Netherfield_Rogue Dragon_A Pride and Prejudice Variation Read online

  Those were no doubt the times he was amusing himself by persuading Bennets. Clearly he was bored and seeking entertainment. Was he stupid though? No, bribing Longbourn with his hoard showed a certain level of devious—or mischievous, it was difficult to tell—intelligence. “Pray you will tell me when that next happens? It is critical we meet him and invite him to the Order so all may be peaceful and proper once again.” Perhaps that was overstating things just a bit. Life with dragons was almost never peaceful and proper. “Does Papa know about any of this?”

  “He suspects, but Netherfield does not want to be known. Dragons in France are killed. Men are not to be trusted.”

  Who could blame him for feeling that way? “Have you told him we are different?”

  “He does not believe it.”

  She squeezed her eyes shut and clutched her forehead. Of course not. Who would, knowing Darcy had carried a Dragon Slayer?

  “Has Lydia tried to talk to him?”

  “Lydia?”

  “I thought she might be starting to hear. Have you seen her?”

  “She has never talked to me. Scratch my back now?”

  She leaned over his shoulder full length and scratched between his wings until he all but purred. The dear creature would have a sheep tonight as well. With a way to meet with Netherfield and an ally to communicate with him, perhaps now they stood a solid chance of bringing this whole affair to a happy conclusion.

  Chapter 7

  Walker swooped into the study, nearly overturning the dragon perch as he struggled to land. Darcy leapt off the library ladder and ran toward him, jumping a stack of books as he went. “What happened?”

  “The rogue dragon?” Fitzwilliam tossed a large volume on the desk and met them at the perch.

  “Elizabeth!” Walker squawked and flapped. “She went to Longbourn’s lair to talk to him and is collapsed on the ground, insensible.”

  “What has the brute done?” Darcy barely held back from punching the nearest chair.

  “Nothing—and Rumblkins confirms.” Walker settled his wings across his back but sidled from one edge of the perch to the other. “The tatzelwurm says their discussion was entirely amicable.”

  Darcy bounced his fist off his chin. “Perhaps she thought being in open air would be safer than the cellars.”

  “What are you talking about?” Bennet set his book aside and struggled to stand, face wrenched in painful knots.

  “It seems she is—we are—highly sensitive to wyvern venom now. Talking with him in the cellar after Cait’s crisis left us both unwell. Just being in his presence, even in the open air, might have been enough to sicken her.”

  “Why was I not told?” Bennet hobbled two steps toward them and grabbed a chair for support.

  ‘Because you would have been no help at all’ was definitely not the correct way to answer that question.

  “Tell Longbourn we are on our way.” Fitzwilliam jerked his head toward the door.

  “Bring her here. I will have Hill ready her room.”

  “No, we will take her to Netherfield. We do not need Collins meddling in this affair.”

  “I can manage Collins. Even now he is off with Cait, going over the rudiments of dragon introductions. He will not be a problem. You know there is poison there—” Bennet gesticulated a little wildly.

  How had Darcy failed to notice how gnarled his hands were? Could he even hold a pen any longer or manage a fork to eat?

  “It is confined to the map rooms. She has been at Netherfield for some time now with no issues. The venom in the cellar here could easily contaminate the rest of the house. If you want to help her, we need a preparation of the anti-venom tincture your distant relation wrote about in that journal.” Darcy pointed to the maroon cloth-bound volume, balanced askew against the leg of a small table.

  “We have no idea if it was even effective. Just a few scrawled notes between butcher’s orders and seed purchases! You would trust her life to that?”

  Darcy stomped across the room and snatched up the journal. “Did Elizabeth not say it aligned with Lady Astrid’s monographs and several other obscure references?”

  “That is not the same thing as knowing—she is forever leaping to conclusions and jumping headlong into things!” Bennet tossed his head and pressed his arms to his belly.

  “She is nearly always correct,” Fitzwilliam muttered to the floor.

  “She is simply lucky. I will not encourage that—”

  “I will prepare it.”

