle sounded above us. I looked up and, to my horror, saw a sprig of mistletoe floating down from the terrace overhang. No one had placed it there, of course. This had Ewan’s ghostly fingerprints all over it.

Elizabeth followed my gaze, her eyes narrowing in confusion. “Is that...?”

“Mistletoe,” I confirmed, as my face heated.

Elizabeth looked at me, the corner of her lips twitching as if she were trying to suppress a laugh. “Did you... arrange this, Mr. Darcy?”

“Not at all,” I said quickly, stepping slightly to the side. “This is not of my doing, I assure you.”

The mistletoe hovered ominously between us, swaying gently as if to remind us of its presence. I could practically hear Ewan’s laughter echoing in my head. Elizabeth, meanwhile, was watching me with a gleam of amusement in her eyes.

“Oh, come now, Mr. Darcy,” she teased. “Surely you know the tradition.”

I swallowed hard. Elizabeth Bennet. Mistletoe . Ewan meddling in the background, likely doubled over in ghostly laughter. This was not how I envisioned confessing my love to Elizabeth. I’d wanted words, true feelings, a moment of quiet reflection and honesty.

And what I got was Ewan McLean.

“I... suppose I do,” I said cautiously, glancing upward as the mistletoe bobbed slightly closer. “Though, under the circumstances...”

Elizabeth took a step closer, her face illuminated by the light spilling from the ballroom. “Under the circumstances, I think a kiss wouldn’t be entirely out of place, don’t you?”

My breath caught. For a moment, I could hardly think—my mind too full of the sight of her, standing before me, her cheeks flushed from the cold, her eyes glinting with amusement.

Before I could even respond, I felt a soft nudge at my back. I nearly stumbled forward, catching myself just in time. Elizabeth’s eyes widened in surprise as I closed the distance between us, mere inches away.

I didn’t need to look to know Ewan was responsible for that gentle shove.

Elizabeth arched an eyebrow, clearly trying to contain her laughter. “You... seem eager, Mr. Darcy.”

I cleared my throat, trying to regain some semblance of dignity. “ Someone certainly is.”

Her lips curved into a smile, and for a moment, the rest of the world seemed to melt away. The night, the cold, the oddity of the mistletoe floating above us—it all faded into the background. There was only Elizabeth, standing before me, her gaze holding mine in a way that made my heart race.

I leaned in, slowly, giving her every chance to pull away. But she didn’t. Instead, she tilted her chin slightly, her breath mingling with mine as I closed the last of the distance between us.

The kiss was brief, barely more than a brush of lips—but it was enough to set my pulse racing, enough to make the ground feel unsteady beneath my feet. When I pulled back, Elizabeth’s eyes were still closed, but she was smiling.

She opened her eyes slowly, her gaze meeting mine, and for a moment, neither of us said anything. The air between us felt charged, like the calm before a storm.

But before I could speak, before I could even process what had just happened, I heard a faint, mocking applause from behind me. I turned, and sure enough, there was Ewan—sitting on the stone railing, clapping slowly, a self-satisfied smirk on his face.

“Took ye long enough, lad,” he said with a grin. “That was doonright romantic.”

I sighed, shaking my head, but I couldn’t help the smile tugging at my lips. “You are insufferable, Ewan.”

Elizabeth gave me a playful nudge. “Well, it wasn’t the worst mistletoe kiss I’ve ever had.”

I chuckled softly, my heart lighter than it had been in weeks. “Then I’m honored, Miss Bennet. If you don’t mind… what do you say to a second attempt?”

She leaned slightly closer to me, tilting her head up and fixing me with a seductive pout. “Why?”

“Because,” I whispered as my lips lightly touched hers, “before the evening is out, I want mine to be the only mistletoe kisses you will ever remember.”

Her lips smiled under mine. “Challenge accepted, Mr. Darcy.”

Elizabeth

W e were still on the terrace—well, our bodies were, but I was fairly certain my heart was in the clouds—when I heard a faint giggle, then the unmistakable click of heels on stone.

Oh, no.

