Netherfield_Rogue Dragon_A Pride and Prejudice Variation Read online

  “They are renowned for their dislike of company. It does not surprise me that you would manage to charm one, though. I suppose these wyrms, and perhaps your basilisk friend as well, will be expecting an invitation to the wedding breakfast.”

  How her eyes sparkled “Then it must be held at Pemberley. Who but a dragon-hearing cook could be persuaded to put beetles, chickens’ feet, and dried cod on the menu?”

  He laughed until tears ran down his cheeks. “Do not forget the bones for Pemberley and her dogs.”

  “Yes, of course, they must be invited as well. Oh, what an event it will be!” She dabbed her eyes on the edge of her sleeve.

  “It cannot come soon enough for me.” He pressed his forehead to hers.

  “Or for me.”

  That was the answer he longed for and required another kiss.

  Several more.

  ∞∞∞

  They both retired early that night. Nicholls returned him to the chambers he used whilst he had stayed there with Bingley. How different the spacious chambers looked now than when he had first come. Every surface evidenced draconic themes.

  Carved scales emblazoned the molding near the ceiling. Dragon claws and balls finished all the chairs. Paintings that were probably done by the rogue lindwurm littered the walls while four full lindwurms were carved into the bed posts.

  Dragons were everywhere. Had he ever really looked at them the first time he had been here? Subtle and tasteful, most—the paintings were the notable exceptions—were the sort of pieces that might find their way into rooms at Pemberley if the Darcys had felt the need to be reminded of dragons at every turn.

  It still puzzled him. What motivated one to put dragons on every surface? Was it not just easier to welcome them into the house to take their place as part of the resident staff and family? But then, perhaps his perspective was the odd one. Even the Bennet house, as he understood, hosted only one companion dragon until very recently. At least Elizabeth agreed with his view. For now that was all that mattered.

  He fell asleep nearly as soon as he pulled the counterpane over his shoulders.

  The next morning, he rose early as he always did. Elizabeth was an early riser as well. Would it be too much to hope for that she might be waiting for him, or if not that, soon to look for him in the morning room?

  Apparently it was not.

  She sat at the large round table, nearest the bay window jutting out into sunshine. Opposite her, a mahogany sideboard—with dragon-claw-and-ball feet—held a breakfast spread. Apparently Elizabeth shared his preference to eat early, too. The kippers, though, he would leave for Walker. Their scent was a mite off-putting.

  “Good morning, Mr. Darcy.” She rose and curtsied. A jumble of books lay open in front of her, and no less than half a dozen paintings leaned against the wall behind. The morning room was beginning to resemble Bennet’s study—but perhaps that was not an appropriate thing to say.

  “It seems you have already been up for quite some time. I feel quite the lay-abed.” He sat beside her. How comfortable and easy that was now.

  “You may lay aside such judgements of yourself. I have only just arrived here. Nicholls humors me, permitting me to leave my morning work here so I may pick up each day where I have left off.”

  “I can only imagine the persuasion that requires. I have met few housekeepers who can tolerate this level of … ah …”

  “Disorder? Chaos?”

  “… as you say … they are usually very particular about the public rooms of the house.”

  “Hill certainly is. It has taken ever so long to convince her to stay out of Papa’s study. I have had the sole cleaning of it for many years. I expect that it has not been dusted in months now. I imagine I shall soon have to call upon Rumblkins to help me strengthen Nicholls’ persuasion.” A bit of a shadow crossed her face. She raised her cup toward him. “The coffee is very good, very bracing for the day.”

  “Have you already planned a full schedule? A course of study, art appreciation and perhaps riding for a bit of exercise to round out the day?”

  “If you wish to think of it that way, yes. I am indeed a demanding task-mistress.” Her right eye twitched in a bit of a wink.

  Was every morning with her to be so entirely engaging? If this was a foretaste of what his marriage would be, none could be more fortunate. He refilled her cup and poured one for himself.

