Ewan’s voice cut through the room once more. “Some things... they’re too precious tae share, lad. Even now.”
I turned to face him, my fists clenched. “You owe me the truth.”
But Ewan just shook his head, retreating into the shadows.
Elizabeth
Itugged my cloaktighter against the cold, quickening my pace as I left the gamekeeper’s cottage behind. There was a fresh blanketing of snow, and my tracks—as well as Mr. Darcy’s—would stand out for all to see until more snow had fallen. Fortunately, it was doing just that, filling in the cups of my footprints almost as quickly as my feet made them. But that would not continue to be the case—we were bound to be discovered if we kept meeting over our books, and I found myself glancing over my shoulder more than once.
It wasn’t just the fear of discovery—it was the lingering strangeness of what I had just witnessed. Mr. Darcy had sat there, talking to no one, yet answering as if he were engaged in a real conversation. Not muttering nonsense, but speaking in full sentences, responding to questions I couldn’t hear. The more I relived it in my imagination, the less it made sense.
That... thing... that apparition he claimed was haunting him—it must be real. I’d tried to believe him before, if only because no other explanation made sense, but now? Now, I was certain. Mr. Darcy wasn’t mad. He couldn’t be. His thinking was far too logical, his reasoning sound. If anything, I was the one questioning my own sanity.
And then there was the mud. The unmistakable streak across the floor of the gamekeeper’s cottage that justshowed up, as though something—or someone—had scuffed it there. Someone I couldn’t see.
A chill ran through me as I recalled the way Mr. Darcy had glanced at that same patch of floor, his gaze following something invisible to my eyes. He’d looked so sure, so certain, as if it was all perfectly real to him. And now... well, it seemed more and more likely that it was.
As I reached Longbourn, my thoughts still tangled in a mess of disbelief and reluctant acceptance, I spotted Mr. Collins pacing in the drawing room. The sight of him only added to my unease.He had been acting strangely all day, muttering cryptic things about “certain expectations” and “Lady Catherine’s advice.” I couldn’t shake the feeling that he was still planning something involving me—something I had no desire to be part of.
I edged quietly toward the library, hoping to deposit a few of Papa’s books without being noticed. They hadn’t been particularly useful in our research, and returning them now seemed like a safer course of action than encountering Mr. Collins in the hall. The last thing I needed was for him to accost me with another tiresome speech about his “humble abode” or his “fortunate situation.” I feared he still intended to propose.
As I reached the door to the library, I paused, listening. Silence. Good. If Papa was in the study, I could slip in and out without attracting any attention. But just as I placed my hand on the doorknob, I heard a voice behind me.
“Elizabeth,” my father called from the next room. “I’m not blind to your attempt at stealth. Do come in, will you?”
I cringed, caught in my tracks. Slowly, I turned and made my way to the study, peeking inside to find Papa sitting behind his desk, watching me with a raised brow.
“Papa,” I greeted him, stepping into the room with a sheepish smile. “I was just—”
“Pilfering my library again, no doubt,” he interrupted. “You’ve been disappearing with my books quite often lately, my dear. Care to explain what curious project has you so enthralled?”
I hesitated, unsure how much to say. I could hardly tell him about Mr. Darcy’s ghostly visitor—not without sounding like I had gone mad myself.
“Well... I have been... assisting with some research,” I said, cautiously skirting around the subject.
Papa raised an eyebrow. “Research? You? And here I thought you spent your days reading novels.” He leaned forward in hischair, his voice dry with amusement. “Whose research, might I ask?”
I hesitated, my fingers toying with the edge of my cloak. “Just... someone who required a bit of help.”
His eyes glinted, and he looked far too confident for my liking. “And this someone has a name, I presume?”
I bit the inside of my cheek. “Yes.”
Papa chuckled, but his eyes narrowed. “It wouldn’t be one of our neighbors, would it? Someone with a slightly... peculiar reputation as of late?”
My heart stuttered and died in my chest. Right there.He knew. Oh, dash it all, I was caught. Visions of fatherly consternation and forced engagements began screaming through my mind. “Po-o-s-ssibly,” I mumbled.
“Elizabeth.” His voice held a note of gentle demand now. “Who is it?”
I sighed. “It’s Mr. Darcy.”
“There, now, how difficult was that?”
I cocked an eye at him. “You sound as if you expected that.”
He chuckled. “Oh, come now, Lizzy! What I ‘expect’ is for you to be intrigued by mysteries and curiosities, and can there possibly be a more ‘curious’ person in all of Meryton at present? Here, now, out with it. What puzzle has our good Mr. Darcy got you piecing out for him, hmm?”
I shifted uneasily, unsure how much to reveal. “It’s... complicated.”
