by Maria Grace
Elizabeth giggled. “A sort of happily-ever-after to end a dragon fairy-story?”
“Rather like that,” Matlock winked just barely, looking remarkably like Fitzwilliam.
“I suppose everyone we would wish to invite is already here. And we had talked about how to accommodate dragon guests for the wedding breakfast.” Elizabeth shrugged at Darcy.
He took her hand. “I would just as soon not wait another day to make you my wife.”
“Might our families attend us in the chapel?”
“Of course.” Lord Matlock summoned a Bondsman and issued a flurry of instructions. “The request of young Pemberley has been granted. You are all invited to attend the Darcys’ wedding breakfast following the Conclave, hosted by Barwines Chudleigh.”
Elizabeth clutched her forehead. Perhaps this ending was becoming a little too farfetched for even a fairy-story.
In very short order, Elizabeth stood at the back of the Blue Order chapel with Papa. Except for the absence of windows, it resembled every other chapel she had ever known. Workmanship was probably the biggest difference, with all the mahogany woodwork carefully carved in even, geometric patterns, polished and cleaned. What was not covered in wood bore bright white paint. Neither dust nor cobwebs marred any surface—they would have been quite noticeable with so many candles lighting the interior.
The two families quietly talked among themselves, at least insofar as Lady Catherine was capable of speaking softly with Lord and Lady Matlock. Clearly, she did not approve of anything that was happening. A wedding with dragons?
Lady Matlock did not approve of her disapproval. Collins tried to wade into the situation, only to set Lady Catherine off further, earning both a scolding from Cait.
Near the front of the chapel, Walker extended his wings, trying to block Pemberley’s and Earl’s view of the bickering. How little Pemberley had pleaded to attend the ceremony that would make Elizabeth her Keeper though she really had no understanding of what was actually happening. The bishop tried to refuse, but even he could not resist her baleful looks and soulful pleading.
Fitzwilliam laughed as he made small talk with Georgiana and Pemberley and played with Earl, pointedly ignoring Lady Catherine’s unpleasantness. She seemed determined to have someone attend to her and rose, puffed and bustling like an angry dragon, and headed toward Fitzwilliam. April launched from Elizabeth’s shoulder and hovered near Lady Catherine, singing softly. She stopped and then returned to Lady Matlock, yawning.
“Your mother will regret missing your wedding,” Papa muttered, not meeting her gaze. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other and tapped his walking stick on the wood floor.
“April will persuade her that she attended a ceremony and a breakfast hosted by Lady Matlock that was everything she could have wanted for her daughter.” It was very kind of Lady Matlock to offer the ruse to mollify Mama, for it would mean she had to admit Mama and Kitty into her acquaintance.
Papa harrumphed under his breath. “I am sure that will placate her, especially if your Aunt Gardiner reinforces it.”
Elizabeth half-turned her back on him. It was far more pleasant to watch Mr. Darcy talking with the bishop. Darcy’s smile was handsome and contagious, much better to dwell upon right now. “It would be entirely appropriate for you to say something kind just before you place my hand in Mr. Darcy’s.”
“I always wanted you to stay at Longbourn with me—as much as Longbourn did.” Papa shuffled a step toward her.
“Even though I did little beyond confound and frustrate you at every turn?”
There it was, that annoyed grumbly sound he always made when she vexed him. “Must you always make things sound so very bad? I confess, your ways are difficult for me to accept or even understand. I know I have been vocal about that. But what you would expect of a historian who treasures the traditions of our Order?”
She shrugged. It was a better alternative than telling him such excuses were hardly becoming.
“I am proud of you. The dragons esteem you in a way unheard of in all the annals. You have a rare gift with them. Perhaps I should have recognized that more.”
It was not actually an apology, but it was more than he had ever said. That should mean something, but it was difficult to tell if it really did. Something to think upon later.
The bishop called the little group to order and signaled Papa to escort her to Mr. Darcy.
