Chapter One
April 1801
The front door creaked open.
“Jane! Lizzy!” Mama shrieked, her skirts swishing and shoes scuffing as she walked. At least it was a happy sounding shriek, not the one she used when she was displeased.
Elizabeth looked up from her sewing just as Mama appeared in the parlor doorway. Perhaps it was just as well. The seam on Papa’s shirt was nearly mended, and she rather dreaded the fancy work that Mama would have her do next.
From the look of the packages Mama carried, she had been to Meryton this morning. Odd, it was not the usual day for her to go. Unexpected shopping trips often made Papa unhappy. Hopefully this one would not leave him too discomposed.
Jane set aside her sewing and rose as Mama trundled toward them, muttering under her breath about the sun in the room. By late afternoon, the parlor tended to become uncomfortably hot, but near midday, as it was now, it managed to be quite comfortable. Some might consider the room a bit shabby, with sun-faded furniture and carpeting that had seen several generations of Bennets’ footfalls. Elizabeth found it welcoming and cozy with large white peonies on the paper hangings and happy yellow curtains that fluttered in the light breeze. She stabbed her needle into the seam she was stitching and stood.
“Was your trip this morning pleasant?” Jane’s voice and expression were so sweet it would be easy to think her disingenuous.
But no, if there was a single word to describe her eldest sister, it was sweet. Unfortunately, it proved a mixed blessing at best. On the one hand, it was a very pleasant thing to have a sister who was so kind, but on the other, it made comparisons awfully difficult. Mama was very apt to draw them between her two oldest daughters.
Mama dropped down on her favorite chair and plopped a package wrapped in brown paper on the nearby table. She dabbed her forehead with her handkerchief as she caught her breath. “Come, come, girls. I have something special that I want you to see.”
It was some consolation that the package was the wrong size and shape to be yet another bundle of ribbons and lace. While those things were often pretty, they were hardly worth such a fuss.
Mama untied the package as Jane and Elizabeth drew straight-backed wooden chairs near the table.
“I ordered these for you last month, and they have finally arrived.” The brown paper fell away to reveal two books, one bound in green and the other red, each about an inch thick, with nothing on the cover or binding to reveal what was within.
Mama had bought them books? Why? She felt reading was hardly a good investment of a young woman’s time.
Mama handed the green one to Jane and the red to Elizabeth. “You have both been working very hard on your writing. Jane, your hand is quite lovely now. Lizzy … ah, yours has definitely improved.”
“Thank you, Mama,” she muttered under her breath. It was true that Jane’s penmanship was beautiful and that hers would never match that standard. That still did not make it pleasing to hear it voiced. It was not as if Elizabeth’s was difficult to read. She just did not favor the romantical curls and flourishes that found their way onto Jane’s pages, but Mama thought those elegant and therefore better.
“You both are big enough now that you ought to begin keeping your own commonplace books.” Mama clasped her hands before her chest and beamed.
Jane smiled as well, but was it because she should or because she was genuinely pleased? One could never be quite sure.
“I have kept one since I was your age. By now of course, I have a number of volumes. They have been ever so helpful to me. One can never seem to remember just the right turn of a phrase for a letter or recall which book she read it in when she needs it. But, if it is in your commonplace book, then you will always know where to look. The same is true for bits of wisdom you read or hear, a special receipt you might be given. I even wrote the instructions to make the breeches ball that finally cleaned those odd stains off your father’s buckskin breeches. Sister Phillips sketches in hers at times to remember room designs or garden plans. You can place any number of important things you might want to remember there.”
Jane ran her fingers across the edge of the pages. “It is very lovely, Mama. Thank you.”
“Yes, thank you.” Elizabeth clasped the book to her chest. “I am most excited to begin! I can think of a number of things I have recently read that I would very much like to write down.”
“Excellent, I am very glad to hear that. It will be lovely for you to have a reason to practice your writing without being reminded to do so.” Mama smiled as though that were a genuine compliment. Perhaps she thought it was.
