by Maria Grace
“I not bite—not you or Keeper.” Pemberley rubbed her head against Elizabeth’s waist.
“All right, then open. I will show Keeper what to do.”
Pemberley opened her mouth wide, a gaping maw equipped with sharp baby fangs in the front and red swollen gums behind.
“Take your hand like this.” She curled her fingers tight and pressed the heel of her hand forward. “Rub the hardest part of your hand against her gums, going in parallel, not against them. It is even better to add a few drops of peppermint and clove oils, but it can be done without.”
She demonstrated.
At least he did not hesitate when she urged him to try. His hands were big and a little clumsy, but Pemberley seemed to trust him implicitly. That was a good sign.
But it was in the nature of babies to trust. Darcy was lucky for that. An older dragon would not have tolerated an inattentive Keeper. Darcy’s willingness suggested he was only ignorant, though, not willfully ignoring the little dragon’s needs. Perhaps there was time to right the wrongs done here after all.
Pemberley purred again.
“Does that mean she is happy?” Darcy asked.
Elizabeth tried not to roll her eyes. “Are you happy, Pemberley?”
“I happy.”
Darcy offered her a handkerchief to wipe her hands.
“I think you shall have your first set of teeth within a fortnight, a month at most.” She wiped her hands and returned the handkerchief. A firedrake’s saliva was viscous, sticky stuff, designed to protect when they exhaled flame.
“I still have bones, too?”
“Of course you may.”
“Dog, too? Dog like bones. Want meet Dog?”
Darcy bit his upper lip, probably trying not to chuckle. “We would certainly like to see Dog.”
Pemberley clambered out of the nest and waddled off deeper into the cavern. He helped her climb from the nest, and they followed Pemberley.
“This Dog.” Pemberley gently bumped an old hound with her nose.
He licked her face and wagged. Beside him a puppy yipped and wagged, climbing over Pemberley’s neck.
“This Puppy. Have Dog and Puppy, now. I like Dog and Puppy.” She nuzzled the puppy.
“A puppy, sir? What made you present her with one?”
Was his face coloring?
He shrugged. “It seemed a sound idea. To ensure she has a warm companion.”
He was right—and she probably would have tried it herself had it occurred to her. But who had ever heard of a dragon keeping a pet dog? One more addition to her book.
“Rosings Park has a shepherding drake who helped me find one with the right disposition.”
She knelt beside the dogs and played with them. “They are delightful creatures. Have you thanked Cowntess Rosings for allowing you to have them with you?”
Pemberley hung her head.
“Then you must do so now. Go on.” Elizabeth pointed toward Rosings and Cait.
“Thank you.”
Rosings nodded somberly. Cait snickered under her breath.
“Good manners are especially important when one is a vikontes. We must ask Cowntess Rosings to begin to teach you. Those things are easiest to learn when one is small.” She stroked under Pemberley’s chin.
“You teach?” Pemberley looked over Elizabeth’s shoulder.
“Of course I will. ‘Her’ is quite correct.” Was Rosings laughing under her breath?
Cait swooped past and landed on ledge in the wall. “It is time for her to retire to her chambers in manor now.”
Pemberley wound her neck around Elizabeth in a choke hold. “Her not go!”
“Stop your complaining little one, and be a proper hostess.” Cait squawked. “You can come with us—”
“Pray forgive me, Cait, but is that wise?” Darcy asked.
“Come.” Cait’s voice turned shrill. Pray let her not screech! Pemberley did not need to be frightened now!
Rosings grumbled under her breath. “The feathered one is correct. You should come.” Rosings lumbered deeper into the cavern.
Elizabeth unwound Pemberley from her, but laid her arm over Pemberley’s shoulders. They followed Rosings down a dark passage. Once her eyes adjusted, the trickles of light from cracks in the rock above were just enough to be able to see a step or two ahead.
The tunnel was just wide enough for Rosings to pass without scraping her wings against the rock, so she, Pemberley and Darcy were able to walk abreast comfortably. Cait flew behind them, gliding from one wall perch to the next.