Papa might be reluctant to express his esteem, but the party who waited for her was not. Fitzwilliam, Georgiana, Pemberley, Walker, even little Earl watched her approach with such anticipation. Pemberley flapped, just a little, as if it might hurry them along. Georgiana tried to soothe her, stroking her head, but it only made her flap harder.
Papa relinquished her to Darcy and sat with the Gardiners and Collinses.
The bishop opened the Book of Common Prayer and read, “Dearly beloved, we are gathered together here in the sight of God, and in the face of this congregation, to join together this Man and this Woman in Holy Matrimony …”
Pemberley waddled closer and closer until she pressed her head against Elizabeth’s waist.
The bishop did well, only raising an eyebrow at her, but not missing a beat in his reading. Only a man who had spent many years in the presence of dragons could manage such a feat. He placed her hand in Darcy’s and enjoined him to speak.
“I, Fitzwilliam Darcy take thee Elizabeth Bennet to my wedded Wife, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death us do part, according to God's holy ordinance; and thereto I plight thee my troth.”
She responded in kind.
The bishop looked at him expectantly. “The ring?”
The poor man went absolutely white.
∞∞∞
Walker swooped toward them and Darcy extended his arm for him to land, more from reflex than conscious thought. He was hardly capable of that at the moment. How could he have possibly forgotten a ring? Would the bishop declare them wed without one? Would Elizabeth ever forgive him such a blunder? Where could he possibly—
Walker nudged his hand with his head. How could he possibly look so smug at a time like this? He dropped a small object from his beak. “I went back to the house and found this. It was your mother’s. I hope it will do.”
Blood roared in Darcy’s ears as he gulped in a ragged breath. How could he thank Walker enough for this?
Without looking at it, he slipped the ring on her finger. It was a wee bit big, but that was easy enough to sort out later. “With this ring I thee wed, with my body I thee worship, and with all my worldly goods I thee endow: In the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen.”
Elizabeth’s lips formed a perfect “o” and her eyes glittered, staring at the ring. The wide gold band was familiar: a pair of firedrakes together clasping a domed blue stone in raised filigree. Mother had worn it on special occasions, a gift from Father’s mother upon Darcy’s birth. Had Walker any idea how excellent his choice was?
“I pronounce that they be Man and Wife together, In the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen. I present to you Sir Fitzwilliam and Lady Elizabeth Darcy.”
The next several hours passed in a blur of greetings, introductions, and congratulations that began at the Barwines Chudleigh’s wedding breakfast but seemed to spill out and span every level of the Blue Order offices. Knights of the Blue Order were not made every day, Dame Commanders even less often, and the creation of a new office entirely? Unheard of! Everyone, human and dragon, seemed compelled to offer their good wishes and even to begin plying Elizabeth with questions.
Poor woman was nearly overwhelmed by everyone, requiring both of her knights to step in and extricate her from seekers. Was that why Matlock had made them? It was unlikely the only reason, but it was amusing to consider.
By the time they escaped their well-wishers, no time remained to return to D
arcy House. They rode directly to Cheapside where the Collinses and the Gardiners had put together a small wedding breakfast. With Cait and the cadre of fairy dragons to persuade Mrs. Bennet and Kitty of the elegant wedding breakfast they had just attended at Matlock House, Mrs. Bennet soon praised Aunt Matlock’s generosity and hospitality in welcoming Elizabeth into their family. Surely attending the actual events could not have made Mrs. Bennet any happier.
More importantly, the warmth in Elizabeth’s eyes suggested she was genuinely happy for a small intimate gathering to celebrate with those closest to her. As long as they were now married, who was he to complain?
At last, they returned to Darcy House, retreating to their favorite parlor for warm cider, roasted apples, and toast. Perhaps it was a plain sort of thing to do, but after a day such as this had been, something ordinary felt very welcome.
They sat close on the fainting couch, staring into the fire, draining the last of the cider. Surrounded by the smells of the fire, apples, and her subtle perfume, a lazy comfort spread through his limbs. He put out most of the candles, leaving the room small and intimate around them, cozy and inviting. Exactly right.
