Pemberley- Mr Darcy's Dragon

by Maria Grace

  “You are as stubborn as Longbourn. But I expected as much. I have an alternative. You may follow her to Longbourn’s lair and wait until she leaves him. I will then present you to Longbourn and, assuming you do not immediately offend him in some way, we might be able to speak to him.”

  “I do not relish the idea of stalking Miss Elizabeth like a fox out of season, but with less than a month—”

  “You do not need to recount to me the urgency of our mission. You need to hurry and get out as she has probably left the house by now.”

  Darcy grabbed his hat and hurried downstairs without excusing himself to his host. “How exactly then are we to follow her?”

  Walker chirruped something that sounded insulting. “I will follow and come back to lead you to her. I know the lair is on the sunset side of the estate, head in that direction. I shall find you directly.”

  Walker flew off.

  The plan was sound, if degrading. Sneaking about like some poacher. The very thought was galling. But then, what about the current situation was not?

  Darcy stalked down the westward footpath.

  It seemed as though everything in Hertfordshire was designed to reinforce the humility of his position. He was subjected to Caroline Bingley’s constant attentions and attempts at flirtations. She was well mannered and proper, to be sure, but she was also obvious and nigh on intolerable. She had not an original thought in her head nor had read anything since leaving the insipid girl’s seminary she had attended. Her twenty thousand pounds would be a welcome way to replace Georgiana’s dowry, but at what cost? Far better to mortgage some part of the estate and not live with the constant prattle and mindless chatter.

  All that paled in comparison to the weight of the lost egg, though. Would he ever live down the ignominy?

  At least Uncle Matlock had contacted only Bennet about the situation, not all the Keepers between Meryton and Derbyshire. And Bennet seemed too lazy to gossip. Perhaps the Darcy and Matlock reputations might be spared once it was recovered.

  If Miss Elizabeth kept her peace.

  And if the egg was recovered.

  If only Father had been more cautious. But Wickham had deceived them all. He was so convincing, so easy to like. Much like Bingley.

  Oh, that was a thought to give one pause.

  Darcy grimaced.

  But no, Bingley was not at all like Wickham, not in essentials. Bingley was honest and cheerful to a fault. Those traits were not affectations.

  Wickham’s were.

  They had all thought Wickham heard dragons, but he was only an accomplished charlatan. And for that, Darcy was reduced to scampering about the countryside in hopes of demanding an audience with a lesser dragon who wanted nothing to do with him.

  Oh, Father, such a legacy!

  Walker screeched and circled overhead. “I have found them. Follow.”

  Darcy squinted into the bright sky and jogged after him.

  ***

  Half a mile into the woods of Longbourn estate, Walker slowed and landed high in a tree. He pointed with his wing to an overgrown hillside. Brambles and thorny vines—probably berries of some kind—grew wild from the top of the hill, reaching over the hillsides. At the base, equally thorny undergrowth sprung up, thick and leafy. A ray of sunlight penetrated the heavy tree canopy, enough to light the hill enough for the bushes to grow ... and to warm the stony ground sufficiently for dragon basking.

  Darcy inched nearer, peering through a break in the underbrush. The scrapes and divots in front of the hillside suggested a dragon used that spot frequently. He hunkered down to watch and wait.

  Miss Elizabeth, with an entourage of companions, ambled up to the hill. As usual, the little blue fairy dragon flitted circles around her. On her shoulders were puffs of red and pink fluff—the dragon chicks? Three fairy dragons in her company at once?

  That much prattle-chatter could make him go distracted in a matter of minutes.

  An exceptionally large tatzelwurm wove around her ankles and between her feet, purring loud enough for Darcy to hear quite clearly. The tabby-stripe fur on its feline front was brushed to glistening and its tail scales showed signs of recent oiling. The creature seemed to worship the very ground she walked on.

  What was it about her that dragons found so very endearing?

  She stood on a patch of ground worn clear of undergrowth.

  Scratches and rumbles boomed from inside the hill. Dragon-sized sounds.

