by Maria Grace
“She has enough to be cross about; she does not need my help.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“She has to manage Collins, who is an idiot, and Cait who is the very picture of a shrew, not to mention your feather-pated mother, and she has been neglecting me. Of course, she is short-tempered. No persuasion is needed to accomplish that.” He wrinkled his nose, sending April flying backwards.
“So you have then considered it?”
“I am not persuading her or anyone else! Why can you not accept that?”
She glared at him through narrowed eyes. “Why did you threaten me and leave me in fear for my life?”
“That again? Why must you take that so personally? You made me angry—”
“And that makes it all acceptable? You lost your temper. That is not my fault. The very least you could do is apologize for what you did and for what you tried to do.”
He rose to full height, towering over her. “I am a dragon. I do not need to apologize for anything. You need to come to your senses and stop accusing me—”
“There is no point to continuing this conversation. Bring me proof that you did not attempt persuasion, and I will immediately recant and apologize.”
Longbourn’s eyes brightened, eye ridges lifting high. “And you will return to your position as my Keeper?”
“You know I cannot. The Blue Order has already ruled that Mary is Keeper here now. I cannot overturn that.”
“You would rather be Keeper to that clumsy baby than me.” Longbourn growled deep enough to shake the nearby branches.
“I have been assigned as Pemberley’s Keeper by decree of the Order. That is beyond my power to alter. But I will most willingly apologize—”
“What good is an apology then, if it changes nothing?”
“Why must you be so stubborn? We could at least enjoy the time I have here. I would be pleased to visit you and do all the things—”
“Then you would turn around and leave me. No, that is not acceptable.” He stomped, raining dry leaves over them.
“I do not want to be at odds with you.”
He stared at her with huge, sad eyes—not angry, but sad—and turned away, slinking off into the forest, pouting.
She leaned against a large tree and covered her eyes with her arm. When did it all go so arsy-versy?
“He is selfish and jealous and far too accustomed to having his own way.” April worked her way back into Elizabeth’s hood.
“Large dragons generally have their way for good reason, you know. Few can stop them.”
“You did, though.”
“I wonder if that was a good idea.”
April cuddled the side of Elizabeth’s jaw. “Only because he is making you feel guilty right now. You cannot look at Pemberley’s face and tell me it is not right for you to be her Keeper. A firedrake as powerful as she will be must be set upon the right path very early. It will probably take both you and Darcy to make certain that happens.”
She scratched April’s chin. “You make a very compelling point, my Friend.” A point her head understood, but her heart struggled to embrace. “I am getting chilled. Let us return to Netherfield.”
Just after dinner, which Elizabeth took in her room whilst she studied one of the tomes on lindwurms, Cait pecked at the window, obviously offended that it had not been left open for her. Elizabeth threw it open and helped her manage her tail feathers, arranging them all safely as she landed on the top edge of the dressing table’s mirror. A message satchel was strapped to her back, nearly obscured by the lush feathers of her nearly-black ruff.
“I am glad to see you, but I did not expect Papa to send you with messages.” She pointed to the satchel. Cait turned to make it easier to reach.
“He meant to send Rustle, but after all those people calling today, I simply had to get out! Oh, it was dreadful.” Cait shook out her feathers in a well-practiced, elegant movement.
“What do you mean?”
“That shallow pate Collins! I may yet tear his eyes out. No one would find fault with me for doing so.” Silhouetted against the waning sunlight, Cait was still in fine form, though her belly showed obvious—to Elizabeth—signs of her condition.
“What happened?”
“One of the guests caught sight of me and instead of allowing Heather to persuade her away from bothering me, Collins decided he should show off the fancy bird that was now staying at Longbourn—as if I were some credit to him! The unmitigated gall of the man! If it were up to me, the court should have ordered him eaten so none of us would have to deal with him. I still think they should and would happily testify so.”
Elizabeth extended a hand to offer a scratch which Cait accepted. “I am sure it is all made so much worse because you are not far from laying your clutch.”
“They have no idea what it is like—and your sister is little help. She has no sympathy for what I suffer. Your father offers sympathy but little more. It cannot be too soon that the Order finds another to take my place. If Collins shows me off as a fancy piece of livestock again, I swear, I shall bite off his little finger. I am no parrot and certainly no chicken!”
Elizabeth smoothed her ruff. “I quite understand; it is insulting. I will write to my father and inform him he needs to teach Collins better.”
Cait tossed her head. “He is not the only one in need of reform. Why are you accusing Longbourn of persuading Mary?”
“Are you suggesting Mary could work up so much resentment on her own? She seems to have grown far worse since she has come to Longbourn, despite the fact she should be satisfied with all the outcomes. Mary has been known to be a bit contrary at times, I grant you, but this is entirely out of character.”
“I am saying it is not Longbourn.”
Elizabeth pinched the bridge of her nose. “You believe him when he claims that? I do not.”
“You are clearly as stupid as the rest of your family.” Cait tossed her spectacular ruff and spread her tail as though her beauty was reason enough to trust anything she said.
Best let that insult go unrecognized. “Do you have an idea who is persuading Mary then?”
“You are seeking a rogue dragon, are you not?”