I pulled back from Darcy just as Jane appeared with Bingley, her eyes going wide as she took in the scene. Bingley, bless his heart, just blinked at us, looking somewhat bewildered. Darcy, in a rare display of composure, barely cleared his throat and nodded to our spectators.

“Oh, Jane! Mr. Bingley!” I started, scrambling to summon my usual aplomb. “You know, they really should post a guard at the mistletoe. It’s become an utter menace tonight, throwing people into all sorts of, er, compromising positions.”

Jane’s lips pressed together, her eyes dancing as she held back laughter. “Is that so?” She tilted her head at me, clearly amused.

Darcy stepped in smoothly, offering a gracious nod to Bingley. “Entirely innocent, I assure you, Bingley. Just the… mistletoe’s doing.”

Bingley squinted, looking around the terrace as if expecting the elusive sprig to pop out from somewhere. “Really?” he asked, puzzled, scanning the empty air. “I don’t see any. You are claiming it was here a moment ago?”

“Oh, without a doubt,” I said. “A fleeting thing, mistletoe, like good intentions.”

Bingley nodded as if that explained everything, but he was looking at Darcy strangely. “Are you sure everything’s all right with you tonight, Darcy? You’re… a little unsettled again.”

Darcy chuckled, finally letting the faintest hint of mischief show. “I can assure you, Bingley, there’s nothing to worry about. You could say I’ve been... persuaded to embrace the spirit of the evening.”

“You both appear to be in fine spirits,” Jane murmured, trying to keep a straight face.

We all laughed, and, eager to escape further scrutiny, Darcy and I followed them back inside, arm in arm. The warmth of the ballroom enveloped us, along with the din of laughter, music, and an ongoing ripple of excited chatter. People were too wrapped up in their own merriment to notice us returning, which was a relief, though I noted that a certain soldier was conspicuously absent.

It wasn’t until I heard Lady Lucas murmuring that I knew why.

“Yes, yes! Lydia Bennet, of all people, went to fetch Wickham for a reel, but he was bolting right out of the room like the devil himself was after him! Haven’t seen him since.”

“Oh dear,” I whispered to Darcy, catching his eye. “So much for his threats.”

Darcy smirked, his brow lifting as he watched the guests swirling about the ballroom. “It appears Wickham had his fill of theatrics for the night.”

Just then, a roar of laughter erupted from the other side of the room. One of the officers, a Lieutenant Saunders, was valiantly trying to lead his partner in the dance, but his feet were simply not cooperating. His movements were jerky, his steps misaligned, as though someone—or something—was tugging at him from every direction.

“I say, Saunders!” someone shouted, holding back laughter. “Steady on, man!”

But Saunders could do nothing to steady himself; instead, he found himself spun in an unexpected twirl, his feet tripping over one another until he spun right out of his partner’s grip and collided headlong with a waiter, knocking the poor man’s tray of wine glasses to the floor. A crescendo of gasps and laughter rose up as Saunders struggled to regain his footing, his face a mixture of confusion and embarrassment.

Darcy pressed a hand over his mouth, but I could see his shoulders shaking. “Ewan does have a sense of theatre, I’ll give him that.”

“And a healthy dislike for redcoats. Oh, look,” I whispered, nudging him as I saw a matronly woman turn to her astonished husband. She was muttering furiously, clutching at her collar as her brooch flew open and dangled, spinning like a pendulum.

“What on earth?” she cried, grasping at it as though it had a life of its own. “Harold, I told you these pin clasps were useless!”

Her husband stared, speechless, while the brooch snapped itself shut just as suddenly as it had opened, leaving her gasping as though the thing had simply come to life.

But not all the chaos was of Ewan McLean’s making. After all, Lydia and Kitty were in the room, as well. I sighed as Lydia stole one officer’s sword and twirled it about with a flourish. From across the room, it looked as if she were challenging the poor fellow to a duel. I could only pray that Mr. Darcy was looking the other way… but he wasn’t.

He pressed his lips into a thin line, and for a moment, I feared he was about to disengage my arm from his, and that would be that. But instead, he leaned close to my ear. “Come, let us find some refreshment. You look as though you could use it.”

I smiled gratefully and let him lead me away. I think I would have let him lead me anywhere.