  The fairy dragons chittered and hid in the particularly generous hood of her green cloak, almost as if it had been designed for the purpose. The tatzelwurm ducked between the cloak and her skirt.

  “Good day, Longbourn,” she called, hands cupped around her mouth.

  A loud snort and the vines parted ahead of a great scaly head and a body to match.

  An estate dragon, no matter what kind, was a fearsome sight, even if it were only a wyvern.

  The creature stood ten, perhaps twelve feet tall, if it stretched fully upright on its two clawed feet. But it did not; it crouched to put its face on her level, like an adult bending down to address a child.

  Stiff, angular ridges extended from the top of his head to the end of his tail. The thick, lashing appendage added at least six feet to its length, all covered in grey-green-brown scales. The thick, horny scales were dusty, but patches gleamed, vaguely metallic, in the sunlight. Someone must brush and oil his hide regularly.

  The body was sleek, not fat and lazy as he would have expected. Well-nourished, but not overfed. Streamlined leathery wings folded neatly over its back, resting against the spine ridges. What kind of a wingspan did it have? Enough for flight, or just for show?

  Its face was largely square—sharply masculine, with large, glittering gold eyes and whiskers that gave the impression of a long mustache and eyebrows. Somehow, he brought Bennet to mind.

  That was a bit unsettling.

  Fangs and talons resembled polished ivory, gleaming and sharp, ready to be put to use. Was that a drop of ochre venom on one fang? Venomous wyverns were rather uncommon. Did this one only bite, or had it learned to cast its poison in a breathy cloud as well?

  Best assume the latter.

  Longbourn shook his head and roared.

  Walker flapped his wings to regain his balance against the dragon-thunder. The crashing tones penetrated Darcy’s chest, rattling his ribs. It was easy to forget just how loud a dragon could be.

  Miss Elizabeth covered her ears with her hands and waited.

  After far too long, the bellowing and rumbling ceased and the wyvern stared at Miss Elizabeth, ochre foam bubbling on his lips.

  “Are you quite finished with your temper tantrum now?” She planted her hands on her hips and tapped her foot.

  “No.”

  She stepped back in a half-bow and extended her hand. “Pray continue then, I should hardly suspend any pleasure of yours.”

  Longbourn stomped, flapped and snorted for several more minutes, sending a rain of leaves cascading from the hillside vines, and a cloud of dust rising from the ground.

  It really was an impressive show. Had Darcy encountered it without Miss Elizabeth, he would probably have left. Longbourn did not seem to want visitors.

  “Are you finished now?” She crossed her arms over her chest and glowered at him with a decidedly maternal stare.

  Longbourn huffed a breath through his lips, sending foam spraying.

  Miss Elizabeth jumped back. “That was uncalled for.”

  “You have stayed away for a full se’nnight. That was uncalled for.” Was it possible for a dragon to pout?

  Darcy blinked and shook his head. The wyvern had transformed from towering dragon to petulant child.

  “Oh, you silly, silly creature.” She opened her arms and crossed the distance to the wyvern.

  It stretched its neck toward her. She embraced the huge scaly head and scratched behind his right ear with both hands.

  Dear god, the creature wagged his foot just like a dog. Ho
w undignified.

  How astonishing.

  “Oh, there yes. Exactly there.” A shiver rippled down the spine ridges until Longbourn’s tail thumped the ground.

  The unsettling display continued as she ministered to his other ear and under his chin.

  “There now, am I forgiven?” She asked, planting a kiss—a kiss!—on the rugged snout.

  Longbourn snuffed and sniffed. “I suppose.” A long forked tongue snaked out and lapped her face.

  No. That was entirely too much! How had she reduced a dignified dragon to something more akin to a slavering lap dog?

  “Thank you, dear one.”

  “I missed you. I hope you had a good reason.” Longbourn stretched out full length on the ground, spreading his wings.

  She inspected them. “You need a thorough oiling—”

  “And brushing. I want my wings brushed, they itch.” His wingtips fluttered.

  The ensuing breeze rustled the nearest branches.

