by Maria Grace
“I do, indeed. One of the loveliest places I have ever seen. We were by no means in such a way to keep company with the family there, but we heard much of their good name whilst we lived there.” Aunt Gardiner’s face shifted into an odd expression, one she often used with the children when trying to work out one of the boys’ stories.
“I was privileged to live at Pemberley. My father was steward there.”
“Then you were well-favored indeed. Have you been there recently?”
“Very little since the death of old Mr. Darcy. While old Darcy was a very good and kind man, and very well disposed toward myself, I am afraid his son did not inherit his father’s noble traits. I have no desire to burden you with such tales as would dampen your spirits on this very fine occasion. Let us talk of acquaintances we may share in common. Did you know the old apothecary there, Mr. Burris, I believe his name was.”
“He was a great favorite of my father.”
“Of mine, as well.”
Despite his long absence, Wickham still found it in his power to offer Aunt Gardiner fresher intelligence of her former friends than she had been in the way of procuring. It did not take too long for their recollections of shared society to turn to a discussion of old Mr. Darcy’s character, whom both liberally praised and that subject naturally progressed to the more relevant topic of the current Mr. Darcy and his deplorable treatment of Mr. Wickham.
Aunt Gardiner chewed her lip as she listened. “I grant you, that I recall the younger Mr. Darcy spoken of as a very proud, ill-natured boy, but the charges you lay at his feet are quite alarming, sir. With the strength of your claim against him, I am surprised that you have not been able to bring some kind of influence to bear against him.”
She cast a sidelong look at Elizabeth, one eyebrow raised.
“Would that were possible, madam, I would probably be the better for it. In truth, though, I still hold his father in far too high a regard to be able to take action against his son.”
“But surely you must consider how his own son’s behavior would distress him. I know that to be the case if it were one of my own children charged with such heartlessness.”
Her own children would never even consider such cruelty. They were raised much better than Mr. Darcy.
“You might be very right, but surely you can see I am not the one suited by station or inclination to bring correction to such a man. So I shall continue on as I have been, grateful to such friends as I still have around me. I am truly blessed to have some very staunch supporters.” He glanced over his shoulder toward the other officers.
Jane and Aunt Philips approached.
“Is not the company tonight delightful, sister?” Aunt Philips extended her hands toward Aunt Gardiner, but offered Elizabeth only a dark glance.
What joy, Mama had been talking—more probably complaining to her—likely about Elizabeth’s reluctance toward Mr. Collins. If she was not crowing about Jane’s imminent conquest of Mr. Bingley, Elizabeth’s reticence was her favorite topic of conversation.
Aunt Gardiner took Aunt Philips’ hands and kissed her cheeks. “Indeed it is. But we always appreciate the hospitality at Longbourn. I should hardly expect anything else.”
“Miss Lizzy, should you not be attending your duties as a hostess tonight?” Aunt Phillips’ lip curled just the way Mama’s did when she was angry.
“Whatever do you mean?” Aunt Gardiner’s honeyed tone had been known to placate tired children and churlish adults alike. “Elizabeth is always a most attentive hostess.”
“Then why is her cousin, Collins, left to stand in the corner alone?” She pointed her chin toward the far side of the room. “You should be far more attentive to him.”
Elizabeth’s face grew cold, but her cheeks burned.
Mama burst into the room. “Shall we all to dinner?”
“Might I escort you, Miss Elizabeth?” Mr. Wickham offered his arm.
Elizabeth muttered something, curtsied to her aunts, and took Mr. Wickham’s arm.
“Thank you.” The words barely slipped past her tight throat. “Pray excuse my Aunt. She is known to speak her mind without regard to the company present.”
“There is nothing to excuse. Think of it no further. I have found when people resort to directness which some may consider disagreeable, it is most often attributable to indigestion.”
Elizabeth snickered under her breath. Dragons must suffer a great deal of indigestion.
