Longbourn: Dragon Entail: A Pride and Prejudice Variation (Jane Austen's Dragons Book 2)

by Maria Grace

  “I am surprised he has such a sensible opinion of them.”

  Mary frowned just like Mama. “That is not gracious, Elizabeth. He is not a stupid man.”

  “Perhaps he is not, but he does not make it easy to tell.” She folded her arms across her chest.

  “You are awfully prejudiced. If you were not always so hard on him—”

  “Forgive me, but I do not think I am hard on him at all. Consider what he did and has threatened to do to the minor dragons! You think that tolerable? What is more, he forbade me from telling dragon stories to the children! The audacity!”

  “I concede, he is apt to overstep himself, and he does indulge in a high level of what I can only call the ridiculous. But in all fairness, your stubbornness is of no help, either.”

  “My stubbornness! You know I am right. Should I just concede to him because he declares a thing so?” Elizabeth threw her hands in the air.

  “If you would be a little more flexible, you might find him easier to manage. Instead of arguing, you could have explained the higher principles contained in your stories, ones he might appreciate. He would have supported you then.”

  “He has no right—” Elizabeth dragged her foot into the dirt. When had she picked up Longbourn’s habit?

  “As heir to the estate, some would argue he does have the right. Certainly Papa does not see him as overstepping.”

  Elizabeth clutched her temples. When had Mary taken their side?

  “What would it take away from you to help him to see things in a different and more favorable way, instead of always arguing?”

  “It is an insult to be questioned by one who does not know what he is talking about.”

  “How is he supposed to know what he is talking about when dragons are a grand secret to which he has not been privy?” Mary cocked her head and raised an eyebrow. “Forgive me for being so bold, but is it possible that at least part of the problem is that you are very proud yourself?”

  Elizabeth’s head snapped up, briefly unbalancing Heather from her perch. “Proud? Me? Perhaps you have confused me with Mr. Darcy. If there has been anyone in the neighborhood who has suffered from pride, it is he.”

  “He was prone to pride as well, but he is far from the only one. Consider, you are Papa’s favorite and are accustomed to being treated as such.”

  “That sounds unfavorably like jealousy.” Who would have thought that Mary’s vice?

  “You are also the favorite of every dragon at Longbourn, at Gracechurch Street, and a few you have met on your journeys with Papa as I understand it. Do you deny it?”

  “What has that to do with anything?” Elizabeth adjusted the buttons on her spencer.

  “The dragons treat you with great deference. Papa makes no bones about treating you as his favorite. Of course it is difficult for you when someone does not show you favor the way you want it. It hurts one’s pride—”

  “So the reason I do not like Mr. Collins is that I am not his favorite?”

  Mary threw her hand in the air and waved it near Elizabeth’s face. “Not at all—can you not see, you are his favorite. He has singled you out, you know. He likes you very much indeed. But you have set yourself so against him that you will not see that.”

  “How can you say that when he is so ill-disposed to all things draconic?”

  “He is not nearly so ill-disposed, as you call it, if one is not so dead-set on having things exactly her way. If you would just compromise a little, you would find that he is quite malleable and amenable to nearly everything that is important to you.” She poked Elizabeth’s shoulder hard enough to set her back a step.

  “You would keep Heather in a cage because he insisted?”

  Heather squawked and flapped her little wings.

  “He made that suggestion to me. We merely demonstrated to him how very well-trained she was, and that she was able and willing to follow all my commands. That was exactly what he wanted to know. She did a few tricks, sang whilst perched on his finger, and retreated to an inconspicuous spot on the shelf when asked. All his objections were answered, and he is feeling quite indifferent to her presence now.” Mary held out her hand for Heather.

  “She performed for him like a learned pig?”

  Heather lit on Mary’s finger, snorted and shook her head.

  “Hardly. She saw the advantage in convincing Mr. Collins of her agreeable nature and was happy to do so.”

  “Indeed I was.” Heather blinked her huge eyes. “He is little bother to me now. I do not understand why April is so troubled by him. He even scratched under my chin.”