  She added a bit of cream and sugar and sipped it thoughtfully. “I did not think to ask yesterday, but where is Fitzwilliam? Is everything all right?”

  “He stopped in London to meet with his father, among others. Apparently, the Eastern Dragon envoy failed to cross a planned checkpoint. There is concern.”

  She gasped and pressed the back of her hand to her mouth. “Pray tell me, the envoy was not supposed to come near Hertfordshire.”

  “No, not at all. The planned route was to approach London directly from the south. I know of no way to reach Hertfordshire except to go through London. There are sentries posted at all the tunnel intersections along the way, watching for the emissary.”

  “Of whom we know nothing, of course, not even a name?”

  “We do know the representative is an Eastern dragon.”

  She slapped her forehead and dragged her hand down her face. “You are aware there are multiple varieties of Eastern dragon and that the number of toes they have is related to their ranking in society which profoundly influences how they should be greeted.”

  Darcy clutched his forehead. “No, I had no idea. Hopefully though, the Order does and will provide adequate information. The important issue is that we do not need to worry about that, at least not for now. We can rest assured that business shall not mix with our own.”

  Elizabeth rolled her eyes. “Except insofar as the entire country’s dragon population is becoming twitchy and hypersensitive and—”

  “I do not mean to dismiss your concerns, but our task at hand, when resolved, will be the biggest help in rectifying all those issues. So, it seems wise for us to focus on that and leave diplomacy to those, like Fitzwilliam, who have a taste for it.”

  “As much as I would like to, I cannot fault your logic. We certainly have enough problems of our own here.” She leaned back, massaging her temples. “I checked Lydia’s room this morning and the trunks had been opened and rummage through.”

  Darcy nearly dropped his coffee cup.

  “I wish I had made an inventory of what precisely was in the trunks. I cannot make out if anything was taken from them or not. Talia is big enough that she could have gotten the trunks open had she wanted to—I did not have them locked. With her penchant for threads, there are any number of things she could have found appealing.”

  “So it could be anything from signs of your sister’s presence to evidence of dragon-hoarding.”

  “Essentially. Though, if one did not trust the staff, it could be a sign of theft by one of the maids as well. But I rather doubt that.”

  “You suspect your sister is about?” He placed his cup carefully on its saucer.

  “I have spent hours in the woods and found absolutely nothing pointing to them. Rustle has done the same from the air, and there seems to be no sign. I do not know what to think.”

  “Perhaps we ought to recruit the forest wyrms’ assistance? I brought an ample supply of beetles, and your uncle will certainly acquire more if necessary.”

  Her shoulders twitched a bit. “Beetles would garner an unusual level of cooperation from our friendly wyrms. They do not appear to have a great deal of sense, but as they seem to think with their stomachs, we ought to play that to our advantage. We might also ask Talia directly about the trunks—a little later in the morning when the sun has warmed the ground. She usually does not come out until then.”

  “Having dealt with pucks for some time, I came prepared with a stock of wool and silk, and a few buttons thrown in for good measure just in case.”

  Elizabeth laughed, exactly as he hoped she might, and pushed
a pair of large open books across the table toward him. “I have several chapters on lindwurms for you to read. Naturally they are old and contradictory. This one declares they are rather stupid creatures, intent on eating as much horsemeat as they can get away with, apt to digging pits to trap their favorite prey.”

  “And no horses have gone missing recently in Hertfordshire, I imagine.”

  “Exactly. This one, suggests they are wily, secretive souls, not prone to communicate with people and apt to be dangerously aggressive toward other major dragons, attacking them during their sleep, in the safety of their own caverns.”

  “Do you believe that?” He balanced his chin on his fist.

  “Not even remotely.”

  “Are you telling me these books are worthless?” Darcy rifled through a few yellowed pages.

  “I wish I could, but there are shreds of truth in each.” She slid a sheet of paper out from under the largest book. “I have tried to list out what each says and sort between truth, falsehood, and what is possible, based on the lindwurms I have personally met and the observations Papa recorded. He may be frustrating on many fronts, but I do trust the accuracy of his reports.”

