Page 33 of Dragons of the Great Wyves: Fire and Song
“A project,” I said and folded the melody. “It can wait. We must start the crop inspections. And dinner should be a celebration. Lizzy is safe.”
12
FÈNNÙ’S SONG
MARY
Thecurtain hooks rattled.Golden morning flooded our room.
I lay curled against Georgiana’s back. She slept as hot as a furnace, so on cold nights, I tended to chase her around the bed like she was an elusive foot-warmer. But last night had brought one of the Peaks’ sudden chills. With no fire set, she conceded to snuggle.
I cracked an eyelid against the brightness. Our dressing table was a rosewood smudge, my spectacles a golden flicker out of reach. Swift steps passed behind me, and a blurred form crossed the looking glass.
Georgiana groaned theatrically. “Must you open the curtains? Make some music instead. That will wake us up.” She wiggled firmly into my arms. Her hair was an inky, braided mass and thoroughly disheveled. The news about Lizzy had spawned two celebrations, the first a festive dinner, the second more intimate. Remembering that, I buried my face in the curve of Georgiana’s neck and inhaled lavender and a musky hint of dried sweat. That made Georgiana giggle.
“Your pardon, madam,” came a rock-stern woman’s voice. “My singing days are past.”
Mrs. Reynolds. Georgiana froze in my arms like a startled deer.
In the silence—and into Georgiana’s hair—I said, “Where is Lucy?”
“Attending Thomas, as we agreed,” Mrs. Reynolds answered coolly. A pause. “It is half seven, madams.”
Thatwaslate. Lucy usually woke us at seven. Of course, Mrs. Reynolds kept a busy schedule. That was why housekeepers did not fill in for absent lady’s maids.
Clearly, Georgiana had not expected her. She had not twitched a muscle. I could not even feel her breathing.
I whispered, “Are you alive?”
“I am waiting to find out,” she whispered back. Mrs. Reynolds, formidable in the best of circumstances, had served as Georgiana’s governess after her mother’s death. That authority was not easily outgrown.
Mrs. Reynolds’s dry tones resumed. “Young people like to imagine they have invented this or that shocking behavior. I, however, have served in great houses for sixty-two years. If you wish to shock me, Miss Darcy, you shall have to try harder.”
Georgiana’s braid nodded dutifully. Perhaps she thought it was an assignment.
More gently, Mrs. Reynolds continued, “Shall I lay out your robes until you are ready to dress?”
“Yes, please,” Georgiana peeped.
The armoire opened. Cloth rustled. The bedroom door opened and closed, latching softly.
“Is she gone?” Georgiana whispered.
I lifted my head, squinting. “I think so. I cannot see.”
I started untangling myself from Georgiana’s limbs, but she caught my wrist and pulled me back. “Hold me a moment. That was terrifying!” I laughed and hugged her. She sighed gratefully, then said wonderingly, “I think wedidshock her. She would never have let me loll in bed by myself. Or… perhaps I am indulged because I am with the mistress of Pemberley!”
“Do not joke about that.” The title summoned memories of Lizzy’s battles to protect Longbourn from the vultures who descended after Papa’s death.
Georgiana quieted, and we lay still while distant birds sang.
Some idle part of my mind unraveled the reason for Mrs. Reynolds’s visit. She did not trust another servant to attend us. Whether that was loyalty to Georgiana, or to Mr. Darcy, or simply duty, a rush of gratitude filled me.
I drew Georgiana close. “I forgot to ask if you wished to handfast on Beltane.” In the confusion after Lizzy rose and Mr. Darcy rode into the hills, the idea had vanished from my mind.
She snuggled against me. “I could not be more bound to you than I am now.”
Properly dressed,I examined Mr. Darcy’s drawing of the crawler grub. It was neat work; every line portrayed a specific feature. Except the dorsal ridge. He had drawn over that several times, hunting for the correct rendering. The ink was thick and muddled.
