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

by Maria Grace

  Perhaps he should not have overseen her letter writing so closely. Given her expression, it was probably intrusive and controlling. But if she understood, she could hardly blame him. She might even agree.

  It was utterly maddening to have so much to tell someone, so many questions to ask, and be utterly and completely unable to communicate in any way. Suggesting words, and phrases, and the occasional paragraph to Georgiana was the closest he could come to actually writing to Miss Elizabeth himself.

  And he had so many things he needed to say.

  Miss Elizabeth had brought such great comfort to little Pemberley with her suggestions on teething. Even Rosings was grateful, no longer subjected to the whining and tempers of the suffering drakling. And the treatment for the scale mites! Both dragons were benefiting from the thorough scrubbing and anointing that he and Georgiana had given them.

  Of course, he was the one to scrub Rosings. Neither Aunt Catherine nor Anne would never stoop to such personal attentions to anyone, man or dragon.

  That seemed to be what set Miss Elizabeth apart from every other Dragon Keeper he had encountered. There seemed to be no limits on what she would do for them, ignoble as it may be. Washing, scrubbing, scratching, petting, listening—no service was too humble for her to offer them. And they uniformly loved her for it. Even crusty Rosings seemed to be developing a soft spot for Miss Elizabeth solely on the basis of Pemberley’s and Walker’s recommendations.

  “Darcy.”

  He jumped. Blast and botheration! Why was she not still asleep? It was at least an hour before she usually rose.

  He turned slowly, gathering his composure, and bowed from his shoulders. “Good morning, Anne.”

  Light from the hall window silhouetted her, making it difficult to see her face. But the swirl of taffeta was unmistakable. No comfortable morning dress for her, no, she was dressed for the marriage mart.

  He dragged his hand down his face.

  “It is indeed a good morning, I think. Will you accompany me to breakfast?” She reached for his arm.

  He edged just out of reach. “Forgive me, but I have already partaken. I am on my way to Hunsford.”

  “Hunsford? Whatever for? Surely you could send a servant for you.” She cast about as if looking for one.

  “I very much like a morning ride.”

  “Then take the gig, or the curricle, or the phaeton, and I shall come with you.”

  Darcy turned aside to roll his eyes. “I did not think you liked to be out in the morning air. I seem to recall it disagreeing with your constitution.”

  “I am feeling particularly well this morning. I am sure it will agree with me.”

  “I intend to visit the post office. You dislike the post master.”

  She balanced her hands on her hips. “Why, it sounds as if you do not wish me to accompany you this morning.”

  “I am rather accustomed to keeping to myself in the mornings.”

  “You will have to get used to my company at some point.” She smiled and batted her eyes. “Do not offer me that stupid look. A married man has to spend some time with his wife.”

  “I am in no mood to have this discussion once again. I have entirely enough to manage with little Pemberley. I cannot possibly see to the needs of two dragons and two estates.”

  She flicked the idea away. “Hire stewards to attend the land. That is simple enough.”

  “What of the dragons? You hardly attend to Rosings’ needs as it is. How do you think you will attend the needs of a drakling?”

  “You are spoiling that creature entirely too much. Leave her to Rosings and it will all be well. You see, for our lifetimes, Pemberley will live here with her brood mother. Rosings will care for her, and all is settled.”

  “And in what book of dragon lore did you find such a ridiculous plan?” He clutched his temples.

  “Book of lore? It is common sense, Darcy. Can you not see?”

  “Most certainly not! It is a recipe for disaster—utter and complete disaster.”

  “What is more natural than a brood mother taking care of her young? You make this far too complicated. Any reasonably intelligent person—”

  “Would realize that they had no idea of what they did not know, especially about a creature as rare, secretive, and dangerous as a firedrake!”

  “There you go, prattling on again.”

  He took her shoulders in his hands. “Do you know how the firedrake population is kept in check?”

  “They only lay eggs once every one hundred years.”