The ballroom thrummed with elegance, a swirl of silk and laughter as guests danced, chatted, and basked in the warmth of Netherfield’s candlelit splendor. Jane and Mr. Bingley were swept up in a waltz nearby, absorbed in their own world, a sweet image of holiday cheer that could have graced any winter portrait. I watched them, my heart a little fuller at Jane’s happiness.

But then, across the room, a young redcoat officer executed a smooth turn—only to stumble wildly forward as if someone had shoved him. His face flushed as he just barely missed colliding with a lady’s chair, grinning sheepishly at his partner, who only laughed and brushed it off. But I could have sworn I’d seen the fabric tug at the back of his coat.

Darcy, standing beside me, shook his head, his own restraint slipping into something that might almost have been called a smile. “Ewan, it seems, hasn’t exhausted his tricks.”

I raised an eyebrow. “If anything, I think he’s just begun.”

No sooner had I spoken than the wine tray beside the refreshment table listed slightly, tipping a decanter over with a distinct splash. A few officers turned to find their boots newly christened with mulled wine, leaping back in surprise. In the same moment, a lady next to me suddenly found herself whirled into an elegant, unexpected twirl. Her partner’s hands had been nowhere near her waist, but she moved with the grace of someone being led, giggling all the while. She staggered a bit as she tried to regain her bearings, clearly wondering who had taken her for that lovely turn.

And then it happened. A light gust stirred the air above the floor, catching our attention. Out of nowhere, a small sprig of mistletoe drifted down, hanging suspended in the middle of the ballroom. Guests gasped, looking up as another sprig appeared, then another, until mistletoe sprinkled down like confetti, dusting heads, shoulders, and the tops of coats with green and white.

“Oh, my,” Jane murmured from beside me, her eyes round with delight. “How magical!”

“Bingley!” called one guest, clapping him heartily on the back. “What a display! I might have known you’d surprise us with something so grand.”

Bingley’s polite, puzzled smile told me he had no idea what his guest was talking about, but he offered a gracious nod all the same. “Ah, yes, of course… glad you’re enjoying it,” he replied, casting a quick glance at Mr. Darcy with a raised eyebrow. He mouthed, “Did you plan this?”

Mr. Darcy shook his head. “Not I, I assure you,” he whispered back.

“Marvelous!” another guest exclaimed, clinking glasses with Bingley. “Such a holiday spirit!”

“It’s beautiful, Charles,” Jane said softly, her cheeks aglow from the kiss Mr. Bingley had just bestowed on her cheek. Bingley’s expression wavered between bewilderment and gratitude as he returned her smile, clearly pleased despite his confusion.

Everywhere I looked, the guests had taken full advantage of the holiday greenery. Couples began pairing off beneath the mistletoe, laughter and stolen kisses spreading through the room like wildfire. A sprig drifted down near a pair of elderly ladies, who glanced at one another with a laugh before each placed a sisterly kiss on the other’s cheek.

One of the militia captains, noticing a sprig above him, reached gallantly for the hand of a nearby matron, bestowing an exaggerated kiss that had her blushing furiously. Her husband, across the room, took one look at the captain’s theatrics, chuckled, and pointed upward, indicating another sprig dangling over his own head. The captain’s face turned nearly as red as his uniform.

“Brilliant idea, Bingley!” someone shouted again, and the guests all erupted in applause, clinking their glasses in toast to their bewildered host.

A few seconds later, there was a stir at the punch bowl. I did not see how it began—I only heard a yelp and looked over just in time to see the ladle tipping unnaturally, sending a generous splash of punch directly into the open collar of a nearby lieutenant. The poor man squealed like a little girl, leaping back and fanning his dampened cravat while his friends roared with laughter.

“What in—who did that?” he sputtered, patting at the wet fabric with his handkerchief.

A chorus of laughter erupted from the other side of the room, where yet another young officer had nearly tripped over his own feet, staring down at his shoes with a look of deep confusion. Darcy sighed. “Ewan truly has an odd sense of humor.”

