Chapter One
Getting what one wants may not be as important as wanting what one has.
***
A chill breeze cut through the garden, rattling dry, withered stems. So lonely and barren. Elizabeth pulled her cloak against her chest a little tighter and turned toward the house.
Soon the evergreen cutting party would return, and she would be pressed into service decorating the house. The Gardiner children’s contagious enthusiasm offered a balm to her soul … something to look forward to even more than tomorrow’s Christmas dinner, the first major Christmastide celebration of the season.
Mama had invited all of the officers to join them. They, along with the Gardiners and Mr. Collins, should make for a very full dining room and a very merry party. The more company Mama—and Lydia—had, the merrier they were.
Was there any way she could claim a sick headache and skip the whole affair?
How Mama would scold to hear such a thought.
April peeked out from Elizabeth’s hood and rubbed her fluffy, iridescent blue head against Elizabeth’s ear. “I am cold.”
“Then cozy up in my hood, you silly featherpate. There is no reason for you to be out in the wind. Why did you even come out with me if you hate the cold so?” Elizabeth pulled her hood up over the dainty fairy dragon.
“You have not been acting like yourself. We are all worried.”
“So that is why I am always accompanied by a draconic entourage?” She glanced over her shoulder.
Rustle nodded at her from his post on the garden gate and flapped his wings in a cockatrice greeting. She clutched the edges of her cloak and fluttered them back at him. He squawked a happy note. He was a dear, even if an unsubtle one.
A fuzzy, warm body bumped against her ankles.
“Mrow.” Rumblkins blinked up at her as he wove between her feet. He was so much longer than an actual cat, she stumbled a bit in the effort not to kick him.
How fat and glossy he had become since he had come to be Mrs. Hill’s particular Friend.
She crouched to scratch his ears. “You too—checking up on me?”
The tatzelwurm purred, rearing up a bit on his serpentine tail. He did so love to have his head petted. “You are acting strange, even for a warm-blood.”
“You are very sweet, all of you, but there is nothing to be concerned about. A touch of melancholy is to be expected on occasion. Many considered it a rather poetic trait for a young woman to possess now and then.”
Particularly when she had been forcibly separated from a dearly loved baby by a cruel, unjust man.
Gracious, that sounded almost gothic!
Rumblkins chirruped and stared at her. “Stuff and nonsense. Come inside. There is hot cider.” He caught her hem with his thumbed paw and pulled her toward the house.
“I like hot cider.” April nipped her ear softly.
“Very well. But only a spoonful for you lest you are rendered flightless and silly.”
April squawked, but did not argue.
If it had just been the family about, a little overindulgence would hardly have been a problem, but in the company of Mr. Collins, everything was different. He was resolutely dragon-deaf and not fond of pets. Birds and cats, according to him, did not belong in the house. What would he say if he discovered they were really dragons?
Somehow, it was perversely fitting that he should be resolute in that opinion, immune to draconic persuasion.
Vexing, troublesome man.
He probably disliked dogs too.
Of course, Mama would find him all that a young man should be—at least all that a young man worthy of Elizabeth should be. Jane, or even Lydia, deserved so much more.
At least Aunt Gardiner understood Elizabeth’s reluctance. That helped. Jane was far too caught up with Mr. Bingley to have much attention to spare for such sisterly confidences.
And Mary—how was it that she did not find Mr. Collins nearly so odious? Was it her saintly patience, or just that she had a far more realistic expectation of men? Or perhaps, not facing life as Mr. Collins’ wife made things look very, very different.
Once inside, Elizabeth accepted a cup of cider from Hill and sat near the kitchen fire. Rumblkins jumped into his hearth basket and purred until Hill stopped what she was doing to scratch under his chin. She looked so very content petting her devoted ratter, with no idea at all that he was a dragon. Why could not Mr. Collins be more like her?