  All eyes snapped to the doorway. When had the door opened? Had she been listening all this time?

  Mary leaned against the doorframe, a little pale. “She went to see Longbourn because I told her he wanted to talk to her. You are right. She avoided the cellar but thought being out of doors would be safe. I pushed her to go …”

  Enough dithering and discussion. “We will bring her to Netherfield. Come when you have the tincture prepared.” Darcy pushed past her, Fitzwilliam in his wake.

  Walker flew ahead as they wound their way through the woods to Longbourn’s lair.

  Darcy gritted his teeth and forced his fingers out of fists. Remember, the dragon did not intend her harm. The disagreeable wyvern had been such a problem that it was difficult not to consider him the villain. But that would serve nothing. They broke into the clearing before the lair, Elizabeth a puddle of muslin on the rocky ground.

  “She was scratching between my wings and collapsed!” Longbourn whimpered, prostrate and nudging her with his nose.

  Darcy dropped down beside her. She gasped in tortured pants, her face pale, eyes fluttering.

  “Not his fault,” she muttered. “On his skin.”

  “Get her away from here,” Fitzwilliam ordered.

  “No! First wash the poison away!” Walker flapped his wings in Longbourn’s face.

  He popped up and sat on his haunches, nosing Fitzwilliam. “I have water. Come.” They loped into the cavern.

  Darcy propped her up in his lap. She seemed to breathe a little easier.

  “I tried to help, but she has no wounds to lick.” Rumblkins pressed in close beside him, resting his paws on her leg and trying to force his head under her hand.

  He stroked the tatzelwurm’s fluffy head. “I am sure you did. You are a faithful friend.”

  Fitzwilliam staggered back toward them, a large bucket sloshing in his hands. “There is a spring in the lair.”

  Darcy pulled out a handkerchief, soaked it, and scrubbed her face.

  “Get her apron off! If the poison was on his skin, it is surely covered in it.” Fitzwilliam pulled at the ties and cast it aside.

  Although it seemed like hours, it was probably only a few minutes later. Color seeped back into her face. She scratched under Rumblkins’ chin and sat up on her own.

  “I will fetch a horse to bring her to the house.” Fitzwilliam ran off.

  The man could not bear to sit still. He was exactly the sort of friend one wanted in a crisis.

  “I did not breathe venom!” Longbourn called from the mouth of his cavern.

  Elizabeth lifted her head as though it was suddenly very heavy and caught the wyvern’s gaze. “No one is blaming you. It seems there is enough venom on your skin to affect me.”

  “You cannot be near me now?” Longbourn’s eyes bulged, a note of panic in his voice.

  “I … I do not know.”

  Longbourn turned in a circle, tail thumping as he went. “What if I bathe? Will that be enough?”

  “I … when I am stronger, we can try.”

  “No, you do not need to risk yourself,” Darcy whispered close to her ear.

  “You will not stop me.” She glared venom of her own, and he pulled away. “But you may come with me.”

  “We need to get you back to Netherfield for a proper hot bath. Mary is preparing the anti-venom tincture from the receipt you found. Perhaps that will help you.”

  “Make sure she brings Heather. We will need her help with Nicholls.”

/>   “We will manage all that, but first we need to get you back. Fitzwilliam returns. Can you sit in a saddle?” He helped her to her feet, but she sagged against his chest for support.

  “Or die trying,” she murmured.

  “That is hardly funny.”

  “You think I was joking?” Only the pleasing little quirk of her brow, which declared her in better health than she looked, kept him from scolding her.

  Though weak and shaky and requiring several attempts, she was indeed able to mount and remain in the saddle well enough for Fitzwilliam to lead the horse back to Netherfield while Darcy struggled to assure Longbourn she would be well. Stubborn creature only settled down when Walker promised to bring frequent word of Elizabeth’s condition. Frustrating, but endearing in an odd sort of way.

