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

by Maria Grace

  “Enough! You are doing our daughter no favor in the eyes of her suitor.” Papa slapped the desk.

  Elizabeth winced. No doubt he would be paying for his rash acts tonight.

  “She is a very good girl. You must believe that, Mr. Collins. She will be an excellent manager who will run your household very well. Have no doubts on that point.”

  “I am sure, with a little persuasion, she will easily be made to understand her own mind.”

  There, he had said it. Papa had said it—all but admitting he and Longbourn had colluded together. Neither trusted her enough to uphold her duties. They would stoop to the most disgusting, unethical means they could to control her.

  Her stomach lurched; bitter acid burned the back of her tongue.

  It was one thing to consider a life spent managing Mr. Collins by legitimate, honest means, but to face a life being played like a marionette on a stage—

  No! That was beyond the pale.

  She gathered her skirts and pelted upstairs to her room.

  The plain oak door was solid and strong behind her, bearing her up as her knees trembled.

  Remember to breathe ... deep breaths. One cannot think if one does not breathe.

  “I heard what he said! I heard it! This is very, very bad! What are you going to do?” April peeked out from the folds of her shawl. “What are we going to do?”

  “I am leaving. I cannot stay when they will take such means against me. If even the dragon of my Keep does not respect me, then what have I?”

  “Lizzy?” Mary slipped into her room, quietly shutting the door behind her. “I heard Mama shrieking downstairs. What happened? I thought that you were going to accept Mr. Collins.”

  “I was, until Longbourn decided he needed to try and persuade me to do so.” She brushed past Mary on the way to the closet.

  She grabbed a large carpet bag, the one she used when she and Papa traveled together. How long had it been—

  No time to reminisce now. Later. There would always be later.

  “Mary, in my drawer, I need body linen, a night dress, a dressing gown, and handkerchiefs.”

  “What are you talking about? Where are you going?”

  “I cannot stay whilst they would lower themselves to unscrupulous means to manage me.” She grabbed several day dresses from the closet and roughly folded them into the bag.

  “Are you sure that is what happened?” Mary handed her a pile of folded linens.

  “I am certain.” She shoved the linens in alongside the dresses.

  Mary sighed, her eyes pleading. “I cannot believe they would have so little faith in you that they would—”

  “I thought the same, but I know what I heard. Hand me my commonplace book. All three volumes are in the drawer there.”

  “Three? I have only seen one and have only begun to comprehend that.” Mary wrestled the sticky drawer open and rummaged through it.

  “The others are very early, hardly so useful. But when we are reunited, I will let you peruse them all you wish.”

  Shoes, she needed shoes, from the closet.

  “Where will you go?” Mary handed the books over.

  “I cannot tell you.” She slid the shoes down to the bottom of the bag.

  “You do not know where you are going? That does not sound at all like you.”

  “I know it very well, but you cannot.”

  “You do not trust me?”

  Elizabeth paused and caught Mary’s gaze. “I do not want to be a blot on your conscience. No doubt someone will ask you if you know where I have gone. I would not have you lie for me.”

  “I do not like it. Someone should know where you are going.”

  “You could look our father in the eye and deny him an answer, or worse, lie to him?”

  Mary’s head dropped, and she dragged her foot on the carpet. “I suppose not.”

  “Then let me have my secret and keep you from feeling guilty.” She returned to packing—stockings, gloves, shawl and spencer.

  Papa often gave her little notice when they were to travel. How odd to be grateful for the experience of panicked packing now.

  “Will you wait just a moment? I have something for you.” Mary headed toward the door.

  “All right, but hurry, I must leave as soon as I have finished packing.”

  Mary tiptoed out.

  She unwound her shawl and tucked it into the bag. Her hairbrush, some hairpins, her reticule—what else did she still need?

  “Here.” Mary handed her a small purse. “I have saved some pocket money. I know you have your own, but I will feel much better knowing you have a little more.”

  “I know you too well to refuse. Thank you. Take care of Rumblkins ... and Longbourn for me. But beware of his tricks. I do not want you—”

  She grasped Elizabeth’s arm. “I understand. It will be difficult without you. Write to me and let me know you are safe, please?”

  “Not under my own name, for Mama is too apt to read our post. I will write to you under the name of Heather Rose. Heather may persuade Mama that it is the name of an old friend of yours. Now pray go and tell me if I may make my escape unnoticed.”

  Mary hugged her briefly and slipped out, returning a moment later. “The way is clear, but you must be quick.”

  Elizabeth tied on her bonnet, flung her green cloak over her shoulders, and grabbed her bag. With April on her shoulder, she picked her way downstairs and out of the side door, where there were fewer windows to reveal her escape.

  After nearly half a mile, Elizabeth finally slowed her pace, struggling to catch her breath. She sounded like Mr. Collins. Heavens, what a horrible thought that she had anything in common with him.

  Think on such things later. There were more important things to consider. The sun was already past its zenith. How was she to get to London and would the Gardiners take her in when she got there? Surely they would. They had promised such, had they not?

  London was only twenty miles, she could walk.

