by Maria Grace
Elizabeth put her hand on Mary’s shoulder and stopped her. “What is troubling you?”
“Nothing at all. Why do you think—”
“Mary, please. You do not have to play that game with me. I am not Mama and will not scold you for your concerns.”
Mary’s eyes brightened, and she dragged her hand down her face. “How do you do it?”
“Do what?
“The dragons. Every single one I have seen you deal with, they all like you. You know where each of them lives. You know the right things to say and do to make them happy. You always seem to know just what they want and need. What is your secret?”
“You hear them just as well as I do. There is no secret.”
“I could never have convinced Rumblkins to help us. I would not even have thought to try.” Mary glanced down toward the eggs. “I know Papa has in mind for me to be Dragon Mate to one of these little ones, but I have no idea how I will do it. Why would a hatchling like me in the first place, not when you, Aunt Gardiner and even the children are about? Who would not prefer their company? Rustle is so grumpy to me. Longbourn hardly speaks to me at all. I may be able to hear them, but what matters that if none of them care to speak to me?”
Elizabeth gestured at a fallen log and sat down. She slipped her arm over Mary’s shoulder. “There is no secret, truly. Dragons are very much like people. The only difference is that they do not hide their thoughts or feelings as we do. We are taught to be polite and reserved, but they have no such impediments. If they think it or feel it, they will say it. Their wants are simple and they will let you know them if you ask.”
“You should have heard what Longbourn said to me the last time I went to groom his scales. He did nothing but complain and criticize. How do you tolerate it when they can be so ... difficult?”
“I prefer to regard them not so much as critical, but honest.” Elizabeth tipped her head back and peered through the branches into the sky. “All told, I try to appreciate it for the gift it is.”
“You are speaking in riddles.”
“How many times have you wondered what someone was truly thinking? You know that they do not mean what they say, but you do not know what they honestly think. Does that not bother you?”
“Of course it does.” Mary dusted a leaf off her skirt.
“With the dragons, you always know what they are thinking. I find it refreshing and far safer than dealing with our own kind. If you treat a dragon as you wish to be treated, without false civility and ceremony, but with honesty and respect, you will find them very agreeable creatures.”
“You make it sound so simple.”
“I suppose that having a touch of impertinence makes it all a bit easier. But, I am certain you are quite up to the task.” Elizabeth rose and pulled Mary to her feet. “Come, we should bring the eggs to Papa. He is probably pacing the floor waiting for us even now.”
Papa was indeed waiting most impatiently, with a hatching box stuffed with straw already sat near the fire in his study. Close by, a basket overflowed with flannels and old towels. A treacle and blood sausage—a meal most easily digested by dragon chicks—hung by the fireplace, ready to feed to the hungry hatchlings, and a kettle stood ready on the hob. In honor of the occasion, many of the customary stacks and piles had disappeared, leaving the walkways clear and the tables piled high.
Three tomes lay open on the desk, revealing hatching lore dating back hundreds of years. Papa always refreshed his memory before a hatching. His encyclopedic knowledge on the matter had earned him great respect among the Order. He was often invited to attend important hatchings. He had been present at more than any living member of the Order and had brought Elizabeth to several.
He carefully studied each egg, holding them up to a candle, then to his ear. Faint cheeps could be heard from them. A very good sign indeed.
A few days, a se’nnight at most for the hatching. The eggs must not be left alone, not even for an hour. Their social plans must be curtailed until the hatchlings were past their need for hourly feedings.
Thankfully that only lasted a few days. With any luck at all, it would be Mary and Aunt Gardiner cast with managing that task. The last thing Elizabeth needed was another fairy dragon turning to her for companionship. April’s demands quite filled her days.
***
Two days later, soft post-dawn sunlight streamed into the morning room as the family gathered for breakfast. The chamber was tidy and snug, with crisp white curtains and pale blue-green walls. The round table and plain chairs took up most of the space, with a neat sideboard pushed tight along the wall opposite the window. No matter how few people were in the room, it always felt rather full of company.
