Netherfield: Rogue Dragon: A Pride and Prejudice Variation (Jane Austen's Dragons Book 3)

by Maria Grace

  She wrapped her arms tight around her waist. That kind of thinking could be the downfall of them all.

  At least Darcy did not seem so hidebound. He read her notes and acted upon them without critiquing or questioning their wisdom because they came from a young woman. He had insisted she come to Rosings to help with Pemberley. Once there, he abided no interference with her ministrations to the drakling. His letters spoke of the trust he place in her.

  What would it be like living with a man who valued and relied upon her understanding? The more time she spent with Papa, the more pleasing the idea became.

  “Oh, Lizzy!” Mary nearly ran into her. “I thought you were in the study with Papa.”

  Elizabeth stopped short and jumped back several steps. “I was, but I need to walk and gather my thoughts.”

  “Longbourn is in the cellar—he thought he heard your voice. Would you—he would very much like to talk with you.” Mary wrung her hands in her apron.

  One more stubborn, disagreeable male to deal with? Elizabeth dragged her hand over her face. Now was certainly not the time.

  “He is worried about you. Somehow he has gotten the notion that you have not been well. He really is very concerned.” Mary bit her lip and cringed a little.

  What little dragon spy would have brought him that information? At least he was concerned, not demanding something from her. It would have been nice if Mary expressed as much concern. “Pray tell him that I would be pleased to meet with him in his lair.”

  “But why go so far? He is in the cellar under our feet.” Mary glanced over her shoulder toward the cellar door.

  “He is correct. I have been unwell. We believe bad air in the cellar is in part to blame. If he is truly concerned for my health, then he will agree to meet me in his lair.”

  Mary clapped her hands over her mouth. “I had no idea. Do you think it is unsafe—”

  “For you, no I do not think so. For Darcy and me, though, yes. We were both exposed to powerful wyvern venom at Netherfield. It seems the least exposure is apt to affect us now. Pray do not explain that to Longbourn, lest there be any more misunderstandings. I will break it to him myself when I see him.”

  “Of course, of course.” Mary looked a little relieved. “I am certain he will understand, Lizzy. You should know, your apology meant a great deal to him. Things are so different. He tries hard to be more agreeable now that you no longer accuse him of something he did not do. He did not even complain when I scratched his scales the wrong way, or when I did not warm the oil for his hide properly.”

  Longbourn was not the only one whose attitude had seemed to change. Was it possible Mary was no longer subject to persuasions from a strange dragon and those effects were fading? Not the sort of thing one could ask, though.

  “I am glad about those changes, and I will endeavor to remember.” She swallowed hard against a little shudder. There were other memories not so easily displaced.

  Darkness as the wings enfolded around her. Hot, acrid, burning breath, searing her lungs and great clawed feet closed around her. She reached for the wall for support. Pray Mary never understood such things.

  Mary grabbed her arm. “Are you well?”

  “I will be fine. I … I just need some fresh air. Pray, tell Longbourn I will see him soon.” She pushed past Mary and half-ran out of the kitchen door.

  Gulping in the cool afternoon air, Elizabeth turned her face into the welcoming sunshine. Focus on Longbourn’s attitude today—that was what mattered. Nothing could change what had happened, but the future could be different. According to Mary, today he was good-natured and even repentant—the sort of dragon she had always thought him to be. If he met her in the lair, that would indeed show his good faith. He would never be a gentle lapdog or a sweet-natured dear like little Heather, but as long as he was trying, that was good enough.

  The hard ground near the house gave way to the softer earth near the garden. The perfume of newly-turned soil and tiny green things just poking out of the earth greeted her. Those should be comforting. If only her thudding heart and aching lungs might agree, and the vague burning on her face and neck subside. That would indeed bolster her faith in him. Perhaps after she saw him …

  “Mrrow.”

  “Oh!” She nearly stumbled over the long half-furry, half-scaled body that wove around her feet near the garden gate. “Rumblkins!”