But it did not really feel like one.
“That is all well and good.” Papa shuffled into the room, slightly bent over, his feet dragging just the barest bit over the carpet.
Earlier this morning, he had been complaining about his joints aching and demanded a cup of willow bark tea from Mrs. Hill. He had been doing so more often recently, three mornings during the last week. Had Mama noticed?
“Mr. Bennet! See what I have bought for the girls.”
Papa took the book from Elizabeth’s hands and riffled through the blank pages. “Very good, very good. See that you write sensible things in there, Lizzy.” He raised his bushy eyebrows at her, a peculiar look in his eye.
Elizabeth blinked several times and pressed her fingertips to her lips. Well, that was not among the things Mama listed as appropriate for a commonplace book, but certainly, if she was to remember important things, then the things she studied with Papa should definitely be written there.
“Lizzy will need to come back to this later. For now, I need her to accompany me.” He handed Elizabeth a small notebook and pencil. “I need her to write notes for me as I examine some of the land.”
Mama harrumphed. “I suppose she may go, but it is all so very peculiar. Why should she be writing for you? Since you insist you cannot do it yourself, you ought to have a secretary.”
“And yet you insist on the need for lace and new gowns. Which would you prefer to have?” His eyes narrowed and tightened at the edges, lips pressed hard together.
“Such a curmudgeon. Go with your father, now, but do not forget to make your hand neat and proper as you write for him.” Mama waved them out of the room.
Mrs. Hill handed Elizabeth her bonnet as they headed for the front door. Papa said nothing, his jaw tense and teeth clenched tight. That he was quiet was hardly unusual. Mama did most of the talking for them both. But it was difficult being reminded that writing hurt his hands, something Mama did not appear to grasp.
A soft, warm breeze greeted them as they left the house, tickling her cheeks as it passed. What a perfect April day, warm enough that one did not need a spencer but cool enough that one did not find herself in a continual state of inelegance, as Mama was wont to refer to it.
Papa remained silent as they followed the path through the gardens and into the woods.
“Where are we going? I thought you said we were going to check on the fields,” she asked softly, so he could ignore the question easily if it irritated him.
“I implied it, but never actually said so. I wish to take you to a place you have never been before. One that is at the heart and soul of this estate.” His lips turned up at the corners, just a mite, but it was enough to break her tension.
“Do you mean—”
“Yes, I want to show you where Longbourn lives.”
“Will I get to meet him?” She clutched her hands into fists to contain the glee that threatened to burst forth.
“No, not yet. You are not ready. But this is the first step in preparing you to meet him.”
She swallowed back a huff. It would not do to be too open about her disappointment. “I do not understand. For what must I prepare? I know what he is. I have seen drawings of his kind. I have read all the descriptions. What more must I do?”
His forehead creased just a bit. “My dear, it sounds so much simpler in the lore than it is in real life. I have met grown men who fainted dead away the first time they were introduced to a major dragon.”
Was he laughing at her? Elizabeth harrumphed. “But I will not do such a thing. You said it was quite remarkable that I could meet Rustle when I was only four years old and think nothing of it.”
“Rustle is a cockatrice and not a particularly impressive one at that.” Papa scratched the back of his head. Though he was friendly with Rustle, he never had been especially impressed. “He has been a faithful friend of the Gardiner family for almost fifty years now and is most sympathetic to the concerns of the family.”
“Since Rustle is a friendly dragon, my meeting him—”
“Was important and remarkable to be certain, but it is not the same as a major dragon. You must trust that I know what I am doing. I am taking you to his lair today so you might see how large a creature he actually is, and that you might become accustomed to the peculiar odor dragons have.”
“The dragon musk the lore talks about?”
“Some find it quite offensive.” Papa rolled his eyes.
“I am sure I will not.” She crossed her arms over her chest and straightened her back. She would not be persuaded otherwise.
