Pemberley- Mr Darcy's Dragon

by Maria Grace

  “You allude, perhaps, to the entail of this estate.”

  “Ah sir, I do indeed. It is a grievous affair to my poor girls, you must confess. Not that I mean to find fault with you, for such things.”

  Elizabeth clutched her forehead. How entirely impolitic—and entirely typical—of her.

  “I am very sensible, madam, of the hardship to my fair cousins. But I can assure the young ladies that I come prepared to admire them. At present I will not say more, but perhaps when we are better acquainted—”

  “What is he looking for? A harem?” April shook her head forcefully enough to rustle the curtains.

  Hill bustled in. “Dinner is ready, madam.”

  Mr. Collins offered his arm and escorted Mama to the dining room. Jane and Elizabeth followed closely enough to hear Mr. Collins’ excessive admiration; the hall, the dining-room, and all its furniture were examined and praised. Was that just his way of making himself welcome, or was it inspired by a consideration of it all as his own future property? Only further acquaintance would tell.

  Uncle and Aunt Gardiner joined them in the dining room and were in due course introduced to Mr. Collins. Aunt was everything sweet and gracious. Uncle though, said little, his brow drawn in uncharacteristic, taciturn knots as Mr. Collins took the opportunity to fully introduce himself to the family.

  More than merely offering an introduction, Mr. Collins proved beyond anyone’s doubt, he was not a sensible man. The deficiencies afforded him by nature had been but little assisted by education or society. Though he belonged to one of the universities, he had attended classes while quite possibly learning nothing useful.

  A fortunate chance had recommended him to Lady Catherine de Bourgh when the living of Hunsford was vacant. The respect and veneration which he felt for her high rank and patronage, mingling with a very good opinion of himself, his authority as a clergyman, and his rights as a rector, made him altogether a mixture of pride and obsequiousness, self-importance and insipid humility.

  Having now a good house and very sufficient income, he intended to marry. In seeking reconciliation with the Longbourn family, he meant to choose one of the daughters, if he found them as handsome and amiable as they were represented by common report. Thus he would make amends for inheriting their father's estate. He thought it an excellent plan, full of eligibility and suitableness, and excessively generosity and unselfseeking on his own part.

  Unselfseeking—provided they were attractive and pleasant enough for him. How endearing.

  Over their heads, April kept up a running commentary of her diminishing opinion of Mr. Collins. Every time he spoke, it seemed, she found another trait to dislike. She did have a good humor about it, making it difficult for any at the table who heard her not to laugh aloud.

  When Mr. Collins paused his conversation as the second course was brought in, April poked her beak above the curtains, looked directly at him and whispered, “You are a condescending, ingratiating, self-important mammal, with the arrogance of a cockatrice and the appeal of the Snake King.”

  Elizabeth tried not to stare, but it was difficult to decide who not to stare at. Papa was struggling not to choke. Uncle Gardiner’s jaws were clenched so tight he might break a tooth. Aunt held her napkin to her face as she turned red while Mary hid her face in her hands. Mr. Collins brows furrowed as he looked not at his struggling family members, but into the very curtain where April hid.

  Could he hear her? Elizabeth’s face grew cold and prickly and she held her breath.

  Mr. Collins blinked several time, and he looked away.

  Elizabeth chanced a brief look toward April.

  “I am not sure. He does not hear clearly, that is certain, but he might be hard of hearing, perhaps with enough ability to be trained to hear passably. But I am not sure.”

  How odd for her not to be certain. She always knew.

  The looks on Papa’s and Uncle’s faces suggested they thought the same thing.

  “You seem very fortunate in your patroness. Lady Catherine de Bourgh's attention to your wishes, and consideration for your comfort, appear very remarkable.” Papa sipped his wine and sat back a little in his chair.

  Mr. Collins’ face brightened to almost blinding. “I have never in my life witnessed such behavior in a person of rank—”

  Just how many people of rank had he been in the presence of?