  Elizabeth’s eye’s bulged. Collins, scratching a dragon? “April would never tolerate him touching her. She has not your easy-going temperament.”

  “While that is true, perhaps if you explained to her the need for it, she might be willing to be a little more ... settled?”

  Elizabeth scoured her face with her palms.

  Mary sighed and pressed her hand to her mouth. “I just want to offer you some possible means by which your ends might be accomplished without you being reduced to a shell of yourself.”

  “I shall give what you have said a great deal of thought.”

  “And you will try to do it?”

  “I will try.”

  Mary squeezed her hand. She and Heather returned to the house.

  Elizabeth ran her hands along her upper arms and exhaled heavily. It was good that April had not been around to hear Mary’s comments. She would have readily taken offense and was not one to easily forgive.

  She kicked a twig, but its thorns tangled in the hem of her petticoat instead of skittering out of her way.

  “Dragon’s blood!”

  Good thing no one was around to hear that oath—Papa would be horrified to hear her cursing like a common—well, an uncommon—sailor.

  She tossed the offending branch aside and continued on.

  Papa had not been pleased to learn that Longbourn had taught her all manner of coarse language. But even then, he had not been able to bring himself to curb the wyvern.

  Longbourn had always been such a good friend to her ... until now. Until she argued with him, and refused to accommodate his wishes. If only he would try to be more understanding.

  Great heavens! That is exactly what Mary was asking of her.

  She grabbed the nearest tree trunk and clung to it. No, certainly not. Mary could not be implying that her own behavior was anything like Longbourn’s.

  She staggered to an unobtrusive bench tucked between the trees and pulled her knees up under her chin.

  Her behavior was nothing like the wyvern’s. She had not threatened to eat anyone.

  She was Papa’s favorite, though. But it was because of her dragon affinity. He was the Historian of the Blue Order, so of course he would favor any child who loved dragons as much as he. That was only to be expected.

  He did treat her differently than her sisters, indulging her interests, her whims. He had taken her traveling on Blue Order business, to London, Bath, Manchester, Brighton, and more. None of her sisters or Mama had ever traveled with him. Even when he could have easily arranged for their entertainment in Brighton, he chose to bring only her. How must that have looked to her sisters?

  She pressed her forehead to her knees.

  Mama favored Jane and Lydia, doting on them. They could do no wrong in her eyes. Jane was so sweet and good, that it made no difference in her disposition. But Lydia? Even Charlotte Lucas had begun remarking upon Lydia’s wild behavior.

  Had she, in her own way, become as indecorous as Lydia? As proud and insensitive as Mr. Darcy? She dragged her sleeve across blurry eyes. Pray, no, it could not be so. Could it?

  Was it really so wrong that she had always wanted to marry for love? There was every indication that Jane would have the opportunity. Why should she not?

  Because a Dragon Keeper had greater responsibilities.

  And she needed to act like it.

  Mary was right. It was time fo
r her to rise above being a spoiled little girl. If Mary and Heather could manage Mr. Collins, surely she and April could do the same.

  ***

  It required two days of coaxing and cajoling for April to agree to Elizabeth’s plan and venture out into Mr. Collins’ company again. She kept close to Elizabeth and followed commands like a show animal. Mr. Collins approved, most heartily, but April’s resultant temper could only be quelled afterwards with copious amounts of honey. Hopefully, she would become accustomed to performing for Collins soon, or the poor dear would soon grow too fat to fly.

  Elizabeth forced herself to remain in the parlor while Collins read to them. Silently reciting verb conjugations from a tome of dragon script she had found tucked in an odd corner of Papa’s study did a great deal to make Mr. Collins’ readings more tolerable.

  Together with her sisters, they played spillikins in the afternoons. His short, pudgy fingers were not well adept for the game, but following Mary’s lead, Elizabeth encouraged him and made suggestions that improved his play. His long legs gave him a slight advantage when they went outside to play battledore and shuttlecock. He was able to get to the shuttlecock rapidly enough, but hitting it was another story altogether. Even Mary complimented her on how patiently she had borne it when he accidentally struck her in the face with his battledore.