  “Even that is not enough. Like most top predators, they also are apt to kill off their young.”

  Her eyes bulged, and she gaped.

  “Once Pemberley hits her first growth spurt and requires a substantial increase in her feedings, Rosings will see her as a threat. If I do not remove her to her own territory before then, Rosings will likely kill the competition for her prey.”

  “Surely you jest.”

  “Perhaps you should study your dragon lore and confirm my assertions before you try to call me out for deceit.”

  Her brow knit, and her eyes narrowed. A tantrum was imminent. He clenched his teeth.

  “How dare you—” She stomped.

  He answered in kind, nearly on her toes. “And how dare you think I would allow such an ignorant, selfish girl the care and management of a creature as rare as a baby firedrake.”

  She jumped back. “One whose egg you seem to have had stolen right out from under you.”

  “Enough!”

  “You will have to do better than that. I have lived with Mother all my life.” She turned on her heel and stormed away.

  He stormed to the morning room where Aunt Catherine still held audience with Fitzwilliam.

  Darcy pointed at him then at the door.

  Fitzwilliam jumped to his feet and dashed out. Smart, smart man.

  Aunt Catherine planted her hands on the table and rose, eyes blazing. “What is the meaning of this, Darcy? How dare you ...”

  He stepped forward and glowered. Apparently he had mastered his father’s expression after all.

  She returned to her seat and poured a cup of tea for him. “You look troubled. Why do you not sit down and tell me of it?”

  He folded his arms over his chest. “I have had enough. I will tolerate no more.”

  “What precisely is that supposed to mean?”

  “Georgiana and I, and Fitzwilliam if he chooses, will be leaving today.”

  Her head came up sharply. “You cannot leave. Pemberley is far too young to travel all the way to Derbyshire now.”

  “I am well aware of that.”

  “Then stop with your ridiculous bluffing. I do not appreciate your masculine posturing and bullying.”

  “We will take rooms at the Hunsford Inn or perhaps take a town house there.”

  She lost color in her face. “You cannot do that! Think of the talk. What will people say, you leaving my home but staying on in Hunsford?”

  “Frankly, I do not care. It is not my problem.”

  “Gossip is always a problem! You must be concerned with your reputation.”

  “You mean your reputation, for which I do not give two shillings.” He snorted.

  “You would do this to me?”

  “I am doing nothing to you. I am only acting in the best interest of myself and my sister. The situation here is intolerable, and I will have it no longer.” He bounced his fist off the table.

  “What is intolerable? You are talking nonsense.”

  “Anne still wanders about insisting that I will marry her—an illusion you are obviously supporting, despite the message Fitzwilliam brought from the Blue Order.”

  “That nonsense? They offer alternatives, not requirements. They do not stand in the way of your marriage to Anne.” She rolled her eyes, but a light sheen appeared on her upper lip.

  “Anne is the most ignorant excuse for a Keeper I have ever encountered. She knows nothing about firedrakes—she actually s
uggested that she and I take residence here and allow Rosings to raise Pemberley!”

  She flicked the idea aside. “She is merely forgetful in her distress. I am sure you rattled the poor dear with all your shouting and stomping. You must remember her delicate constitution.”

  “Call off your daughter and your cockatrix. Give Walker and I some peace or I will set my man to packing immediately.” He slapped the table.

  Aunt Catherine covered her eyes with her hand and huffed. “I will speak to Cait. It is possible she has been ... overzealous in her pursuit. Clearly that has not worked. I will suggest to her that it is time for a different tack.”

  “Walker will appreciate that, but what of Anne?”

  “You and Anne have been promised since your infancy. It has been the dearest wish of your mother and me that you should unite our two great estates—”

  He held up an open hand. “Pray stop. I know the litany. I have heard it since I was ten years old. That does not change my mind.”

  “Has Anne even met little Pemberley? You have complained that the drakling is pining for that Bennet girl. Introduce her to Anne. I have every confidence that she will immediately recognize Anne’s superiority and quite forget about Miss Bennet. There has never been a dragon that has not taken to Anne.”