  Darcy squinted at the sheet—many, many lines of tiny handwriting. She was nothing if not thorough.

  “I would like your opinions on what I have noted. But first, you should see these.” She pushed her chair back and reached for the paintings.

  He helped her lay them out on the morning room table, entirely covering its surface. Different sizes, different frames, but all with an almost eerie similarity.

  “These have come from all parts of the house. The one on the upper left is from the room Lydia stayed in. The bottom row are all from the large drawing room. I am not sure there is a great deal of thought given to where they are hung, mostly where there is room on a wall to place them. But if you look closely, I think they represent a progression that might be significant.”

  The one from Lydia’s room was certainly the most primitive, both in style and composition. “The painter’s skill grows—to a limited degree—with each painting, and the symbolism becomes somewhat more refined. But each one seems to repeat.” He pointed to similar elements in each painting.

  “Yes, that is what I saw, too. Look closely at this on the bottom, hidden in the rocks on the path. I think this is dragon script.” She rang her finger along the edge of a painting.

  “By Jove! You are right. The word is ‘sanctuary’ or perhaps ‘haven’?”

  “That is how I translate it as well. The word before though, is ‘it brings’ or perhaps road, path, or way? I am not sure.”

  “And this?” Darcy pointed to more scratching hidden in the clouds at the upper left corner.

  “I had not seen those.” She pulled a quizzing glass from the middle of another book and peered closely into the clouds. “Does that say ‘giver?’”

  “That might be one way to read it, but if these are characters as well, not just random spots, it could also read ‘wise one’ or ‘deliverer.’”

  She fell back into her seat and threw her head back. “What good is it to include such hidden meaning if one cannot even tell if the characters are there?”

  “Have you been examining these—”

  “For nearly a month now, and they are making me daft. Each time I think I am getting close to sorting it all out, I find—like you just pointed out—something more I overlooked. I have never felt more stupid than I do staring at these.”

  “Perhaps you are crediting the painter with far more than he deserves.” Darcy tapped his lips with his fist.

  “What do you mean?”

  “To my eye, it seems that this painter has had no formal training at all—completely self-taught. Georgiana tried to talk me out of hiring a painting master to teach her. Told me she could teach herself from a book she had found in the circulating library. I allowed her to try and her efforts came out looking very much like this. You can see the distorted perspectives and the failure of pleasing composition in all of these. In fact, I have to wonder if the same book Georgiana used might have been used here as well.”

  “Forgive me if I am a mite muzzy this morning, but I fail to understand the implications.”

  “I see a bored creature with little occupation. Unlike a proper estate dragon, he has no business, except to remain undetected. I know lindwurms do not have a reputation for intelligence.” He pointed to a line on Elizabeth’s list, “But if he has nothing to do but stay hidden, and he has a lively mind, this seems the sort of thing an intelligent creature would do to entertain himself and while away some tiresome hours.”

  “I suppose he could have gotten Talia to bring him books from the Netherfield libraries until he found something interesting.” She chewed her thumbnail. “Shall we go outside and meet Talia? She may be able to shed some light on the matter. Besides—it is hard to believe I am saying this—but I would very much like to get away from books and studying for a little while.”

  She escorted him out to the garden, the sunshine a welcome friend. Just how many rabbits did the puck keep in her hoard to do such damage to the kitchen garden—and how was Bingley to manage when he and Jane returned to take residence?

  No doubt the puck would find a way to persuade him to believe it was perfectly fine this way. But it really would be so much better for someone who heard dragons to take the estate. They could make an agreement with the puck to restrain her hoard to this garden plot and plant another that she would restrict the rabbits from. All very neat and simple. The situation as it stood, though, had the potential for some very unpleasant outcomes.