  April, though, required a substantial dose of chamomile tea and honey afterwards to not claw his eyes out. At least no one objected to Elizabeth retiring to her chambers for the rest of the day after that incident.

  All told, though, perhaps Mary was right. With a little flexibility and creativity, Mr. Collins might just be managed enough to be tolerable.

  Fitzwilliam arrived with Georgiana exactly on the date and time he said he would. One might think the military would have influenced him toward such precision, but he had been that way all his life. Nearly drove his family to distraction with his punctuality. Perhaps that was why he did it.

  Aunt Catherine showed her new guests all the proper attentions and then some. Darcy’s company had lost some of its shine. She was ready for guests who might better fit her needs as an excessively attentive hostess.

  Darcy excused himself from the post-dinner drawing room entertainments as early as he could without drawing the ire of either of the de Bourgh women. Fitzwilliam was quick to take advantage of the opportunity, pinching the brandy decanter and a pair of snifters on the way out.

  He pulled the door of Darcy’s chambers closed behind him and leaned against the door as though barring it from the enemy. He balanced the snifters in one hand and poured brandy with the other. “That was a rather spectacular retreat. I see you have not lost your touch.”

  Darcy took a snifter. “It seems a necessary survival skill.”

  They dropped into a pair of wingback chairs near the fireplace. A gentle breeze brought in the scents of the night as they sat in blessed silence for several minutes. Why could the de Bourgh women not appreciate the value of quiet companionship?

  “Where is Walker?” Fitzwilliam peered at the bed curtains and other high perches in the room.

  “I expect he will be along as soon as he catches wind of the brandy. He appreciates it as much as you do.” He pointed to a small glass on the table.

  Fitzwilliam chuckled and filled the glass. “Forgive me, but I still find it odd to see your dragon drink. At least he holds his liquor better than most men.”

  “I will let him know you said that.” Darcy raised his glass toward him. “Dare I ask how the journey went?”

  Fitzwilliam took a deep draw from his glass. “If you are asking if Georgiana still suffers from sickness in the carriage, yes, most definitely. I have never seen anyone with such a delicate constitution. As if fretting over all of the dragon encounters she would have at Rosings and her impending introduction to Pemberley were not enough to drive her to distraction.”

  Darcy leaned into the chair and stared at the ceiling. “I suppose it was too much to hope she had begun to grow out of her shyness towards dragons.”

  “She dreads dragons and is little happier about most people. The dear girl is nearly as bad as you in that regard. Some things, it seems, will never change.”

  “Perhaps a Dragon Friend of her own might help cure her of this rubbish?” Darcy bounced steepled hands off his chin.

  “What possible Dragon Friend would not drive her to distraction? Even Walker who is more civilized than most men keeps her utterly tongue-tied.”

  “So she has not changed.” Walker landed on the table and harrumphed. He sampled the brandy. “Very nice.”

  “Whilst in Meryton, we met several fairy dragons—”

  Fitzwilliam snorted. “Those senseless flutter-tufts?”

  “They are not all senseless bits.” Walker grumbled.

  Fitzwilliam’s eyes grew very wide. “You are the last one I would expect to say such a thing.”

  Walker fluttered his wings in something that resembled a shrug.

  “It is true. There was fairy dragon in Meryton with the venom to stand up to Walker. It was something seeing her going beak to beak with him.” Darcy covered his mouth and chuckled.

  “April is a rare example of her kind and an excellent influence on the hatchlings. I confess she has forced me to rethink my opinion of her kind.” Walker paced the table as he lectured, wings folded tightly over his back. He could have taught classes at Cambridge with that posture.

  “Speaking of hatchlings,” Fitzwilliam leaned forward, elbows on knees. “Do you think you can convince Cait to allow me to try to befriend one of your next clutch?”

  Walker took a deep draw from his brandy and tucked his head under his wing.

