Chapter One
Nippy March air scoured Elizabeth’s face as the mews’ uneven paving stones assaulted her feet in her dash to Darcy’s carriage. She pulled her green cloak tighter around her shoulders, her fairy dragon, April, safely nestled amongst her hood’s folds. The sun’s first rosy rays barely peeked over the horizon, not yet having their warming influence on the day.
Saying her goodbyes to Georgiana and Pemberley in the cellar dragon lair below Darcy’s London townhouse had been the right decision. Forcing everyone to endure the morning nipping at ears and noses, fighting tears and melancholy, would have not made their parting any easier. Poor dears. Who was more distraught: Georgiana, for the loss of the sister she had just claimed, or Pemberley, now bereft of both her Keepers?
The two would be in good hands with Barwines Chudleigh, Lady Astrid, and the rest of the Blue Order officers taking them under their—sometimes literal —wings. There should be comfort in that. But still—to be asked to walk away after only just becoming acquainted with them and the new sense of family they brought, even for the critical work the Order demanded! Beastly unfair. Even so, Georgiana and Pemberley maintained brave faces and did not cry; she would do the same—at least while in their company.
The driver handed her into the plush carriage and shut the door. The entire coach smelled of him—his shaving oil, his soap, his own particular scent. Him. She blinked the burning from her eyes. Beastly unfair.
Warm bricks smoothed the edge off the chill, and a toasty lap rug lifted her to the heights of indulgence. Not that it was a far stretch to get there in Darcy’s well-appointed coach. Thick squabs with supple leather covers, a table of sorts that pulled down from the sidewall, gleaming hardware—not so long ago she would never have imagined traveling in such luxury.
This would be her lot as Mrs. Darcy. How easy it would be to become accustomed to excellent equipage and a refined home filled with minor dragons, not to mention another Dragon Keeper determined to do right by his Dragon Mates. Truly, what more could she dream of?
Perhaps not to feel guilty for her good fortune.
Still though, one issue haunted her. Would Mr. Darcy be as determined and devoted toward his wife as to the dragons? Papa certainly was not. But then again, none would suggest that a fair comparison.
“You are fretting again,” April whispered, snuggling closer into her neck. Fluffy blue feather-scales tickled Elizabeth’s ear.
“Are you cold? You can come under the lap rug if you like.”
“You are warm enough for me. There are times—occasionally—that it must be nice to be a warm-blood.” April tucked the tip of her beaky nose under her tail.
Elizabeth laughed and stroked April’s head. “I suppose you are right.”
“But you should not fret. All is as it should be now.”
“You have a most peculiar notion of how things should be. You do realize we are in search of a rogue dragon. My youngest sister has gone off with a man trying to make himself a Deaf Speaker. And my other sister is currently betrothed to a tentatively-approved Deaf Speaker, a man generally loathed by man and dragon alike. None of that seems exactly desirable to me.” Elizabeth threw her head back into the squabs. Described like that, their situation had all the hallmarks of a Gothic tale in the making.
April nipped her ear softly. “You forget you are betrothed to an excellent Keeper, away from that horrid, jealous Longbourn, and Keeper to an infant vikontes who will someday be a tremendous influence in the Dragon Conclave. I am entirely content.”
“You have very decided opinions, my Friend.”
“And you ignore too many correct opinions.” April snorted, tickling the side of Elizabeth’s jaw.
She made it all sound simple, but then dragons tended to overlook what was inconvenient to their particular agenda. Unfortunately, April’s insistence did not change the difficult realities, no matter how much either of them wanted it. Elizabeth wrapped one arm tightly around her waist.
The carriage turned into the mews behind the Gardiners’ house. They stopped at the back door near a laden luggage cart, Uncle Gardiner’s horse tied to its side. Was it insurance he would have transport in case Papa became angry with him again?
She winced. Uncle should not have to think that way about Papa. But truly, was it surprising he did?
Rustle and Cait landed on the carriage roof. The driver greeted them in muffled tones. According to Darcy, the driver heard dragons but had no Dragon Friend. It seemed odd that one who heard dragons might not want to live with one, but apparently not everyone found draconic company appealing.
Before Elizabeth could leave the coach’s warmth, Uncle helped Mary and Heather slide in beside her. Heather climbed inside Mary’s generous furry muff, tucked her tail over her nose, and snored a musical fairy dragon snore—adorable, like most things concerning fairy dragons.
