Netherfield_Rogue Dragon_A Pride and Prejudice Variation Read online

  “Not all estates have dragons. Consider Netherfield Park …” Mary clapped her hands to her face. “Heavens, what is going to happen to Jane and Bingley? If there is indeed a rogue dragon there, but neither can hear it …” She fell back into the sidewall.

  “I am going to Netherfield to see nothing untoward happens to them.”

  “What will you do?”

  Elizabeth shrugged. “The same thing I usually do—think like a dragon and act accordingly.”

  “What exactly does that look like?”

  “I never know until I am in the middle of it. It depends on so many things, starting with the dragon’s species, age, the relationships with Keepers or Friends, other dragons or even animals in the vicinity, hunger, dominance, is there hoarding involved, has the dragon’s territory been violated in any way…” Elizabeth raised open hands.

  Mary’s jaw dropped.

  “Now you see.” Uncle crossed his arms over his chest and sat back, self-satisfied.

  How should one feel about what he had just done? On the one hand, his vocal support was gratifying, especially when Papa had never offered as much. On the other, how much would Mary—and Mr. Collins—resent Uncle’s set down? Mary had shown a surprising amount of bitterness just now.

  Was it really resentment, though, or the voice of the tremendous pressure of the last few days? After all, worrying that the man one wanted to marry might be eaten by a dragon in a judicial action would be rather anxiety-provoking.

  Elizabeth giggled.

  “What is so funny?” Mary’s eyes bulged.

  Elizabeth shook her head. “A rather draconic joke, I am afraid. Not one most warm-bloods would find amusing.”

  Was it telling that her own sense of humor had become positively cold-blooded? And if so, what did it mean?

  Mary rolled her eyes and turned aside to the side glass where the outskirts of Meryton appeared on the horizon.

  It seemed only a few moments later the carriage stopped at the border of Longbourn estate.

  “Elizabeth cannot cross into Longbourn’s territory.” Uncle opened the door and jumped out. “You and Collins may walk to the house from here or ride the luggage cart if you wish. I will accompany Elizabeth to Netherfield and take my horse back to Longbourn.”

  Collins’ brows wrinkled, definitely less than pleased, but he wisely chose not to remark as he ducked out of the coach.

  Mary paused, staring at the carriage floor. “I … I …”

  Elizabeth touched her arm. “It is a difficult time for us all. None of us is currently at our best.”

  “No, I suppose we are not. I hope …”

  “So do I.” Now was not the time for draconic bluntness. Diplomacy had its uses.

  Uncle handed Mary down and made room for her on the luggage cart. He tied his horse to the back of the carriage and climbed inside with Elizabeth, signaling the driver to continue. “I hope their pettiness has not upset you.”

  “I have long suspected those sentiments in Mary, so I am not surprised. I hardly count anything Mr. Collins says as significant. Even before he was aware of dragons, he rarely said anything sensible. Why would I expect that to be any different now?”

  Uncle snickered. “Mary appears able to manage him well enough. Perhaps, between her and your father, they will be able to shape him into something the Order will accept.”

  “He seems anxious to please—so I think it likely, especially since he is not clever enough to form designs upon the dragons. By all appearances, he only is concerned with the condition and convenience of his own skin.”

  “At least that assists us in motivating him.” Uncle dragged his fist across his mouth. “In all seriousness, though, have you a plan once you arrive at Netherfield?”

  “No, I have nothing specifically in mind, but a great many options. It all depends on the dragon and his—or her—temperament. I imagine this one is cunning, being able to steer clear of Longbourn to avoid a territorial war. Similarly, it cannot be a dominant dragon, or it would have tried to fight Longbourn for his territory. So, I do not expect it to be aggressive toward me—it is unlikely it would chance upsetting Longbourn by harming me. On the whole, lindwurms are not very active dragons.”

  “And you are certain this is a lindwurm?”