“He is trying to persuade Mary? I suppose you would have me believe he was also the voice I heard at Longbourn trying to get me to accept Collins.”
Oh, the look Cait cast her way!
“That is utterly ridiculous. Why would he do such a thing? How would he get into the Longbourn cellars in the first place? You know Longbourn would not tolerate another major dragon in his territory, much less in the house! He barely tolerates you as it is.”
“Jealous, crusty lizard.” She snorted and picked at her wing. “I cannot speak as to why. Why does a major dragon do anything? They have their own reasons. Would he not have won Longbourn’s appreciation if he had succeeded? Nonetheless, you should look past the end of your own nose and consider what ought to have been one of your first thoughts.”
Elizabeth rolled her eyes. “I will give the notion due consideration.”
“You had best do that before it is too late, and you miss an opportunity you need.” Cait shook out her wings. “I need a dust bath.”
“April has found a pleasant spot in the rose garden. She can show you if you like.”
April cheeped and flew off with Cait close behind. She had been taking a lot of dust baths recently. Fairy dragons did that when preparing to join—or attempt to join—a harem.
How long would it be before April left? Best not dwell on that now.
Elizabeth fell heavily into the overstuffed chair near the fire. Could Cait possibly be right? The Netherfield dragon trying to persuade Longbourn’s Keepers? No, that hardly made sense at all. It was simply not possible.
But it might be a point of conversation, one arousing enough to draw the lindwurm out to speak with her. Since nothing else had worked yet, it was worth the effort.
She pulled her shawl around her shoulder
s and took up the fireplace poker. The cellar was dark and cold, but the dirt was soft enough for her to write with the poker:
Why are you persuading Mary to be cross?
∞∞∞
Darcy sank back into the large, soft and very clean chair near the fireplace in a room easily twice the size of any he had seen for at least a fortnight. Bright white linens—he had actually checked after the rigors of recent days—covered the tall bed surrounded by bed curtains not tattered and torn. Both a closet and a chest of drawers accepted his luggage—all free from any sign of vermin or dust. The very definition of luxury.
Mr. Thomas Powlett’s invitation to stay at Birchcaster Heath, though he claimed the accommodations to be modest, was far more welcome than he knew. This was the first time in weeks that Darcy had a room to himself. In the quiet, his thoughts finally turned settled and well-ordered, almost like the pain of a lingering headache receding.
His meeting with the drake, Birchcaster, had been quite satisfying. It seemed he shared the easy-going temperament of his Keeper and welcomed the Blue Order assurances that there was no need for alarm. Far better than the reception they received at the last estate whose resident wyrm, Overport, was not averse to calling them liars and threatening to run them off his land himself. Matlock would soon receive a letter suggesting the need for some Order oversight on that estate.
Just how many more estates of that ilk dotted the English countryside? What did that mean for the actual state of the Blue Order and their influence over the Dragon State? He raked his hands through his hair, pulling slightly. He had never wanted to become involved in the administration of dragon affairs. Father had managed to keep clear of the duty, arguing on more than one occasion with Uncle Matlock on the matter. He had kept himself to Pemberley and been done with it all. But with the death of Old Pemberley and the birth of little Pemberley, everything changed.
How melodramatic that sounded, but she would be the first firedrake to be raised in the modern era. Instructing her and shaping her understanding would be crucial for the future of England and the Blue Order.
Thank heavens Miss Elizabeth would be at his side through it all. It was tempting to think that Pemberley somehow recognized that her situation would need more than he alone could offer. But that was imbuing a baby dragon with sage wisdom, and even he realized that was crediting her with a bit too much. Still though, it was fortunate.
Walker pecked the French door that opened onto the balcony, and it swung open. He hopped in and closed it behind him. “I had nearly forgotten how pleasant it was to come into lodgings designed to accommodate my kind.” He flapped his wings slightly.
“It does feel a bit like the return to civilization, does it not?” Darcy laughed and reached for the buckles on the satchel. “I wonder that you will be able to fly anywhere without this in place once we are done with this affair. I have become so used to seeing you with it. You look quite naked without.”
Walker snapped his beak in a warning that was not entirely playful. “Nakedness is a warm-blooded convention that I would thank you to keep to yourself.”
“How did you find Cait this visit?”
“Big, broody, and balky. She hates nearly everyone and everything right now.” Walker picked something invisible from between his toes.
“Rather like she was the last time she clutched?”
Walker hopped to a small tabletop. “Precisely, so I am not overly concerned. I suppose it is an advantage that I am only able to make short visits, so she rather welcomes my arrival. She does detest Collins though. The Order needs to provide another translator soon, or she may peck his eyes out.”
“He is such a dullard?” Darcy rubbed his forehead hard.
“Worse. He is a dullard with opinions. It seems he has decided it is his right as a warm-blood—which by the way, he thinks makes him the superior partner in the relationship—to have opinions on all matters related to dragons and the Blue Order. Opinions which he unfortunately thinks are correct. He borders on quite unteachable.”
“Bennet will have his work cut out for him, molding Collins into an appropriate candidate for membership into the Order. Perhaps Collins has forgotten what it will mean for him if he continues to be so opinionated. Do you think it would be helpful if I wrote to remind him of his very precarious position?”