Aunt and Uncle remained upstairs, breakfasting with the children where the little ones might chatter and giggle as much as they wished without earning raised brows and dark scowls from Mama. No doubt Uncle would be enlivening their meal with a few dragon tales as well.
Ham, scones and porridge graced the table, with tea and a pot of coffee on the sideboard. Papa’s usual mug of willow bark tea steeped beside his plate. It was his large mug—his pain must be particularly bad this morning.
With him hiding behind his newspaper, Jane and Mary quietly sewing, and Kitty and Lydia poring over the latest edition of La Belle Assemble, the tableau epitomized domestic familial bliss.
At least for a moment.
Mama swept into the morning room, a vague look of triumph in her eyes. “My dear Mr. Bennet!”
Elizabeth swallowed a gulp of too-hot tea and nearly dropped her tea cup.
Jane reached across her place and helped her set it on the table. Kitty leaned over Lydia’s shoulder and whispered something. They both giggled.
Papa winced. That introduction always preceded a flurry of social plans, none of which would accommodate needy baby dragons.
“Have you heard that Netherfield Park is let at last? Mrs. Long has just been here, and she told me all about it.”
“Is it not early for her to be paying a call?” Papa’s eyebrow rose archly over his mug.
Mama waved his question away. “Mrs. Long came to me yesterday, and she says that Netherfield is taken by a young man of large fortune, from the north of England, by the name of Bingley. A single man of large fortune; four or five thousand a year. What a fine thing for our girls!”
“How so? How can it affect them?” Papa snapped his newspaper back into its creases and set it aside. His eyes sparkled—he enjoyed this little game. Perhaps a bit too much.
“How can you be so tiresome!” Mama snorted and took her place beside him. “You must know that I am thinking of his marrying one of them. It is a truth universally acknowledged that a single man in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a wife. Our girls are so very agreeable. It is very likely that he may fall in love with one of them. Therefore you must visit him as soon as he comes.”
The light faded from Papa’s eyes, and his shoulders stiffened.
Jane cast an alarmed look at Elizabeth. She detested conflict. Little got Papa’s back up faster than being told he must do something—unless of course it was a dragon who told him so.
“A visit you say?”
Jane squeezed her eyes shut and bit her lip.
“My dear, you must indeed go and see Mr. Bingley. Consider your daughters. Only think what an establishment it would be for one of them. Sir William and Lady Lucas are determined to go, merely on that account, for in general, you know they visit no newcomers—”
“Enough, enough my dear Mrs. Bennet. You can cease your endless entreaties.” Papa leaned back, tension flowing away.
What was he about?
Mama threw her hands in the air. “You take delight in vexing me. You have no compassion on my poor nerves.”
Papa sipped his willow bark tea, looking far more smug he ought. “You mistake me, my dear. I have a high respect for your nerves. They are my old friends. I have heard you mention them with consideration these twenty years a
t least.”
“You do not know what I suffer!” Mama dabbed her eyes with her napkin.
“Nor have I any idea what I shall endure as I have actually paid the call just hours ago. The family was not there to visitors, so I left my card and one of yours as well, Mrs. Bennet. We cannot escape the acquaintance now.”
Mama clapped and squealed. “Well, how pleased I am! I was sure you loved our girls too well to neglect such an acquaintance. Such a good joke, too, that you should have gone this morning, and never said a word about it till now. And so early!”
Mary glanced at Elizabeth who shrugged.
“I believe we crossed paths with Mr. Bingley whilst Lizzy and I were walking the day before yesterday.” Mary kept her eyes on the tablecloth.
“And you told me nothing of this? What happened?” Mama leaned toward her.
“A horse, out of control, almost ran over us on the path near Oakham Mount. Another man returned to check on us. He said he was here to see Netherfield Park, and that he hoped he would be able to properly make our acquaintance soon. I must conclude he was Mr. Bingley.”
Lydia leaned across the table. “Oh, oh! Was he handsome?”