“Perhaps it would be wise to suggest she have a few words with her cook. A change in diet might be the very thing to relieve her discomfort and improve her general disposition. See there, how her husband is red in the face, and his hand is pressed so obviously to his belly? I would venture to say that he may be suffering from indigestion, too. Their cook, and no one else, is to blame.”
It would seem Mr. Wickham did not, or chose not, to see Mama at Uncle Philips’s side, speaking with great animation and casting sidelong glances toward Elizabeth.
“I shall suggest that to her.” The words came easier now. She forced her lips into something resembling a smile.
“Ah, that is a far better expression for you, Miss Elizabeth. Unhappiness does not suit you at all.”
“It is difficult to be unhappy in your presence, sir. Do you make it your business to drive away such specters wherever they might appear?”
“I certainly do. What better occupation in life than to bring happiness wherever I wander?”
How very true. And how very different to Mr. Darcy.
To maintain such a disposition, despite the very great unfairness and trials he had faced, Mr. Wickham was truly too good.
For all Mama’s fussing and fluttering, she did set one of the finest tables in the county. Candlelight glittered off mirrors and crystal, filling every corner of the dining room with sparkling warmth. The table and sideboards groaned under the weight of the dishes heaped with fragrant offerings. The huge goose lay near Papa’s place, waiting for him to carve it.
Elizabeth’s mouth watered. Nothing tasted like a Christmas goose.
Wickham held the chair for her and sat beside her, politely ignoring Lydia’s cross look. What did she have to be cross about though? With Denny on one side and Sanderson on the other, it was not as if she would be in want of company or conversation.
Aunt and Uncle Gardiner sat opposite each other at the center of the table, a child on either side of them. The children looked so adorable in their best clothes, so serious about being permitted to join the adults on this festive occasion. There was a very good chance that their behavior might well be better than Kitty’s and Lydia’s. Mr. Collins would probably still find fault though—he was not fond of children.
Mama rang a little silver bell. The door swung open, and Hill appeared, holding high a platter of roasted boar’s head. Her arms quivered under the massive burden.
Denny and Sanderson jumped to their feet, nearly knocking their chairs to the floor, as they rushed to her aid. Together they made a lovely show of bringing the final dish to the table.
Was it gallantry? Or concern that the delicacy might not make it to the table? Either way, it was amusing to watch. Mama seemed very pleased at the officers’ efforts and settled into her comfortable role, presiding over the table.
Wickham leaned toward her. “It has been quite some time since I have enjoyed such a Christmas feast.”
“I hope then, that you will take every opportunity to enjoy this one.”
He served her from the platter of roast potatoes nearby. “I will certainly do just that and secure it into my memory, a treasure against times which may be far less agreeable.”
“I am sure it is difficult to spend Christmastide away from one’s home and family. The militia requires a great deal from you.”
“I find that it gives back as much as it demands. It is not at all disagreeable for one in my state. The hardships do not compare to those I suffered the first Christmastide of my banishment from Pemberley.”
&n
bsp; “Banishment?”
“Perhaps that is too strong a word, you are right. It does not serve to be so melodramatic.” He bowed his head. “You must forgive me, for it is the subject of some trying remembrances. Christmastide at Pemberley was a most wondrous season, filled with warmth and generosity. My family was invited to dine there for Christmas dinner with the Master. A complete roast boar would be carried in by two footmen, with goose, venison, and roast beef besides. I am sure it was a month’s worth of food for my little family at least, all brought to table at once.” He closed his eyes and licked his lips.
“I can imagine that one might miss such extravagance.”
“Pray, do not think I intended to belittle the wonderful hospitality that Longbourn offers. Not at all. It has reminded me of much happier days, and I am most grateful.”
Mama’s silver bell rang again and Hill, the maid, and two girls employed for just this evening hurried in to clear the first course.
Platters and used dishes disappeared along with the table cloth. The second course filled the empty table, and fresh china appeared before them. Mama announced the dishes, but the platter of minced pies needed no introduction.