He slipped his arm over her shoulder and pulled her close. “This was certainly not the day I expected.”
“Are you disappointed?” She cuddled into his side.
“Hardly. Merely a little surprised. When one deals with dragons, one does not expect for things to go exactly as one might dream.” He pressed his cheek to the top of her head.
“They do usually make things complicated.”
“I expect that is a word we shall revisit often.”
“There is one thing I have found very helpful when things seem complicated.”
“What is that, Mrs. Darcy?”
“Often things seem much clearer if one tries to think like a dragon.”
“Indeed, is that so?” He nuzzled the side of her neck, growling slightly. “Are you perhaps recommending now would be such a time?”
“It is a good place to begin.” She winked at him.
And it was.
Epilogue
Three weeks later, Elizabeth and April ushered a crowd into Darcy House’s largest drawing room. Most of the furniture had been pushed against the walls to accommodate the gathering. As twitterpated as April was over the hatching, it was easier to move into a larger room than to try and to convince her to restrict the attendees.
Papa, with Drew, his new secretary—whom Mama thought a rather large dog—insisted on being there. Lady Astrid had expressed interest in publishing his fairy dragon monograph at last, so he wanted to refresh the section on hatching with new observations. April did not object, and the reasoning was sound, so it was hard to deny them.
Walker, Slate, and Amber had to be there as they were part of the household. The hatchling who would hopefully befriend Georgiana would need to accustom herself to them as soon as possible. Though Earl and Fitzwilliam would not be living with them, they would be regularly in their company, so an early acquaintance made sense there, too.
Was it really necessary to have Auntie—and Lydia—there, though? It was not as if they were going to be with them for very long, nor were they likely to see each other with any regularity, but April thought it appropriate.
With Georgiana, Lady Astrid, and Bylock, they now had seven people, five drakes and two cockatrice in the room. Good thing minor drakes were rather companionable sorts.
Walker was not fond of so much company and kept to himself near the windows. His excuse was to ensure they were guarded against predators that might disturb the hatching. No one dared insult his dignity by suggesting the closed windows were sufficient to the task.
Papa sat near the fire, directing Fitzwilliam in shaving slivers of blood and treacle pudding into a pan of broth simmering on the hob. Lady Astrid and Georgiana helped the drakes rub soft flannels over themselves to give the hatchlings their scent, then rubbed the same cloths over their throats and hands. Papa said it made it more likely for the hatchlings to stay and choose a Friend. Naturally, the hatchlings would ultimately do as they pleased, as all dragons did, but anything that might make the process easier was welcome.
“Historian Bennet says you should give these your scent and Walker’s as well, then give them to Fitzwilliam and Earl.” Georgiana brought them a pile of flannels.
Her cheeks were flushed prettily, and she could hardly subdue her smile. It was difficult to believe she had ever been the dragon-fearing child Darcy had once described. His eyes shone as he took the cloths. If pride could be palpable, his was.
The only one in the room who did not seem to share in the warm feelings was Lydia who hunched on a hard stool near the far side of the fireplace. She did not do well when she was not the center of attention. Auntie insisted she attend to gain a better understanding of the bond between dragon and Friend. Lydia had brought a book—a lavishly illustrated bestiary that took up her entire lap. She stared resolutely at its pages, not answering any inquiry directed toward her until everyone simply ignored her. Ah well, it was probably the best anyone could ask for, given the circumstances.
“The eggs, they are moving!” Lady Astrid cried and hurried to the nesting box.
Georgiana took her place along the adjacent side. Elizabeth positioned herself between them while the drakes stood in a ring just beyond.
Papa and Fitzwilliam prepared saucers of broth and sausage and brought them near the box.
Two of the three eggs in the center of the box wobbled and rocked. The tiny third one lay on its side, resolutely still. Elizabeth moved it to the far corner, out of the way.
