by Maria Grace
M.
She was invited to the wedding. That was more than she had expected. But did Mary actually want her there, or was it a matter of preventing questions as to why her sister, who was so close by, would not be at the wedding? Perhaps being at the wedding would make it easier to explain why she was not at the wedding breakfast. Oh, that definitely was uncharitable and not a worthy thought at all.
Even if the frustrations—and all told, the loneliness—were eating away at her, it did not behoove her to indulge in that kind of thinking. Besides, folded within Mary’s note was a thick letter from Darcy. She smiled in spite of herself, a little of the lonesomeness fading.
She hurried to the maze—ironically where she had overheard Miss Bingley and Darcy talking all those months ago—and found a stone bench in a sunbeam under a white wood arch. She curled up on the bench and leaned against the now bare lattice, the warmth of the bench sinking into her joints—or was that the warmth of knowing the letter was from him?
He had written in ink this time. Hopefully that meant his accommodations were better and he was less hurried this time.
My dear Elizabeth,
Since you inquired directly in your last letter, I am pleased to say, we are warm, fed and dry, and reasonably comfortable this time. I cannot pretend to be displeased that this segment of our journey has taken us past establishments that F deems safe enough for us to stay in. Although I loathe saying it, I am glad you are not with us presently. None of these places are fit for you. It gives me peace of mind to know you are safely at Netherfield. Somehow the thought of a rogue dragon there seems less dangerous than the ruffians we must rub shoulders with here. I realize that must sound a bit odd, all told, but I feel certain that you would agree.
He was right. She pressed the letter to her chest. Had anyone else ever understood her so well?
I regret I have nothing in the way of good news to report from our efforts. Wickham and Miss Lydia seem to have disappeared without a trace. Neither man nor dragon has encountered them. It is unusual for Wickham to be so discreet in his movements. If nothing else, his typical failure to pay his debts usually makes him easy to trace.
F is beginning to suspect that they did not make their way to Gretna Green after all. But we shall continue our efforts in this part of the country for a little longer to be absolutely certain.
Lord Matlock is making sure he gets the most out of our labors by having us visit the dragon estates along the way to keep a watch on the increasing concerns over the rogue dragon. Despite all pains to let people know that it is definitely contained in Hertfordshire (and pray tell me that I am correct in that assumption!), the very notion causes so much unrest that I am not sure we are believed.
Had Papa any idea how dangerous the situation had become? Perhaps if he did, he would be more forthcoming with assistance. At the very least, Uncle Gardiner needed to be made aware of these changes.
F has made a little progress in translating the pages you sent. He says the cipher appears to be based on one used in the army. I have included his partial translations as well as what he has deduced so far in terms of breaking the cipher. I am afraid that what he has gathered from your sister’s journal is mostly concerning ribbons and hats and of little application to the current situation. Still, I am hopeful that you will be able to put what I have enclosed to good use.
Have you been able to make contact with the Netherfield dragon yet? I had a thought in that regard. It may be a very bad one, but I trust in your graciousness not to laugh at me for it. There is evidence that the dragon is able to read and write. Have you considered perhaps leaving a written message for him rather than simply hoping he will grant you an audience? As I write this, it does sound ridiculous and perhaps it is, but I thought it worth sharing the notion with you.
He went on to discuss the sorts of things that people wrote of in regular letters. News of shared acquaintances and loved ones, in this case, dragons and Keepers. Georgiana and Pemberley were doing well. Though Pemberley missed them, the letters they had sent her were keeping her spirits up. She was making progress under the Blue Order tutelage in London, and now able to hold a pencil which was the first step in being able to write. In fact, the little drakling had insisted on making her mark on Georgiana’s last letter. Perhaps it was not so normal to have a dragon signing a letter. But Dragon Keepers were hardly typical. Still though, the conversation was welcome … and warm and rather witty. He expressed himself very well on paper, even if he did not do so in person.
She set the letter aside and turned her face to the sun, eyes closed.
His idea about leaving a written message for the lindwurm was unconventional, but it was a good one. Since she had made no other headway, there was little to lose by trying it. The cellar floor was covered in soft dirt in which she could scratch a bit of dragon script that no one would recognize as a message. Much safer than chancing that a piece of paper might be picked up. Yes, she would try that tonight.
She ought to write to Darcy immediately and let him know. It would probably make him smile. His letter sounded so tense and yet so concerned for her. It would be good to send him some pleasing news, especially since there was so little to be had.
Chapter 3
Monday morning proved to be a cool, refined sort of morning that did not call attention to itself for what it was, exactly what one wanted for a wedding day. Elizabeth executed her toilette with particular care, not that anyone would especially notice, but it made her feel better. One’s sister did not get married every day. She had missed Jane’s wedding, so she needed to enjoy Mary’s—what little of it she could participate in—twice as much to make up for the loss.
She pulled her green cloak around her shoulders, and April settled into the hood. The little church was not so far away as to necessitate calling the carriage. If she used it, Mama would doubtless make a fuss over the fine coach and what a very fine thing it was that Elizabeth would be Mrs. Darcy. While it was expected that Mama should exult in her daughter’s success in the marriage mart as it were, it was not fair to distract from Mary’s day.