  “Indeed they do. And you shall have it, I promise. I shall return this afternoon and bring Mary with me.”

  “She scratches good.”

  “I know she does.” She scratched the back of his wing.

  “Why does she not come more?”

  “Because you frighten her, you great oaf! If you did not relish your show of being a dragon so much, she might come more often.”

  Another snort raised a cloud of dust. “You are not frightened.”

  “I used to be.” She picked her way around the wing to stand beside his head and scratch the base of the first head ridge. “Until I discovered it is all puff and nonsense. You are really just a soft, itchy bundle of scales and snuff.”

  Longbourn cuddled into her waist, nearly knocking her off her feet as he pulled her into his shoulder.

  Dragons did not cuddle.

  This was just so wrong. Entirely, completely wrong.

  “Are you jealous?” Walker whispered in his ear.

  When had he left his high perch?

  “It is undignified. Rosings would never behave that way,” Darcy hissed.

  “She would if she met Elizabeth. She knows how to scratch.” Walker’s shoulders twitched.

  He was always itchy there. But he was very particular about who touched him.

  “Dare I ask how you would know?”

  “No. It is not your business. You do not like her.” Walker turned his face aside.

  Darcy pressed thumb and forefinger to his eyes.

  “I have important news for you, a great deal of it.” Her voice was sweet and cajoling, the way one talked to a petulant child.

  Darcy’s stomach churned. Someone needed to teach her about draconic dignity.

  “I do not like news. News is always inconvenient.”

  That sounded exactly like what Bennet might say.

  “Now you are just being difficult in the hopes of getting a treat. I will bring you one, but you must listen and behave properly first.”

  “Mutton?”

  “Is that what you want?”

  “I like mutton. A great deal.” Longbourn flicked his tongue across his lips.

  “Then you shall have a sheep tonight.”

  “I like mutton.”

  “Now, if you want mutton, you must listen carefully to me and not act the big scary estate dragon.”

  Longbourn pouted again.

  Dragons should not pout.

  “Very well.”

  Miss Elizabeth placed a kiss along one of his brow ridges.

  No, no! The tip of his tail wagged.

  She stepped back to look into both his eyes. “We have admitted new members into our Keep. It is time for you to greet them—and promise not to eat them.”

  Longbourn snorted. “I want a snack.”

  She huffed and tapped her foot. “You have an entire herd of muntjacs roaming your lands. There is no reason for you to be complaining about snacks.”

  “Oh, very well. Show me these creatures. I promise I shall not eat them.” He closed his eyes and rolled his head to the side.

  “Now or ever?”

  The dragon snuffled. “Now or ever.”

  “On your honor?”

  He picked up his head and stared down at her. “Upon my honor as a wyvern and ancestral estate dragon of Longbourn, I shall not eat whatever annoying little creature you present to me. Are you satisfied?”

  “I am.” She looked over her shoulder into her hood. “Did you hear? You are safe, Longbourn shall never harm you.”

  “I never said that, I only said I would not eat them.”

  “Longbourn!”

  “Oh, all right, I won’t harm a scale on their pretty little bodies.”

  “Or hair or feather?”

  Longbourn stomped. “I want two sheep.”

  “Promise me, and you shall have two.” The look in her eye suggested that had been her intention all along.

  “I promise.”

  “You can come out now. You have nothing to fear.” She flicked the edge of her cloak back and stepped aside to reveal the tatzelwurm.

  It stepped forward, stopping just in front of her, cowering just a little. She crouched and stroked its neck.

  Longbourn slid his head along the ground to inspect the cat-like dragon. “I know you.”

  “I used to live in the wood here. Now I live in the house.” The tatzelwurm extended a thumbed paw and touched the wyvern’s snout.

  “He is now part of the Keep and under your protection. His name is Rumblkins.” She scratched the tatzelwurm with one hand and the wyvern with the other.

  Rumblkins? What kind of a name was that?

  His purr filled the woods, excessively loud for his size.

  “I like rats. They are very tasty.” Longbourn blinked almost flirtatiously.