  “—such affability and condescension, I have myself experienced from Lady Catherine. She has graciously approved of both the discourses which I have already had the honor of preaching before her. She has also asked me twice to dine at Rosings, and has sent for me to make up her pool of evening quadrille. Some, I fear reckon her proud, but I have never seen anything but affability in her. She has always spoken to me as she would to any other gentleman and not had the smallest objection to my joining in the society of the neighborhood. Why, she has even approved of my leaving the parish occasionally for a week or two, to visit my relations.”

  “That is all very proper and civil I am sure,” said Mama, “and I dare say she is a very agreeable woman. I think you said she was a widow, sir? Has she any family?”

  “She has only one daughter, the heiress of Rosings, and of very extensive property. She is a most charming young lady indeed. Lady Catherine herself says that in point of true beauty, Miss De Bourgh is far superior to the handsomest of her sex; because there is that in her features which marks the young woman of distinguished birth.”

  “That means plain features and a big nose, which only fortune and substantial property can make beautiful,” April whispered.

  “She is unfortunately of a sickly constitution, which has prevented her making that progress in many accomplishments which she could not otherwise have failed of.”

  “So not only is she dreadfully plain, she has no real accomplishments to speak of. I wonder if she can even read.” April stared directly at Mr. Collins.

  He did not look up. “Her indifferent state of health unhappily prevents her being in town; and by that means, as I told Lady Catherine one day, has deprived the British court of its brightest ornament. Her ladyship seemed pleased with the idea. You may imagine that I am happy on every occasion to offer those little delicate compliments which are always acceptable to ladies. These are the kind of small things which please her ladyship, and it is a sort of attention which I conceive myself peculiarly bound to pay.”

  “It is happy for you that you possess the talent of flattering with delicacy. May I ask whether these pleasing attentions proceed from the impulse of the moment, or are the result of previous study?” Papa asked.

  “They arise chiefly from what is passing at the time. Though I sometimes amuse myself with suggesting and arranging such little elegant compliments as may be adapted to ordinary occasions, I always wish to give them as unstudied an air as possible.”

  At least it was now clear, Papa thought him ridiculous as well.

  This was the man to whom she would be tied for the rest of her life? A dragon-deaf windbag, who cared little whom he married so long as she pleased his eyes, eased his conscience and looked good to his patroness?

  A man who preferred such an easy life probably had no scruples about complaining when he did not find things so easy. His temper was probably ferocious. Not unlike Longbourn’s.

  This was the man Papa and Longbourn expected her to marry? She would be hemmed in on all sides by those demanding she provide them with ease and comfort with no consideration to her own desires.

  Managing one would be difficult enough, but both? And then if there were children? How could she care for them—especially if they could hear while their father could not—and the man, the dragon and the demands of the Blue Order?

  No, that was more than anyone could manage.

  She wrapped her arms around her waist, tight, but it did nothing to alleviate the emptiness within.

  She cast a pleading look at Papa, but he closed his eyes and turned aside.

  What had her life just
become?

  Morning sun streamed into the dressing room as Darcy lingered in the tub of hot water, having scrubbed every inch of his skin nearly raw. His clothing had been sent out to the laundress and his boots brushed and polished until they shone. He ducked down and scrubbed his hair once more. The bath last night had left him feeling so much improved, he did not want to miss any possible advantage this one might impart.

  He needed to remember to thank April for bringing the news herself. That was an unexpected courtesy that his attitude toward her had done nothing to warrant. It seemed something was bothering the little blue fluttertuft though.

  Perhaps it had something to do with the dragon-thunder he heard in the distance. Longbourn must be in a very ill humor to be so loud. What could have upset him so? It was difficult to tell with dragons. Sometimes they seemed so capricious.

  Walker certainly could be so when the mood struck him. Though he had only been gone a few days, the cockatrice’s absence was difficult to ignore. How much longer until he might return?