“Do you think Longbourn will have already told Papa the news?” Mary glanced over her shoulder as though looking for one of them.
“Since the majority is not in his favor, I somehow doubt it. I expect the duty will fall to you and Uncle Gardiner.”
“I wish you would talk to him.” Mary plucked at a tuft of silky brown muff fur.
Really, that is what worried her? Elizabeth grimaced and clenched her teeth. Sharp words and sarcasm would not improve matters. “I hardly think that possible, considering I am now a stranger to Longbourn estate.”
Mary clapped her hands to her cheeks. “Oh, Elizabeth, I am sorry! I cannot believe I forgot—”
“Well, I suppose it is a good thing I have not let Longbourn become enraged over the trespass.”
“You need not sound so angry with me. I meant no offense.”
“Considering you gained what you most wanted whilst I have lost just as much and perhaps a great deal more, is it too much to ask that you would remember my situation? If for no other reason, as Longbourn’s Keeper, it behooves you to pay attention to those things that affect your dragon.” So much for avoiding sharp words.
“You need not sound so bitter. It is not as though you are without home or dragon. Are you not betrothed to a man of consequence both in the Blue Order and in London society?” Mary turned her face aside.
Was it possible Mary was jealous? She got everything she desired, and yet she still resented Elizabeth?
“You sought Mr. Collins. I had never considered Mr. Darcy until we stood in the Dragon Conclave, and I had little choice. That may not mean much to you, but it is material to me.” Elizabeth knotted her fist under her cloak, relishing the cut of her fingernails against her palm.
Heather stirred and opened one eye. “You are not being very kind.”
Gracious! Heather had never criticized Mary before.
“She is right.” April poked her head out of Elizabeth’s hood. “Who are you to criticize if you are less perfect than her?”
“That is all we need to hear on the matter.” Elizabeth covered April with her palm.
Mr. Collins clambered in, Uncle Gardiner close behind, the coach rocking and swaying with their shifting weight.
Uncle pulled the door shut and rapped on the roof. The carriage lurched as the horses set into motion. “With such an early start, we may well be at Longbourn before the family makes it down to breakfast.”
“Remember, Papa is apt to be cranky before he has had his first willow bark tea and coffee.” Elizabeth avoided looking at Mary.
“Then I shall not offer any news of importance until he is well dosed with his morning libations.” Uncle winked. Though he smiled and seemed cheerful, something about the way he carried his shoulders—but why would he not be tense, all things considered?
Elizabeth turned to Collins. “How did you find your audience with Lady Astrid?”
He still wore a wide-eyed look that might be permanent; at least the pallor had finally left his countenance, though. Probably a good thing. Watching him faint dead away yet again would not improve their journey.
The edge of his mouth pulled back in an expression faintly resembling a sneer. So much for any hope of a pleasing conversation. “I must say, there is a great deal to accustom oneself to. So much intrigue and so many secrets within this Order of yours. A great deal of subterfuge is being practiced at all levels of society.”
Already casting judgments and aspersions about the Blue Order? Surely the man was intent upon getting himself eaten by judicial decree. “I suppose that is one way to look at matters. But I would argue it is in the best interest of both species that it continues. Prior to the Pendragon Treaty, we all tottered at the brink of destruction. When most of those who cannot hear are not able to accept the presence of dragons, much less live peaceably with them, what else can be done?”
Collins braced his feet on the floor boards and pressed into the squabs. “I suppose that is the case. Certainly, the need for secrecy has been impressed upon me—and the dire consequences of violating it.”
Uncle reprimanded him with a glance.
“Do not get the wrong idea. As I said, I understand the need for it all.” He harrumphed softly and tucked his chin to his chest. “Though, the standards are not equally imposed.”
The hairs on the back of Elizabeth’s neck prickled.
April crept out of Elizabeth’s hood and perched on her forearm, prickly toes piercing her sleeve. “The dumb one’s implications are dangerous.”
Mary glowered at April.
“He is deaf, dear, not dumb,” Elizabeth whispered.
“No, he is dumb.” April sent Collins an ear-nipping look.
“What is it saying? I do not like it growling at me.” Collins nudged Mary with his heel.