“Of course, child, of course.” Papa may as well have patted her on the head, considering the tone he used. “Now remember, if Mama or your sisters ask, we have been to the fields that flood in the spring. You cannot talk about this jaunt with any of them.”
It was rather fun to have a special secret to share with Papa, but sometimes it was so hard not to talk about something so wonderful with someone else. Especially Jane.
The woods became darker, filled with old hardwoods, their branches arching overhead like a sort of woven roof over the pathway.
“These are the sort of woods that dragons like. Many old shady trees with limestone underground—it is called a karst terrain—that makes many caves and crannies for them to use. And see there,” he pointed toward a clearing, “look closely, and you will see the entrance to Longbourn’s lair.
Elizabeth crouched and peered at the hillside at the far edge of the clearing. Hanging branches obscured the opening, but when she stared at it, she could just make it out. It was a little taller than the cellar ceilings, which she was told were tall compared to other houses, and about half again as wide. If Longbourn did not duck to go inside, he could not be more than fifteen feet tall. For a dragon, that was not so very big.
“Impressive, no?” Papa nudged her with his elbow.
She chewed her knuckle. “I suppose. It is not as large as I had thought. Must he fold his wings to enter, or is it large enough to accommodate his wingspan?”
He seemed a little disappointed at her question. Perhaps he had expected a greater level of awe in her reactions. “Wyverns generally do not walk about with their wings spread. They only do so when agitated or ready to fly.”
An odd earthy, musky scent wafted toward them on the breeze. Dragon musk. Rich and loamy with just a hint of ammonia and rot. She wrinkled her nose just a mite. It was not so much unpleasant as it was unfamiliar.
He waved her up to stand. “Come along, that is enough for now. You have seen where he lives and can recognize his scent. That is good. What do you think?”
Entirely anticlimactic was not the answer he was probably looking for.
“Since your mother has given you that book to write in, I think it would be good for you to write what you have seen today and your impressions of it. It seems a thing worth remembering.” Papa put his hands on his hips and arched back just a bit. Walking even short distances was becoming more difficult.
“But will Mama not want to look at what I have written in my book? You have said many times that she cannot hear dragons so I must never speak to her about them.”
“Ah well, I am sure it will come as no surprise to you that your mother is most unlikely to give much thought to your book again now that she has given it to you. It is not in her nature to follow up on things. Once they are begun, they are generally forgotten. In the odd case that she thinks to ask, I trust you will be able to readily distract her from it.” He shrugged. “Hurry up now. Since we are all the way out here, there is something else I should show you.”
They walked a little farther to the place where the woods bordered the fields.
“There is a harem of fairy dragons that live in these woods.” He pointed up into the trees. “They prefer the sunnier parts of the woods, nesting high in these trees. It is a little late in the day now to hear them, but if you come out earlier and listen carefully, you may be able to hear them, possibly even see some of them. Be careful though, as their songs are very soothing and can even make you sleep.”
Elizabeth giggled. It seemed a fitting means for the tiniest of dragon species to protect themselves.
“And there,” Papa pointed to an odd creature jumping after something in the fields, “that is a tatzelwurm.”
She clapped her hands over her mouth to contain a squeal. She would get to see a dragon today after all!
“He is an old tatzelwurm called Rumblkins. He was hatched in the barn and has imprinted upon men, but does not choose to keep their company. Like his kind, he is a bit grumpy and unsociable.”
She crouched, hands on her knees, to get a better look. “From the front he looks like a very large tabby cat.”
“Indeed, he does. His front feet look like cat paws as well, but they have thumb-toes that set them apart from actual cats. That is how you can always tell a tatzelwurm.”
“Does not their back half look like a snake?”
“It does if you have not been persuaded away from seeing it. They are some of the most persuasive of dragons. That is why they are often seen living among people, passing themselves off as cats. Most of the best ratters and mousers are actually tatzelwurms.”