  What was she thinking? Maybe as a very last resort, but a woman alone on the road, even with a dragon—it was a very bad idea. Not to mention it would be dark before she could get there.

  Stop and breathe, take a moment to think clearly. Their lives might depend on it.

  First to London—all her hopes hinged on that.

  The Phillipses would be no help, so the public coach was the best alternative. If she was able to take the next coach, she could still arrive during daylight and make her way to Gracechurch Street.

  But the public coach? She swallowed hard. She had never ridden a public coach by herself. Usually they had traveled in Papa’s carriage. The few times she had been in a public conveyance, she had been safely tucked between Papa and Uncle Gardiner, both wearing such severe expressions that none of the other passengers dared speak to any of them.

  A respectable young lady did not ride in a public coach alone. That was a given. Her reputation would be damaged, no doubt—someone she knew would certainly see her, and they would talk. She might lose her respectability.

  But respectable dragons did not persuade their Keepers. And respectable fathers did not encourage dragons to do so. The entire situation was well past respectable. She would do what she had to and manage the consequences as they came.

  The buildings of Meryton rose up before her, painting the street in stripes of shadows and light. Her object, the coaching station, was on the corner, two streets beyond the house that Colonel Forster had taken.

  Pray let her not encounter the officers. They would ask questions, and worse, bear stories back to her sisters. They could keep secrets no better than Lydia.

  No sign of red coats on the street. Excellent.

  Now, if only she could slip through the crowd and into the coaching station—

  “Miss Bennet?”

  She stopped, a chill sliding down her spine. Turning, she forced her face into a smile. “Mr. Wickham, good day.”

  “Good day indeed. I am surprised to s
ee you without your usual company.” He bowed, eyes fixed on her shoulder, as if waiting for April to peek out.

  “It is still early for them to be out and about, I think. We were up late last night celebrating some very good news.”

  “Concerning your eldest sister and Mr. Bingley? Miss Lydia might have mentioned her expectations at some point. I probably should not confess this to you, but there was something of a bet going on amongst the officers about when the happy event would finally take place.”

  Elizabeth licked her lips. What exactly did one say to such a thing? She forced a smile.

  “You might be pleased to know that I am the winner, having the greatest faith in the constancy of Mr. Bingley’s affections.” He winked.

  “I am sure Jane will be gratified to know.” She looked over his shoulder. At least no other officers seemed to be in his company.

  He chuckled deeply. “I see that I have scandalized you, Miss Bennet. Pray forgive me. I did not mean to make you uncomfortable.”

  “Consider it forgotten, sir, but pray excuse me, I must be about my business.” She tried to step around him.

  With a backward step, he cut her off. “Forgive my forwardness, but what business might you have at a coaching station, alone no less.” His smile faded slightly and warm concern filled his eyes.

  “Pray do not think me rude, but I have no intention of speaking of it.” If only she could get past him—

  “You have rather a large bag with you. It looks very much like you are intending a trip.”

  April peeked out of the hood and squawked a warning at him. Several people nearby turned to look at them.

  No! More attention was the last thing they needed!

  A grin which could only be called self-satisfied broke out over his face. “And you have your friend with you. I am sure you would never leave her behind if you were to sojourn from Longbourn.”

  “Please sir, I beg you to importune me no further.” She gathered her skirts and tried to sidle past him, but he cut her off again.

  “Forgive me, but I am concerned. It is most unusual for a woman in your circumstances to travel alone. I fear there may be something wrong.”

  April growled in her ear.

  “The matter is nothing of your concern.”

  “It might be of interest to you to know that today I am charged with the task of accompanying Mrs. Forster’s maid to London where she is to stay with her sick sister. I am then charged with bringing her replacement back to Meryton.” He cocked his head and raised an eyebrow.

  “Indeed, sir. And why might that be of interest to me?”

  “There is room, quite comfortably, for another in the colonel’s carriage. If your business carries you to London, you might find the company far more agreeable if you travel with us.”

  The maid was to stay in London. If she left Mr. Wickham’s company before the new maid joined him, there would be none but him to bring tales back to Longbourn. And the maid’s presence would preserve her reputation—

  “I do not like the idea of traveling with him,” April muttered.

  “I just heard the coaching agent say there was no room available on the next two coaches.” He cocked his head and shrugged.

  “How do you know he is telling the truth?” April hissed.

  Elizabeth bit her lips. If she could not travel today—no, that was unthinkable. She squeezed her eyes shut.

  April might not like it, but neither would she like the conditions of a public coach, if they could even get on one. And staying the night in a public house was even worse.

  “It seems you have discerned my intentions, sir. I will accept your offer, but I must impose two conditions. First, ask me no further questions of my motives. And second, say nothing of this to any of my family.”

  “You ask me to keep secrets for you?”

  “You are right, that is too much to ask. Pray excuse me.” She curtsied and dodged around him.

  He blocked her way just before she made it to the coaching station door. “I never said it was too much. What you hear is the concern of a friend. I can only surmise something very serious has happened that would have you striving to keep secrets from your dear family.”

  She turned her face away.

  “For the privilege of your company, I shall ask nothing more of you, and I shall say nothing of our sojourn together.” He bowed from his shoulders.