  “You upset? I saw you from the kitchen. You ought not be alone.” His voice was always purry-soft, so soothing to listen to.

  She crouched beside him and scratched his tufty cat-ears. “You are a very sweet creature. Perhaps you may be right; it would be best for me to have company.”

  After April’s near constant presence for over a decade, being without a Dragon Friend nearby felt so wrong, like going out without a proper petticoat—something important was missing. Rumblkins was no fairy dragon, but he was sweet and dear and fluffy. She sniffled and dragged her sleeve across her eyes.

  Purring in his funny draconic sort of way, he reared up on his long serpentine tail. Bumping the top of his head under her chin, he licked the side of her jaw with his rough, forked tongue. “Where are you going?”

  “To see Longbourn.”

  “Take the long way about.” Rumblkins wove around her and bumped under her chin again.

  “Why? He will be waiting for me.”

  “I saw something interesting in the woods at the edge of Netherfield Park.” He pointed with his paw.

  “That is quite out of the way. I am not sure it is a good idea.”

  “It is a very good idea.” He licked his thumb-toe and purred.

  “Tell me what you saw.”

  “You must see it yourself.”

  She sighed and took Rumblkins’ fuzzy face in her hands, peering into his dark eyes. There was always a vaguely daft expression there. Sometimes more and sometimes less, but always just a touch addlepated. Were they all that way? She needed to study a few more tatzelwurms to be sure. But among the wildness, there was also a trace of concern and sincerity, perhaps even a little urgency.

  “All right, I will come, but we should hurry.”

  Rumblkins sprang off toward Netherfield Park.

  One really should be careful when telling a tatzelwurm to hurry. They were surprisingly fast, even nimble creatures. Though unladylike, she had to run to keep up with him, nearly tripping as she hopped over the stiles. He slowed just as she was ready to call for him to stop and let her catch her breath.

  Rising up high on his tail, he pointed his thumbed paw at a clump of trees. “There, I saw it there, just yesterday. It is long and white and smells like Hill’s laundry.”

  Hill’s laundry? Prickles rose on the back of her neck and shoulders. Was it possible? She sprinted to the trees and scanned the ground. There, half-buried in a pile of leaves, a long white streak. She sprinted and snatched it out of the pile, falling to her knees as she did.

  A glove! A lady’s glove. She turned the length inside out. Talons, claws, teeth and scales! There it was, a little ‘L’ in blue thread, hidden in the long seam. This was Lydia’s glove! From the look of it, it had not been out here very long, either.

  But how did it get here?

  “Was I right? You needed to see?” Rumblkins bumped her elbow.

  “Yes, and I shall find you a nice dried cod when we return to Longbourn.”

  If his purrs got any louder, they might well be heard all the way to Longbourn. She scratched his face, ears, and under his chin until he flopped on his back in exhaustion.

  “Did you see who dropped it?”

  “No, found it while looking for rats.”

  She rose and tucked the glove in her apron pocket. “Perhaps Longbourn will know something about this. We should go to him now.”

  The last bit of the trek up the hill left her winded and pausing to lean against the old, arching hardwoods. Rumblkins’ errand had added nearly two miles to her walk, so it was only natural she should be tired, but perhaps she was not q
uite as fully recovered as she had thought. Rumblkins hopped ahead into the darkness at the side of the hill. Best she wait outside the lair. Rumblings and thumpings followed.

  She forced herself closer instead of running away as any sensible creature might do. The only way to manage her fear was to face it head-on. Then it would subside, or at least that is what Uther Pendragon said about dealing with dragons: the first rational fear subsided when one dealt with them frequently enough.

  Elizabeth brushed a few leaves from her skirt.

  Longbourn poked his head out of the lair and fixed his eyes on her. “You came.”

  “Of course, I did. I told you I would be here.” Affecting a light, casual tone was far more difficult than it should have been.

  “Why did you not come to the cellar? I was making it easy for you. You have been sick.”

  “Where did you get that information?”

