Something that wouldn’t make her think I’d gone off the deep end again.
“So, Miss Bennet,” I began, clearing my throat awkwardly, “I trust your stay at Netherfield has been... tolerable?”
Her eyes shifted toward me, and in that brief glance, I realized I’d said the wrong thing. What the devil was wrong with my question? Clearly,somethinghad provoked her, and not the way I had hoped. Her brows arched, and a faint smile tugged at her lips, though I suspected it was merely out of politeness.
“Tolerable?” she repeated, her tone light but sharp. “I daresay it has been more thantolerable, Mr. Darcy. I do hope my sister and I have not been a burden.” There it was—that gentle reproach that made me wonder if she’d misinterpreted my every word, or if I simply didn’t know how to speak around her.
Bingley had always been oblivious to nuance, and he proved it again. “A burden! Nonsense. It is a pity you are going so soon. I have used my time poorly, it seems, for I have been meaning to ask someone, and surely you must know—have we any festivities in Meryton to look forward to this autumn? I imagine there must be certain local traditions.”
Elizabeth’s smile warmed as she considered the question. And, I noted, she was careful to avoid looking at me.
“Oh, there are many—I suppose not that different to any other town. Autumn fairs are quite common, as are harvest suppers. The tenants often gather, and there’s always a good deal of music and dancing. In winter, we have caroling and feasts to celebrate the season. Mr. Bingley, I expect you’ll have your tenants to entertain at Netherfield?”
Bingley’s eyes lit up. “Indeed! I hadn’t given it much thought, but a proper gathering for the tenants sounds delightful.”
“Oh yes,” Elizabeth added. “It’s quite traditional here—landowners usually host a gathering of some kind. It brings the community together, particularly as the colder months set in. And, of course, December brings even more delights.”
“Ah, lovely,” Miss Bingley put in. “Christmas in the country. How quaint. I shan’t imagine we shall be here long enough for such... celebrations. Such a pity.”
Caroline’s eyes slid toward me, a subtle attempt to gauge my reaction, but I remained silent. I could feel Elizabeth’s gaze lingering on me as well, though her interest, I suspected, was far less flattering.
“Do you not think, Caroline?” Bingley asked. “I cannot think where else we would be. I have every intention of passing the winter here, and I think it all sounds wonderful! Fireside games, music, perhaps a bit of mistletoe, hmm? Oh, Miss Elizabeth, I saw a pond I fancied would be perfect for skating. Do you… and, er… your sisters skate?”
Elizabeth laughed. “I do, Mr. Bingley, though not well, I’m afraid. But I imagine my sisters would be delighted at the prospect.”
Bingley grinned. “Then it is settled! We shall have skating, and you must join us!”
I was nodding along, mentally begging the conversation to stay on the cheerful topic of skating, when I caught sight of movement by the sideboard. My heart sank.
There he was—Ewan, plucking a glass of claret as if he were the honored guest of the evening. He lifted it, examined it like some connoisseur, and took a hefty gulp, his face twisting into an expression of exaggerated disdain. “Och, Christmas... what a miserable time o’ year. Cold, dark, and filled wi’ folk singin’ as if that’ll keep the snow away. No’ to mention all the daft superstitions. Could hardly walk a step without someone wailin’ about spirits lurkin’ in the shadows. As if the cauld wasn’t bitter enough already!” He paused, looking thoughtfully at the glass in his hand. “Still, this claret’s no’ as terrible as I thought. For English swill.”
And with that, he ambled off, glass in hand, like he owned the place.
The glass.I blinked and gripped my fork so hard it could have snapped. What the devil was hedoing?What would everyone else see if they should happen to look toward the corner of the room? Hurst, for one, had a perfect view from where he sat, but he was paying far too much attention to his own glass to notice any… anomalies.
I risked a glance around the table. No one else seemed to notice. Not the floating glass. Not the rogue Highlander sampling the Bingleys’ best claret. They were all still absorbed in their conversation, blissfully unaware that a ghost was casually reminiscing about haunted holidays while helping himself to their wine.
“Mr. Darcy?” Elizabeth’s voice jolted me back into the present, and I nearly knocked over my own glass. She was looking at me, expectant. “Surely you’ve experienced many grand Christmases in the country?”
Christmas. I released a shaky breath.Right.
“Oh, yes,” I stammered, scrambling for a coherent thought. “Christmas... of course. Though, I must say, Pemberley has fewer... er...”Ghosts? No, do not say ghosts. “...traditional festivities than Meryton seems to, by your description.”
“Truly?” she asked. “I would have expected such a grand estate as I have heard Pemberley is to be the very heart and soul of the local festivities.”
I swallowed, doing my best to not let my eyes dart to the far side of the room, but instead, fixing them on her face. “Not since my mother’s passing, Miss Elizabeth.”
“Ah, to be sure!” Caroline Bingley agreed. “Perhaps someday, Mr. Darcy, you will remedy that tremendous loss.”
I tried to offer a thin smile. The old me would have done… something. Probably made some pithy remark. But just now, theonly thing I was thinking of “remedying” was a certain wine-sloshing intruder.
Ewan wandered to the far side of the room, claret in hand, mumbling to himself like an old man lost in his thoughts. “Aye... no’ like we had back home... Elspeth... always somethin’ at Christmas, wasn’t it?... Yule log... och, that was the stuff. None o’ this English... prancin’ about. Spirits, aye... but not... no, just stories, mind. Always stories...”
He stopped, took another swig of claret, then sniffed at the glass. “Hmph. No’ as bad as I thought... but could use a proper drink...” He wandered further off, grumbling, “Ghosts... aye, no real ones... jus’ stories. Still... would make things interestin’, eh?”
I was half convinced that if I didn’t move, didn’t breathe, the claret glass might just remain unnoticed by the others. But every muscle in my body was twitching, and I was desperately trying not to stare at the floating drink.
Elizabeth, however, seemed to notice my discomfort, tilting her head just slightly. “Deep in thought, Mr. Darcy?”