The party returned with a wagon heaped with evergreens. For the remainder of the day she tied bows around them and satisfied Mama with their placement throughout the house, a task made far easier by liberal amounts of Hill’s hot cider.
***
Christmas Day began with a trip to the parish church for a rather lengthy morning service. It was almost as if knowing Mr. Collins was there prompted their own vicar to deeper, lengthier reflections.
About half the officers were in attendance, as were Colonel Forester and his young wife, Harriet, Lydia’s particular friend. Somehow Lydia contrived to escape the family pew and sit between Harriet and Captain Carter. Beside them, Denny and Chamberlayne seemed as distracted by Lydia as she was by them.
On Elizabeth’s right, Mr. Collins made little effort to conceal his disapproval over Lydia’s antics. Jane and Mama, though, were oblivious, occupied with the Bingleys and Hursts in the pew in front of them. They had stayed at Netherfield after Mr. Darcy’s departure and were a constant and painful reminder of little Pemberley.
Elizabeth’s eyes burned. How the little dear had snaked her long neck around Elizabeth’s waist and looked so adoringly into her face. She blinked rapidly and ducked her head. The drakling had been with them less than a month. It was foolish that she should still feel so bereft at the hatchling’s removal to Rosings and angry with Mr. Darcy for his agency in the matter.
But she did.
After church, the entire family paraded through town to stop at the baker’s for their roast Christmas goose—the largest one amongst all his orders. Mama was oddly proud of the fact, remarking on it as she worked herself up into a complete twitterpation over the impending arrival of their dinner guests.
As they entered the house, Mama pulled her aside. “Lizzy dear, I need you to do something for me. I want you to make certain that all those … birds keep to their cages whilst we have guests. It is most unseemly to have them flying about loose in the house. I fear someone will get the wrong sort of impression of us. It is remarkable that Hill’s cat has not eaten them by now—not that I would regard the loss to be sure, but I know the Gardiner children would be upset. It would be just my sort of luck if that very thing were to happen in the midst of my Christmas dinner.”
“I will see to it, Mama. If you wish, I can keep them all in my room and stay with them to ensure that they do not venture out.”
“Miss Christmas dinner for birds that can very well be kept caged? Do be serious, child! Just lock the cages, and it will be enough.” Mama rolled her eyes as she swept past her and into the house.
***
“The children will be downstairs, and Mary will be downstairs. I do not understand why we should be expected to stay up here.” Phoenix hunkered down on a delicately carved perch in April’s cage-house, bright red feather-scales pouffed out in a decided pout.
“The officers have been invited and they are … rather coarse. Particularly when indulging in the libations of the season. They are not known for being careful or gentle. All Mama’s protests aside, I am honestly worried for your safety if you join us downstairs. You do not want to be stepped on.” Elizabeth reached into the cage and stroked his fluffy head with a fingertip.
April zipped into the cage and sat on the perch beside him. “And that Collins man is going to be there as well. You were just complaining that you were tired of him. Do you wish to keep company with him again?” She preened his back.
“I do not like him, not at all.” Phoenix fluttered his wings and huffed.
“Neither do I.” Heather peered down from a higher perch, leaning farther and farther forward until she hung upside down on the perch, nearly eye-to-eye with April.
April snorted. “Must you act like a bat? The children may like it, but—”
“It makes my Mary laugh. She needs to laugh. She is too serious.” Heather’s tiny voice was still hard to hear, but was getting stronger each day.
And she was right. Mary was often too serious.
Perceptive little creature.
“You do not like Collins any better than the rest of us.” April stretched to groom Heather’s pale pink neck feathers.
“He cannot hear, so why bother with him?”
“He is difficult, almost impossible, to persuade.” April lifted her beaky nose in her favorite authoritative attitude.
“Men might be persuaded in ways other than by dragon voices.” Heather hung by one foot and scratched behind her ear. “Mary is very good at persuading.”
Elizabeth’s brow knotted. When had Mary done such a thing? No, Heather must be mistaken. She was so sweet, and believed that her Friend could do nearly anything.