She snickered. The idea of people welcoming dragons into their houses unbeknownst was rather charming.
“Look at the way they move—see how he coils his tail and springs forward, a spring-hop as it were. Some say it addles their brains and makes them all very stupid.”
“What an unkind thing to say!”
“You may find it very accurate when you finally get to know one.”
“When might that be, Papa?”
He sighed, rubbing the back of his hand along his jaw. “I cannot tell you. Tatzelwurms are known for keeping to themselves. But if he should strike up a conversation with you whilst you are out walking, I give you permission to speak with him.”
She clasped her hands together very tightly and pressed her lips to keep her smile in check. Surely, he had to know that she would be spending a very great deal of time in the woods in the very near future.
May 1801
Somehow it was not surprising that a solid week of rain should follow her outing with Papa, keeping her inside and well away from any dragon meetings. Why did it always seem the weather conspired against all things desirable? Ah, well, all was not lost, though. It did give her plenty of time to transcribe the bulk of the Pendragon Treaty—the foundation of the human-dragon peace in Britain—into her commonplace book.
It was a shame, though, that she could not possibly copy those lovely medieval letters that were used in Papa’s copy of the treaty. He said it was a family heirloom, dating back to the first Keeper of Longbourn and his estate. No wonder he did not want it leaving his study. Truly, it was a treasure, both for what it said and for the artistry it displayed. How had the original scribes managed to pen them so neatly and in so many colors? And the painstakingly inked dragons that paraded around the sides of the document! Just amazing. Perhaps Papa would allow her to try her hand at copying those when she became more skilled at drawing. A very good reason to see if Mama would take out that book on drawing for her from the circulating library in town.
Still, it really was not important that the letters were plain since the notes were for herself alone. And if that were the case, then it would not hurt to add a summary of it all at the end to remind herself of the high points of the treaty:
The Pendragon Treaty was penned to bring peace between the major dragons and between men and dragons. The treaty formed the Blue Order to which all major dragons and all humans who can hear dragons must belong upon pain of punitive action.
Papa had never mentioned a case where one who could hear dragons outright refused to join the Order. It was difficult to conceive of someone who would. But then again, people could be very difficult. Major dragons were smart enough to understand the great advantages the treaty offered, so they attached themselves to the Order, with only one hold-out who was later banished to the Continent. Minor dragons had the option of joining but could not vote on proceedings, much as men without Keeps could not vote.
The treaty assigned all major dragons and their progeny a territory, according to their size and needs, to be overseen by Keepers and their progeny, likewise assigned to the territory. Keepers bear the responsibility of ensuring all the Keep’s dragons’ needs are met. In return, major dragons foreswore all aggression toward man and dragon (except where necessary in defense of their own lives) and promised to keep order among the lesser dragons in their territory. When disputes arise, the treaty declares they are to be settled by the Blue Order Council, a group charged with maintaining the peace established by the Pendragon Treaty.
All in all, it really was simple. Why did it take so many words and pages to say it all in official terms? At least it made a very pretty—and sizeable—first entry in her commonplace book. Pray Mama never asked to read it.
The next day the rains finally broke, and Elizabeth dashed out for a walk as soon as the sun had fully risen.
Morning air was certainly the most agreeable, far nicer than that in the afternoon. Perhaps it was the fresh, dewy scent on the air and the hint of cool in the breeze. Perhaps it was the golden light of sunrise that made everything glow with a warm, welcoming feel. Perhaps it was because the birds—and the fairy dragons—were singing then, or that there were few people were out and about to question where she was going. Whatever it was, morning walks were probably going to become a habit very soon.
Especially if it meant she could see dragons.
At the spot where the fields met the woods, she found a tree stump for a seat and peered up into the morning sky. Tiny specks that must be fairy dragons darted back and forth, catching dragonflies and other rather large insects. Surely the bugs could not taste very good, all leggy and crunchy and squishy in the middle. She shuddered a bit.