  Darcy clambered out of the copper tub. Stiff joints and uncertain knees reminded him of his first—and hopefully last—encounter with dragon venom. But at least drawing breath no longer had him bracing for the pain. That alone was reason to celebrate. His stomach grumbled a bit—had his appetite returned as well? Perhaps one more soak and scrub would leave him set to rights.

  He dressed and opened the window. The crisp smells of the morning always helped him begin the day.

  In a great flapping of wings, a cockatrice landed on the window sill. Walker?

  No, Rustle, dusty and droop-winged.

  He squared his jaw against the disappointment.

  “Have you eaten recently? Shall I call for a tray?” Darcy asked.

  Rustle hopped to the edge of the tub. “Food would be welcome. Might I?” He dipped his wing in the bath water.

  Darcy bowed and retreated. It was not wise to stand too near a bathing cockatrice. They enjoyed their baths a great deal.

  A tray arrived at his door in short order. Darcy took it from the maid, denying her entrance. Through the door, Rustle suggested that she did not think it unusual and that she had a great deal to do. She curtsied and hurried away.

  Darcy offered Rustle kippers and ham, which he wolfed down with aplomb. Darcy contented himself with toast and jam and a bit of cheese.

  Belly slightly distended, Rustle settled on the back of the chair opposite Darcy’s. “We encountered the militia company just a day out from here. Walker insisted he delay the remainder of his journey until we could search the company thoroughly. The good news: he is certain that the egg is with that company.”

  Darcy exploded from his seat, barely containing a shout.

  “That is the only good news to be had though.” Rustle squawked as if to make his point.

  “No doubt, nothing will be simple.” Darcy returned to his seat, heat creeping up his jaw.

  “Far from it. We could not determine precisely where the egg was hidden in the accoutrements of the militia. It was as if the scent had been deliberately spread throughout. Moreover, the supplies and rations are closely guarded. So closely, we could not approach without being shooed off like crows.” A shudder began at Rustle’s beak and rippled all the way down his body.

  “It cannot be that bad, with only a limited amount to be searched—”

  “The company arrived in Meryton yesterday evening. I stayed near, hoping I might be able to detect its presence as the supplies were moved. But I could not. And now there has been sufficient time for the egg to have been secreted away in some place where we might not even be able to smell it.”

  “Oh, bloody hell.” Darcy raked his wet hair.

  “Walker says, and I agree, it is too much for you to search alone. Bennet’s assistance is essential.”

  “Bennet’s assistance? How precisely am I to obtain that? I do not think he will admit me to his house.”

  “There is Miss Elizabeth ... no, did you offend her again?”

  “No ... yes ... I do not know. Truly I do not know. I had not thought so at the time, but in retrospect, I am not sure. I never am.” He kneaded his temples.

  “You offended her, I am certain. You could try to go to Gardiner. He has not Bennet’s resentments.”

  “Why do I not go to Longbourn directly and ask his assistance?” Darcy threw his hands in the air.

  Rustle shrugged and bobbed his head. “That is a thought ... perhaps a very good one.”

  “You must be joking.”

  “Not at all. Who better to assist you? Come, I shall make the petition for you.” Rustle pointed toward the window with his wing.

  “He will not see me.”

  “He may surprise you. If it does not work, then you can see Gardiner. You can ill afford to turn aside any possibility of help.”

  Rustle was right, though Darcy loathed admitting it. He hurried out, and followed Rustle into the woods.

  What was that sound? He paused and closed his eyes.

  Thunder perhaps? He peeked on eye open. No, there were no dark clouds. He shut his eyes again and concentrated.

  Those were dragon voices! The words though were unfamiliar ... were they speaking their own tongue? That was not possible though, who could Longbourn be talking to at that volume? Only another major-dragon could be that loud. And from the sound there was an argument brewing,

  Darcy tensed. Should he run to it, or away?

  Silence.

  Birds began chirping as though nothing had ever been different.

  Rustle circled back to him. “Why are you standing about so stupidly?”

  “Did you not hear?”

  Rustle cawed and flew into the woods.

  Darcy followed.