  “If they do not take to one another, then you shall instruct Anne to importune me no further on the matter of marriage.”

  She stared at him, jaw silently working. Clearly she wanted another option, but none was forthcoming.

  “Or shall I instruct my valet to pack my trunks?”

  “Very well. You are as stubborn and unreasonable as your father.”

  “I shall take that as a compliment. Good day.” He bowed from his shoulders and sauntered out.

  He called for his horse and headed for Hunsford.

  How could Aunt Catherine really think it possible that Pemberley would take to Anne as she had to Miss Elizabeth? Any fool could see that was utterly and completely impossible. Anne barely had the time of day for Quincy and flatly ignored Blanche—a creature that lived in the kitchen was far beneath her notice.

  Had Miss Elizabeth the opportunity, she would be sitting on the floor in the middle of the small upstairs sitting room, listening to Quincy’s stories of all the guests that had stayed at Rosings. She would insist upon knowing about the dragons, not caring at all about the peers and nobility that had graced the rooms of Rosings Park. She would probably tease out his passion for shiny buttons and find some way to make sure he had new ones to add to his horde. He would introduce her to Blanche, and they would sit together in the kitchen, sipping warm milk and honey while that fairy dragon of hers preened Blanche’s head ridge.

  What a mistress she would make to a Dragon Keeping estate. Her lack of fortune might make her seem unworthy, but everything else about her declared her exceptional.

  Everything.

  He fingered the letter in his pocket. It would not do to let Pemberley know how much he missed her, too.

  A week later, the Bennet family, including Mr. Collins, was invited to dine at Netherfield Park. Mama received the invitation with great effusions. How successful Jane had been in catching Mr. Bingley’s attentions. Certainly she would be well-settled soon. How wonderful it would be to have one—or even more—daughters married.

  Papa harrumphed and shut himself in his study. He was not just playing the curmudgeon, though. His legs and feet were in a particularly bad way, so much so, he could hardly tolerate an evening away from home. Heaven forbid he openly declare such limitations, though. Far better to be difficult and grumpy.

  Jane insisted Elizabeth assist her in preparing for the evening. As Elizabeth arranged her hair, she carried on about the wonders of Mr. Bingley. He was everything a young man should be. Well-mannered, kind, generous, thoughtful, handsome. Everything Jane needed a man to be.

  Oh, to be so in love.

  Not that she would ever know such a thing.

  Elizabeth had not been back to Netherfield since the ball ... the night that Pemberley hatched.

  No, tears would not be helpful now. Besides, it was silly and foolish to weep for a dragon who was well Kept. Maddening as Darcy was, he doted on the hatchling and would ensure she was given every advantage a drakling could have. He even showed himself capable of affection for the dragon, despite spitefully tearing her away from Hertfordshire just because he could. What more could the baby need?

  Elizabeth dabbed her eyes with a handkerchief and set it aside. No, she ought to bring it just in case. She tucked it, and a spare, into her reticule and met her sisters in the vestibule.

  Papa saw them off and shuffled back into the house, reminding her with a final glance to be attentive to Mr. Collins.

  Mama and Lydia started their chatter as soon as they entered the coach and did not stop until the driver helped them out at Netherfield’s front door. Sometimes, their nonstop prattle was a distinct advantage. Mr. Collins could not get a word in and kept silent the entire way. Moreover, with no response demanded from her, she could continue her mental recitations of the conjugations of the dragon word ‘to aerosolize one’s poison’ in the future perfect tense.

  Mr. Collins handed her out of the coach himself and offered her his arm to walk in. The forced smile hurt her face, just a little, but she would get used to it.

  Self-satisfied fool. Not your equal. Too bad there is no choice.

  She looked over her shoulder, but there was no one there. Botheration, she needed to get her thoughts under control.

  “Is there something wrong, cousin?” Mr. Collins peered over her shoulder.

