Papa raised an eyebrow, a slight smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Complicated? That does sound intriguing. Does it have anything to do with the madness that seems to have beset our poor neighbor?”
I winced. Of course, he would jump to that conclusion. Everyone in Meryton seemed to think Mr. Darcy had lost his mind. Including me, until a few days ago. “I... don’t think he’smad, Papa,” I said carefully. “He’s... troubled, certainly, but I wouldn’t call it madness.”
He chuckled, leaning back in his chair. “No? Then what would you call it?”
I glanced down, choosing my words with care. “I think... he’s dealing with something very real, but difficult to explain.”
Papa’s eyes narrowed, his amusement fading slightly. “Real, you say? Hmm.” He tapped his fingers on the arm of his chair. “And do you plan to continue assisting him with this... something?”
I hesitated. “Am I... forbidden?”
Papa laughed, shaking his head. “Of all the gentlemen in the neighborhood I might worry about with my daughter, Mr. Darcy is the least troubling. If anything, he’s far too honest for his own good. A man who wears his demons so openly would never be able to lie to a lady.”
I blinked. “You think Mr. Darcy is... honest?”
He shrugged. “In his own way, yes. The man may be burdened with oddities, but I suspect he is as forthright as they come. I doubt he could lie to you if he tried. But,” he added with a sly smile, “he might work upon your sympathies+.”
I rolled my eyes. “I assure you, Papa, I am not vulnerable to Mr. Darcy’s... particular charms.”
He studied me for a long moment, his gaze thoughtful. “Perhaps not. But I will say this: the only real danger I see in Mr. Darcy’s company is that it might compromise your reputation. And then, my dear, you would be forced to marry the poor fellow. I cannot think which of you two I would feel the most sorry for.”
I groaned. “Papa, really.”
“Only think how pleased your dear mother would be! I daresay she would make the most of it. Oh, I imagine it would be quitethe scandal—marrying a madman. But surely it would still be preferable to marrying Mr. Collins?”
I laughed despite myself, shaking my head. “I think I should rather stay unmarried forever.”
“Well,” Papa said with a twinkle in his eye, “I shall leave that decision to you. But do try not to drive the poor man mad. He seems to have quite enough voices clamoring in his head already.”
With a final smile, he waved me off, leaving me to return the books and escape back into the hall. As I walked away, I couldn’t help but mull over Papa’s words.
Mr. Darcy... honest. The thought lingered, tugging at something deep inside me. For all his strangeness, all his mystery... Papa was right. Hewashonest—at least in his own peculiar way.
But what did that mean for me?
As I passed through the drawing room, Mr. Collins’ pacing stopped abruptly. He turned to face me, an expectant look on his face. My stomach dropped, but before he could utter a word, I offered him a hasty smile and continued walking, hoping to avoid whatever dreadful speech he had been preparing.
Some things, after all, were far worse than encountering a madman.
Twenty-One
Darcy
When I opened thedoor to my room, Ewan was already there—lounging inmychair atmydesk, scribbling away withmyquill, looking for all the world like he owned the place. The fire crackled, casting shadows that made him seem even more obnoxiously at home.
I didn’t even bother to wonder how he was casting a shadow. I just ground my teeth, barely resisting the urge to shout. “What in Heaven’s name are you doing now?”
“Dinnae fash yersel, lad,” he said without looking up. “Just finishin’ up a wee note. Won’t be a minute.”
“A note,” I repeated, half disbelieving. “For what?”
He sanded the paper, gave it a shake, and tucked it into his coat pocket. “Ye’ll see soon enough.”
I wasn’t in the mood for his games. “Get out of my chair.”
Ewan stretched, arms over his head, utterly unbothered. “Ach, calm yersel, lad. I’ll be out o’ yer hair in a few wee weeks. But I reckon ye’ve got some questions I ought tae answer, aye?”
I glared at him, pacing the room because I couldn’t stand still. Not with this infuriating ghost lounging around like it was perfectly normal for a dead man to be writing letters at my desk.