  “That is rather a sore point right now.” Darcy sipped his brandy.

  “But I thought—”

  “Well then perhaps you should sire her clutch.” Walker snarled. He picked up his brandy glass and upended it, downing the remaining liquid in a single gulp.

  Darcy covered his eyes with his hands as Fitzwilliam laughed raucously. Unfortunately a few of Rowlandson’s more exotic prints flashed through his mind. Probably exactly what Fitzwilliam was thinking of as well. It would be days before he could shake those images from his mind.

  “So, Georgiana is not the only one who has not changed.” Fitzwilliam wiped his eyes on his sleeve.

  “Hardly.” Walker paced along the table.

  “I am not sure who Cait favors more, Aunt Catherine or Anne.” Darcy refilled Walker’s glass.

  “When she is not broody, definitely the Lady, but currently, she favors the young one.”

  It was not usually a compliment when a dragon refused to refer to one by name.

  Except Pemberley’s references to Miss Elizabeth as “Her”—that title was spoken with near reverence.

  “Speaking of Anne—” Fitzwilliam reached for his glass.

  “I would rather not.”

  “One more thing that has not changed.” Fitzwilliam chuckled, then forced his features into a more proper expression.

  Not that he succeeded, but at least he made the effort.

  “Seriously though, Darce, we really must speak of Anne.”

  “I swear, if you tell me I should purchase a special license or even an ordinary one, I shall pitch you out of the window and blame the deed on Walker.”

  “I will help. But blame Quincy—he is a much more believable culprit.”

  Fitzwilliam threw up his hands as though in surrender. “Far be it from me to do such a thing.” He reached into his jacket and removed a letter affixed with the blue wax seal of the Blue Order. “Father sends you his official greetings.”

  “How kind of him. I expect this missive contains his instructions to have the marriage settlements prepared and sent to him for his approval?” Darcy refilled his own glass.

  “Though it is tempting to allow you to stew in your own venom, I would not have Walker consider me cruel. That letter does not condemn you. It contains your pardon.”

  Darc
y sat bolt upright. “My what?”

  “You heard me. Pardon, reprieve—if you wish to be dramatic, salvation. It is not merely a letter from your Uncle Matlock, but rather an official notice from the Chancellor of the Blue Order. The marriage clauses have been amended to reflect—how did they put it—‘the societal changes and customs of men.’ The dragons have made the concession. As long as a proper Keeper is ensured, and the Keeper’s desired marriage does not present a danger of exposure of dragon kind, then an estate dragon cannot enforce or prevent a marriage.”

  Darcy cracked the seal and read the letter. All the formal language aside, that was exactly what the letter said.

  By Jove! He dragged in breath like a half-drowned man and sprang to his feet. Free—he was indeed free! He paced along the windows.

  Fitzwilliam and Walker laughed heartily.

  “You should see yourself, Darce—you look nothing so much as a man who has escaped Tyburn’s tree.”

  “You would feel quite the same if you faced a marriage that would give you responsibility for two estates and two dragons!”

  “You would complain of such wealth?”

  “Have you any idea of how much work a major dragon is? Hardly the kind of work one can turn over to servants.”

  “Which is exactly why you would invite me to live at Rosings and manage it for you.” Fitzwilliam leaned back and balanced one foot on top of the other.

  Darcy rubbed his eyes with thumb and forefinger. “Better you should marry Anne and be the proper Keeper here.”

  “It is a nice idea to be sure, but as eldest son, you are a much more attractive match.”

  “Well, perhaps your fortunes have changed. Once Anne recovers from her disappointment, perhaps your father can press your suit for you.”

  “I suppose then I should be on my very best behavior.” Fitzwilliam drained his snifter. “Perhaps if Cait will allow me to befriend—”

  “If Darcy does not need to mate at a dragon discretion, then I do not do so at a man’s.” Walker growled and flew out of the window.

  “Touchy fellow. I say, the resemblance between you two is utterly uncanny.” Fitzwilliam smirked.