  “Few species have the dexterity to write, and fewer are able to paint. Lindwurms are often capable of both. Lady Astrid sent me off with several tomes on the species to study, so I shall spend some of my time doing that whilst I explore the nooks and crannies of Netherfield—and the cellars.”

  “Do you not fear there may be more poisoned rooms?”

  April popped her head up. “One of the wyverns at Barwines Chudleigh’s salon taught me how to smell for it. I will watch over her.”

  “You see, I will be well protected.” She patted April.

  Pray Uncle would not remark upon the wisdom of counting upon a fairy dragon for anything, much less protection.

  Uncle harrumphed. “I will send Rustle to you daily. Keep me abreast of everything. And if there is information you need from your father—”

  “I shall not hesitate to seek help obtaining it. I promise. However, I do not expect that sort of problem. He will not permit his resentment to threaten his devotion to the Order or dragonkind.”

  Uncle did not look convinced.

  ∞∞∞

  Nicholls met them at Netherfield’s front door. Tucked under a frilly white cap, her totally white hair made it difficult to detect where her hair ended and the cap began. She was young for her hair to have lost all the color but wore it as a badge of authority that none in her domain dared question. Of average height and build, she might be easily overlooked except for the efficient way she carried herself encouraged everyone to get out of her way and allow her to carry on with her business unquestioned.

  She ushered Elizabeth and Uncle Gardiner inside, clearly uncomfortable. Did Mr. and Mrs. Bingley expect them? They had not sent word. How long would they be staying? Would Miss Elizabeth be returning to Longbourn? Were they there because of Miss Lydia’s sudden departure?

  One could hardly fault her many questions, but they needed to be addressed quickly before she formed opinions too strong to be persuaded out of. Still in the vestibule, Elizabeth, Uncle Gardiner, and April offered the official explanation, carefully crafted by the Blue Order.

  Lydia had been called away to attend a sick relation. Elizabeth had been sent in her place to assist in preparing the house for its new mistress. Rooms must be cleaned and inventoried by Elizabeth herself with the staff to assist as she required.

  Nicholls hesitated to accept that part of the story. Who could blame her? No one who knew Jane would believe she could be so exacting a mistress. Dragon persuasions could only go so far with most people.

  Finally April—ingenious little soul that she was—suggested it would be a gift for Jane to return to a home already arranged to her preferences. Moreover, Elizabeth was a most considerate and loving sister to attempt giving a gift on such a grand scale. Uncle Gardiner added his support to the notion, and their subterfuge was complete.

  Thank heavens! But perhaps Mary did have a point about dragons imposing unfairly upon those who had no say in dragon affairs.

  Uncle Gardner took his leave, and Nicholls showed Elizabeth to her chambers—a lovely large room in the family wing. Her previous stay at Netherfield had been as a guest of questionable welcome, so she had not been in this part of the house, except fleetingly, in search of maps that might have led them to Pemberley’s egg. Today she could stop and take in her surroundings.

  Morning sunlight streamed through a pair of tall windows, flanked by damask drapes in golds and blues, flooding all the nooks and corners with light. Subdued dragon imagery filled the spacious chamber and the attached dressing room, the kind that could easily be overlooked by the dragon-deaf, but stood out to anyone acquainted with the Blue Order. The feathers on the paper hangings in both rooms were not peacock, but amphithere. The paintin
gs, landscapes like those hanging in the drawing room, contained tantalizing hints of draconic influence. Mahogany dragon claws clutched balls on the furniture’s feet, resting on a burgundy carpet bearing subtle, swirling dragon silhouettes.

  One piece might have been a coincidence, perhaps even two, but no one acquired so much dragon-inspired decoration without doing so intentionally.

  Moreover, this décor was not the work of a single generation. At one time Netherfield must have been a dragon estate. But what happened to its dragon? There had to be some record of it somewhere. Why did Papa not know? Or did he know and simply never saw reason to mention it? Why would he keep it to himself, though?

