“You will not speak ofanylady in that way, not merely Miss Bennet! Her honor,” I said sharply, standing straighter, “is not for you to question.”
I blinked, suddenly aware of just how absurd this situation had become. I was lecturing a ghost—or a figment of my imagination—about a lady’s honor. Her honor! As if that mattered to him, or as if he could do anything about it. Was I truly standing here, arguing with a man from another century about propriety?
Before I could dwell on the ridiculousness of it all, Ewan leaned back, his grin growing wider.
“Aye, an’ I’ll wager she’s got plenty more tae her name, eh? That spark in her eyes—ye ken that’s somethin’ special, don’t ye, lad?”
I glared at him, my blood boiling. “It is indecent.Youare indecent.”
He waved me off, still chuckling. “Och, save yer preachin’, Sassenach. I’ve seen more decency in a pigsty. But that lass—she’s a canty one. Wouldnae mind learnin’ a thing or two aboot her.”
My jaw clenched so tightly that I thought my teeth might crack. “You will do no such thing,” I growled, my voice shaking with anger. “You’ll leave Miss Bennetentirelyout of this.”
Ewan gave me a sly look, but thankfully, he didn’t push any further. Instead, he stood up, the bottle still clutched in his hand. “Ach, I’ll leave ye tae yer sulkin’. Got better things tae dae than sit here listenin’ tae yer greetin’.”
I blinked. “More important things? You’redead.”
He grinned again, tipping his bottle in my direction. “Aye, but I’m not lettin’ that stop me.” He turned toward the door. “Think I’ll see if yer cook’s got anythin’ worth drinkin’. Or eatin’.”
“You can’t just—” I started, but before I could finish, he was gone, vanishing into thin air as if he had never been there.
I stood there, frozen, staring at the empty space where he’d stood only moments ago.Gone. Again.
But he’d be back. That much was certain. He’d be back, and no amount of yelling or scolding was going to change that.
My fists unclenched, and I pressed my hands to my temples, pacing the floor in front of the bed, trying to force my mind to work through the madness. What could I do? I couldn’t tell Bingley or anyone else in this house. They’d think I’d gone mad—and maybe I had.
WasI mad? Hallucinating? Had I somehow conjured this nightmare myself?
I ran a hand through my hair, trying to find some shred of rationality in all this. The brooch. It had to be connected to the brooch. But why?
And whyme?
Eight
Elizabeth
Ihad hoped toslip into the library quietly, just long enough to select a book for the evening before joining the others in the drawing room. Jane was resting at last, her breathing soft and steady, but after spending most of the day in her room, I longed for a distraction. A good book was exactly what I needed.
The library at Netherfield was a peaceful room, normally. But the moment I stepped inside, I realized it wasn’t empty.
Mr. Darcy was already there, standing near the back shelves, frantically pulling down one book after another, examining their spines with all the intensity of a man searching for money he had hidden somewhere, or a cure to some terrible disease. He flippedthrough the pages of each volume briefly before shoving them back in place, only to repeat the process with the next.
I nearly turned around and slipped out the way I’d come, but I hesitated. He hadn’t noticed me yet, and he was clearly preoccupied. Perhaps I could simply choose my book and leave without much interaction.
But just as I began to step away, Mr. Darcy turned sharply, as though he’d been pricked in the breeches by a sewing needle. His eyes were wide, and his breathing was still a bit too rapid for my comfort. He looked pale, though not as alarmingly so as earlier that day. There was a tension in his posture, but it wasn’t as frantic. He offered me a bow, though it was more a reflex than anything polite.
“Miss Bennet,” he said, his voice tight but civil.
For a moment, I weighed my options. I could leave now—there were plenty of other books to read in the drawing room. But something about his current state intrigued me. He looked… lost. Panicked, even. And yet, strangely harmless in that moment.
After a brief hesitation, I returned his bow with a slight nod, deciding that a few minutes wouldn’t hurt. I turned back to the shelves and began scanning for something suitable. His eyes followed me for a moment before he returned to his frantic search, his hands moving faster now as he flipped through more volumes.
“There are a few here you might find interesting,” he said suddenly, his tone more casual than I expected. “That green volume on the second shelf—historical essays. Or perhaps the blue one near the end, third shelf, travels in Italy. And if you prefer fiction, there’s a collection of stories, dark cover with gold lettering, just to your left.”
I blinked, surprised by his unexpected recommendations. “Thank you, Mr. Darcy.”
I pulled out the green volume he’d mentioned, more out of curiosity than anything, and glanced toward him. He was back to pulling books off the shelves, though his movements were no less frantic. After a moment of silence, I couldn’t help myself.
