by Maria Grace
“They have retired for the night.”
“You do not sound as though you enjoy their doting and attention.”
“Pffft.” Laconia snorted and sneezed as he moved into Wentworth’s reach.
“You do not like their perfume, either?” He did smell rather like Mrs. Harville now.
Laconia tightened his tail on the rail and shook, starting at his nose and rippling down all the way down his furred front half. “I dread what it will take to rid myself of the stench. I can hardly smell anything else.”
Wentworth chuckled and scratched behind Laconia’s ears as the little tatzelwurm leaned into his chest. How easy Laconia made it to forget he had ever been lonely. Even so, it was difficult not to wonder—
“You are thinking again. It is never a good thing when you begin thinking.” Laconia pulled back a little and looked him in the eyes.
Wentworth dodged his gaze. “It is nothing worth bothering about. There are far more interesting things to discuss. Tell me of your conversation with that pod of little serpent-whales we saw this morning.”
Laconia looked over his shoulder out over the choppy seas and sniffed. “Most of them had all the sense of that fluffy yellow fairy dragon you allowed aboard with those smelly females.” He cleaned behind his ears with his thumbed paws—both at once. “but their lead female had some sagacity. She warned of a storm front coming in this direction and mentioned that there are other pods not far from here. I am hopeful they might have something a little more useful to say.”
“Can we avoid it—the storm I mean?” If the tatzelwurm had weathered a few more serious storms he would value the serpent-whales’ storm warnings far more.
“Already talked to the Ship Master about it.”
“Quite the resourceful sailor, are you not?” Was it odd that his ship’s cat was the most efficient officer onboard? “Does the Ship Master know from where your information comes?”
“Do I look stupid to you? It is already asking a great deal of him to trust one of my kind—I am quite tired of the bias against us, by the way. Spring-hopping does not addle our brains.—The Ship Master would never put stock in intelligence from dragons he does not know.”
“I suppose it is a lot to ask of even a dragon hearing man.”
Laconia slapped the tip of his muscular tail against the smooth railing. “I am glad you got rid of that deaf one. Persuading him to change course was tiresome.”
“You do not have much patience for the dragon-deaf, do you?” He scratched under Laconia’s chin.
“Nor for dumb dragons who seem to think they are fine ladies and the weather is the only fitting topic of conversation.”
Wentworth snickered. “You do realize that even if the only information we can get from the sea dragons is weather reports, it is worth our efforts. How much the navy would save not being blown about by storms.”
“Your standards for satisfaction are very low, I think. I know there are more intelligent dragons out there.” He pointed into the distance with this thumbed paw. “Ones who know more and understand the value of their information. And when we find them and bring them into union with us, the return will be great for both sides.”
“You have such big dreams my little Friend.”
“Do you not believe in them?”
“When I hear you talk about them, I do.”
Laconia wrapped his tail around Wentworth’s waist. Comfortable silence fell between them, broken only by the lapping waves and Laconia’s purr.
“You are thinking again.”
“It is nothing, let it be.”
“You have been thinking a great deal.” Laconia sniffed Wentworth’s wrist. “You have not been the same since Easterly mentioned Kellynch.”
Wentworth’s stomach clenched. “Easterly mentioned a great number of things during that conversation.”
“Yes, but you did not smell different until he mentioned Kellynch.”
Smell different? Preposterous. “I do not want to talk about it.”
Laconia rose up on his tail and ran the top of his head under Wentworth’s chin, purring a little louder. “Those females you have brought on board. You have fretted ever since they arrived.”
“I just want to see them properly cared for, just as I do with you.” Laconia’s fur tickled his nose.
“Do you like them?”
“They are Harville’s family. For that they are important to me.”
“But do you like them?” Laconia pressed his nose to Wentworth’s. So persistent!
“Why do you ask?”
“The stinking one, she is your friend’s mate? You will need to take a mate, too, I expect.”
When had Laconia begun worrying about such things? He was still full young for it. “I suppose, it is possible, but it is not something that is on my mind right now. What are you worried about?”
“The other two females in the party, they do not hear. The little fairy dragon told me they are very stupid and rather useless. Why would a man who hears have deaf ones in his household?” So, his dislike of the dragon deaf ran deeper than it first appeared.
“Well, while one can choose his mate, the family that comes with that mate one cannot choose, rather like his own family.”
“Have you other family? Can they hear?” Laconia swished his tail. Would that he kept it wrapped around something stable!
“Never you fear, my sister Sophy and her husband both hear. You know that. As to my brother, the curate, whom we have not spoken of, his Friend is a small puck whom many perceive as a pug with a peculiar attitude.”
Laconia’s tail wrapped around the railing again, and he seemed to sigh. “So, yours is a proper family, then.”
“I am not sure anyone has ever called us that, but if you see us that way, I shall be grateful for the compliment. I look forward to your making their acquaintance.”
Silence once again as the Laconia dipped and rocked soothingly beneath their feet.
Laconia bumped the top of his head against Wentworth’s chest. “Would you take a mate that could not hear dragons?”
“I have no plans to take a mate any time soon.”