Wickham placed a small pie on her plate, along with black butter and spiced apples. The first minced pie of Christmastide was always agreeable, but somehow it would be nothing to the ones that would later be made from the leavings of the Christmas feast. Even with all the extra company, many Twelfth Night pies would be made from the remains of tonight’s first course alone.
Mama’s bell rang again, and she slipped out of the dining room. Hill circled the room, snuffing candles until only one in each corner remained.
Although Mama repeated this ritual every year, somehow the flaming pudding entering on the silver platter, held high in Mama’s arms, never lost its thrill. Blue brandy flames, glinting and multiplying in the mirrors and crystal, cast dancing shadows along the wall, turning the dining room, for those brief moments, into a magical fairyland.
Too soon, the flames died down. Hill and the maids scurried about relighting candles, and the normal world reappeared with Mama standing over a great cannon ball of plum pudding.
She broke into it and served generous slices. “Mind the charms!”
Elizabeth held her breath as the company partook of the pudding. Heavy, sweet, spicy and saturated with brandy, this was the taste of Christmas and family.
Pray let her not discover the ring in her pudding. The to-do Mama would make from that! She shuddered.
Uncle Gardiner laughed heartily. “What ho, what shall I do with this?” He held aloft a tiny thimble.
“Consider it for thrift, my dear.” Aunt Gardiner winked at him. “It is far too late for you to be a spinster.”
Thank Providence Mary was spared that omen!
Lydia squealed. “I have the coin! I shall come into a fortune.”
Papa muttered something, but Elizabeth could not make it out. Probably best that way.
Wickham neatly pulled his slice apart with knife and fork. He dug in with his knife and lifted it to reveal a shining ring hanging on the blade.
“Now you’ve done it, Wickham!” Sanderson pointed at him, laughing.
“I would not go about showing that off, if I were you.” Denny leaned back and held up open hands. “But whatever you do, keep it well away from me.”
“So you shall be married this year, Mr. Wickham.” Mama glanced at Lydia, none too subtly.
Had there been any way to have achieved that end intentionally, Elizabeth would have thought Mama manufactured this result. But such a thing was not possible. Still, the smug way she settled into her seat and dug into her own pudding begged the question.
“You may threaten all you like.” Wickham slid the ring off the knife and held it up in the candlelight. “But I have no fear of this innocent little ring.”
Did he just wink? At her?
Heat crept over the crest of her cheeks, but Aunt Gardiner’s brows drew a little lower over her eyes, and her forehead creased. No doubt Lydia would have made known to him her fate—consigned to Mr. Collins—so she would be safe to make the joke with, no? At least she had not found the ring.
She took a bite of pudding. Ouch!
“What did you find, Miss Elizabeth?” Mr. Wickham asked far more loudly than necessary.
The children began to giggle.
She removed the charm from her mouth ... the wyvern?
“I have never seen a charm like that in a pudding.” Mr. Wickham peered over her shoulder.
Papa cleared his throat. “It is a particular family tradition.”
“How did you put that in the pudding?” Mama looked distinctly put out.
Daniel covered his mouth and turned away, snickering.
“You might be surprised at how much happens that you are unaware of.” Papa’s bushy eyebrows rose. “The heraldic wyvern charm is a family tradition—an omen of an opportunity to bring honor to one’s family.”
How had he managed to ensure it reached her plate? He was as shameless as Mama.
Little Joshua pointed to something high, near the ceiling.
Blast and botheration! Why could he not listen to her? Headstrong, stubborn little flufflebit!
Mama glanced toward the top of the curtains.
“There is nothing but a mite of dust here. You should not look at it, lest everyone notice your maids did not do their jobs,” Phoenix whispered as he paced along the curtain rod.
Mama turned aside, but Aunt Gardiner flashed her a wide-eyed look. Elizabeth had promised the fairy dragons would be safely kept upstairs.