She steeled herself during her brisk walk, the chill fading as she warmed from the exercise. It returned, though, when she saw the church in the distance, the family coach nearby.
Perhaps this was a bad idea. If she turned back now, none would be the wiser.
But no, Mary had invited her, and she needed to be there. With an especially deep breath, she made her way toward the chapel door.
“Elizabeth!” Kitty, in her second-best green lawn gown, greeted her and took her hands. “You look so very well. I am sorry you have missed all the excitement at the house. I know you have been ever so busy at Netherfield making things ready for Jane, but still it would have been nice to see you just once.”
“Indeed she is right,” Mama cut in. “Missing Jane’s wedding was indeed a sadness, but you do not need to make up for it by slighting Mary as well.”
“She has more than made up for it by getting Mr. Darcy. He will be by far the richest and best connected of your sons. And the handsomest,” April twittered softly.
Elizabeth cast a warning glance at her shoulder. It was not wise to push a persuasion too far.
Mama looked a little startled and stared at Elizabeth as though remembering something she had forgotten. Her expression softened and a very pleased, even self-satisfied air crept over her. “But then, I am sure you are quite caught up in your own wedding planning. Do not forget you have a mother and sister quite willing to help you with that. Just think, you are to be Mrs. Darcy! What a fine, important lady you will be—the wedding clothes you will need!”
“I have planned nothing yet, Mama. Mr. Darcy is away on business right now, and we will not plan the wedding until after that is complete.”
“We have hardly had time to order Mary’s, you know. Just two weeks to prepare. I imagine we shall go to London yet to your uncle’s warehouses, not that she will need as much as you to be sure. A vicar’s wife
can hardly compare to what—”
The vicar emerged from the door and beckoned them inside. Mama harrumphed softly and rearranged the collar of her pelisse. Kitty hurried to take her place near the front of the church with Uncle Gardiner who was serving as groomsman.
The little chapel looked exactly as it usually did. Plain white walls, with matching windows on each side, it smelled of age and damp and dust. Worn, dark wooden pews in two columns flanked the walls like soldiers waiting to march. The simple hexagonal pulpit would hold the vicar several steps up above the congregants. A completely unremarkable church.
Somehow that was disappointing, even heartbreakingly so. Should not a place look remarkable on a day as life-changing as a wedding? Mary had said she, Kitty and Lydia had adorned the church with flowers when Jane wed Bingley. Did Mary not want them, or was she being overlooked once again?
Papa grunted at her as he walked past her toward the back of the church, not even making eye contact. Was that his own preference or Longbourn’s? Did the difference even matter?
She sat near Mama.
Mary approached the front of the church on Papa’s arm, and the wedding proceeded exactly as the Book of Common Prayer set out that it should, completely ordinary and proper. Exactly as Mr. Collins—and probably Mary—would have it.
What would her wedding with Mr. Darcy be like? Surely Pemberley would have to be present—for the wedding breakfast at least if not the ceremony itself. The little dear would never accept being absent for the event that insured she would have her two Keepers permanently.
Elizabeth pressed her lips hard—it was difficult to say what was more entertaining, the idea of the drakling throwing a tantrum in order to be allowed to attend the wedding, or figuring out how to bring a major dragon into the church. There was a chapel in the underground offices of the Blue Order—perhaps it would do for the wedding. What would Mr. Darcy say to such a notion?
She tried to imagine him being disagreeable about it, but the image would not coalesce. It was simply impossible to see him so. He would not be the one to deny the baby something she so dearly desired—and honestly, he probably would not deny Elizabeth, either—even if it meant he had to procure a special license, the services of a Blue Order bishop, and they would be married in Pemberley’s dragon lair. She pressed her hand to her chest. Yes, he really was the sort of man who would do that for her. Absolutely nothing like the dragon-deaf dolt who stood beside Mary.
April cuddled her cheek as though she could sense Elizabeth’s thoughts and approved most heartily.
The vicar declared Mary and Collins man and wife, and they disappeared into the vestry to sign the marriage lines. Papa hovered near the chapel door, glancing alternately at the vestry door and at Mama as she trundled out toward the coach. This might be the only opportunity Elizabeth had to ask him about Netherfield. She slipped out of the pew and hurried to him.
He grunted at her. Lovely.
“Pray, have you any records on the history of Netherfield? I am quite certain it was a dragon estate at one time. Is it possible that there might be yet another dragon lurking about with a claim to the territory?” She stood beside him, not quite looking at him.
His expressions shifted subtly, from something like disapproval to budding interest. Of course, dragon lore would draw him out when nothing else could.
“There was no major dragon in residence during my grandfather’s lifetime, but the last resident owner was a Dragon Friend. I have several centuries of county records among my library holdings, though. I will examine them immediately and send you word of what I find.”
“If that is too much trouble, you could have Uncle bring the books to me, and I can search them.”
“They are part of the estate, and Longbourn will not approve of them being placed in your care.”
She held her breath to hold back her sigh. He was willing to help her; that should be enough, even though it was not.