“Not all of them eat bugs, you know.”
“I was not aware. I have only just begun to learn about fairy dragons from Papa.”
“Odd, that is usually the first sort of dragon children are made familiar with. They are certainly the least frightening—and the most tasty.” He licked his rather substantial fangs with a long, forked tongue.
That definitely did not fit in a cat’s face.
But he was a tatzelwurm, not a cat, so it was most clearly appropriate.
“Pray do not tell me you eat them!” She pressed the back of her hand to her mouth.
“If you wish.” He raised a thumbed paw and licked between his toes. “I am Rumblkins.”
She rose and curtsied. “I am pleased to make your acquaintance. I am Elizabeth Bennet.”
“You are part of the Keeper’s family.”
“I am his daughter.”
He flicked his serpentine tail sharply. The dark smooth scales caught the morning light just so, gleaming a bit like polished metal. “Your housekeeper does not like cats.”
“I do not know that Mrs. Hill dislikes them.” She chewed her lip and cocked her head. “No, I am quite certain. She is quite happy to have them catching mice and rats. She detests those.”
“The woman with the cap with dangling ribbons threw shoes at me.” His tail lashed back and forth in the grass.
“I know no one by that description at the house. Perhaps it was a housekeeper for my father’s father?”
Rumblkins wrinkled his nose. “I will not take a chance. I do not like shoes thrown at me.”
“I will not throw shoes at you.”
“I thought not since you are not carrying any.” He sat back on his tail, as though sitting on his haunches. “Have you anything for me to eat?”
Rumblkins rubbed his face against her ankles, purring very loudly. “I smell cod. I like cod very well.”
“Will you be my friend if I give you dried cod?”
“I will be your friend even if you do not. Scratch my ears.” He shoved his face under her hand.
Instead of taking it in his teeth as a cat might, he took it from her with his thumbed paw and brought it to his mouth. There all semblance of manners ended, and he gobbled the fish, spittle and tiny slivers of meat flying.
Was it just tatzelwurms or were all dragons revolting when they ate? He did wash his face like a cat when he was finished, which almost, but not quite, made up for the grisly manners he had displayed.
“Why are you staring at me so?” Rumblkins asked as he licked between his thumb and toes.
“I have never been so close to a tatzelwurm before. You do not look like the drawings in the books I have seen.”
“But if they could not hear dragons, how could those men have written about them?”
“Chance encounters still occur sometimes. Occasionally men cannot be persuaded out of what they saw. So when that happens, they are persuaded to believe they saw something much more outlandish than what they actually did. That way their accounts are as far away from the truth as possible. Then they put them in the foolish books and all manner of strange and stupid accounts are written.”
Papa would certainly not like to hear that! Perhaps that is why he though Rumblkins addlepated. “I have not read that in any of the Pendragon Accords.”
“It is something we have always done. I do not know why anyone would bother to have written it down.”
“I suppose that makes sense.” She chewed her lip. “Are you venomous?”
“Why would you think that?” His brows knit together, and he managed a very exasperated look.
“Some books say so, and you have very long fangs.”
“Well, it is written wrong. No tatzelwurm has venom like a snake. Now our breath …” He reared up and huffed in her face.
Gracious! Her eyes watered! She coughed into her hand.
“… has also been considered poison, but that is nonsense. Yours might be unpleasant, too, if you ate rats and mice all day.”
“I will keep that in mind.”
He wove between her feet again, purring. “Scratch again?”
He guided her to the itchiest places along his jaw and behind his ears. Were all dragons this itchy, or merely the ones who had fur as well as scales?
A squawk unlike any she had ever heard sliced the air and sent shivers down her spine.
“No! He is here!” Rumblkins dove behind her skirts, shaking.
“Who?”
“We call him Scarred. He has only one eye. A cockatrice with only one eye.”