  Alone in the roomy chambers, the weight of the last se’nnight descended upon her, slowly forcing her to the floor. A rogue dragon might well be slithering in the cellar below her, one with the potential to destroy the fragile fabric of dragon society. If the country fell into dragon war, everyone had so very much to lose. She wrapped her arms around her knees and rested her forehead on them. It all fell to her to find a way to resolve the matter without bloodshed—warm or cold. How was she to accomplish that?

  April nestled against her cheek and trilled softly, the song soothing the edge of her angst. “Darcy should be here with you. He would not have permitted them to speak to you so.”

  “Darcy is doing what he must. And Mary … she just does not know any better.” But April was right—it would have been nice to have Darcy there with them. Very nice. He might not know what to do better than she, but he would make her feel like she had a chance at figuring it out.

  “She should, and she will. I will have a talk with Heather. She cannot permit her Friend to act so inappropriately.”

  Elizabeth swallowed back a giggle. “Do you really think Heather capable of such a thing?”

  April tossed her head in the fairy dragon equivalent of an eye roll. “You listen to me.”

  “I suppose you have a point.” Elizabeth pushed up from the floor. The weight was still there, making it difficult to move, but what choice was there? “But we should set all that aside for now and find some place to begin.”

  April flittered to the bed post. “We should ask the Netherfield dragons what they know.”

  “Netherfield dragons?” There were local dragons whom she did not know?

  “The local fairy dragons are too twitterpated to be of any real use. But there are several minor wyrms—wild ones—who live in the woods near the folly, and there is a shy puck living near the garden. If there has been a major dragon about, they are likely to know.”

  “So near the house? Does not that seem rather close for a wild dragon?”

  “She is not wild. She was Friend to a tenant who lived on the estate some time ago—perhaps in your grandfather’s day. After her death, she chose to stay but did not find another Friend. She is very timid.” April landed on the windowsill and pointed toward the garden with her wing.

  “Do you know if there is anything the puck particularly likes?”

  “You mean does she have a hoard? Yes, pucks always have a hoard. Her Friend was a seamstress. She loves yarns and threads of all sorts. The wild fairy dragons often try to steal from her to make their nests. She is not fond of my kind.”

  “Well, who could blame her? There is hardly a greater offense to such a dragon than to steal from their stash. Might she like some of the pretty cherry-colored twist I have in my work bag?” Elizabeth rummaged through her work bag and held up the twist. April chirruped. “Then lead me to our shy friend, and we will see what she has to say.”

  Nicholls might be a meticulous housekeeper, but the kitchen garden was nothing short of a disgrace. Rabbits—a great many of them, it seemed—had the run of it. April led her to the edge of the woods near the garden. Several rabbits bounded out of the underbrush and into a hole concealed by a tall spiky holly bush.

  “Here.” April hovered over the holly.

  “Are you certain? Did you not see those rabbits?”

  April snorted. “She is a peculiar dragon.”

  That was not saying very much. Most dragons had distinct peculiarities. “In what way?”

  “She is a puck; they are all a bit odd.” April landed carefully on the uppermost holly branch, daintily avoiding the prickles.

  “If you mean they hoard valueless things, I have come prepared.”

  “That is not the only way in which she is odd.” April pulled a prickly leaf from between her long toes. “It is the rabbits. She likes rabbits.”

  “Likes rabbits? Like Pemberley and her dogs?”

  “At least the dogs live in her dragon lair.”

  Elizabeth crouched and peered into the hole. “You mean the puck lives in the warren with the rabbits? Pucks are house dragons—unless she has been mistreated, why would she—”

  “She is peculiar, just as I said. She protects her rabbits from foxes and the like. Considering the state of the garden, the warren seems to be doing very well under her care.”

  Elizabeth headed back to the house.

  April flew after her. “Are you giving up already? That is not like you. What is wrong?”

  “I am not giving up, only realizing we must take a different approach. I scared the rabbits back into their holes, so it is unlikely she will come out and talk to me, at least not today. So I must smooth the way for a proper introduction.” She shoved the kitchen door open. “Help me convince the cook to provide me with some vegetables.”