  He screwed his lips up in a funny, thinking sort of expression. “The puck with the furry hoppers.”

  “You mean Talia?”

  “There is no estate dragon there. Sometimes the little ones come to me.” He turned his face aside but stepped toward her.

  He could hide his guilt no better than Samuel Gardiner. “You had her spying on me.”

  “Not spying. She wanted Rustle and Cait to stay away from her hoppers.”

  “So she gave you information about me in exchange.” It really was rather clever on Talia’s part.

  “It was not spying.” He nudged a large rock toward her. “Sit, you are not well.”

  “Thank you. I do feel a bit peaked.” Gracious! How welcome it was to sit!

  “Why did you walk all this way if you are not well?”

  “I do not think it is safe for me—or for Darcy—to see you in the cellar any longer.”

  He pulled back and rose to full height. “Why not?”

  She stood and lifted her hands. “You must not get angry with me.”

  “But I do not like what you are saying. That makes me angry.”

  “I can see that, but that is the problem.” Her vision blurred, and her nose burned.

  There it was, a drop of venom, hanging from his left fang. She rubbed her sleeve across her face.

  “What problem?” The tip of his tail thumped the ground.

  “When you become angry, your fangs drip venom. I am very sensitive to it now. I can feel it—my eyes, my chest burn, it becomes difficult to take a breath. My skin is hot and prickly. In the close space of the cellar, it made the air bad and made me and Darcy very ill.”

  A growl formed in the back of his throat. “I have not tried to poison you.”

  “I am not accusing you. Nor is Mr. Darcy. But see, even now, there is poison on your fangs.”

  Longbourn touched a wingtip to his mouth and examined the ochre drop. “It is only a little.”

  “I know that. But it is enough. I am sure Talia can offer you further details of what happened while I was at Netherfield.”

  His shoulders hunched, and his face scrunched into a pout. Apparently he had already heard.

  She returned to her makeshift seat. “I am just glad I am still able to sit with you here. But if you become angry, I will have to leave, lest the vapors in the air make me ill again.”

  “I do not want you ill.”

  “Then control your temper. I see no other way.” She shrugged and blotted watery eyes with her apron.

  He sat down hard near her rock and stared at her. “I do not like this.”

  “Nor do I. But I am willing to try. Are you?”

  His long tail swept across the ground, clearing a semicircular path behind him as he lowered his head toward her. “I will try.”

  She scratched his ears. His foot drummed appreciatively as she hit just the right spot. He arched his back and directed her to half a dozen more spots that desperately needed to be scratched.

  Finally, he sighed and flopped down at her feet, ecstatically exhausted by the indulgence. Clearly, Mary needed some pointers in how to scratch a dragon properly. Perhaps a full monograph needed to be written on the matter. Papa would be scandalized at the thought.

  “Now you are sated, I hope you will be willing to talk of some more serious matters with me.”

  He leaned his head against her legs.

  She steeled herself for the contact. The ill-ease was still there. Pendragon did not say how long it would remain. Perhaps that was so as not to discourage those willing to try.

  “Fitzwilliam came with news from the Blue Order. An emissary, sent from the Eastern Dragons, makes her way to London to open diplomatic relations with the dragons from the Far East.”

  “Why do I care what they do in London?”

  “The emissary has become lost. The dragon tunnels have not been mapped as accurately as we had thought.”

  His ears stood up.

  “It is possible she could appear in Hertfordshire, lost, confused and hungry.”

  “I will not—”

  “That is exactly what I am asking of you. Tolerance. Pray be reasonable and think what could come of your actions. You do not need to have her stay here, simply promise me that you will not attack her for encroaching on your territory. Tolerate her if she has to eat and alert us to her presence. Fitzwilliam will see her to London immediately, and she will never trespass again. The Order will be very grateful for your assistance.”

  “Grateful enough to—” He nudged her gently.

  “No, you know Mary is your Keeper now and Collins is her husband. There is no changing that. But it is never a bad thing to have the Order’s appreciation.”