“None of that has any bearing on dinner tonight. However, to make your confinement a little more pleasant, I have brought you these.” She placed three small dishes in the cage.
Heather let go of the perch, flipped midair, and landed beside the dishes. The other two joined her, sniffing, eyes half-closed.
“Honey?” April cheeped, bobbing up and down.
“Strawberry jam!” Heather plunged her face into the dish. Luckily the jam matched her feather-scales. Otherwise, she would be stained for days.
Phoenix dipped his long tongue in the third dish. “Blood and treacle pudding?”
“With a little extra treacle as a treat.”
He fluffed his wings and hopped a little closer.
“I trust this will make up for your lack of company this evening?” Elizabeth curtsied.
April flitted to her shoulder. “I still do not like you being amongst Collins and those officers without someone to watch over you.”
“I do not blame you for not liking Collins, but not all the officers are objectionable. Mr. Wickham—”
“I know you like that Wickham man—far more than you should. But I do not. I wish you would not spend time with him at all.”
She pinched her temples. “First Longbourn, now you? I do not believe I have asked either of you for your opinion on any of the men of my acquaintance.”
“I liked Darcy. Walker is an excellent cockatrice. Even Rustle approves of him.”
“I am not having this discussion again. You may like him, but I do not. Not that any of that matters.” How could April like the arrogant man who separated her from Pemberley? She held her hand near April who climbed upon her finger. “Pray go back to your honey and enjoy it whilst I try to enjoy some pleasing company myself.”
She returned April to the cage and latched the lock. It was only to make a statement, though. With the lock on the inside, they could open the door whenever they wanted.
Elizabeth joined the gathering in the drawing room, waiting for their guests to arrive. Long wax candles surrounded by mirrors bathed every corner with pleasing light. Papa would cringe at the expense, but they were necessary. One did not use tallow candles around good company, or so Mama insisted. Fresh evergreen and holly, tied with cheery red bows, filled the room with the season’s fragrances that hung on the warm air from the fireplace.
The Gardiner children admired one garland, dashing across the room to admire the next. Joshua and Anna argued softly over who had tied the prettiest bows, their mother or Jane.
“Why do you not take a seat, Lizzy?” Aunt Gardiner patted the settee cushion beside her.
There was an excellent chance that she might not be able to sit still any better than the children, but it behooved her to try.
“How can they take so long?” Lydia peered out of the window, wrapping the curtain around her shoulders. “I cannot wait for the officers to get here.”
“They are such agreeable company, so gallant and always in search of a spot of fun.” Kitty bounced in her seat near the fireplace.
“Do sit still. It is unbecoming to twitch about like a hound waiting to be fed.” Mary folded her hands in her lap and adjusted her posture to something entirely stiff and proper. “Do unwind yourself from the curtains before you tear them off the wall entirely.”
“You need not be so disagreeable. It is not as if you are anticipating anyone special to arrive.” Lydia sniffed and rolled her eyes.
“Lydia!” Aunt Gardiner slapped the arm of the settee.
“Well, it is true. None of the officers like her, for she is so very dull.”
“Your opinions are not helpful, nor are they kind.”
“But they are true.” Lydia should really learn to recognize the danger in Aunt Gardiner’s expression.
“Lydia!”
Lydia huffed and tossed her head.
Where was Jane? She had a way of distracting Lydia into at least the semblance of proper behavior.
She was upstairs, still dressing. How could she have forgotten? Mr. Bingley was to be in attendance along with the officers. He and his horrid sisters—for Mama could not possibly invite one without the others. Why could those harridans not have left when Mr. Darcy had?
The front door creaked, and voices drifted into the drawing room.
“Oh, oh, someone is here! I think I recognize Sanderson’s voice.” Kitty clapped softly.
Lydia and Kitty pinched their cheeks and checked their bodices, pulling them just a little lower.