“I know Cait would be grateful for it.”
Darcy leaned forward on his elbow. “Grateful enough that she might permit Fitzwilliam to try to befriend one of her clutch?”
“If he listens to you, she might befriend you herself.”
“Thank you for that honor, but no.” Darcy guffawed. Cait in his household? But then again, Elizabeth had already asserted dominance over her … No, it was a very bad idea.
“Good. There is a reason cockatrice only live together for brief periods.” Walker scanned the room, probably looking for a plate.
“The kitchen sent up a bowl for you just an hour ago. There, on the dressing table.”
Walker found it and tore into the raw meat. Darcy turned to his letter.
My dear Mr. Darcy,
Thank you for sending along Georgiana’s latest letter. It is delightful to see how much of a change her time with Lady Astrid is making. It is difficult to believe she was once so reticent about dragons.
Have you considered that Barnwines Chudleigh’s continuing favor might well put her in a way of meeting an eligible Keeper? No, I do not think Chudleigh is inclined to bother with matchmaking directly, but she is a very social creature. With all her salons and parties, I am certain many introductions are being made. So you may wish to steel yourself for the possibility of yet another wedding in the near future.
After having just attended Mary’s, I realized that there might be special circumstances surrounding our own. You might think me silly to suppose it, but it seems likely that there may be dragons among those who wish to attend our wedding breakfast. I have no idea how one plans a wedding breakfast to include dragons—the very idea boggles the mind, but then again, so much of what is going on right now does as well. Perhaps if we both give the matter some thought, we might come up with something that will suit all parties.
He reread the paragraph twice, chuckling each time. Dragons at a wedding breakfast—the very thought! But she was right; it was entirely possible. At the very least it would not hurt to be prepared for such an event. What was more, she was thinking about their wedding, and in—what must be for her—positive terms.
Bless it all, if his betrothed wanted dragons at her wedding breakfast, then by Jove there would be dragons. It would no doubt be the most talked about wedding the Blue Order would ever know—not at all what he would desire, but for her, it would be worth it.
April has taken to spending time with Cait. She—April, not Cait— has been short-tempered, and my ears bear witness to the degree of her irritation. The broodiness will only grow worse until she finds a proper mate. Fairy dragons are native to the Longbourn woods, so I doubt she will have difficulty finding a harem to join. She is—well, you quite know her personality—she will have no trouble in exerting dominance over the other females. I expect she will have a clutch of her own before summer.
I am glad for her, but—and I have spoken of this to no one—I am concerned that she may decide to lay her clutch in the wild and remain with them to protect the eggs. She has more sense than the average fairy dragon and will be diligent in seeing them hatch safely. I do not know if she will decide to return to me after that, though. She has never been my prisoner, but I have also never considered what would happen should she decide to leave. It has never been a possibility before.
I do not wish to sound maudlin or melancholy, but without the company of my family, Netherfield has been lonely. So much so, I would swear to you I heard giggling in the hall last night, much like my sisters’, but there was no one there. Not even the maids. I wonder that I may be going daft.
I pray this does not sound overly sentimental, but how much longer
do you think your journey will take? I find myself impatient for your arrival at Netherfield.
He traced the last several words as though it would bring her closer. She missed his company, wanted him there with her. If that was not tantamount to a declaration of love, what was?
Longbourn will not be pleased to have a second broody female nearby. As I understand, he and Cait have already had words on multiple occasions. I encountered him just after Mary’s wedding. He is little changed since we last saw him—except perhaps he is more agitated over Collins.
I am convinced that Cait will need assistance in laying her clutch. The advice from the poulterer and the falconer has been much more helpful than I imagined, and between them and the book from Papa, I believe I have assembled a sound strategy to assist her. Perhaps the Order might name me the first dragon midwife.
If anyone could aspire to such a title, it would be Elizabeth. He dropped his chin to his chest, chuckling at the image of her hurrying out from Pemberley in the middle of the night to attend a dragon laying.
I have learned a little more about the paintings that bear so many draconic evidences. Talia, the puck who lives in the garden (By the way, when you come, could you perhaps bring with you a variety of threads and yarn, the more colorful the better. And wool! She is a great lover of a warm nest.) has proven a great wealth of knowledge (assisted by her fondness for dried meat.) She has been a resident at Netherfield for many years now and says the Netherfield dragon is a relatively recent arrival. Likewise, the paintings are fairly new.
Apparently, every few months a new painting arrives on the doorstep, wrapped in brown paper, with instructions to Nicholls to see it appropriately hung in the house. In exchange for her rabbit warren remaining undisturbed (I will explain that when you arrive,) Talia encourages Nicholls to think the paintings souvenirs of Mr. Bascombe’s travels to the continent and beyond.
Needless to say, it seems reasonable to assume that they are the work of our rogue dragon and having them hang in the house suits his vanity. I have been studying the paintings at length, and many seem to repeat the theme of escape and sanctuary with many dragon types represented. What I do not know is if these themes are to be taken literally or metaphorically, or perhaps our painter lacks imagination and cannot think of anything else to render on canvas.