Pemberley: Mr. Darcy's Dragon (Jane Austen's Dragons, #1)

by Maria Grace

A great many people only hear what is comfortable and convenient for them to hear. Far oftener than might be expected, that is a very good thing indeed.

One of the largest is the monster Saint Columba encountered in the river Ness in Scotland.” “River dragons? That monster drowned a man!

In the year nine hundred, it seemed as though the dragons would wipe out the race of man in the British Isles.”

That would violate a far older and more important law. An estate with a dragon must have a Keeper who can hear.”

“What of it? My own was nearly as stupid as a hummingbird and got herself eaten by a cat, not even a tatzelwurm, but an ordinary cat.” A shudder coursed the length of April’s tiny body.

Walker squawked and flapped his wings. “Do not stare, Darcy. Females of your kind take on all manner of ideas when you do. Follow me, and I shall lead you back to the Netherfield’s grounds.”

It is a truth universally acknowledged that a single man in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a wife.

“I have every place to do so. Do you know the last time an egg was removed from its inherited territory?” “As I recall, it was in 1705.”

“Just be careful. Do not attach yourself to him before you discern exactly what kind of man he is. You are apt to think well of everyone, but not all are so deserving of your admiration.”

Even Longbourn had to be called upon. He took up temporary residence in the cavern near the cellar and spent many hours inventing viable explanations for the odd sounds from the sickroom and even odder items which Elizabeth brought up from the kitchen.

With men like him about, was it any wonder that she should prefer the company of dragons?

Company and crowds were an oppression to his spirit, weighing upon him, draining him like a wyvern drained its prey before consuming it. A few hours in company left him spent as a laborer in from an entire day’s work. Every nerve was left raw and throbbing; his ears ached from the noise assaulting preternatural hearing; his skin prickled and burned from the unintended contact inevitable when too many people tried to share the same space.

“He likes Elizabeth, and I do too. You offended her.” He liked her? Surely Darcy misheard.

“Apologize to her and dance with her at the next ball.” “What?” she and Darcy exclaimed together. “Her offense is mine. Apologize to her.” Longbourn twitched his head toward Miss Elizabeth.

She turned her glower on him, potent as wyvern venom. No one, save a dragon, had ever looked at him that way. She was stunning. And a little frightening.

Darcy’s jaw dropped. Stunning, simply stunning, in her fury.

“We know he is heir to Longbourn estate, I am heir to its Keeper, and Longbourn insists that we marry. What more need we know?”

Happiness in marriage is entirely a matter of chance. If the dispositions of the parties are ever so well known to each other, or ever so similar before-hand, it does not advance their felicity in the least. They always contrive to grow sufficiently unlike afterwards to have their share of vexation. It is better to know as little as possible of the defects of the person with whom you are to pass your life.”

“You are a clever girl; I have faith in you. Many a stupider woman has managed a man she did not care for. I am certain you are up to the task.”

Her features were uncommonly intelligent, especially because of the beautiful expression of her dark eyes. Granted, there was more than one failure of perfect symmetry in her form, but her figure was light and pleasing. Her manners were certainly not those of the fashionable world. But was that truly unforgivable? Their easy playfulness appealed to many, including the dragons. She was indeed pretty, far from ‘not handsome enough’ to dance with.

Apparently, Bennet had odd ideas of what was appropriate for a young woman, even in the company of dragons.

“And if we are caught together, your reputation will suffer. It is not right for us to be together without a chaperone.” “You think I want to be compromised? By you?” She rolled her eyes. “I am promised, all but betrothed to a cousin, the heir to Longbourn, so you have nothing to worry about, sir. I have no need to seek a husband.” Something about the tone of her voice—resignation mixed with regret. What kind of man was this cousin? What did it matter to him? “Besides, Walker and Rustle are adequate chaperones, well able to convince any who we may encounter of the propriety of our company.” Her shoulders fell a little. Would it have been so disagreeable to be caught with her? She was the only woman he had ever met who not only heard dragons, but had the heart of one herself.

Remember the Pendragon Treaty keeps peace between the various strains of dragonkind as much as between our species. Should a wyvern or a wyrm kill a wild-hatched firedrake, war between those species might ensue.”

“That is because they were written by men, my dear, upon whom the government of men places the authority of law. So that is what they write about. However, Providence has put us in the place to care for hides and hearts. So, we must keep our own books.”

What were Miss Elizabeth and that flying blue flutterbob doing here, convincing everyone her sister was far too ill to be moved?

She has nothing, in short, to recommend her, but being an excellent walker.

Miss Elizabeth’s countenance brightened, far more than might be explained by being a great lover of books.

Dinner called a halt to their efforts, requiring them to dress and pretend they were merely guests thrown together largely by chance for an evening. At least she pretended. Mr. Darcy scarcely exerted the effort to be civil. He was nearly silent, bordering on taciturn throughout.

Dance. A reel would be pleasant. You should dance with him. The voice was not familiar. She closed her eyes and listened carefully. Silence. Had there been anything there but her own thoughts? “Would you care to dance?” She opened her eyes to Mr. Darcy staring into her face. “I am not certain I wish to dance a reel at all. But I think perhaps I will, despite my inclinations. And now despise me for my ductility, if you dare.”

Bah and botheration! Dragons, she understood, but men she did not. And Mr. Darcy was even more puzzling than most.

Had Miss Bingley ever entertained hopes of a union with Darcy, her indiscretions this morning ended them entirely. It was a stretch to consider any woman who could not hear dragons. One who was crass and insensitive to boot. No, that was entirely impossible.

“No.” Darcy stepped toward them. “I have made no such pretension. I have faults enough, but they are not, I hope, of understanding. My temper I believe too unyielding—certainly too little for the convenience of the world. I cannot forget the follies and vices of others so soon as I ought, nor their offences against myself. My temper would perhaps be called resentful. My good opinion once lost is lost forever.”

The respect and veneration which he felt for her high rank and patronage, mingling with a very good opinion of himself, his authority as a clergyman, and his rights as a rector, made him altogether a mixture of pride and obsequiousness, self-importance and insipid humility.

“You are a condescending, ingratiating, self-important mammal, with the arrogance of a cockatrice and the appeal of the Snake King.”

“I can much more easily believe in Mr. Bingley being imposed on, than that Mr. Wickham should invent such a history of himself as he gave me. Names, facts, everything mentioned without ceremony. If it be not so, let Mr. Darcy contradict it. Besides, there was truth in his looks.”

“I do not think there has been a woman who has so loved dragonkind in centuries. She will do what must be done.”