Page 135 of Miss Bennet's Dragon
“I will have you know that I have spent hours with him. In France, surrounded by handsomeaides-de-campand snobby French noblemen. He is very commanding and proud, but old and a little dumpy. More than forty, I think. Poor man. He is so unhappy in his new marriage. They say he was sad to divorce Joséphine. He did it because she could not give him an heir. I think it most romantic that he is sad.”
“You find his love for his divorced wiferomantic?”
She jabbed a finger at me. “You are being silly. It is not like I am in love with an old man. It is his rank, Lizzy. Think of it. Empress. And he is very rich. All that gold is nothing to him.” She waved a finger at the three chests, each heaped with gold. “Imagine Mamma! She will fall over with shock. I shall not be able to breathe for laughing.”
I had called this insanity because it was ridiculous. But I watched Lydia giggle, imagining surprising our mother as Empress of France, and I said, “You are mad,” and I meant it.
“Clever Lizzy thinks I’m a foolish girl, but you are the simpleton. Use that wit Papa admired so much. If an Emperor will divorce the woman he loves to gain an heir, think what he will do for what I offer.”
“What do you offer?” I asked slowly.
“What he desires most. Victory over England.” Her grin was savage. “I proved my power in his court, while all his fancy guards and nobleman watched. I killed a man in front of them. Oh, you should have seen their faces, Lizzy, when he named mel’enfant du lac, the Child of the Lake. He sought me for a year. And when those stupid French women fail to bind, he will have no choice. He said he would give me anything I want. And Iwantto be Empress.”
This had to be imagined. A fantasy.
The French officer approached and stopped several steps away.
“Oui?” inquired Lydia in her best French accent.
“Madame Wickham. We are ready.” His eyes were lowered. His lips were tight. He was frightened of my sister.
“You may proceed,” Lydia said grandly. He hurried off, and she raised her eyebrows at me. Little Lydia, wanting to impress her older sister.
I tried to make sense of this.
A French officer and at least fifty armed men had come to the middle of England, with what had to be a hundred thousand gold guineas. It must be marriage gold, so worth far more. Over two million pounds. An astronomical sum.
And that officer deferred to my youngest sister. That was why he recognized my name, Bennet. He must have met Lydia before she married.
Lydia was right. I should be impressed. Or terrified. What if all she said was true?
Three men joined the French women. The couples lined up, each by a chest of gold. Another man put on the trappings of a priest, although Catholic. He opened a bible and began reading in English with a heavy French accent.
Lydia watched the ceremony with contempt. Softly, she spoke to me. “Now, Lizzy, I must talk seriously. At Longbourn, you did… something nasty. It hurt my head, and it kept me from taking my drake. I want to know what you did.”
“I do not know,” I said. That was true. It had been instinct. Anger.
“If you cannot tell me, thenyoumust do it. If one of those girls binds la Tarasque, Napoleon will choose her instead of me. He likes French girls.”
“What do you mean, la Tarasque?” That was the beast from the story of Saint Martha, which was centuries ago.
“The dragon of the lake.”
Before I could help myself, I laughed. “There are no dragons. La Tarasque was a wyvern. And there are no draca in Pemberley lake. Of any kind.”
“I know there are no dragons. But Napoleon is obsessed with the legend. And a wyvern would impress him. Even a firedrake, which is why it is very unfair I did not get the Longbourn drake. I would have taken it from dull Mr. Sallow once we had the manor.” Her light blue eyes, feverish and hot, met mine. “Why do you say there are no draca in the lake?”
Could Lydia not sense draca the way I did? I had no idea what she was capable of. She had incredible power, but it seemed different from mine.
Regardless, I had no intention of giving her lessons. “Draca in the lake would be obvious. We would see them swimming around like ducks.”
“You are a bad liar,” she said. “Here is the thing, Lizzy. If one of those women binds, I shall have to kill everyone, then invent some story to explain it. Napoleon will be suspicious. The whole thing will be most tiresome.”
I could not have heard right. “That is a poor joke.”
Lydia wore a small reticule at the waist of her dress. She opened it and drew out a writhing worm the length of her palm. A worm with many legs. A foul crawler.
I recoiled, but her other hand grabbed my shoulder. “Do not run. There are hundreds around us. Under rocks. In the woods. You would not get twenty feet. They all do what I want.”