“’She,’ not ‘it,’ and I would counsel you to remember basic etiquette whilst dealing with dragons. You might not be able to properly hear their voices, but they can perfectly comprehend yours. They take offence easily and are often not apt to forgive.” Elizabeth restrained the urge to step on Collins’ foot.
“Of course, forgive me. What is she saying?” Oh, if he were not careful, April would peck that condescending smile right off!
“She does not like what you imply, sir. Nor do I.”
“I am not surprised,” he muttered to his waistcoat.
April’s toes tightened on Elizabeth’s arm. Any tighter, and they might draw blood.
“What am I to make of that remark?”
“Simply that I am confused about how the Blue Order applies its regulations.” His chest puffed a bit—just like a dragon vying for dominance. He probably would not appreciate the comparison.
So self-satisfied and self-important … horrid man! “It would behoove you to speak plainly, sir.”
April growled, hackles rising. On the other hand, perhaps the best thing he could do was to stop speaking altogether.
“If secrecy is so valued, why have you not been reprimanded for allowing those outside the Order to hear those stories you were telling the Gardiner children? That seems a breach of all the secrecy directives, does it not?” He carefully kept his face turned away from Uncle Gardiner.
Elizabeth’s jaw dropped. April chittered so fast not even she could make it out. Heather peeked out from Mary’s muff and joined in much more softly.
“Mr. Collins!” Uncle stomped. “You are hardly in any place to offer criticism when your own understanding is so meager.”
“How can I perfect my information without asking questions?”
“There is a difference, sir, between a question and an accusation,” Uncle hissed like an angry cockatrice.
“Elizabeth cannot possibly be at fault—in anything?” Bitterness fairly dripped from Mary’s words. “She has always been such a favorite—”
Uncle slapped the squab beside him. “You will cease this line of conversation and stop commenting on what you clearly do not comprehend. The unmitigated gall—you have been tolerated—not accepted mind you, but tolerated—by the Order for less than forty-eight hours, and already you see fit to condemn? And you Mary—you may have been Junior Keeper to Longbourn, but you were as happy as your father to drop everything upon your sister’s shoulders and leave her to bear the brunt of Longbourn’s care—and his tempers—on her own. You claimed it was Longbourn’s preferences, but it was as much your own laziness as anything else.”
Elizabeth winced. Perhaps she could take Uncle’s horse the rest of the way.
Mary’s face colored, and she stared at her hands. “I fulfilled everything Papa asked of me.”
“This amounted to nearly nothing. Examples of the kind of effort you should have put forth abounded. Despite your father’s lackadaisical Dragon Keeping, he still provided you an excellent role model of devotion to the Order and Dragonkind, or did you even notice the time he spent in study and research?”
“He never tried to teach me—”
“Were you a willing pupil? Did you attempt to truly apply yourself, or did you make yourself difficult to instruct?”
Elizabeth pressed into the side of the carriage. No wonder the Gardiner boys were careful not to anger their father.
“I know enough—”
“—to do what? To be accepted by the Order? Yes, you know that much. But what could you possibly accomplish on your own? Could you meet a cockatrix on her own terms and come out the dominant female? Or introduce two cockatrice and keep them from killing one another? Can you soothe an amphithere’s grief without her saying a word as to what troubled her or gain the loyalty much less the cooperation of a tatzelwurm? Would you risk your very life to save a wild-hatched firedrake on the slim chance it might imprint? Would you have known to call for a tatzelwurm to tend the wounds you received in the process? You may be a full-fledged Keeper now, Mary, but you are not Elizabeth’s equal in ways you cannot begin to understand.”
“So, that is all that matters—dragons and nothing else? What of the people who Keep them and those who must live unknowingly around them? Do they count for nothing?” Mary’s voice turned sharp and thin as it did when she was near tears.
“What are you saying?” The words barely escaped Elizabeth’s tight throat.
“It seems the Blue Order gives little thought to people, particularly those who are, through no fault of their own, caught up in the dragon world. Has anyone ever considered how Mama’s life has been manipulated by dragons and how little choice she has in the matter?”
Elizabeth pinched her temples. “She would not be mistress of an estate apart from Longbourn. The Bennets are only landed because the current Longbourn’s brood mother chose them as Keepers to the estate. We are who we are because of the dragons.”