  Elizabeth pointed to a tall holly bush at the edge of the garden and sat down on a sunny patch of ground that looked like it had specifically been cleared for the purpose. He sat beside her, trying not to grin. There was something rather exciting about the opportunity to meet a new dragon that made him feel like a child again.

  She placed a tin plate of vegetable trimmings in front of her and tapped it several times. “Good morning ,Talia. I have brought a friend to meet you.”

  After several minutes, a long, red nose peeked out from a burrow under the prickly holly leaves, sniffing the air. It pressed further until one shining black eye appeared, surveying the surroundings.

  Even though dragons were predators, only a few were actually at the apex of the predatory ladder. Knowing that one was prey definitely affected smaller dragons’ personalities. They dare not proceed with the arrogance of their large cousins.

  Finally, she poked her head out sufficiently to flare her hood to its full extent and hiss. Posturing and nothing else—it was after all important to clearly demonstrate how big and fierce one was when meeting new associates. Darcy tried not to laugh—it would be considered rude, but the predictability of the minor dragons was amusing.

  “Talia, this is Mr. Darcy, my friend—and April’s friend and Rustle’s friend—I would like him to be your friend as well.”

  Talia cocked her head and blinked at Elizabeth, hood relaxing halfway. Was it that Elizabeth had honored her by presenting Darcy to her, instead of presenting Talia to the larger creature? Or was it the offer of friendship—which usually implied the presentation of a gift that caught her attention. Did Elizabeth even know herself? He probably should ask later.

  “I would be honored to be part of your acquaintance.” Darcy slowly, very slowly reached into his pocket and presented a sliver of dried meat, laying it on the ground half the distance between him and the puck.

  She crept forward, one eye on Darcy, the other on the meat. Elizabeth nodded her encouragement. Talia jumped forward and back, grabbing the offering in a single flick of her long tongue. She gobbled it down and licked her face and lips. Just how long was her tongue?

  “Good.” Talia inched toward Elizabeth until she leaned on Elizabeth’s knee. Any closer and she would be sitting in Elizabeth’s lap like a pug or a very funny-looking cat.

  Apparently, this was an understood sign that
she wanted a scratch. Elizabeth obliged until the creature all but purred with pleasure.

  “Darcy has a gift for you, if you will be his friend.” Elizabeth pointed to Darcy’s pocket.

  He withdrew a ball of the softest, fluffiest wool he could find.

  Talia’s eyes grew large, and a tiny dot of drool appeared at the edges of her mouth. “Wool?”

  “Yes. It is very warm and soft wool. I would very much like to give it to a friend.” He extended the wool toward Talia.

  She sniffed at it, her eyes crossing in greedy pleasure. Quincy could be that way about buttons. For a hoarding dragon, their hoard was a direct route to their heart.

  Talia sat back on her haunches and scratched behind her frill, eyes never leaving the wool. “He is your friend?” She tapped Elizabeth’s knee with her tail.

  “Yes, he is. A very fine and loyal friend.”

  Darcy pressed his lips hard—now was not the time to grin like a boy. But certainly one could be excused when one’s betrothed complimented him so.

  “He will not hurt my hoppers?”

  “Certainly not.” Darcy shook his head slowly. “I told my Friend cockatrice, Walker, he was not to bother the Netherfield rabbits.”

  Talia’s tongue flickered in and out, and she glanced skyward. “Saw him hunting yesterday. He stayed away. That is good. You can be my friend.” She sat and reached for him with both front paws.

  “I am honored.” Darcy placed the ball of wool in her paws.

  She accepted the gift with open-mouthed glee, rolling over on her back and turning the ball of wool over and over with all four feet, pressing her face into the fibers, sniffing, and even licking it.

  Elizabeth shuddered a bit—she was trying as hard as he not to laugh at the pure visceral delight. After several minutes the euphoria subsided, and Talia disappeared into the burrow.

  Elizabeth tapped the plate, and the puck reappeared. “I have a question for you. Tell me the truth, I shall not be put out with you whatever you should say.”