  The tatzelwurm looked up at Miss Elizabeth.

  “It would be very appropriate for you to bring him one, now and again. Hill would hardly notice you bringing one less to her.”

  “I can do that.” Rumblkins voice was deep and almost furry. The tip of his tail flicked.

  Longbourn licked his lips. “Then you shall be very welcome here.”

  Rumblkins rubbed his head against Longbourn’s snout. Longbourn licked the top of Rumblkins’ head.

  Real dragons did not accept one another so easily. What was going on here?

  “Perhaps you might go in search of one now?” Miss Elizabeth said.

  Rumblkins mrowed and scampered away.

  “He is not the only new arrival. We have had a hatching of fairy dragons.”

  Longbourn rolled his eyes.

  At least there was something Darcy agreed with him on.

  Miss Elizabeth reached into her hood and withdrew three colorful fluff-balls. “You know April. These are Heather and Phoenix.”

  Longbourn sniffed at them. Small wonder he did not snuff them up his nose.

  “A male?”

  The red puff cheeped, its voice almost too high for Darcy to make out.

  “As much as you.” Phoenix jumped up and hovered between Longbourn’s eyes.

  “You might pick the mites off his head ridges.” She pointed.

  Phoenix obeyed, soon joined by the pink and blue fairy dragons.

  “Oh, yes, there, just there.” Longbourn purred and wagged his tail.

  This was disgusting.

  “I forgot how much I like fairy dragons. You will bring them when you come with Mary?”

  “I will. Thank you, I know they appreciate your welcome.”

  The pink and red fluffs lit on Longbourn’s snout, just between his eyes, squawked something, then curled up into sleeping balls. The blue one—April was it?—settled between them, a wing over each.

  How domestic.

  “Since you will be so well cared for by your Keep, you will have no need to disturb the militia that is coming to camp in Meryton.”

  Longbourn’s lip curled back. “Militia? A large number of men and beasts are coming to invade my territory?”r />
  “Not invade, dear one. They will be training here for a time, then move on. There is no reason to trouble yourself.” She edged around to scratch his ear again.

  Longbourn snorted, disturbing the sleeping chicks. April pecked his snout and scolded.

  The sight would have been comical had it not been likely to result in the quick demise of the fairy dragons in a single gulp.

  “I do not like militias. Remember what they did to—”

  Miss Elizabeth’s shoulders sagged. “Yes, I cannot forget my great aunt’s story. But eating her assailant did little to restore her honor.” She wrapped her arms tightly about her waist.

  Longbourn inched forward and wrapped his neck around her.

  She leaned into the dragon. “I promise we shall be very, very careful.”

  “I will eat anyone who hurts you or any of my Keep. Slowly, one tiny bite at a time.”

  Darcy shuddered. That was not a threat to be taken lightly.

  “I would not ask you to do otherwise. You are after all an estate dragon. You must protect your Keep. But pray, do not harass the militia.” She pressed her face to Longbourn. “It would be very bad for the Keep if the soldiers were to be meddled with.”

  “As long as they do not harm what is and who are mine, I will keep the peace ... but I want another sheep.”

  “You shall have one for each se’nnight they are here.”

  “I like that.”

  “I hoped it would make your forbearance worthwhile. I must ask an important favor of you whilst they are here.”

  “More? Is it not enough that I do not bother them?”

  “It should be, I know, but this is very, very important to all of dragonkind.”

  Longbourn craned his neck to look at her. “The missing firedrake egg?”

  “You know of it?”

  “All the major-dragons know.”

  “Why did you not tell me?” Her eyes grew wide.

  So did Darcy’s.

  “It is a dragon matter. I would have consulted you if necessary.”

  The whole of England knew of Pemberley’s trial? Darcy pressed his fist to his mouth.

  “I have met the Keeper of the missing egg.”

  Longbourn rose, slowly enough not to disturb the sleeping fairy dragons. Slowly enough to be threatening and ominous.

  He looked directly at Darcy. “Is that why you have brought that man here?”