“Not all estates have dragons. Consider Netherfield Park …” Mary clapped her hands to her face. “Heavens, what is going to happen to Jane and Bingley? If there is indeed a rogue dragon there, but neither can hear it …” She fell back into the sidewall.
“I am going to Netherfield to see nothing untoward happens to them.”
“What will you do?”
Elizabeth shrugged. “The same thing I usually do—think like a dragon and act accordingly.”
“What exactly does that look like?”
“I never know until I am in the middle of it. It depends on so many things, starting with the dragon’s species, age, the relationships with Keepers or Friends, other dragons or even animals in the vicinity, hunger, dominance, is there hoarding involved, has the dragon’s territory been violated in any way…” Elizabeth raised open hands.
Mary’s jaw dropped.
“Now you see.” Uncle crossed his arms over his chest and sat back, self-satisfied.
How should one feel about what he had just done? On the one hand, his vocal support was gratifying, especially when Papa had never offered as much. On the other, how much would Mary—and Mr. Collins—resent Uncle’s set down? Mary had shown a surprising amount of bitterness just now.
Was it really resentment, though, or the voice of the tremendous pressure of the last few days? After all, worrying that the man one wanted to marry might be eaten by a dragon in a judicial action would be rather anxiety-provoking.
Elizabeth giggled.
“What is so funny?” Mary’s eyes bulged.
Elizabeth shook her head. “A rather draconic joke, I am afraid. Not one most warm-bloods would find amusing.”
Was it telling that her own sense of humor had become positively cold-blooded? And if so, what did it mean?
Mary rolled her eyes and turned aside to the side glass where the outskirts of Meryton appeared on the horizon.
It seemed only a few moments later the carriage stopped at the border of Longbourn estate.
“Elizabeth cannot cross into Longbourn’s territory.” Uncle opened the door and jumped out. “You and Collins may walk to the house from here or ride the luggage cart if you wish. I will accompany Elizabeth to Netherfield and take my horse back to Longbourn.”
Collins’ brows wrinkled, definitely less than pleased, but he wisely chose not to remark as he ducked out of the coach.
Mary paused, staring at the carriage floor. “I … I …”
Elizabeth touched her arm. “It is a difficult time for us all. None of us is currently at our best.”
“No, I suppose we are not. I hope …”
“So do I.” Now was not the time for draconic bluntness. Diplomacy had its uses.
Uncle handed Mary down and made room for her on the luggage cart. He tied his horse to the back of the carriage and climbed inside with Elizabeth, signaling the driver to continue. “I hope their pettiness has not upset you.”
“I have long suspected those sentiments in Mary, so I am not surprised. I hardly count anything Mr. Collins says as significant. Even before he was aware of dragons, he rarely said anything sensible. Why would I expect that to be any different now?”
Uncle snickered. “Mary appears able to manage him well enough. Perhaps, between her and your father, they will be able to shape him into something the Order will accept.”
“He seems anxious to please—so I think it likely, especially since he is not clever enough to form designs upon the dragons. By all appearances, he only is concerned with the condition and convenience of his own skin.”
“At least that assists us in motivating him.” Uncle dragged his fist across his mouth. “In all seriousness, though, have you a plan once you arrive at Netherfield?”
“No, I have nothing specifically in mind, but a great many options. It all depends on the dragon and his—or her—temperament. I imagine this one is cunning, being able to steer clear of Longbourn to avoid a territorial war. Similarly, it cannot be a dominant dragon, or it would have tried to fight Longbourn for his territory. So, I do not expect it to be aggressive toward me—it is unlikely it would chance upsetting Longbourn by harming me. On the whole, lindwurms are not very active dragons.”
“And you are certain this is a lindwurm?”
“Few species have the dexterity to write, and fewer are able to paint. Lindwurms are often capable of both. Lady Astrid sent me off with several tomes on the species to study, so I shall spend some of my time doing that whilst I explore the nooks and crannies of Netherfield—and the cellars.”
“Do you not fear there may be more poisoned rooms?”
April popped her head up. “One of the wyverns at Barwines Chudleigh’s salon taught me how to smell for it. I will watch over her.”
“You see, I will be well protected.” She patted April.
Pray Uncle would not remark upon the wisdom of counting upon a fairy dragon for anything, much less protection.