  “No, it is nothing. I merely though I heard something.” She shrugged and proceeded into the house.

  The housekeeper greeted them and led them to the drawing room. Mama seemed honored by the formality, which only pleased Jane. Good for them both to be happy.

  The Bingleys and the Hursts waited for them in the drawing room, rising to welcome them. If only she might slip away, perhaps back to the mapmaker’s room for another glance at the dragon script written there. She had studied so much of that language recently, she might be able to make some of it out.

  But alas, her absence would undoubtedly be noticed, and more importantly, the airborne venom would not yet have settled enough to make the sojourn safe. Perhaps Jane—and April, if necessary—could help her to secure an invitation in a few months.

  Miss Bingley announced the dishes at the dining table. She set an excellent table, which Mama was good enough to remark upon for the first quarter hour of the meal. During said time, the footmen served an excellent carrot soup.

  Across from her, Mr. Collins tucked his napkin into his collar and reached for the wrong spoon. Elizabeth cleared her throat, caught his eye and tapped the correct spoon. He quickly adjusted and continued on his way.

  What was more remarkable, that he was so easily guided, a bit of a gudgeon really, or that he was so unperturbed about being led? While it was nice that he did not take offence, somehow it felt a little off-putting that he appeared to have no manly ego to injure.

  Did Lady Catherine have someone at her table to offer him the same service, or did she perform it herself, with less subtlety of course? Perhaps his lack of ego served him well at that table.

  “The mutton is excellent, Miss Bingley, just excellent. It puts me in mind of a favorite meal served at Rosings Park. Her Ladyship, Lady Catherine likes to serve it on Sundays, you see ...”

  Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst exchanged glances and rolled their eyes. It was rude, no doubt, but who could blame them? At the foot of the table, Bingley seemed unaware of any conversation besides his own with Jane.

  The word ‘besotted’ might well be applied.

  No, it would not suit to pursue those thoughts. Jealousy was unbecoming.

  “With it she would instruct her cooks to serve a particular sauce, which originated in the south of France I am told. There is very little of French cuisine that she finds tolerable to be
sure, but this particular dish ...”

  “Does she employ a French man-cook?” Mama asked, dabbing her lips with her napkin.

  Mama had always held a not-too-secret ambition to hire such a man-cook.

  “She did at one time, but found his dishes presumptuous, and he was dismissed. She says English cooking is far superior, and indeed she is correct.” Collins sipped his wine.

  Mrs. Hurst sniggered behind her hand.

  “Preposterous!” Mr. Hurst brought his hand down hard enough to rattle nearby glasses.

  Mr. Collins sputtered and drew a breath deep enough to support a great many words.

  Mary nudged Elizabeth with her elbow, sending her an alarmed glance.

  Elizabeth coughed and caught Mr. Collins’ gaze, barely shaking her head. “It is fortunate that there are so many styles of food and wine available to us that everyone might claim a different favorite, is it not?”

  Yes, it was a vacuous remark, but with it she set Mr. Collins on a different course of conversation. Who knew that he and Mr. Hurst would share a fascination with fine wine? At least it kept the conversation on safe ground for the remainder of the meal.

  What relief, when Miss Bingley led the ladies away to the drawing room. Elizabeth lingered behind her sisters, savoring a few moments of peace. Keeping Mr. Collins under good regulation at the dinner table was far more exhausting than managing all four of the Gardiner children at once.

  A painting she had not noticed on her prior stay at Netherfield caught her eye.

  Something about it felt very familiar ... it must have been done by the mapmaker. Though a landscape, not a map, his style was too distinct. The strokes, the shading—and the dragon script in the bottom corner! Her head raced as she leaned close, mouthing the syllables as she read.

  The words meant destination or meeting place. Or at least she thought they did. But what could that have to do with a bit of landscape that looked like nearly every coastline in England?

  “Lizzy, do not dawdle! Miss Bingley is worried that you have not joined us!” Mama took her by the arm and dragged her to the drawing room.