Elizabeth rose. “Come children, all of you.” She glanced up at Phoenix, with her best draconic glare. “I can see that all of you have had enough polite company for one evening. We shall go to the parlor, roast apples, and have a lovely story.”
With a nod from Aunt Gardiner, the children sprang to their feet and dashed to Elizabeth’s side. Aunt Gardiner glowered at Phoenix and twitched her head toward Elizabeth. He flitted out ahead of them.
Hill had already seen to an ample fire. A basket of apples and a tray of bread to toast waited near the hob. Only a few tallow candles lit the room, making the room seem smaller with the shadows along the walls. It felt snug, though, and drew them toward the fireplace. Elizabeth assigned Daniel the roasting of the apples, while Joshua minded a rack of toast. Anna and Samuel sat on cushions on the floor and played with Phoenix until their treats were ready.
She gave each child their share.
“What about mine?” Phoenix squawked, flapping.
“You were disobedient. You do not deserve a treat. I asked you to stay upstairs. You even had a special bowl of blood and treacle pudding. Yet, you came to dinner anyway.”
“I came to protect you.”
“I am certain that Papa and Uncle Gardiner are quite capable of doing that.” She folded her arms over her chest.
“I would not argue with her when she has that look.” Daniel took a large bite of his apple.
“That is her cross face and nothing will make her satisfied when she wears it.” Joshua brushed toast crumbs on the floor.
Phoenix pecked them up like a little songbird. Cheeky, defiant little fellows both of them.
Elizabeth scooped him up and held him eye to eye. “You may be a dragon, a very big dragon in your own mind, but you are a very small dragon and must understand that means you cannot always have your way.”
“Who gave you the power to make such rules?” He pecked at her hand.
“April may have taught you that habit, but Aunt Gardiner will not tolerate it. I suggest you unlearn it very quickly.” She tapped his beaky nose quite firmly with her index finger.
“And what will she do about it?” He cocked his little head, so much like Daniel that she nearly laughed.
“You are not a landed dragon. You do not have a claim on her home. She can—and she will—put you out if you do not behave with some propriety.”
“But
it is cold outside!” He fluffed his feather-scales until he was a poufy little crimson ball.
“Indeed it is. Be grateful for the warmth you have inside. Show it by respecting the wishes of your Friends.”
Samuel tugged her sleeve. “Surely Mama would not put him out. He is so little.”
“I am sure the Blue Order would not permit it.” Anna folded her arms in a vague imitation of Elizabeth and tried to glare. “And even if they did, he could just persuade Mama to do exactly as he wished.”
No, no, she must not laugh.
“Perhaps, dear, you need to study the rules of the order. A major dragon has a Keeper with whom he deigns to share his territory. A Keeper must meet the needs of the estate dragon—”
“What can a major dragon possibly need? They are so big and strong. Can they not just take what they want?” Daniel asked, inching closer to Elizabeth.
“Before the Pendragon Accords, they did, and that was the problem. They took whatever they wanted, from men and from each other, and there was constant war among the dragons and between dragons and men. The Accords established what dragons actually required and what they might demand, according to their size and strength. Each was assigned a territory—”
“Every major dragon is assigned a territory?” Daniel was always concerned with detail—just like his father.
“Dragons without a designated territory—rogue dragons they are called—are very dangerous. The Blue Order has done all they can to insure there are no more rogue dragons in England, so you do not need to worry about them. Now, as I was saying, each major dragon has a territory destined to be passed to their descendants and a Keeper to see to their needs of food, water, shelter, secrecy, and if the dragon is a hoarding type, a measure of the treasure they desire.”
“Even gold?” Joshua whispered, hands cupped around his mouth.
“Only the firedrakes are apt to hoard gold. They know it is not easy to come by, though, so the Dragon Conclave closely restricts how much they can demand from their Keepers. Did you know that some dragons hoard things like books?”