Uncle harrumphed. “I will send Rustle to you daily. Keep me abreast of everything. And if there is information you need from your father—”
“I shall not hesitate to seek help obtaining it. I promise. However, I do not expect that sort of problem. He will not permit his resentment to threaten his devotion to the Order or dragonkind.”
Uncle did not look convinced.
***
Nicholls met them at Netherfield’s front door. Tucked under a frilly white cap, her totally white hair made it difficult to detect where her hair ended and the cap began. She was young for her hair to have lost all the color but wore it as a badge of authority that none in her domain dared question. Of average height and build, she might be easily overlooked except for the efficient way she carried herself encouraged everyone to get out of her way and allow her to carry on with her business unquestioned.
She ushered Elizabeth and Uncle Gardiner inside, clearly uncomfortable. Did Mr. and Mrs. Bingley expect them? They had not sent word. How long would they be staying? Would Miss Elizabeth be returning to Longbourn? Were they there because of Miss Lydia’s sudden departure?
One could hardly fault her many questions, but they needed to be addressed quickly before she formed opinions too strong to be persuaded out of. Still in the vestibule, Elizabeth, Uncle Gardiner, and April offered the official explanation, carefully crafted by the Blue Order.
Lydia had been called away to attend a sick relation. Elizabeth had been sent in her place to assist in preparing the house for its new mistress. Rooms must be cleaned and inventoried by Elizabeth herself with the staff to assist as she required.
Nicholls hesitated to accept that part of the story. Who could blame her? No one who knew Jane would believe she could be so exacting a mistress. Dragon persuasions could only go so far with most people.
Finally, April—ingenious little soul that she was—suggested it would be a gift for Jane to return to a home already arranged to her preferences. Moreover, Elizabeth was a most considerate and loving sister to attempt giving a gift on such a grand scale. Uncle Gardiner added his support to the notion, and their subterfuge was complete.
Thank heavens! But perhaps Mary did have a point about dragons imposing unfairly upon those who had no say in dragon affairs.
Uncle Gardner took his leave, and Nicholls showed Elizabeth to her chambers—a lovely large room in the family wing. Her previous stay at Netherfield had been as a guest of questionable welcome, so she had not been in this part of the house, except fleetingly, in search of maps that might have led them to Pemberley’s egg. Today she could stop and take in her surroundings.
Morning sunlight streamed through a pair of tall windows, flanked by damask drapes in golds and blues, flooding all the nooks and corners with light. Subdued dragon imagery filled the spacious chamber and the attached dressing room, the kind that could easily be overlooked by the dragon-deaf, but stood out to anyone acquainted with the Blue Order. The feathers on the paper hangings in both rooms were not peacock, but amphithere. The paintings, landscapes like those hanging in the drawing room, contained tantalizing hints of draconic influence. Mahogany dragon claws clutched balls on the furniture’s feet, resting on a burgundy carpet bearing subtle, swirling dragon silhouettes.
One piece might have been a coincidence, perhaps even two, but no one acquired so much dragon-inspired decoration without doing so intentionally.
Moreover, this décor was not the work of a single generation. At one time Netherfield must have been a dragon estate. But what happened to its dragon? There had to be some record of it somewhere. Why did Papa not know? Or did he know and simply never saw reason to mention it? Why would he keep it to himself, though?
Alone in the roomy chambers, the weight of the last se’nnight descended upon her, slowly forcing her to the floor. A rogue dragon might well be slithering in the cellar below her, one with the potential to destroy the fragile fabric of dragon society. If the country fell into dragon war, everyone had so very much to lose. She wrapped her arms around her knees and rested her forehead on them. It all fell to her to find a way to resolve the matter without bloodshed—warm or cold. How was she to accomplish that?
April nestled against her cheek and trilled softly, the song soothing the edge of her angst. “Darcy should be here with you. He would not have permitted them to speak to you so.”
“Darcy is doing what he must. And Mary … she just does not know any better.” But April was right—it would have been nice to have Darcy there with them. Very nice. He might not know what to do better than she, but he would make her feel like she had a chance at figuring it out.
“She should, and she will. I will have a talk with Heather. She cannot permit her Friend to act so inappropriately.”
Elizabeth swallowed back a giggle. “Do you really think Heather capable of such a thing?”
April tossed her head in the fairy dragon equivalent of an eye roll. “You listen to me.”