  April cheeped her skepticism but assisted in persuading the cook it was the most natural thing in the world to offer Elizabeth carrot tops, broccoli trimmings, cauliflower leaves, and a few apple slices—and not question why.

  Elizabeth brought the kitchen castoffs to the holly bush and arranged them prettily on an old, slightly battered tin plate. She added the cherry-colored twist at the front edge of the offerings and pushed it close to the rabbit hole.

  “Now we wait.” She stood and dusted off her hands. “Do you think you can persuade Cook to regularly prepare such a plate?”

  “The woman is quite a gudgeon. It will not be a problem, especially since she has little taste for vegetables herself. Do not ask her to part with anything sweet though. That would have her balking very quickly.”

  “I will keep that in mind.” It was not surprising the puck would not be personable and ready to talk, but it still was a bit disappointing. Where were creatures with Lydia’s personality when she really needed them?

  The folly of that thought became evident a few minutes later when April introduced her to the wild wyrms living in the deeply shaded woods, near a broken-down folly. Though the weather-worn look might be considered fashionable, in this case it appeared more a matter of neglect than intent. The roof had caved in, and the trim around the doorway dangled from a single nail. A strong storm might bring the entire structure down. At least the nearby mossy stone bench remained solid enough for her to sit on while talking with the pair of forest wyrms that appeared out of the leafy floor litter at April’s first call.

  And talk they did! Heavens above, did those wyrms chatter.

  Unusually friendly for wild dragons, they curled up their long scaly bodies at her feet. Dark and dappled, they blended into the dead leaves and loam.

  The dominant one, a male, dared rub his furry leonine face against her ankles, almost like a cat. Such an audacious move, trying to mark her as his own territory. April dove at him, pecking at his head until he kept a respectful distance. The smaller female proved less apt to claim territory but far more vocal.

  In furry-purry voices they talked over one another, offering their observations on any and everything above ground. They spoke so fast, it was hard to make out most of what they said.

  Most Dragon Mates thought fairy dragons were brainless dolts—those people had never tried to talk to wild wyrms. But when Elizabeth asked about the night of the Netherfield Ball, they became very, very quiet, staring at her with wide almost frightened eyes.

  “Have
you heard any dragon voices that are new to the territory?” She leaned down close to hear them.

  The smaller one turned on her tail and disappeared.

  The male rose up like a cobra ready to strike, his mane extended like a hood, and hissed. He wove back and forth, hypnotic in his rhythm. “Not a safe question. Do not ask again. You do not want to know such things. You do not want to know.”

  Elizabeth allowed her eyes to glaze over, and she nodded blankly—exactly as the wyrm would have expected. No point in allowing him to realize she was immune to his efforts, at least not now.

  He shoved his head under her hand. “Scratch ears.”

  April chittered overhead whilst Elizabeth scratched behind his ears.

  “Come back and bring us chicken feet.” He slithered away.

  April flew after him, scolding.

  Elizabeth leaned back and chewed her lip. For having told her nothing, the wyrms had implied a great deal.

  “The nerve of that creature, expecting you to bring them treats after they have been so utterly presumptuous and unhelpful.” April landed on her shoulder, feather-scales puffed.

  She scratched under April’s chin. “He overstepped himself, but we have only just met. It is hardly surprising he should be testing the waters.”

  “You have lived here all your life. He well knows your reputation. Why else would they be demanding chicken feet?”

  “It was hardly a demand, dearling. I have not taken offense, and neither should you. If you think about it, it was rather considerate of them to have told me how to motivate their assistance in the future.”

  “You are far too forgiving of their rudeness.”

  “They confirmed the presence of a lindwurm here.”

  “They said nothing of the sort.”

  “Considering the male was driven to persuade me away from my questions, I take that as an indication of a lindwurm’s presence. They are bullying fellows toward smaller wyrms.”

  April harrumphed. “It seems odd to celebrate the discovery of what we already knew.”