“And the ball!” I added. “He practically forced Mr. Bingley into it, but other things seem so chaotically random that I doubt he had a plan. If Ewan were really in control of this wholefate business, wouldn’t he have done something a little more... direct?”
Darcy raised a brow. “Direct like...?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” I said, smirking. “Perhaps making you wear a kilt and a Balmoral and sporran, then thrusting a bagpipe into your arms. That seems more Ewan’s style.”
Darcy snorted—an actual snort of amusement, which I did not expect. “Well, it’s a relief he hasn’t gone that far.”
“Indeed! Although I think if it does, I should like to see it.”
Darcy—Fitzwilliam Darcy, the proudest man in Hertfordshire—actually laughed at that. His eyes lingered on me for several seconds, and then he cleared his throat and glanced at the books I was collecting, his expression turning serious again. “And what of you, Miss Bennet?” he asked. “Do you have any ideas about how we should proceed?”
I tilted my head, pretending to consider it. “Well, the obvious choice would be to gather everyone at the ball, have you make a dramatic speech about Scottish folklore, and then we all run out at midnight to bury the brooch somewhere. Or maybe throw it in a lake or make everyone take some sort of blood oath… whatever it is, it’s all very romantic.”
Darcy chuckled. “I imagine that would go over well with the redcoats.”
“I’m sure Colonel Forster would lend you his sword to cut your thumb for the oath.”
He smiled, shaking his head. “I’ll pass.”
“But in all seriousness,” I said, softening my tone, “we don’t know enough yet. We’ll just have to play along, won’t we?”
Darcy nodded, though he still looked as though he were carrying the weight of the world—or at least, the weight of a particularly stubborn ghost. “Yes,” he agreed. “We’ll have to see what Christmas Eve brings.”
I gathered the last of the books, stacking them into the basket I’d originally carried them in. Darcy, still watching me with that quiet intensity of his, seemed to hesitate for a moment, then cleared his throat.
“Allow me to help you carry those back to Longbourn,” he offered, taking a step forward.
I raised a brow, suppressing a grin. “Oh, I wouldn’t dream of it, Mr. Darcy. If you show your face at Longbourn, my mother will shackle you to a chair until you propose to one of us.”
He blinked, taken aback, and then the corner of his mouth twitched. “A reasonable concern.”
“Exactly. It’s for your own good.” I gave him a bright, teasing smile and hoisted the basket onto my arm. “Unless youwanta leg shackle?”
His lips quirked again. “I think I’ll pass.”
“Good choice.” I turned toward the door, throwing one last look over my shoulder. “After all, Christmas is still a few days away. Plenty of time for trouble.”
When I returned toLongbourn, the first thing I noticed was Mr. Wickham’s familiar figure through the window of my mother’s sitting room. I paused at the door, my hand tightening on the latch. I hadn’t expected to see him today, especially after everything I’d learned.
A wave of unease swept over me. In all my distraction over Mr. Darcy’s ghostly troubles, I had failed to mention anything aboutWickham’s true nature—to Jane, or even my father. Now, he was here, comfortably ingratiating himself into our household like an honored guest.
I stepped inside, brushing the snow from my cloak, and was immediately greeted by the sound of Lydia’s too-loud laughter echoing through the drawing room. There he was, Wickham, surrounded by my younger sisters, holding court like some sort of genteel prince. Kitty and Lydia were practically draped over the furniture in their eagerness to hang on his every word.
“Miss Elizabeth!” Wickham exclaimed as I entered, standing with a flourish that was as smooth as it was practiced. “What perfect timing.”
“Mr. Wickham,” I replied, forcing a smile to mask my unease. “I see you’ve been well received in my absence.”
He gave a lazy, charming grin, his eyes gleaming with that false warmth I now recognized. “Ah, but the household shines brighter now that you’ve returned.”
Lydia giggled at that, thoroughly taken with his flattery, and even Kitty couldn’t resist glancing in his direction with wide, adoring eyes. I, however, remained still, my thoughts dark with the warning Darcy had given me just days ago.
Wickham’s gaze lingered on me for a fraction too long before he gestured toward the window as if continuing some light conversation that had begun before I arrived. “I happened to pass through the woods earlier. A peaceful place for a stroll, don’t you think?”
My stomach twisted. “Yes. Very peaceful,” I said, keeping my tone steady despite the implication behind his words.
His smile widened, but it was too sharp to be friendly. “Of course, it pays to be vigilant. One never knows what one might encounter in the woods.”
I met his gaze head-on, refusing to flinch. “I imagine only the occasional fox.”