  Rustle approached Longbourn’s cavern while Darcy waited behind the shrubbery. The ground was no more disturbed than it had been the last time he was here. Two arguing dragons could not possibly have occupied this space.

  Lovely. Now he was hearing dragon voices where there were none. If he did not find the egg soon, he would be a candidate for Bedlam.

  “Laird Longbourn,” Rustle called, bowing toward the dark opening in the hillside.

  Grumbles and growls came from within. The ground thumped and a toothy, scaly head appeared. “Leave me. I have no wish for company.”

  The deep, rumbling voice resounded in Darcy’s chest. Was it possible to feel a voice more than hear it?

  Rustle bowed, touching his forehead to the ground, wings extended. “Pray excuse the intrusion, but the matter is urgent. Most urgent.”

  Longbourn leaned down and snorted, ruffling Rustle’s feather-scales and stirring a cloud of dust. “What do you dare consider urgent in my presence?”

  Who was this creature with all the power and pride of true draconic presence? Was this the same dragon that wagged his tail and all but purred with Miss Elizabeth’s ministrations to him?

  “The missing dragon egg—”

  Longbourn reared up and roared. “That egg has caused me nothing but grief! I wish to hear no more of it.”

  Darcy rushed out of the bushes. “Then pray, Laird Longbourn, assist us in finding it, and we shall have it gone from your territory.”

  Longbourn’s eyes bulged. He huffed and grunted—was he preparing a poison breath? He stomped toward Darcy and leaned down close to his face.

  “This is your fault. Everything is your fault. You failed your Keep. You endangered my Keeper. You bring trespassers to my territory.” Longbourn’s tail whipped across the ground, sending small stones and branches flying.

  A drop of ocher venom dripped from his fang and landed, burning, on Darcy’s cheek. He squeezed his eyes shut, eyes watering from the fumes. Lifting his shoulder, he rubbed the cheek against his coat. It would probably be ruined, eaten through by the noxious acid.

  A smart man would run. A major-dragon in high dudgeon was nothing to be trifled with.

  Darcy swallowed hard. “The fault is not all mine. I was betray
ed by one who I trusted as a brother. Not once, but twice. He...”

  A low roar began deep in Longbourn’s throat. The wyvern’s patience was short—dangerously so.

  Why tell the dragon such things?

  But what else could he say?

  “He tried first to steal my sister—elope with her. I stopped that and banished him from Pemberley grounds, sending him into the militia. I was assured by the head of the Order it would be enough to protect my sister, and Pemberley Keep. It never occurred to me that he—he was not bound by the laws of the Order—he could not actually hear. He was a trickster, a charlatan. When he could not take my sister’s fortune, he went after something of greater value. He knew the grounds of Pemberley well enough to sneak in and steal the egg.”

  “Why do I care for any of this?”

  “Because, the man is here now, with the egg. Help me find it, and I shall take it from your territory.”

  Longbourn’s eyes narrowed. “I do not trust you. You permitted my Keeper to be injured.”

  “The Order commanded us to do everything in our power to retrieve the egg. If there is anyone to blame it should be them.”

  “You should have protected her.” Longbourn’s breathe came faster. Deeper, pungent, potent.

  “Had there been any reason to suspect—”

  “Any idiot would have anticipated maps that valuable would be protected.” His tail thumped the side of the cavern opening. A small shower of dirt tumbled down.

  “Valuable? To whom? Only to smugglers and thieves. They would hardly have access to dragon venom.” Darcy’s eyes bulged and his jaw dropped. “You knew they were warded against intruders?”

  “You permitted her to be hurt. Now she is weak and angry. It is your fault we quarreled.”

  “You quarreled with your Keeper?”

  With Miss Elizabeth, whom all dragons adored?

  Oh, this was bad.

  Very, very bad.

  “She has not returned to me. She used to come to me every day, but today the sister came. The sister said my Keeper will not see me.”

  The anger in Longbourn’s voice was clear, but there was something else ... was it sadness, loneliness, fear?