Mr. and Mrs. Collins emerged from the vestry, her arm in his. He looked satisfied—with himself and with the proceedings. Heather perched in Mary’s bonnet, a fluffy pink ornament that accented the pale pink of her best gown. Mary’s cheeks glowed, by all appearances genuinely happy.
How ironic. After all her bitter complaining, did she realize that she was marrying the man she had hoped for because of draconic interference and that her wedding would likely never have happened without it? Now was probably not an appropriate time to mention it.
Mr. Collins slipped away to speak to Papa.
“Heather and I are glad you have come,” Mary said softly.
“I hope you shall be very happy together and your marriage is all you have hoped for.”
“I expect it will be. Even more, now that he is becoming aware of the true nature of the estate he will inherit.” Mary glanced over her shoulder toward Collins.
“Has Longbourn officially acknowledged him yet?”
“No. Papa wants to bring him to the lair for a formal introduction soon. With Cait’s help, I am sure it will not be long. I have every hope that once that chore has been accomplished, things will settle down and be much easier for us all.” Mary’s eyes lost a little of their smile.
“Longbourn has been cross and cranky with you?” Elizabeth touched Mary’s elbow. “Is there something I can do to help? I know a few things that tend to soothe his moods.”
“Let us not talk of such things on my wedding day.” Mary looked away as though Elizabeth had suddenly sprouted a large wart on her nose.
“You are invited to Netherfield should you ever wish to speak of it.”
“Thank you for the invitation.” She may as well have said she would never darken Netherfield’s door.
April leaned very close and whispered, “She is not like herself—perhaps her resentment has been suggested.”
Was that possible? But by whom? Would Longbourn attempt such a persuasion? He had tried to persuade Elizabeth to marry Collins. If he would stoop to that, then he was certainly not beyond this. But why? Given that persuading a Keeper was forbidden in the first place, it seemed odd at best that Longbourn should go to the trouble of doing so just to get back at Elizabeth. No, that made no sense.
Mr. Collins collected Mary without so much as a word to Elizabeth, and the wedding party took their leave of the church, leaving Elizabeth to walk back to Netherfield, alone.
A swath of Netherfield’s woods bordered Longbourn’s. It would be as close to Mary’s wedding breakfast as she would be able to go. Though it made precious little sense, she turned down along the wooded path.
“Darcy should be here,” April chittered and flapped. “I am going to tell Walker that he must remedy this situation immediately.”
The woods’ shadows welcomed them along the cool path between the trees. Branches arched up overhead to form a skeletal canopy—it would be full and green soon, but now it was only a promise of what was to come. The forest floor likewise remained dry and crunchy, waiting for the full advent of spring to soften it with rains and new growth.
“You are unhappy.” April hovered near Elizabeth’s face.
“He has work to do. Besides, I do not need Mr. Darcy to be happy.” Perhaps not, but it would not hurt.
“Yes, you do. You should be happy. Longbourn is a bully and just plain mean. A disgrace to his kind. The Blue Order really ought to bring him under better regulation.” April landed on Elizabeth’s shoulder.
“I know you have very decided opinions, but perhaps, just perhaps, it is not good to share them so near to his territory. He does have an awful propensity—”
A roar just softer than dragon thunder rattled branches overhead and crashing footsteps approached.
“—to appear when one voices such things.” Elizabeth squeezed her eyes shut and forced herself to draw in long deep breaths. But her heart still fluttered and her belly pinched, especially when the first whiff of dragon musk mixed with the distinct odor of wyvern wafted on the breeze.
“I do not want you in
my territory.” Huge stomping footfalls punctuated the declaration.
“Good day to you too, Longbourn.” She flashed a false smile and curtsied.
“Get out of my woods.” He leaned down toward her face, extending his tail for balance.
“I am on Netherfield territory not yours.”
“These are my woods.” He edged closer, breath hot and putrid on her face.
Mary really needed to take better care of his teeth or he would soon be in need of a tooth key himself.
“Do not attempt to poach territory that is not yours. You know that is against the Accords—even if there is no dragon assigned to the land.” She folded her arms across her chest and pulled her shoulders back. How would he respond if she spread her cloak and flapped to make herself large? Probably not well, but it was a thought.
“I do not want you here.”
April buzzed toward him and pecked between his eyes, not that he could feel it much through his thick hide.
“I am very sorry for you then. I hate to suspend any pleasure of yours. But I am entirely within my right to be here, and I will enjoy my walk since you are determined to keep me from my family’s celebration.”
“You should not have been at the wedding. I told them both I did not want you there. They went against my wishes.”
“I am sorry you are so selfish and small-minded that you should wish to keep me from my own sister’s wedding. But since it occurred outside of your territory, you have no control in the matter. They were within their rights to allow me to be present. You should be satisfied that you have prevented me from attending the wedding breakfast. I am feeling that deeply. Is that not enough for you?”
He huffed acrid breath in her face. “This is not my fault. It is your choice.”
“How exactly is this my fault?”
“You abandoned your place as Keeper.” He thumped the tip of his tail. A large branch snapped and sent a shower of debris against Elizabeth’s skirt.
“Because you tried to persuade me. Now you are trying to use persuasion to make Mary cross with me.”