“What of the other man with him. The one who could not handle his horse?” Kitty nearly knocked over her teacup with her elbow. “It is even better if there are two gentlemen.”
“Do not keep us waiting child, we must know.” Mama waved her hand at Mary.
Mary’s eyes bulged. Her conversation never attracted this much attention.
“I do not think he was a poor horseman. I think something startled his horse.” Elizabeth glanced at Papa.
“Oh, not that foolish little bird of yours, Lizzy. You must keep it to its cage or better yet, turn it out of the house, and let it fly free. What will our new neighbors think of such a creature following you about? Really, that is too peculiar.”
“Mrs. Bennet,” Papa spoke through gritted teeth.
Mama’s mouth opened and closed several times, but she knew well enough not to cross Papa when he used that tone.
They all did.
Mama leaned back, shoulders sagging. “Well, we must make the most of our acquaintance with him—”
Mrs. Hill trundled into the room with cards on a small silver platter. “A Mr. Bingley and Mr. Darcy to see the family.” She curtsied.
Mama sprang to her feet and pounced on the cards. “Look how elegant. The printing, the paper, so refined!”
“Perhaps we should greet the men themselves rather than stand about admiring their cards.” Papa offered her his arm and ushered her out of the morning room.
Jane followed, and the rest in turn.
***
Hill had installed their guests in the parlor where they stood near the fireplace waiting. Both men were finely dressed, but not dandies, conservative and polished. The parlor, with its faded fabrics and worn woods, looked a little shabby beside them.
They spoke in hushed tones that even Elizabeth’s sharp hearing could not discern.
“Mr. Bingley and Mr. Darcy I presume?” Papa bowed from his shoulders.
“Mr. Bennet! I cannot tell you how sorry I am that the housekeeper did not direct you inside. We would have been most happy to have received you this morning. We had to come immediately and return your call. Allow me to present my friend, Mr. Darcy of Derbyshire.”
Darcy bowed a mite stiffly. “Pleased to make your acquaintance, Mr. Bennet.”
When he straightened, a glint of gold caught her eyes. His pocket watch flashed in a sunbeam. An embossed wyvern, the sign of the Blue Order, emblazoned the cover. A signet ring with the same figure encircled the small finger of his right hand.
A Dragon Keeper from Derbyshire. He must be the Keeper of the Lambton Wyrm, Keeper of the missing egg!
Papa’s eyes flashed to the pocket watch and back to Darcy’s face. He glanced toward Bingley’s watch. No such decoration. He probably could not hear dragons at all.
What a strange companion for Mr. Darcy to travel with, given his errand.
“May I present my wife, Mrs. Bennet, and my daughters?” Papa gestured toward them. “Miss Jane Bennet, Elizabeth, Mary, Kitty and Lydia.”
They curtsied in turn.
Bingley bowed again. He was a handsome man to be sure, and his temper seemed open and agreeable, just what one would wish for in a single man of good fortune. “Delighted to make your acquaintance, indeed.”
Beside him, Darcy made a small bow but said nothing.
Mama sniffed in his direction. No doubt they would be treated to a long discourse on the man’s rudeness later.
“Please sit down, be comfortable. I shall call for some tea.” Mama rang the bell for Hill.
Bingley sat down on the settee. Mama waved Jane and Lydia to his side as she took the chair nearest.
Of course Mama would direct her favorites to him. They were free to marry for normal considerations—affection, money, connections—but Elizabeth had no such privilege. As the eldest Dragon Hearer, she had a responsibility to the estate and to Longbourn.
Elizabeth swallowed hard. Jealousy was not attractive. All gifts came with a price. And hearing dragons was worth it.
Papa lifted an eyebrow at Mr. Darcy and twitched his head toward the door.
Elizabeth sidled between them and the rest of the company. Best make their escape as easy as possible. “So, Mr. Bingley, how to do you find Meryton?”
***
Bennet slipped out of the parlor, signaling Darcy to follow. Bingley appeared entirely happy, engaged with a room full of lively Miss Bennets, so he would hardly notice Darcy’s absence. Best that way all told. If pressed, Darcy could easily claim he wanted to discuss land management with Mr. Bennet. While a bit of a stretch, it was hardly a lie.