“Where going?”
“I have no idea. I have never been in this tunnel.” He turned to Elizabeth. “I thought Fitzwilliam, my cousin, and I had traversed every passage at Rosings Park when we were boys.”
“So there are yet some secrets kept from you, sir?”
“It appears so.”
Why was he smiling at her like that? He was a well-looking man to be sure.
And one who took Pemberley away from her, only to the baby’s detriment. That she could never forget. Or forgive.
The rocky corridor opened up ahead of them into what looked like household cellars.
“Are we beneath the manor?” Elizabeth asked.
“Indeed. Come.” Rosings headed toward what looked like firelight coming through a very wide doorway on the far side of the cellar.
“Those are your chambers.” Cait glided past and into the open door.
“I am to stay in the cellar?”
Darcy shook his head, gaping.
“I had supposed Walker to be exaggerating when he suggested that sort of welcome as likely.”
“I cannot imagine that is what my aunt truly intends for you.” Who would have thought him capable of such an expression? His sheer astonishment alone was worth spending a few nights in a cellar.
“Be quiet Darcy, that is precisely what Rosings intends,” Cait called from inside the room.
Uncle would not be pleased when he learned of this. She bit her lip. If they had to, she and Uncle could take rooms at the inn in Hunsford.
Rosings nudged her into the room. Three steps in, she stopped and stared, slack jawed. Darcy halted beside her.
The chamber was twice as large as the elaborate parlor Lady Catherine had seen them in, and the ceiling at least twice as high. All the normal accoutrements of a bed chamber filled the room, fine elegant furniture, but not nearly as ornate as what she had seen at Rosings manor—far more to her taste, if truth be told. It seemed to all be pushed up near the walls, though, leaving large open areas throughout the room, like many of the rooms at the Blue Order.
Rosings ducked her head and shuffled into the room.
“These are quarters for my guests. I hope they are satisfactory.” Rosings seemed to smirk.
Elizabeth curtseyed. “I am honored to be your guest.”
“Do not sound so surprised. You did not expect you would have to stay in Pemberley’s nest, did you?” Cait laughed.
“It would have been acceptable to me, to be able to stay near her.”
Darcy gasped.
Rosings laughed hard enough to make the walls rumble. “Pemberley may stay here with you.” She pointed toward a drakling-sized rug laden with clean hay.
Pemberley gave a happy squeal and waddled toward the hay. She leapt and landed in the middle of it, sending hay flying. Good that the fireplace was on the opposite side of the room.
“Be warned, the baby snores.” Rosings snuffed.
“My father does too. I am accustomed to it.”
“What will you do with her?”
“The first thing is to see that she starts eating again. Once her color is back, and her hide is in good condition, we will begin following the recommendations for dealing with attachment sickness.”
“What is that? I have never heard of it.” Rosings scowled.
Perhaps she did not like the reminder that she did not know everything. Her Keeper certainly would not. “It is something young drake
s are susceptible to. We think that the peculiarities of her hatching have made her vulnerable to it. But there is every reason to believe we shall be able to remedy the problem.”
“She will always want you.”
“That may be so, but it does not have to make her ill.”
“You should simply stay with her.” Rosings punctuated her statement with a flick of her tail.
“That is not easily managed.”
“I do not see why. She is a vikontes. Her needs outrank those of any wyvern.”
“But she already has a Keeper, and I am Keeper to another dragon. One simply cannot order away a dragon’s Keeper to another dragon.”
Rosings snorted. “Foolish nonsense. For all we have to tolerate from you warm-bloods, we should at least have a choice of which warm-bloods we associate with.”
Darcy shot her a warning glance.
Ah, Rosings was one of those who did not favor the changes in the Accords. All the oldest dragons probably felt similarly. Now was not going to be the best time to present the case from the “warm-blood” side of things. Considering that Lady Catherine was her Keeper there might never be such a time.