“Mary, would you favor us with some music? A Christmas carol perhaps?” Aunt Gardiner asked, but it was more of a directive than a question.
Mary moved to the pianoforte, looking pleased to have her accomplishments recognized. Mama swept in with several officers in her wake.
“Wickham, Denny, and Sanderson!” Lydia and Kitty drew Denny and Sanderson away as Jane escorted Aunt and Uncle Philips in.
Mr. Wickham approached Elizabeth and Aunt Gardiner. He cut a dashing figure, even without his uniform.
But it was a mistake to pay too much attention to that. Noticing agreeable men, with excellent manners and good conversation only made Mr. Collins look worse by comparison.
Aunt Gardiner cocked her head and lifted her eyebrow at Elizabeth. “My niece tells me you are from Derbyshire, sir.”
He pulled a chair close and sat with them. “Indeed, I am madam. Are you familiar with the county?”
“I spent my girlhood there, in the area of Lambton. I am quite convinced it is the most beautiful county in England.”
Wickham’s eyes brightened, his face softening with a compelling smile. “I lived on an estate very near there, Pemberley, if you know it.”
“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.”
“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?”
“Dragons can read?” Anna’s eyes bulged, and her jaw dropped.
“There are some who can. Certain wyrms in particular have a penchant for books and learning. Some of them are quite the know-it-all, you see. There are those who are even able to write! They are particularly annoying to deal with as they are certain they know everything.
“In any case, if the Keeper fails to provide what the dragon needs, the dragon may bring a complaint to the Conclave. If a Keeper is found negligent, then he may be replaced with another, of the dragon’s choosing.”
“A major dragon can throw a Keeper out of his home?” Joshua gasped and looked at Anna.
“If the Conclave agrees, then it is possible. It has not happened in centuries, though. Dragons and Keepers are strongly encouraged to manage their differences before the Conclave must step in.”
“What happens when a Keeper dies and the estate is inherited by the eldest son?” Of course, Daniel would ask that.
“It can be a little complicated. Usually dragon hearing is an inheritance passed down in a family, and the heir is able to hear like his father. He will have grown up with the estate dragon and all proceeds very peacefully.”
“But there is not always a son.” Anna looked up at her, blinking her huge dark eyes.
“Then it can get complicated, my dears. But that is not for you to worry about. What you should be more concerned about is that everything is different for Friends to smaller, minor dragons.” She tapped Phoenix’s beak. “You cannot provide land or treasure to your Keeper. All you have is your wit and charm to recommend you. Your Friend is not obligated by the Conclave to provide all things you need. It must be a bond agreeable to all of you.”
“Like Mrs. Hill and Rumblkins?” Samuel cast about the room as though looking for his favorite tatzelwurm.
“They are very good friends indeed. That is the bond of a Dragon Friend.”
“Even if she does not know he is a dragon?” Samuel asked.
“Even if she thinks he is a large cat. They are Friends, and they treat each other with great respect.” She tapped Phoenix’s beak again.
He huffed and hung his head.
Anna gasped and pressed her hands to her mouth.
“Now you have all had your story for the evening. It is off to bed with you. You have stayed up far past your bedtime.”
Daniel drew a breath, probably to complain, but stopped midway. “Mr. Wickham!” He jumped up and rushed to the doorway.
Mr. Collins and Mr. Wickham stood just inside the room, concealed in the shadows. How long had they been there? Her face grew cold and tingled. How much had they heard? It should have sounded like a fairy story, but—
“You do not think we have to go to bed now, do you? We have only had one story, and it is Christmas after all.” Daniel glanced from Mr. Wickham to Mr. Collins. “I hear music. Is that cousin Mary playing? Are people gathering to dance?”
“You heard Miss Elizabeth. You must obey her.” Mr. Collins grumbled and clasped his hands behind his back.