  Even with several hot baths, Elizabeth did not venture from her rooms for four days. Four long, excruciating days during which Darcy could hardly think or function. He pretended to study the books she had laid out for him and the paintings in the house, but nothing stayed in his mind for longer than a few minutes, except worry. Nicholls became so tired of his constant inquiries after Elizabeth that she took to avoiding him. Maddening though it was, he could scarcely blame her. But really, what else was there for a man to do?

  On the fifth day, Mary arrived with the tincture, Heather riding on her bonnet which appeared specially trimmed to accommodate the fluffy pink fairy dragon. Darcy took her to Elizabeth’s rooms himself.

  ∞∞∞

  Voices in the hall approached. Elizabeth pushed herself up from the soft chair by the window where she had been pretending to read. There was no time to waste, but neither her mind nor her eyes seemed to be able to focus for more than a few moments at a time. Why was it taking so long to recover? Worse still, what might happen the next time?

  Darcy’s sharp knock resonated from the door. How many conversations, some rather insensible, had they had through that door in recent days? He had even dispatched Walker several times a day to reassure Longbourn of her recovery. Could any man have been more solicitous of her under the circumstances?

  The door creaked open. “Oh, Lizzy! We have all been so worried about you!” Mary rushed toward her with open arms.

  Elizabeth clutched at the bed post to brace for the contact.

  How much her attitude had changed! Was it just sisterly concern, the fact Elizabeth had apologized to Longbourn, or had Netherfield stopped persuading her? Something about the strength of her hold and the high notes in her voice suggested it was a bit of all three.

  “I am much improved, thank you, though I seem to be lacking some of my usual energy.” Elizabeth fell heavily on the edge of the bed, struggling to hide her lack of breath.

  “I am hopeful this will help.” Mary pulled a small brown bottle out of her reticule and handed it to Elizabeth. “I tried to follow the receipt in the journal, but there was a mistake in it. That is why it took me so long to finish. The receipt recommended white wine as a base, but it simply would not come together. Finally, I tried sweet oil, and it seems to have worked, but I cannot be sure. The directions say it should be added to hot water to create a steam. I am a bit unclear whether you are to breathe it, or the text seems to suggest perhaps bathing in it? The handwriting was so unclear and the ink so smudged, I could not tell.” The words tumbled out in a single breath as though if she did not say them all at once, the opportunity to say them at all might well disappear.

  Lydia had taught her that habit.

  Elizabeth uncorked the bottle and wafted the scent toward herself. Pungent was the most pleasant word to describe the concoction. She extended her arm, holding it as far away as she could, blinking hard, but a bit of the tightness in her lungs eased. “Let me first try breathing it. There is already hot water on the hob. I will fetch a towel, and we can make a bit of a tent.”

  Mary brought the washbasin and a small table near the bed and added boiling water and the oil to the basin. Elizabeth leaned over it, head and shoulders covered with the towel to tent in the vapors. She breathed deeply, but choked on the stultifying antidote.

  “I am sorry it smells so. I thought I might try adding dried lavender or roses to make it more bearable, but I did not dare for fear it would somehow change the properties.” From below the edge of the towel, she could make out Mary wringing her apron.

  The sharp fumes burned her eyes until they watered profusely. The steam tore at her throat, but in a cleansing sort of way. “I think that was wise. It is not so bad, really, when one gets used to it. More importantly, I think it is helping.”

  “Longbourn will be very relieved.” Mary sat heavily beside her. “I swear he would have been here himself without Walker’s constant reports.”

  “He is quite dear. How put out is Papa?” Elizabeth peeked out from the towel.

  Mary sighed. “It is hard to tell. He mutters a great deal about things I cannot quite make out. I did not tell him about experimenting with the tincture lest he forbid me from bringing it at all.”

  Elizabeth laid the towel over the basin and pressed the back of her hands to her cheeks. “The skin on my face and neck feels much better. I am certain I scrubbed them nearly raw after all the hot baths I have taken, but something feels different now, rather like a prickly scarf has been removed.”

  Mary drew close and examined her carefully, holding Elizabeth’s hands near her face. “See where your hands are still rough and raw, but your face is not?”

