“What exactly are you looking for?” I asked, clutching the book to my chest.
He didn’t turn around but muttered, “A book on myths. Legends. Nonsense.”
That was unexpected. “Legends? I wouldn’t have thought such a subject would interest you.”
He gave a short, humorless laugh. “I’m just as surprised as you are, Miss Bennet.”
I studied him for a moment longer, feeling an odd mix of curiosity and unease, but the tension in the room was too thick to linger.
“Good evening, Mr. Darcy,” I said, and before he could respond, I slipped out of the library.
Darcy
Ipaced the lengthof the library, the book clutched in my hand like it held the secrets of the universe. I flipped it open, read two lines, and snapped it shut again. The idea of retreating to my room, locking the door, and burying myself inScottish myths was tempting—tempting in the way jumping into a freezing lake seemed like a reasonable option when one was on fire. But even the thought of pretending to relax felt absurd. I hadn’t had a moment’s peace since Ewan barged into my life, and now I was grasping at straws—no, at books—hoping one might explain how I’d come to be haunted by a dead Scotsman.
But I had spent far too much time alone today. Between the hours of pacing my room, being haunted by an infuriating ghost, and now hiding in the library, I was beginning to wonder if being around others might stabilize whatever remained of my fragile sanity.
And then there was Elizabeth Bennet.
The way she had looked at me just now—like she was contemplating whether I might leap at her at any moment.Terrified. That was the word. Terrified ofme, of all people! If she went about spreading tales of Mr. Darcy of Pemberley behaving erratically, looking pale and wide-eyed, heaven only knew what gossip would start. The last thing I needed was more rumors about my temperament.
No, perhaps some company would be good for me. If Elizabeth Bennet could see me seated, reading calmly, acting like any rational gentleman ought to, maybe she’d reconsider whatever nonsense she might be imagining.
With that thought, I tucked the book under my arm and made my way to the drawing room, silently steeling myself against whatever lay in wait. Ghosts or no ghosts, I would behave like the model of calm, collected civility.
When I entered the room, the scene was as predictable as ever. Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst were gathered around a card table with Mr. Hurst and Bingley, the former looking bored out of his wits and the latter delighted as usual. Miss Bingley cast a quick glance my way, her lips curving into that familiar,predatory smile. Thankfully, she returned her attention to the cards without comment.
Elizabeth was seated by the fire, a book already in her hands, her expression focused. I could only hope she wouldn’t glance my way too often, lest she catch me doing something involuntary and… alarming. I chose a chair as far from the card game as possible and settled in, opening my book with every appearance of nonchalance I could muster.
The first page hadn’t even registered before I felt it: the unmistakable presence of Ewan McLean.
Of course. I should have known better than to think I could have one moment of peace.
He appeared casually—so casually that for a moment, I imagined the others might notice him strolling about. But no. There he was, completely invisible to everyone but me, pacing around the room and sniffing at the company I kept.
“Ach, they’re a right scunnerin’ bunch, eh?” he said, his voice low but just loud enough to make me jump and nearly drop the book. “That blonde one—” he nodded toward Miss Bingley—”she’s got a face on her like she’s sniffin’ somethin’ foul. Right bunch o’ bletherin’ gowks, this lot.”
I closed my eyes briefly, willing him to leave.Now.
Of course, he didn’t.
Instead, Ewan wandered over to the card table, peering over Bingley’s shoulder, his eyes narrowing in mock concentration. “Och, lad, ye call that a bluff? Might as well be holdin’ up a sign sayin’, ‘Help yersel’ tae all my coin.’ He’s near flashin’ his cards aboot like a bletherin’ eejit.”
I gritted my teeth, silently praying he’d keep his voice down. But since I was the only one who could hear it… well, perhaps it did not matter.
He moved to Mrs. Hurst’s side next, chuckling under his breath. “She’s tryin’ tae play coy, but she’s got the worst handat the table, the poor lass. No’ that she’d ken it. She’s too busy pretendin’ she gives a toss.”
Mr. Hurst barely stirred from his spot, barely paying attention to the game at all. Ewan grinned and leaned in closer to him. “Ach, now here’s a sight,” he whispered. “The man’s sittin’ on a winnin’ hand, an’ he doesnae even ken it. Ha! He could walk away wi’ the lot if he could stay awake long enough tae notice.”
I bit my lip to keep from groaning aloud. Ewan was having the time of his afterlife, and I was moments away from losing my mind.
He circled back to Miss Bingley, who was frowning down at her cards like they had personally insulted her. “Och, an’ this yin,” Ewan went on with a smirk, “her face is gettin’ tighter wi’ every toss. She’s tryin’ tae bluff, but she’s as subtle as a cannon blast. Ye could read her mind fae the doorway.”
I gripped my book harder, trying to look engrossed in the pages in front of me, but I wasn’t reading a single word.
And Ewan, of course, wasn’t done. He sidled up to Bingley, shaking his head in mock dismay. “Now he’s the only one havin’ a grand time, the poor lad. Nae strategy, nae idea he’s bein’ outplayed by his ain sister. Here’s a man who finds joy in everythin’, even losin’.”
Ewan wandered away from the card table, clearly losing interest in the players, his eyes locking on Elizabeth, who sat by the fire with her book. I tensed at the look on his face. Nothing good ever followed that look.