  April flapped her wings and chittered. “I do not like this.”

  Elizabeth pressed April against her neck and cuddled her cheek against the downy feather-scales. “Thank you for your understanding, sir.”

  “It is my privilege to help friends in distress.” He offered to take her bag.

  He was right. She was in distress, and his offer was generous. What did he stand to gain from it? She blinked furiously to clear her blurring vision. Perhaps she had been too quick to judge, too suspicious. It seemed Providence had just provided her the very friend she needed.

  Mr. Wickham escorted her to the Forsters’ house, where she paid a quarter of an hour’s call on Mrs. Forster. Then, he ushered her out the back door, and into the mews where the carriage, sans driver, awaited. He handed her into the carriage where her bag waited.

  It was newer and better maintained than Papa’s. Probably refitted in honor of Colonel Forster’s wedding. The leather still smelt fresh and new, and the side glass was sparkling clean.

  Had Mr. Wickham arranged for this, for there to be no witnesses to her escape? He was a far better friend to her than Mr. Collins would ever be, able to see the distress of another soul and work to do something to alleviate it. What more noble act could there be?

  The coach rocked as the driver and a groomsman climbed aboard. Mr. Wickham opened the door and handed a very groggy maid inside. She staggered to her seat, half sitting on Elizabeth in the process.

  “Pray forgive me, Miss. I get powerful sick in a coach. The mistress give me a cordial to help.” She giggled and settled into her seat. “I feel so very boosey and flustered.”

  Mr. Wickham pulled the door closed behind them and took the opposite seat. “A strong cordial will have that effect. There is no need for concern. You might sleep as we drive, and you will feel better when we arrive in London.”

  The girl yawned and leaned into the corner. She was softly snoring before they reached the outskirts of Meryton.

  “She truly cannot tolerate the carriage. It is best for her to sleep.” Mr. Wickham leaned back and extended his legs just a little. “I have done as I promised, perhaps even a wee bit more. So now I shall make a demand upon you. But just a small one.” He winked.

  April chittered and hunkered down in her grumpiest posture.

  “And what might that be?” She drew her cloak over her chest.

  “It is three hours to London. I require some form of entertainment. I know you to be a fine storyteller. Why do you not tell me your favorite myth? But not one from a far-off place. I wish to hear a myth from our own fair countryside.” He leaned into the squabs.

  “I fear that Hertfordshire does not have many stories attached to it.”

  “Then what of your favorite myth of England? Surely there is something for you to choose from in all our shores.”

  From the way he looked at April, surely he was asking for a children’s teaching story about dragons. But April would not tolerate it. Best not to agitate her.

  Still though, there were stories that would reveal nothing about the current state of dragons or the Blue Order.

  “That seems little enough to ask. Have you ever heard of the Laidly Wyrm of Spindleston Heugh?”

  April harrumphed, but did not twitter.

  A broad smile lit his face. “No I have not, but I look forward to doing so now.” He balanced one boot atop the other and laid his hands over his stomach. “In the words of your young cousins, tell me a story Miss Elizabeth.”

  She smoothed her skirt over her lap. “Many centuries ago, in the Kingdom of Northumbria, Northumberland to us n
ow, of course, the good king who lived in Bamburgh Castle lost his beloved wife to a most tragic death. She left behind a son, the prince Childe Wynd, and a daughter, the princess Margaret. Childe Wynd was his father’s son with a brave heart and a lust for adventure that drove him to rove farther and farther from home. After his mother’s death, his jaunts became journeys, and the journeys became longer and longer until he crossed the sea. In fear that he would never see his son again, the king took comfort from his daughter. Margaret was the image of her mother, beautiful as no other woman in Northumbria and gentle and kind in equal measure to her beauty.”

  “A handsome prince, a beautiful princess, what more does a fairy story need?” Mr. Wickham laced his hands behind his head.

  “Dragons. It seems he wants to hear of nothing but us,” April grumbled against her neck.

  Elizabeth stroked her ruffled feather-scales smooth. “An evil witch sir. What kind of story would there be without one?”

  “So then tell me of this witch.”

  “After years without his wife, the castle was cold and lonely. The king’s judgement had been addled by too much wine. He called for eligible women to be brought to him. A beautiful, but cruel witch caught his eye and soon became his wife. Poor Margaret, she was bereft. She saw the witch for what she was, but the King would not believe her.”

  Mr. Wickham leaned forward a bit. “Ah, now it gets interesting.”

  “The witch cast an enchantment over the poor princess.” Elizabeth hunched over her lap and worried her hands together, cackling. “I weird ye to be a Laidly wyrm, and borrowed shall ye never be, until Childe Wynd, the King's own son come to the Heugh and thrice kiss thee. Until the world comes to an end, borrowed shall ye never be.”

  “The princess became a dragon?”

  “Indeed she did. By the witch’s spell, she became a dragon.”

  “What kind?”

  “The myth calls it a wyrm, but I think she must still have been beautiful even in the transformation. I have always considered she became an amphithere. They are more beautiful than even the loveliest of wyrms.”

  Though some might not agree, there were some very pretty wyrms.

  “What do they look like?”