Rosings tossed her head. “If you require a human attendant, the bell on the mantel will alert her. Behind the red door is a stairway. Use it to reach the ground level of the house when Lady requires your presence. As far as I am concerned, you need never go there, though Lady may try to demand it. I leave that to you to settle. Darcy, see that Pemberley is not disturbed by Lady’s demands.”
Darcy briefly shut his eyes. Was that his attempt not to roll his eyes in Rosings’ presence?
“I will leave you now to enjoy the quiet of my lair. Cait will attend you if you need anything further.”
“I will what?” Cait dove past Rosings face as she swooped from one side of the room of the other. “I am not a servant.”
“I am not the one who lost my feathers to her.” Rosings shambled out.
Cait stared at her, feathers in full fluff.
“Rosings says that to taunt you.” Elizabeth kept her voice soft and level.
“She says that because she is an arrogant firedrake, so full of herself—”
“That she will make sport with the finest creature on the estate, simply because she can.”
Cait cocked her head sharply. “Precisely! You understand!”
“I do, and perhaps you might find that Walker would as well.”
“You think so?” Cait flipped back her head feathers to reveal her eyes.
“Cockatrice dignity is something only another of your kind would truly understand. I think you would find him rather sympathetic. If, of course, you approach him properly.”
Cait pretended to preen her wing. “And how might that be?”
“I have found cockatrices as a rule are rather no-nonsense fellows. Present your wounds of the day in simple terms, without swooping or shrieking, and in as few words as possible.”
Beside her, Darcy’s jaw dropped.
“He barely listens to me if I shriek. He would ignore me all together if I were quiet.”
She shrugged with a little flourish of her cloak. “My quietest sister, Jane, consistently receives far more attention than Lydia who shrieks constantly.”
“Truly?” Cait peered at Darcy, challenging.
Darcy edged backward. “Ah, yes, I am certain Miss Elizabeth’s observations are quite correct.”
“And you think it would please Walker?”
Darcy dragged his hand over his face. “I dare say it might.”
“Nothing else has worked.” Cait flew out.
“Walker may hate you for this.” Darcy grumbled under his breath.
“More likely he will thank me. He is as ready for a broodmate as she. Have you not noticed all the signs in him?”
“There are signs?”
Elizabeth pressed her temples. “Males become as broody as the females.”
“That is not included in any of the dragon lore I have studied.”
“Truly, I wonder at how little scribes have seen fit to write about. Shall I write it all down for you?”
“I would be grateful.”
How had he missed the sarcasm in her tone? Well it would serve him right when he was deathly embarrassed by all the detail she would have to include.
Pemberley waddled up to them. “You stay here now? With me?” She wrapped a wing around each of them.
“You, Keeper, and I shall have a nice long visit. Are you hungry?”
She bobbed her head from side to side. “I hungry.”
“Would you care for sheep or—” Darcy asked.
“I like sheep. Bring Dog and Puppy here, too? I want them play her.”
He patted Pemberley’s head. “Of course. I will see to all of that. Pray excuse me.”
“Keeper good.” She pressed her head to Elizabeth’s chest. “You like him?”
“I ... I ... he is your Keeper. What more needs to be said?” She cradled Pemberley’s head.
Vexing, perplexing man. How could he be so different among those at Rosings from how he was everywhere else?
***
For the next three days, Pemberley tolerated no separation from Elizabeth, nearly panicking when Uncle Gardiner came to take his leave. It required half a day to reassure her that Elizabeth would not leave with Uncle Gardiner in a dog cart with a dog of her own.
Outside of that one instance, keeping constant company with the drakling proved no hardship. Darcy’s constant presence, though, proved awkward at best and annoying the rest of the time. His very diligence and politeness made him most aggravating. He plied her with questions about Pemberley, Walker, Cait, and every other dragon he knew. And it seemed he knew quite a number.