Just then, the violinists struck up a new, lively tune, prompting several guests to clap in rhythm. Two militia officers took this as a cue to join a spontaneous jig, much to the delight of the onlookers. But before they could fully commit, one of them stumbled forward, nearly colliding with his partner as they both burst into laughter, unable to keep their footing as something invisible tugged playfully at their sleeves.

“Bingley! You’ve outdone yourself!” one guest shouted with a laugh, taking the merriment in stride. “First the mistletoe, and now invisible jesters!”

Another sprig of mistletoe floated down, landing above a particularly stoic elderly gentleman. His companion—a lady who must have been seventy if she were a day—leaned in to peck his cheek with a mischievous grin. The poor man went beet red, coughing politely into his handkerchief.

Around us, guests took turns pretending to look around for the floating mistletoe, as if expecting it to land on them next. Meanwhile, I spotted Ewan at work again near the refreshments. A portly gentleman reached for his punch cup, only to find it empty with a mystified look, while his friend beside him discovered his drink vanishing before it reached his lips. They exchanged puzzled glances, muttering about mischief as they refilled their glasses yet again.

A loud cheer went up as another sprig of mistletoe drifted above Kitty and Lydia. And to my everlasting mortification, Lydia bowled Kitty over as she jumped in the air to catch the thing first… and then ran straight for Lieutenant Denny with the greenery clutched in her fist.

But at least hardly anyone was paying attention to Lydia by now. More floating mistletoe sprigs kept appearing, each descending slowly, gliding and drifting through the room as though carried by invisible hands. The guests looked up in awe, their faces lit with delight and curiosity. Mistletoe seemed to appear from thin air, and each new sprig brought its own flurry of surprised laughter and delighted chatter.

“Oh, it’s like magic!” a young woman nearby exclaimed, clasping her hands together.

At the far end of the room, I saw Colonel Forster glance up with a skeptical frown as a sprig of mistletoe drifted down toward him, seeming to hover just above his head. His partner at the moment, one of his wife’s friends, as it happened, seized the opportunity, leaning forward to peck him on the cheek with a mischievous smile.

The colonel’s eyes widened, his cheeks going red as he stammered, “Madam! I... I wasn’t expecting—”

“Oh, don’t be so coy, Colonel!” she laughed, patting his arm, as he blinked, completely out of sorts.

I turned to Darcy, who was watching this unfold with unrestrained amusement. “I don’t know whether to applaud Ewan or to be horrified.”

“It appears he’s making full use of his freedom tonight,” Darcy replied. “A last hurrah, I suppose. I daresay it’s all rather harmless.”

“Oh, harmless indeed,” I agreed. “Unless, of course, you count Saunders’ shattered dignity and Colonel Forster’s complete mortification.”

Before Darcy could reply, we both turned as a towering display of fresh Christmas greenery near the window seemed to sway. One of the taller branches leaned forward slightly, before pulling back like it was caught in an invisible breeze. Just as a young lady and her mother were admiring the greenery, it bent forward again, as if in a bow, and tipped one of its sprigs directly between them.

“Oh, heavens!” the young lady squealed as the mistletoe dipped, nudging her cheek in a feather-light touch as if she’d just been kissed.

“My stars, it’s bewitched!” her mother gasped, clutching her daughter’s arm in surprise.

And on and on it went. Drinks vanished from people’s hands, officers found themselves pinwheeling into one another, and more than one lady swore someone had kissed her, but no one ever saw who. And the mistletoe—it was everywhere. How had Ewan pulled off such a feat? All I could think of was that Darcy did say his “visitor” had been scarce of late. Perhaps he had been out plundering the woods.

Meanwhile, couples continued to gather beneath the floating mistletoe, laughter, and kisses filling the room as each sprig seemed to have a mind of its own, hovering above pairs before disappearing as swiftly as it had come.

I looked up at Darcy, my heart pounding as the festive chaos unfolded around us. It felt as though we were the only two people in the world, standing amidst the wild revelry, utterly captivated.

His hand found mine, and he gave it a gentle squeeze. “I do believe this is our cue, Miss Bennet.”

I glanced back at him, a mischievous smile on my lips. “Well then, Mr. Darcy, let’s not keep our friend waiting.”