Mr. Wickham leaned down close to Daniel. “I never wanted to go to bed when I was a boy, either. But you must be a good example to your siblings and be grateful that you were allowed to join the Christmas feast. Show us what a big boy you are and lead them all upstairs as Miss Elizabeth said.”
Daniel sighed, but tromped back to gather Samuel and Anna by the hands. Phoenix hopped to Joshua’s shoulder and they trudged out the door past Mr. Collins and Mr. Wickham.
“There is nothing on the boy’s shoulder. Miss Elizabeth is far more interesting to look at. She likes to dance,” Phoenix whispered as they passed.
“I should go upstairs and help them.” Elizabeth tried to slip between the men.
“There is no need. Their mother is waiting for them in the nursery.” Collins’ brows knit into a heavy line. “Your mother expects you in the drawing room.”
“Your sisters have begun to exhibit, and you are much wanted as a dance partner. Might I have the honor of the next dance?” Mr. Wickham bowed.
“And I the next.” Mr. Collins bowed as well, nearly elbowing Mr. Wickham out of the way.
“I—thank you both. I would be honored.” She glanced from one man to the other. One was glaring and grumpy, the other all good humor and ease. Too bad she could not accept only one offer to dance.
This might prove a long evening indeed.
***
The four and twenty families that regularly dined at Mama’s table kept Elizabeth’s social calendar full every day of the Christmastide season. Teas and card parties, a home theatrical and several dinners. She barely had time to think. In the odd moments she did, her thoughts turned, not to Mr. Wickham, as she supposed they should have, but to little Pemberley and how she fared under the taciturn Mr. Darcy’s care.
How she missed that little dragon.
The highlight of the season, the Bennets’ Twelfth Night Ball, threw the house into a frenzy that would likely take Papa a fortnight complete to recover from. Mama martialed all the women of the house into a demonstration of hospitality intended to be talked about for a full year to come.
The night of the ball, Elizabeth was almost too tired to attend. But the promise of agreeable partners—meaning of course Mr. Wickham and his fellow officers—roused her from her exhaustion to take her place in the drawing room.
She enjoyed two dances with Mr. Wickham prior to taking to the floor with Mr. Collins. Not only did he tread upon her toes and hem, but he caused her to twist her ankle when he went right and the rest of the dancers went left. Since she had already danced all she could with the only partner she cared to engage with, she indulged the excuse to sit out from the rest of the dancing.
Mr. Wickham was everything that Mr. Collins was not: engaging, charming, thoughtful, considerate. Mr. Collins could not think beyond how things might appear to his superiors and how they might relate to him as a result. Every thought, every concern, every conversation, absolutely everything, was all about him. Whenever she was in his presence, her ears rang with his opinions, his reputation, the condescension he enjoyed. Had there ever been a more self-centered man?
He was such a man, and yet, neither Mama nor Papa ignored a single opportunity to throw them together as if that would inure her to his flaws.
“You seem to have enjoyed Mr. Wickham’s company a great deal tonight.” Aunt Gardiner brought her a stool on which to prop her foot and sat in the far corner with her.
“He is an excellent dancer.” Elizabeth shrugged and glanced at Lydia and Mr. Wickham as they skipped down the line of dancers.
“I grant you that. And that, of course, is a sure sign of a man’s character and his fitness as a friend.” Aunt cocked her head the way she did at her children.
Elizabeth squirmed. No doubt her aunt’s intended effect. “You do not find his company pleasing?”
“Of course, I did, and that is what concerns me the most. The more I have considered the tale he told us at Christmas dinner, the more uncomfortable I have become. No honest man is quite so pleasing, or tells quite so carefully crafted a tale. Honestly, it sounds more like some novel’s account of a much-abused hero than a genuine experience. No true story is so … perfect.”
“That sounds alarmingly cynical, something I believe you have warned me of more than once.”
“Not cynical, but cautious, my dear. You must grant that I have a great deal more experience from which to draw. Something about him just does not ring true to me.”