  He snorted hard enough to blow up a little cloud of dust at her feet.

  “Have I your promise?”

  He muttered and grumbled and scratched the ground with a wingtip. “Will I have mutton if I do?”

  “Absolutely. I will arrange for you to have half a dozen sheep if you find the emissary and unite us with her.”

  “Six fat ones?”

  “The fattest ones I can find.”

  “I will keep watch for her.” He tried to sound uninterested, but the promise of mutton was invariably a cause to celebrate.

  “What do you know of the rogue dragon? He has been in the Netherfield cellars—we have exchanged a few written words there. I am certain you must know him.”

  Longbourn inched away and rumbled something noncommittal.

  “Why have you not fought him for being in your territory? I am sure he has trespassed at some time. He must have been near to try and persuade me to marry Collins. He might have been persuading Mary’s ill-temper, too. Why do you think he would do such a thing?” She bit her lip to avoid adding ‘And why do you tolerate it.’

  Half his tail thumped behind them. “Bored.”

  “The lindwurm is bored?”

  “And stupid.”

  “In what way?”

  “He stole the egg.”

  She nearly fell off her seat. “Pray excuse me? Did you say he stole the egg?” She held her breath. Much as she had a thousand questions fighting to be asked, now was not the time to risk pushing too hard. She would be patient even if it meant her heart would beat out of her chest.

  “After the Deaf One brought it to Meryton, he stole it. He wanted to give me the egg instead of salt.”

  “Salt? You like salt? Papa never told me.” She clutched the edge of her stone seat. One more revelation of this caliber, and she would indeed fall off.

  “He says the estate cannot afford it. I must stock my hoard another way.”

  “I did not know wyverns were hoarding dragons.”

  “Some of us are, not all, but some.” Longbourn grumbled under his breath.

  No wonder Longbourn was constantly grumpy. A hoard-hungry dragon was nearly as dangerous as one who lacked food. Gracious, if this was true, then Longbourn’s forbearance was extreme.

  “He calls himself Netherfield.”

  “Netherfield gives you salt? Why?”

  “So I will ig
nore him. I have my hoard; he lives in peace.”

  “You agreed to take the egg to be rid of Darcy?”

  He snorted and covered one eye with his wingtip. “Stupid creature did not tell me it was ready to hatch. He was to give it to me while you were at Netherfield, but it hatched in the woods. He decided to eat the drakling to make the whole affair go away. I had to stop him.”

  She slid to the ground and looked him in the eye. “You were in the woods protecting little Pemberley from the lindwurm?”

  “Netherfield was no real danger. He was not actually hungry, only trying to protect himself. Stupid, addlebrained thing to do. He hates conflict and hoped to avoid it by eating her.”

  “You saved her!” She threw her arms around his head and wept into his scaly hide. “I had no idea. I am sorry I did not think you so noble. No wonder you have been so put out. I have horribly underestimated you.”

  He stretched out one wing around her shoulders in a tentative embrace.

  “I will tell Darcy and Pemberley what you have done. They deserve to know.” While none of that excused the fits of temper he had shown, at least it made more sense now. Mary, Cait, they had been right. She had wronged him terribly—what a prideful fool she had been.

  “I still do not like them.”

  “I am not asking you to like them. But I would like them to think better of you.”

  He grumbled and snorted, but she could feel the corners of his mouth turn up just a bit.

  “Do you know where Netherfield is? Why did he choose that name?”

  “He is French. He knows nothing. He thinks by taking the name he claims the land. Says the estate was given to him or some such nonsense. What can he know of such things? They have no Accords on the continent.”

  Elizabeth squeezed her eyes shut and forced herself to breathe. Perhaps this really was more information than she could assimilate at once. “Do you know where we can find him?”

  “He is supposed to stay on Netherfield Park. We meet once in every moon cycle when he has salt for me. He puts out a bit of salt for me to smell, and I meet him at the stream that borders the two territories. But sometimes he leaves it in the cellar at Longbourn. He is foolish and capricious.”