“I suppose you have a point.” Elizabeth pushed up from the floor. The weight was still there, making it difficult to move, but what choice was there? “But we should set all that aside for now and find some place to begin.”
April flittered to the bed post. “We should ask the Netherfield dragons what they know.”
“Netherfield dragons?” There were local dragons whom she did not know?
“The local fairy dragons are too twitterpated to be of any real use. But there are several minor wyrms—wild ones—who live in the woods near the folly, and there is a shy puck living near the garden. If there has been a major dragon about, they are likely to know.”
“So near the house? Does not that seem rather close for a wild dragon?”
“She is not wild. She was Friend to a tenant who lived on the estate some time ago—perhaps in your grandfather’s day. After her death, she chose to stay but did not find another Friend. She is very timid.” April landed on the windowsill and pointed toward the garden with her wing.
“Do you know if there is anything the puck particularly likes?”
“You mean does she have a hoard? Yes, pucks always have a hoard. Her Friend was a seamstress. She loves yarns and threads of all sorts. The wild fairy dragons often try to steal from her to make their nests. She is not fond of my kind.”
“Well, who could blame her? There is hardly a greater offense to such a dragon than to steal from their stash. Might she like some of the pretty cherry-colored twist I have in my work bag?” Elizabeth rummaged through her work bag and held up the twist. April chirruped. “Then lead me to our shy friend, and we will see what she has to say.”
Nicholls might be a meticulous housekeeper, but the kitchen garden was nothing short of a disgrace. Rabbits—a great many of them, it seemed—had the run of it. April led her to the edge of the woods near the garden. Several rabbits bounded out of the underbrush and into a hole concealed by a tall spiky holly bush.
“Here.” April hovered over the holly.
“Are you certain? Did you not see those rabbits?”
April snorted. “She is a peculiar dragon.”
That was not saying very much. Most dragons had distinct peculiarities. “In what way?”
“She is a puck; they are all a bit odd.” April landed carefully on the uppermost holly branch, daintily avoiding the prickles.
“If you mean they hoard valueless things, I have come prepared.”
“That is not the only way in which she is odd.” April pulled a prickly leaf from between her long toes. “It is the rabbits. She likes rabbits.”
“Likes rabbits? Like Pemberley and her dogs?”
“At least the dogs live in her dragon lair.”
Elizabeth crouched and peered into the hole. “You mean the puck lives in the warren with the rabbits? Pucks are house dragons—unless she has been mistreated, why would she—”
“She is peculiar, just as I said. She protects her rabbits from foxes and the like. Considering the state of the garden, the warren seems to be doing very well under her care.”
Elizabeth headed back to the house.
April flew after her. “Are you giving up already? That is not like you. What is wrong?”
“I am not giving up, only realizing we must take a different approach. I scared the rabbits back into their holes, so it is unlikely she will come out and talk to me, at least not today. So, I must smooth the way for a proper introduction.” She shoved the kitchen door open. “Help me convince the cook to provide me with some vegetables.”
April cheeped her skepticism but assisted in persuading the cook it was the most natural thing in the world to offer Elizabeth carrot tops, broccoli trimmings, cauliflower leaves, and a few apple slices—and not question why.
Elizabeth brought the kitchen castoffs to the holly bush and arranged them prettily on an old, slightly battered tin plate. She added the cherry-colored twist at the front edge of the offerings and pushed it close to the rabbit hole.
“Now we wait.” She stood and dusted off her hands. “Do you think you can persuade Cook to regularly prepare such a plate?”
“The woman is quite a gudgeon. It will not be a problem, especially since she has little taste for vegetables herself. Do not ask her to part with anything sweet though. That would have her balking very quickly.”
“I will keep that in mind.” It was not surprising the puck would not be personable and ready to talk, but it still was a bit disappointing. Where were creatures with Lydia’s personality when she really needed them?
The folly of that thought became evident a few minutes later when April introduced her to the wild wyrms living in the deeply shaded woods, near a broken-down folly. Though the weather-worn look might be considered fashionable, in this case it appeared more a matter of neglect than intent. The roof had caved in, and the trim around the doorway dangled from a single nail. A strong storm might bring the entire structure down. At least the nearby mossy stone bench remained solid enough for her to sit on while talking with the pair of forest wyrms that appeared out of the leafy floor litter at April’s first call.