“And the only faults you can find in him are that he is too handsome and his trials too lamentable?” Elizabeth’s head fell back against the edge of the settee. She stared at the crack in the ceiling plaster.
“Mr. Collins is not the only man with faults.” Aunt pointed her chin toward the fireplace where he held Uncle and Colonel Forster hostage to his long-windedness. “And he is not without his admirable qualities.”
Elizabeth’s jaw dropped. “You are not suggesting—”
“By no means! I am merely offering that your views of Mr. Wickham might be unduly colored by comparison to others.”
“It matters little what I think of either one. Papa is unmoved by my opinions and insists on having his way.” Her throat clamped down over her words, so tightly that they barely escaped.
“I know, my dear. Your uncle and I are pleading your case to him. But even as we do that, I must ask you to be careful in bestowing your affections too freely. It is not helping our cause with your father for you to be seen expressing so much interest in Mr. Wickham.”
Her interest was unacceptable? Hers? Not Kitty’s who followed him around like a lost puppy or Lydia’s who laughed and cavorted so loudly that half the town was talking about it? No, their behavior was beyond reproach, but hers, no, that was the problem.
But Papa was not trying to marry them off to please the estate dragon.
Blast and botheration.
Why did Aunt have to be so sensible … and so right?
And it was not as though there were any possible future with Mr. Wickham, given how Mr. Darcy—horrid man—had impoverished him. Was a passing flirtation too much to give up for the hope that Papa would take her dislike of Mr. Collins seriously?
If only Mr. Wickham were a more eligible man.
Why did it seem Mr. Darcy was once again at the source of her misery?
***
The next day Elizabeth urged Mr. Collins to keep Papa company in his bookroom whilst the ladies managed the task of returning the house to its normal state.
How surprising that Papa did not find the experience as pleasant as the rest of the family did. But did he really have to lock his study door after dinner? Watching Mr. Collins as he stood outside, knocking and trying the door, was painful at best. She chose to retire early rather than risk being drawn into that scene.
“If your father was unhappy with Collins’ company, it serves him quite right, pushing you toward that ninny,” April chittered in her ear the following morning as she pinned her hair into place. “Maybe that will help him to rethink this horrible plan.”
“Do not ruffle your feathers over him. You know that attitude always makes Longbourn angry.”
“Well, he is a selfish ninny as well.” April stroked Elizabeth’s ear with her cheek.
“You are very sweet. I can think of no better defender than you.”
April chirruped a bit of a laugh. “Phoenix would be ready to try, though. I have never seen a fairy dragon so convinced that he was capable of taking on anything that comes, even a major dragon.”
“As I understand, that is a trait all male fairy dragons share. It is possibly why males always seem in short supply.”
April snorted and preened her tail.
Come spring, Elizabeth might be forced to do something about the shortage of male fairy dragons in Hertfordshire. April was coming to an age at which finding a proper mate would become an issue.
Lovely, one more business she would have to find a way to explain to Mr. Collins. Or avoid explaining to him.
She squeezed her temples. One problem at a time, just one at a time. And today’s problem was chaperoning her sisters on their walk to Meryton.
“Will you come on our walk with us?” She picked up her green cloak and gloves.
“Of course. It is not nearly cold enough to keep me inside, though I would suggest that Heather remain inside. Her feathers are not nearly filled out enough to withstand the chill.”
Elizabeth chuckled. How maternal April had become since the hatching.
She headed downstairs.
Papa met her at the bottom of the stairs and beckoned her into his study. “So, Lizzy, bent on pleasure again?”
“Mama has asked me to accompany Kitty and Lydia to Meryton.” That it was not the same thing as a pleasure trip did not bear mentioning.
“Mr. Collins will accompany you when you go.”
Her eyes bulged, and she clenched her teeth. One, two, three … best get to at least ten before responding.
He peered at her through narrowed eyes. “I said, Mr. Collins shall accompany you.”
“There is no need to raise your voice. I heard you quite well.”