“We shall not be disturbed here.” Bennet shut the study door behind them.
His shoulders were bowed and his back stooped. He shuffled more heavily than his age alone would have implied. No doubt his feet were as gnarled as his hands. Could he even make it out to see the estate dragon? It could not be often if he did. Who tended the dragon for him?
The study was small, but serviceable. Shelves filled with books—books of dragon lore, dragon histories, genealogies, and titles he could not make out—lined the wall behind the imposing desk and an adjacent wall. Exactly what he would expect from the repository of Blue Order’s wisdom. Windows and a generous fireplace took up the remaining walls. Four comfortable chairs clustered near the fireplace, a unique dragon perch between them.
The space was not tidy, but the wooden box stuffed with straw near the hanging sausage could hardly be random clutter. He edged toward the hearth until he could peer into the box.
“Fairy dragon eggs.” Bennet hastened across the room to stand protectively near the hatching box.
“Are you certain? I understand tatzelwurm eggs look very similar.” Darcy crouched and peered at the eggs, but did not touch them.
“They do, but tatzelwurms do not put their clutches twenty feet off the ground, do they? Nor do they make the sounds you will hear if you listen very closely.” Bennet hunkered down beside him and leaned close to the eggs.
Darcy did likewise, closing his eyes. Tiny, trills came from the eggs, so faint it would be easy to dismiss entirely. His head fell back in a deep yawn.
“Have you any doubts now?” Bennet crossed his arms and chuckled.
“None at all.” He rose and backed away from the eggs, shaking his head. There was a reason he did not prefer the company of fairy dragons. But still, to be able to attend an actual hatching, not merely read about it ...
Bennet opened the window. A sharp, welcome breeze blew through. “That’s just the thing. Been hard to keep awake, standing watch over them.”
Darcy joined him near the window, gulping in the bracing air.
“I received instructions from the Order concerning the Keeper of the Lambton Wyrm.” Bennet wandered toward his desk and pulled a thick missive from the drawer. Fragments of
blue sealing wax clung to the paper.
“My uncle is nothing if not efficient.” Darcy clasped his hands behind his back and approached the desk.
It would have been far better had Matlock not interfered. Far better.
“Your uncle is the Earl of Matlock?”
“And I am the Keeper of the Lambton Wyrm, though the previous estate dragon far preferred to be known as Pemberley.”
Bennet sat in a large wingback chair and gestured for Darcy to do the same.
“The Lambton Wyrm is a convenient fable, but hardly more true to fact than most dragon legends. Pemberley is a firedrake, not a wyrm.”
“So you are Keeper to a royal dragon.” Bennet tapped his fingertips before his chest. “That explains your bearing.”
“I do not know whether to be flattered or insulted.”
Bennet merely lifted an eyebrow.
Insulted it was.
Was Bennet rude, thick or irreverent? Few men addressed him with so much familiarity, especially once they knew his affiliation with Matlock and a firedrake.
“It bothers you? Most who deal with dragons have rather thick skins as it were.” Bennet folded his arms over his chest.
That accusation.
Again.
“You think I am no Dragon Keeper.”
“Have you a dragon in your keeping?”
“Do not play games with me, sir. If you have something to say, come out with it directly.” Darcy’s hands knotted into fists.
This was not the first time he had fought this issue. Uncle Matlock and his cadre had quite worn it out. But discussing it again with this self-important nobody was beyond the pale.
“I find it difficult to respect a man careless enough to have a dragon egg—an estate dragon’s egg and a firedrake no less—stolen from his own home. You must agree, it does not speak well of you, from any angle. And now, according to the head of the Order, I am to assist you in its recovery? Even if we do manage to find it—and for the sake of England and dragonkind, I pray we do—why should I see the egg back into your possession?”
A brutal, sharp cut, direct to the gut. But it was quick and clean. There was something to be said for that.