Both mottled eggs cracked near the top, exposing the inner membrane. Georgiana clasped her hands tightly before her. She had been warned to let the hatchlings escape their shells on their own. Lady Astrid leaned over the box, hands clutched behind her back. Perhaps she was as excited as Georgiana.
A sharp beak poked through the egg nearest Lady Astrid. April paced beside it, trilling encouraging sounds. The chick seemed to respond, forcing its head through the shell, a rather surprised look on its tiny face as it blinked in the room’s muted light. She quickly pulled her wings from the shell and flapped herself free of it, sending egg slime flying in every direction. Lady Astrid offered her hand to the hatchling for a perch and reached for a flannel.
“You are the absolute perfect image of a fairy dragon, just like the illustrations in my books.” Astrid cooed as she dried the deep blue chick. It fluffed into a perfect fairy dragon dandelion.
The chick turned her head this way and that, cheeping prettily. “Hungry?” She said it so politely, so sweetly.
“Of course.” Lady Astrid offered her a saucer of broth.
What a truly ladylike little thing. Nothing like the greedy guzzles most chicks usually indulged in after hatching.
“May I call you Verona, for you are the true image of what I imagined a fairy dragon to be.” Lady Astrid had a rather vivid imagination if this was what she imagined after having known April.
The chick lifted her head and seemed to consider the notion carefully. “Verona. Yes.” She returned to her meal as Lady Astrid stroked her back.
“Lizzy! Lizzy! I think something is wrong!” Georgiana pointed to the other egg.
A silvery white beak, followed by an egg-slime covered head, very pale, silvery, almost white, burst forth. With a little squawk, the chick threw off the egg and hopped and flapped, screeching until most of the goo was gone. “No wet!” it cried.
“Clean her off.” Elizabeth spoke into her hand. Hopefully it would hide the giggle. The chick certainly had strong preferences already.
“Come here. I will make you warm and dry, little one.” Georgiana knelt beside the box, making her nearly eye to eye with the chick.
The chick spread her wings and offered them to Georgiana who already seemed expert in drying and fluffing. “Better!” She cheeped and hopped into Georgiana’s hand, such a happy, peaceful little thing cuddling her palm.<
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“Have you ever seen a white fairy dragon?” Georgiana asked, stroking the chick’s head.
“No, I did not realize they could be white. She is quite extraordinary. Go ahead and offer her some broth.”
A large book hit the floor.
“Ouch! Stop that!” Lydia snatched her hand away from her lap.
Elizabeth rushed to Lydia. The tiniest fairy dragon Elizabeth had ever seen stood on Lydia’s knee, pecking her hand and dripping goo on Lydia’s gown.
“Hungry! Hungry now!”
Fitzwilliam pressed a saucer into Lydia’s hand.
The black and red chick tipped her beak into the broth and spat it at Lydia’s face. “No! Hungry!”
“Honey, hand me the honey!” Elizabeth reached over Lydia’s head as Darcy passed her the honey pot. “Here, this will please you.” She placed the open pot on Lydia’s lap.
The chick thrust her head in the pot, guzzling loudly.
“She is just like you.” Elizabeth looked at April.
April flitted to Lydia’s knees and examined the chick. “She is very tiny.”
The chick pulled her head out of the honey, beak dripping, and pecked at April. “Mine. Hungry.”
“Yes, you are hungry, but you are not alone and must be ready to share.” April chided as she preened the chick.
“Lydia, dry her off.” Elizabeth handed her a flannel.
Clumsy and a touch annoyed, Lydia scrubbed away the slime. “You are actually a pretty little thing, but I thought only two of the eggs were to hatch.”
“You were wrong.” The chick pecked at Lydia’s hand, drawing a tiny dot of blood.
“Ouch! Do not do that!” Lydia snatched her hand away.
“You should not say very stupid things.”
“Well, they did not seem stupid to me.”
“Then perhaps you should think about them a bit more before you say them. More sweet.”
Lydia shoved the pot toward the chick.
“Do not argue!” a tiny voice cried. The white chick nestling in Georgiana’s elbow shook her head furiously.