“I expect a response when I speak to you.”
“You do? I had no idea any response I could give you would matter.”
“Lizzy! I will not have you take that tone with me.”
“Yes, sir. Pray excuse me.” She ducked away from his gaze and wove through the tightly packed room toward the window.
“He spent the entire day with me, here, yesterday. He talked constantly, and I do mean constantly. I have never met a man who could talk so much about so little.”
“I am well aware of his propensity.” She leaned her face out of the open window, the cool air soothing the heat in her cheeks.
“You are much better equipped to deal with him than I.”
“I am? That is quite a compliment you offer me. I do not know what I have done to deserve it.”
His solid footsteps approached. “You need not be sarcastic with me. You know very well that you have a singular talent for listening to and engaging in—”
She turned to face him. “Meaningless conversation? Yes, we females are quite excellent at the little nothings that are so entertaining among society.”
He pinched the bridge of his nose and exhaled a long breath. “Why, Elizabeth?”
“If you do not know, then there is nothing I can do to explain.”
“We have been over this before. It is out of my hands. You well know that the decision is Longbourn’s.” He crossed his arms and gave her a look as though that should settle matters.
Perhaps once it would have, but today … today it just sounded like the easiest solution to a problem he did not want to deal with.
“Have you chosen to ignore the changes that Uncle Gardiner—”
“Nothing has been decided. Dragons are known for taking a long time to make changes. What is being discussed now may not take effect until your own children are getting ready to marry.”
“And then again, the papers may be signed tomorrow.”
“Your uncle sees that because he wishes it to be so. The Gardiners are exceedingly fond of you—a fact that has always endeared them to me. And pray remember that I am as well. But I fear that fondness has blinded him to the reality of the situation.”
“What of the letters he brings from the Secretary? Have you even read them?”
“Enough to know that I am right.”
She clutched her temples. “You have not even read them? Why are you so utterly committed—”
“To seeing Longbourn’s desires fulfilled? Because that is the role of a Dragon Keeper, as it has always been and how it always shall be. I have told you so all your life; you have always known it would be this way. Why have you become so petulant now?” He braced his hand against the window frame, leaning his head in the crook of his arm. “I should not have permitted you to read so many novels or to study so much philosophy. You have got far too many modern notions in your mind. All this rubbish about love and romance—utterly distracting to a Dragon Keeper.”
There were good reasons why he believed that, but none of them would be appropriate to mention now. Possibly not ever.
“Go now, Collins and your sisters are waiting for you. And you will be pleasant to both your sisters and Collins. Your mother insists that your sisters should seek out the officers in town and is quite tired of your contradicting her.”
“Do you not see the very great danger of the approach she suggests?”
“You seem pleased enough by Mr. Wickham’s company.” Did he have to employ that withering glare on her?
April popped her head out of Elizabeth’s cloak. “That is the only sensible thing you have said so far.”
“You have taught your Dragon Friend some very inappropriate habits. It is no wonder that Collins does not like her.” He leaned in and glowered directly at April.
April squawked and crouched, ready to launch.
Elizabeth covered her with her hand. “That will not help,” she whispered.
April popped her head up through Elizabeth’s fingers. “It is not my fault. You are, of course, aware that Collins does not like Heather either, and she is as sweet as treacle and as bland as milquetoast.”
“You would do well to recognize your situation and to work to be more agreeable. Your position is not nearly as assured as Longbourn’s.” Papa shook a pointing finger at them.
“There is no call to threaten her! Nothing and no one will induce me to eject her from my home. I would thank you not to intimate that it is even a possibility.” She spun on her heel and stomped out.
Only the greatest level of self-control kept her from slamming the door behind her.
Truly that was beyond the pale, threatening April in such a way. No matter how impatient he might be with her, the Papa she knew would never threaten a dragon with homelessness.
What had got into him? Why was he so entirely unreasonable? Did Longbourn have something to do with it?