And talk they did! Heavens above, did those wyrms chatter.
Unusually friendly for wild dragons, they curled up their long scaly bodies at her feet. Dark and dappled, they blended into the dead leaves and loam.
The dominant one, a male, dared rub his furry leonine face against her ankles, almost like a cat. Such an audacious move, trying to mark her as his own territory. April dove at him, pecking at his head until he kept a respectful distance. The smaller female proved less apt to claim territory but far more vocal.
In furry-purry voices they talked over one another, offering their observations on any and everything above ground. They spoke so fast, it was hard to make out most of what they said.
Most Dragon Mates thought fairy dragons were brainless dolts—those people had never tried to talk to wild wyrms. But when Elizabeth asked about the night of the Netherfield Ball, they became very, very quiet, staring at her with wide almost frightened eyes.
“Have you heard any dragon voices that are new to the territory?” She leaned down close to hear them.
The smaller one turned on her tail and disappeared.
The male rose up like a cobra ready to strike, his mane extended like a hood, and hissed. He wove back and forth, hypnotic in his rhythm. “Not a safe question. Do not ask again. You do not want to know such things. You do not want to know.”
Elizabeth allowed her eyes to glaze over, and she nodded blankly—exactly as the wyrm would have expected. No point in allowing him to realize she was immune to his efforts, at least not now.
He shoved his head under her hand. “Scratch ears.”
April chittered overhead whilst Elizabeth scratched behind his ears.
“Come back and bring us chicken feet.” He slithered away.
April flew after him, scolding.
Elizabeth leaned back and chewed her lip. For having told her nothing, the wyrms had implied a great deal.
“The nerve of that creature, expecting you to bring them treats after they have been so utterly presumptuous and unhelpful.” April landed on her shoulder, feather-scales puffed.
She scratched under April’s chin. “He overstepped himself, but we have only just met. It is hardly surprising he should be testing the waters.”
“You have lived here all your life. He well knows your reputation. Why else would they be demanding chicken feet?”
“It was hardly a demand, dearling. I have not taken offense, and neither should you. If you think about it, it was rather considerate of them to have told me how to motivate their assistance in the future.”
“You are far too forgiving of their rudeness.”
“They confirmed the presence of a lindwurm here.”
“They said nothing of the sort.”
“Considering the male was driven to persuade me away from my questions, I take that as an indication of a lindwurm’s presence. They are bullying fellows toward smaller wyrms.”
April harrumphed. “It seems odd to celebrate the discovery of what we already knew.”
“We also know this lindwurm desires secrecy—so he must not be especially aggressive. Moreover, knowing it can read and write, I expect we are dealing with a scholarly dragon, not one interested in dominating a territory. So, we should be able to reason with it.”
April hovered in front of Elizabeth’s nose. “You liked all those arguments with Chudleigh’s friends at her salon?”
“They did get a mite heated to be sure, but I still find it preferable to discuss issues rather than worry about being eaten in a fit of pique.”
“I suppose there is that.”
Upon their return to the house, Nicholls met Elizabeth with household books in hand and invited her to the housekeeper’s office. Neat and snug, it resembled Hill’s office at Longbourn with shelves of linens and china lining one wall and stores of the more expensive food stuffs along another. Near the windows, a utilitarian table doubled as Nicholls’ writing desk. Plain, white walls made the space bright and emphasized the lack of decorations—and dragons—in the room. Unlike Darcy House whose staff was largely, if not exclusively Dragon Friends, it seemed the Netherfield servants were not.
Nicholls opened her books and set to work, efficient and businesslike as the best housekeepers were. With Elizabeth in residence, meals must be considered. The regular laundry day was approaching; would the new Mrs. Bingley desire that schedule be kept, or would she rather the task wait until she returned? Would Miss Elizabeth prefer the maids cleaned the rooms as she inventoried them, or should they proceed on their own?
The meeting required several hours and far more quick thinking than Elizabeth preferred. Running a household was her last priority, but since it was the guise she used for being here, somehow she had to find the wherewithal to pretend it was her only purpose. Exactly the sort of subterfuge Mr. Collins found distasteful.
“What do you wish done with Miss Lydia’s things, Miss?” Nicholls shut her book—did that mean she was finally finished?—and looked at Elizabeth expectantly. “She left quite a bit in her chamber. I am surprised she did not take it all with her. Perhaps she was expecting to be back soon? Do you think she will want it sent along to her?”