She scanned the sky as a large, winged shadow passed over them. Heavens, is that what Rustle looked like when he flew? She had never seen him in the air. The creature was huge! Wingtip to wingtip, he was broader than Papa was tall!
“Do not let him see me!” Rumblkins shuddered against her calves.
She pulled her skirt down around Rumblkins. The creature would not interfere with her. It was against the treaty to do so when she offered him no threat. “Why are you so afraid?”
“He has been known to eat tatzelwurms when he cannot find enough birds and fairy dragons to satisfy his appetite.”
“Can you not simply reason with him?” She covered an exposed bit of his tail with her hand.
“One does not reason with a hungry predator. One avoids them.” A snarl replaced the funny warble in his voice.
The cockatrice circled several more times, then flew off toward a flock of crows approaching from the western side of the fields.
Rumblkins peeked around her skirt. A tremor began at his head and progressed down his body all the way to the tip of his tail. “He is dreadful.”
She shaded her eyes and peered into the bright sky. “Why have I never seen him before?”
“He is wild. He avoids your kind.”
“Perhaps you should stay closer to the house. I am sure it would be safer for you.”
Rumblkins shook his head forcefully enough that bits of spittle flew. “No. Well-aimed shoes hurt.”
But certainly, being attacked by a cockatrice could not be less painful. “Perhaps the barn then. Stay away from the poultry eaves, of course, but near the sheep, I think—yes, there are often rats there. The shepherds hate them. I am sure if they see you catch one, you will be most welcome.”
He did not look convinced.
“Since they are well disposed to cats on the whole, I do not think it would be at all difficult for you to persuade them you are a valuable addition.”
His eyes brightened, and a little purr rumbled in his throat. “If they are already fond of cats, then perhaps yes, they might be persuaded with only a little effort and a large rat.” He smiled. It was odd to see such an expression on a decidedly feline face—with a forked tongue as well—but there was nothing else one could call such a look.
“Come with me, then. I shall walk home by way of the sheep fields so you shall have no further worries.” She offered one last scratch before she stood.
They walked in companionable silence to the sheep fields. He purred as they went, sounding ever so much as though he were humming to himself. About halfway there he suddenly ran off. Gracious, he could spring hop very quickly! In very short order he returned, a large, thankfully quite dead rat in his jaws. Something to ensure a warm welcome among the shepherds, no doubt.
The sun hung barely above the tree tops by the time she left him among the shepherds and sheep, purring a contented thank you. She had not intended to be away from the house for so long and ran home as quickly as she could.
“How nice for you to finally join us, Miss Lizzy,” Mama called from the parlor as Elizabeth hurried in.
She swallowed hard—that tone was never a good sign—and scurried to the parlor. Naturally, the room was warmer than Mama would have liked, warm enough to leave her short-tempered and cross. What joy was hers!
Aunt Phillips sat near Mama and Jane, glasses of lemonade on the table, their sewing in their laps.
“We were becoming worried as to what might have become of you.” Aunt Phillips looked down her long, sharp nose. Was that how a hungry cockatrice looked at prey? She probably would not appreciate the comparison.
What Mama might say indirectly, Aunt Phillips was apt to put into concise, sharp words. Even Jane found her a trial to be around, though she would be hard-pressed to suggest more than that Aunt Phillips was very direct.
“Where have you been all day?” Aunt Phillips tapped her foot rapidly.
“I went for a walk this morning. After all the rain, it was ever so pleasant to go out. And while I was out, ah, the shepherds, I saw them and they asked me to bring word to Papa regarding the condition of the fields and a problem they have been having with rats among the lambs.” There was a good bit of truth in the answer even if it left out the more interesting bits.
“Eww, rats!” Jane’s face screwed up, and she trembled. How she loathed the creatures.
“I am surprised you approve of this, Sister!” Aunt Philips pressed her hand to her chest. “It is not proper that the field hands should think nothing of speaking to your daughter, sending messages through her as though she were a common dairymaid.”