“But when the time comes, would you?” Laconia did not meet his gaze.
“You do realize that there are precious few who can hear dragons? I have selected as many as I can for my crew here, but in the wild, as it were, I think it is less than one in a hundred who enjoys the privilege of hearing dragons.”
“Even so, why would one with a Friend choose a mate who cannot share in that Friendship?”
“As I understand it is a commonly done thing, especially when there is no major dragon’s keep involved.”
“Well I do not approve.” Laconia ducked under Wentworth’s arm and slithered along the railing—his version of pacing. He grumbled under his breath and crept back to his original place. “I do not want to live with a dragon-dumb—”
“You mean deaf.”
“The dragon-deaf are usually dragon-dumb as well. I do not like stupid, as you well know.”
That was an understatement to say the least. Wentworth swallowed back a belly laugh.
“This is not a matter of humor. I am very serious. I do not want to live with anyone stupid. Your mate will have to hear dragons,” Laconia looked him in the eyes, voice low, almost a growl, “or I will not stay.”
Laconia would leave him?
Wentworth blinked several times, ice coursing through his veins, and swallowed back bile building at the back of his tongue. “I cannot have that happen.”
Laconia exhaled and leaned heavily into Wentworth’s shoulder, purring a low deep rumble that always meant relief.
“When that time comes, you may rest assured that I will seek your approval before I make any woman an offer of marriage.” He wrapped his arm across Laconia and laid his hand on his head.
Prickly toes kneaded Wentworth’s shoulder. “That is your promise?”
“Yes, you have my word.”
Laconia stood
on tip toes and he licked Wentworth’s cheek with his raspy forked tongue, his entire body rumbling with the force of his purr. “Good.”
Wentworth scratched Laconia until he pressed tight to his chest. Few would believe a mere tatzelwurm capable of feelings so deep.
What woman could ever give him this kind of unquestioning loyalty? How many women were there in the world who would meet Laconia’s approval?
Anne Elliot.
No, he did not want to think of her again.
And yet, she was such a woman, even if her character was—or at least had been—so easily persuaded.
He had changed so much since those days. For worse in some ways, true enough. But definitely for better since befriending Laconia.
Was she altered, too?
What was she like now? Had she become less spineless, more steady? The makings of it were there, it just needed to be nurtured. She might be a very fine woman now, if there were someone to encourage her in it.
But Easterly had said Kellynch was troubled, the dragon sleeping. If Anne were aware of any of those troubles, she would be managing the matters and things would be handled properly. There was none so capable as Anne. Steady, sensible, sensitive Anne.
The woman who had broken his heart … no he would not go there.
Since Kellynch was in a muddle, there was no doubt: she was not involved in the dragon keeping. And that could only mean one thing.
Probably just as well. What point was there in digging up the tenderness of the past? Even if he could set aside his resentment, just or unjust as it may be, it would hardly matter if she could not hear dragons.
He promised Laconia he would have a dragon-hearing mistress, and he would keep that promise. Or there would be no mistress of his home at all.
Epilogue
Late September 1809
Anne sat in an afternoon sunbeam on a little white bench in her mother’s garden among the colorful autumn asters, gladioli, and delphiniums, and straightened the shawl over her shoulders. The bee balm had faded, though the humming bees kept busy in the fragrant new blossoms. The worn wooden bench with its odd rough patches and less than perfect symmetry was a new addition, moved here from another part of the garden so she could read and occasionally write in the midst of the garden dragons. Mother’s commonplace book suggested that had been her practice as well. It seemed a good thing to be accessible to them—and to be away from Father’s and Elizabeth’s changeable tempers. They did not appreciate being thwarted in their plans.
To say Father was angry to learn of Mr. Elliot’s matrimonial plans would be—well a dragon-sized understatement. After trying to bully Mr. Elliot into obedience and failing, he threw Mr. Elliot out without regard to the lateness of the hour or the angry weather threatening. Elizabeth was hardly more gracious, waxing on and on about how she had been used so ill by the ungrateful villain. Convenient, so very convenient.
But all was not glum. Beebalm seemed to like her company, particularly after Anne’s intervention that removed Jet’s threat. Come to think of it, the fairy dragons had become far more personable after that as well.
Summer tried to cling to its rights to the estate, but the first signs of autumn tinged every breeze. She would soon have to trade her shawl for a warmer spencer, or even a pelisse. What did dragons do in the winter? She would have to ask.
“I heard that the post came.” Lady Russell loudly announced her arrival from across the flower bed. She no longer bothered with the garden paths when only Anne was around. Her long legs enabled her to step over and around the plants without disturbing them, blue head feathers bobbing over her eyes.
Odd, now that she had become accustomed to Lady Russell’s dragon-form, it no longer startled her. In fact, it was difficult to recall what her woman-form had looked like.
Her personality, though, had not changed a mite. Seen through a draconic lens, her forceful controlling nature looked a bit more like boldness, making it a bit easier to tolerate.
“I suppose that is your way of inquiring if a letter from the Order has arrived.”
Lady Russell paused and blinked her huge glittering eyes several times. “You have been worrying about it quite a bit.”