“I am not sure. Perhaps it would be best to let me pack it up. I should be able to sort out what to do with it.”
“I will take you to her room.”
Lydia had been ensconced in the guest wing, near a servants’ passage. Not a high-status room, but according to Nicholls, it was what she wanted. And of course, Lydia nearly always got what she wanted. But why would she deviate so far from her usual demand for the best?
With a quick curtsey, Nicholls trundled off. April launched from Elizabeth’s shoulder and buzzed about the narrow chamber.
Though relatively small, two windows brought sunshine into the bedroom, making it cheery and bright. Clearly it had been decorated with young female guests in mind. Gauzy blue drapes fluttered in the slight breeze that slipped through the edges of the windows. Dainty floral paper hangings matched the bed curtains and coverlet. Fairy dragons that looked a great deal like little birds hovered over the flowers on the paper hanging. Yet another landscape hung over the little bed. Subtle carvings of wyrms coiled around the legs of the oak dressing table. Even here, dragons influenced the décor.
So much Lydia had left behind! That was not like her; she preferred to bring far more than she needed on any trip. Even if they were walking to town, she somehow contrived to bring an extra-large reticule with who-knew-what inside.
Two trunks remained in the room. The closet was full of gowns—why did she think she would need a ball gown and an evening dress to manage the house whilst Jane was away? Several morning dresses and day dresses were there as well. It seemed she might have only taken one of each with her? How strange.
Elizabeth opened the smaller of the two trunks. One stocking and one glove lay crumpled within. Careless girl! No doubt she would miss those. What chance their mates were tossed in the press near the closet? She tugged open the sticky drawers.
Of course, with no one to watch over her, Lydia had not bothered to fold her body linen; it was shoved in the drawers. It would serve Lydia right if Elizabeth tossed it carelessly into the trunk, but no, she had been taught far too well. Mama would be lecturing in her head for weeks if she did such a thing.
April cheeped a little laugh as Elizabeth roughly folded the linen and packed the trunk. Not as neat as Mama would have liked, but enough that she need not feel guilty about it. So very much left behind. What was Lydia doing without all her clothes?
None of this made sense.
What was that? Elizabeth withdrew a slim mustard-yellow book from between two petticoats. Did Lydia actually keep a commonplace book? She sat on the edge of the bed in a sliver of sunbeam and flipped it open. A journal? Who would have believed Lydia had the patience to record her thoughts in a journal?
Once again Mary’s voice rang in her ears. She had no right to read Lydia’s private meditations. One more compromise of human courtesy in favor of dragonkind! But no, this was about more than the dragons; it was also about Lydia’s safety and protecting the family reputation. Those reasons demanded she read the journal.
She tucked the nagging guilt into a relatively harmless corner of her mind and turned the page. Typical Lydiaesque ramblings, pages and pages of it. Much like her conversation—effusions of fancy which said very little. She skipped several pages.
Wait, what was that? Suddenly everything was different. Lydia’s enthusiastic scrawl was replaced by an odd, cryptic mix of numbers, letters and symbols. A cipher? Why would Lydia be using a cipher in her journal?
She turned back a few pages until she found the place where the writing had changed and read the entries just prior.
A new game Wickham was teaching her: to play like British spies. In that way they could write letters to one another, and no one would know to accuse them of impropriety. Heavens, what subterfuge! What utter disrespect toward her parents, toward society in general!
This was the sort of thing Mr. Collins should be concerned about, not judging the efforts of the Blue Order!
Had Mr. Darcy not already disabused her compassion toward Mr. Wickham, these entries would surely have accomplished it. She forced her eyes back to the page. Apparently, learning the code was difficult for Lydia. Wickham became impatient with her mistakes. What better way than to practice in her journal? And so the gibberish began.
She scanned the remaining pages, but no helpful key to the encryption existed. Perhaps it was elsewhere … the shelves and drawers, between the mattresses, under the bed, even the undersides of all the furniture and drawers. Nothing.
Why? Why did the key have to be the one single thing the feather-pate would choose to bring with her? Elizabeth shut the trunks with a bit more force than necessary.
At least she would have a puzzle to keep her occupied when she could not sleep—which seemed highly likely.
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