  “Gracious, yes!” Elizabeth tented the towel over her hands and held them over the basin. “Add a bit more hot water, if you please.”

  Half an hour later, they examined her hands again, the difference unmistakable. The red, dragon-scaly patches had faded, and her fingertips no longer felt like sandpaper.

  “You were definitely right to use the sweet oil. This has worked very well. Do you remember well enough what you did that you might write it in my book before you leave?”

  “You think it that significant?” Mary’s jaw dropped as though she had been offered some great honor.

  “Absolutely. Bathing helped, but it was nothing to this. What is more, I think we might be able to make the map room safe with this. It will be difficult, but perhaps with some sort of mask anointed with this mixture—”

  Mary grabbed her arm, a little more tightly than necessary. “You are not thinking of trying to do that yourself, are you?”

  A cry choked her throat, but she hid it in a laugh. “No, I dare not, but Fitzwilliam might be willing to try. If he built a fire in the room’s fireplace, suspended a great pot of water and this oil over it, and let the steam permeate the room—maybe we need to pull the maps and such near the fire, too—but I think it might render them safe. We desperately need those maps right now.”

  “Do you think there is enough to accomplish the task?” Mary held up the bottle in the sunlight. There was not very much left.

  “How long would it take you to make more?”

  “Now that I have worked it out? Two, three days at the most.”

  “Pray then, write me the receipt, then go and make more, perhaps twice, no three times as much, if you can.” Elizabeth rubbed her temples hard. Hopefully the headache would not come on full force this time.

  “What shall I tell Papa?”

  “Nothing until you have told Longbourn of the results. I am sure he will be pleased. You might suggest to him the wisdom in making more. I am certain he will agree, and if Longbourn desires it, Papa can hardly argue.”

  “Papa is quite adamant that Longbourn must be appeased.” Mary stroked her chin and chewed her cheek, contemplating. “I will bring it as soon as it is ready.”

  ∞∞∞

  Darcy held his breath as Elizabeth made her slow, deliberate trek down the grand stairs. Though she wore only a simple shawl and gown, she was easily one of the most beautiful sights he had ever seen. Running up the stairs to meet her would have been bad form and might have implied he did not think her strong enough to make it on
her own. So, he slowly strode up, meeting her halfway—hopefully it appeared that way at least. But Fitzwilliam’s snickers did not offer a great deal of hope for that.

  She smiled at him and took his arm when he reached her. That was enough to endure any of Fitzwilliam’s mocking. She leaned on him a little more heavily than she usually did, but the color had returned to her face and the sparkle to her eye. Though he would probably never stop worrying about her, at least for now, the anxiety could return to a manageable level.

  With servants hovering about, dinnertime conversation was limited to the weather and everyone’s health, and even that was constrained to matters that did not involve poisoning by dragons. How odd the life of Dragon Keepers was to think those were normal topics. There were definite advantages to insisting all the upper and senior servants were members of the Blue Order.

  At last they withdrew to the parlor and could close the door behind them. Was privacy a palpable quality? It certainly felt like it.

  She barely sat down near the fire before the details of her astonishing conversation with Longbourn gushed forth.

  Darcy leaned forward, elbows on his knees, trying not to let his jaw hang open too much. “You mean to tell me we owe Pemberley’s life directly to Longbourn’s interventions?”

  “It appears so.” She bit her upper lip, eyebrows lifting like a shrug. “His story explains a great deal of what happened that night—I have no reason to disbelieve it.”

  Fitzwilliam squeezed his fist, popping his knuckles loudly. “Forgive me, but I am more concerned that this lindwurm—”

  “Netherfield.” Something about the way she said the name suggested she had already developed sympathy for the creature.

  “Whatever he wants to call himself. I am concerned that this creature would prove such a danger to another major dragon, even if she was only newly-hatched. Clearly he does not have peaceable intentions.” Fitzwilliam shot Darcy a knowing look.

  Pray Elizabeth did not notice it.