It seemed that she was finally growing more accustomed to Anne returning boldness for boldness. Not that she always appreciated it, but she did tolerate it—not that she had any real choice. Father and Elizabeth were not so amenable. There, Anne had to tread more lightly.
She held up a missive sealed with blue wax. “I thought you would want to be with me as I read it.”
“You could have let me know.”
“And deny the fairy dragons their chief occupation? Perish the thought.” Said fairy dragons, Peony, Wren-catcher, Aster and a particularly cheeky one that called herself Ladybird, twittered and circled overhead. Eager little gossips.
“You will spoil them, then where will we all be?” Lady Russell fanned her wings and scolded until the harem darted off into the trees, just close enough that they might still overhear something interesting.
Anne cracked the seal and unfolded the letter.
“So then, what do they say?” Lady Russell came along behind her and peered at the paper over her shoulder. “Do go on, tell me.”
Was she humoring her, or could she not read? Anne was beginning to suspect the latter, but it would be rude to directly address it. All boldness aside, the Elliots were not the only beings with pride, and it would not do to wound it carelessly.
Anne traced the cross-written lines with her fingertip. “They say—oh that is interesting. They say that they are disappointed in Mr. Elliot’s decision to disregard the recommendations of the Order with regard to his upcoming marriage.”
“Well, they should be. A great deal more than simply disappointed, I should say. Horrid, disagreeable creature!”
“But they do not hold me accountable for his decision.” Anne sighed and looked skyward. They did not blame her for him. Weights fell off her shoulders, and she breathed unencumbered for the first time since he had left. “They acknowledge the limitations of my situation and offer their continued support for my position as junior Keeper.”
“Well, they certainly should. You are doing a very good job, indeed.” Lady Russell glanced toward the trees as if intending the fairy dragons to hear what she had said.
“The census report we sent of the local wild dragons was well received, although not perfect. They have included a list of details, particularly: the nature of the relations between the wild dragons; when they arrived; and what drain they place on the territory, that should be included in the next report we send them.”
“Naturally. Why would I have expected them to be satisfied with anything?” Lady Russell snorted and stomped. She never took suggestions of imperfection well.
“It seems Shelby is pleased with the recent turn of events. He has communicated that to the Order, which has been put to my credit. He is such a dear soul.”
“The soul of a sheep dog, I am certain. I have never known a less drake-like and more dog-like creature in all my life.”
“It seems he is not draconic enough for you. I think you would like him better if he breathed fire and growled whilst herding the sheep. Better still, he should sprout wings and fly over them, scolding the entire time.”
Lady Russell chittered and clapped her beak, almost nipping Anne’s ear. She might never grow accustomed to being teased—it was a rather new sensation for Anne to tease, but a pleasant one that would likely make Lady Russell’s acerbic tendencies far more tolerable.
“Oh, that is unusual. I did not anticipate that.” Anne squinted and turned the letter to continue reading the crossways lines. “They say that Mr. Elliot inquired about the estate charter, but since he was not yet the owner of the estate—and I infer that he is also not in their good graces at the moment—they refused to provide it to him. He was not pleased and, in their words, ‘stormed out muttering invectives and epithets unbecoming of a Dragon Mate.’ Heavens, tha
t does not sound good.”
“Nasty warm-blood. He wanted to see the charter? Whatever for?”
“He did not offer a specific reason to me when I asked, but did seem rather put out that I did not know anything about it. After Mr. Elliot left, I did ask Father if he knew where the document might be. He says it is somewhere in the house, but naturally, he is not certain where. I am, though, welcome to look for it so long as I do not cause any disruptions in doing so.”
“How generous of him.”
“Would I be disagreeable to remark how inconvenient it is that Elizabeth must be kept ignorant of all things draconic? It is quite vexing.”
“It does not help that she is rather vexing even without that.” Lady Russell snorted.
She was right. “Mr. Wynn goes on to say that I should continue in my efforts to improve the affairs of the dragon estate—have we yet determined when Kellynch is likely to awaken?—and they will work towards some solution with Mr. Elliot for when that time comes.” Anne set the letter aside and stared into the sky. “I suppose it is ungrateful of me to say I do not like the uncertainty of it all. I would very much like to have an answer now—to any of it: when Kellynch might awaken; how he will respond to the changes in the estate; if those efforts will be enough; what will be done with Mr. Elliot; if I will even remain Keeper here.”
“I do not like it, either. Not at all.” She laid her chin on Anne’s shoulder. Warm and affectionate and motherly. “But I have been giving it no little thought. I have no answers for what will come with Mr. Elliot or any of the decisions the Blue Order might make. I do, though, have an idea—an alternative that might be useful if things take a certain turn—that I think you might find agreeable.”
Anne craned her neck to peer into Lady Russell’s wide, sparkling eyes. “I seem to recall you suggested that I marry Mr. Elliot.”
“I know, but that was before his true nature was revealed. Have I argued with your reasons for refusing him?”
No, she had not, but it was difficult to tell if it was for Anne’s sake or for her own. After all, a man with Mr. Elliot’s attitudes would hardly be favorably disposed to a creature like Lady Russell.