Just how many dragons were there at Rosings Park? With Dragon Friends among the servants, not like Mrs. Hill who thought of Rumblkins as a cat and an ordinary pet, but genuine dragon-hearers recognized by the Blue Order, there seemed to be a dragon just about everywhere one turned. And if not an actual dragon, multitudes of dragon imagery filled every nook of the house. Who could have imagined such a place?
A steady stream of visits from the household and other estate dragons provided a welcome distraction, and many opportunities to teach Pemberley how to interact properly with minor dragons—a lesson Longbourn had never learnt.
Good to his word, Darcy brought Blanche, the little kitchen zaltys down for an introduction, along with her friend Quincy. That little puck was all mischief and good intentions; so much like the Gardiner children she felt a brief pang of homesickness for them. Wellsbey came by from the fields to check on the puppy, though it seemed a slim excuse to gain an introduction. He was a good, steady sort of drake and Darcy treated him with the same respect he showed every dragon. Darcy even welcomed a rather frenzied, pell-mell visit from a group of barn tatzelwurms that made Rumblkins seem calm and reliable.
How was it then that he could be so good to dragonkind and so horrid to mankind? It made no sense. Why would he tear Pemberley away from her only to insist on reuniting them? Why would he do everything he could to ruin Wickham, when he was so generous with the dragons?
Heavens above! The man even brought a special supply of buttons just to keep Quincy happy—and not cheap ones, either. Each was unique and chosen to match the dragon’s tastes. Who did that while impoverishing a childhood friend?
The more time she spent in Darcy’s company, the more vexing the dichotomy became.
On the fourth day, Lady Catherine sent Darcy with an invitation to compel her to take nuncheon with the rest of the company at Rosings Park.
“Pray forgive the rather forceful language of my aunt’s invitation. She feels the loss of your company greatly.” Darcy looked vaguely uncomfortable.
One could only imagine exactly what Lady Catherine had said.
“Not as much as Pemberley will.”
“I have asked Wellsbey to take her and the dogs for a bit of a ramble. There is a small clearing in the w
oods near Rosings’ lair that will give them a secluded spot to stretch their legs. It will also give Blanche an opportunity to come down with some of the other minor dragons to clean Pemberley’s nest.”
“I did not realize Blanche was a maid.”
“She is not, but as the housekeeper’s Friend, she takes pride in the house and wishes to see the same standards below stairs as above.” He smiled, a kind smile that approved, not mocked, the concerns of the little dragon. “It is difficult to persuade the maids into making a proper dragon’s nest. As you well know, some persuasions are far easier to achieve than others.”
Did he know about what Longbourn had tried? Her cheeks flushed.
“I hope it will not be an imposition upon you, but I should very much like to introduce my sister and my cousin Fitzwilliam. They are very anxious to meet you. Pemberley has convinced Georgiana that you are some form of angel incarnate. Walker has Fitzwilliam believing you are some sort of cross between a sage and a saint.”
“And you would have me come and disabuse them of their outlandish ideas?” She laughed.
April landed on her shoulder and chittered in her ear. “Mind your manners!”
Alas, she was probably right.
“Far be it from me to call my Dragon Friends liars.” He cocked his head and raised an eyebrow. “Shall we?”
He held open the red door and ushered her up the steep stairs. At least the stairs were properly deep and regular, not a typical, cheaply made servant’s staircase. It would be easier to face Lady Catherine, not having just risked life and limb picking her way up a dangerous staircase.
“Does Rosings often entertain guests of her own invitation?” she asked.
“I do not know for certain, but I do not think so—not recently in any case. I believe Sir Lewis’ father was quite well connected in his day. Rosings was more apt to entertain then.”
Elizabeth chewed her lip. Perhaps she had taken Rosings’ invitation a bit too lightly.
Nuncheon was served in a large parlor on the west side of the house. The yellowy-gold paper hanging with the dragon scale pattern must have been especially printed for the room. Why did Lady Catherine seem to need to occupy every surface in the house with dragon imagery? Or was it simply the product of generations of proud Dragon Keepers, each one adding to the next?