Mama mirrored Aunt’s Phillips’ posture. “Oh, Sister! It would not be the first time I have said such a thing to Mr. Bennet. But he insists she acts as his secretary. I have never seen such a thing—”
Elizabeth opened her mouth to speak but shut it again. Mama was going off on a tear and interrupting or offering one’s opinion at such a time was always, always a bad idea. So, she retrieved her work basket from the cabinet near the settee and sat next to Jane to sew.
Aunt Phillips’ visit lasted only a quarter of an hour more. Once Mama had seen her to the door, she returned to the parlor.
“How could you have forgotten that your aunt was coming to call today? I am embarrassed, no, appalled that you could do such a thing, Elizabeth. It is truly shocking that you could be so distracted. You are too close to being a young lady to behave like this.” Mama bustled to the cabinet nearest the door and yanked a book out of the topmost drawer. She flipped it open to a page about a quarter of the way through. “I insist you study this essay on proper etiquette and make notes of it in your commonplace book as you do. There will be no dinner until you have finished.”
Elizabeth took the book and scurried upstairs, as much to be away from Mama’s company as to get the task over with quickly. She had, after all, not eaten all day.
The evening sun shone directly through her window, warming her little room and making it bright enough to write easily. She sat at the dainty table near her window and opened her commonplace book to a fresh page, using its edge to hold open Mama’s etiquette book. The open page read: Maxims and Rules for the Conduct of Young Women.
What a dreadful, dull-sounding title, but it was more a list than an essay, making it far faster and easier to read and make notes. That was something to be appreciated. Perhaps this would not be too awful a task.
It is unjust, as well as ill-natured, to take advantage of the weakness of others.
That was one of the prime injunctions to both dragon and mankind in the Pendragon Accords. It must be good advice. Who would have thought that what applied to young women would also apply to dragons?
Sincerity is the groundwork of all that is good and valuable.
That seemed sensible as well. Certainly, it worked when King Uther met with the dragon Brenin—that is what they called their king—to create the Accords.
Civility is never a losing game; courtesy will always reproduce itself in others, and the original exhibitor will get at least as much as she gives.
Brenin Buckingham and King Uther exchanged civilities, and everyone had benefited for eight centuries since. Civility must be very, very important. That was worth thinking on further.
Never suffer anyone, under the presence of friendship, to take unbecoming liberties with you.
She giggled under her breath. Rumblkins would probably agree with this principle. According to him, it was dangerous to take liberties with a creature who might easily eat you. Maybe there was something to seeing the world in terms of predator and prey.
The character of a toad-eater, flatterer, or sycophant is truly detestable.
According to Papa, dragons detest flattery of all sorts. But where was the line between sincere compliment and toad-eating? Should she not have told Rumblkins that his fur was the softest and finest she had ever felt? He had not seemed offended when she had said it, but perhaps she should ask. It would be a shame to offend him unwittingly.
If you wish to identify a beau of quality, watch him at the dining table. Nothing indicates a well-bred man more than a proper mode of eating his dinner.
If this were true, then all dragons were probably brutes. Rumblkins was horrid when he ate, and he said that his manners were better than most. She swallowed hard. It was a sight difficult to put out of one’s mind.
Remember that if you are quiet in society, you will, at least, have credit for discretion.
Or stupidity. It was difficult to be certain which was true and harder still to know how she might ever find out.
Women in every country have a greater influence than men choose to confess.
That was especially true of the Blue Order. Though Papa clearly did not approve, the Order acknowledged women were as important as Dragon Friends and Keepers as men. It was a wonder that the dragons recognized the influence of women so easily, but society did not. One more reason to like dragons very much.
The sun had almost set, but she was finally finished. Pray Mama would not demand to see what she had written and would simply take her word that the task was complete. Elizabeth hurried downstairs.