Page 124 of Miss Bennet's Dragon
I was thinking about Miss Darcy’s dress. “I must speak to Mary for a minute. Will you excuse me?” Miss Darcy nodded, and I found Mary with Kitty, Colonel Forster, and his wife, Harriet.
I drew Mary aside and asked, “Do you recall a drawing in our journal? A sketch at the top of a page?”
“Yes,” she said. “A few lines. It is hard to make out.” She waited, looking curious. Only Mary would be intrigued by being pulled away from a party to discuss a book. Well, I suppose I was doing the same thing.
“I think it is the shore of a lake, with reeds,” I said. “Drawn very simply.”
“It could be. The writing below is archaic and difficult to comprehend…” Mary closed her eyes. I had seen her recall passages this way before. “It means, ‘The three sisters repel high creatures.’ It made no sense to me. But ‘high beasts’ is written elsewhere and means draca.”
I was excited now. “There are three sister lakes, of which Pemberley lake is one. For miles around, there are no draca. It is emptiness to my vision.Thatis what the journal describes. Mr. Darcy calls that the ‘darkness of Pemberley,’ but it exists atthreelakes! And it has for hundreds of years.” Triumphantly, I finished, “The darkness is not due to Pemberley, but the lakes!”
“Is that important?” Mary asked.
My triumphant smile became puzzled. “Perhaps not. But it might drag some answers from Mr. Darcy.”
While I pondered my strategy, Mary noticed that Jane and Mr. Bingley were, for once, not mobbed by well-wishers. We headed over and exchanged our first embrace since the ceremony.
I held Jane longer to gauge her health. She was not trembling, her usual symptom of relapse. It was like the mere presence of Mr. Bingley was a tonic.
I let go and sketched an amusingly formal curtsy to her. “Mistress of Netherfield.”
She smiled back. “You were mistress of an estate long before me.”
“It is all one big family and one big estate!” cried Mr. Bingley with his usual disarming enthusiasm, although in this case he had more foreknowledge than he knew—if Jane’s and my plan succeeded. To me, he added, “We are brother and sister now.”
“Indeed, you are stuck with me. In fact, I wonder if I could briefly steal you from Jane?” He nodded, and we moved aside, leaving Jane and Mary to be besieged by a gaggle of older ladies.
“Is this where you warn me to treat your sister well?” he asked with mock concern.
“I already trust you will,” I said. “I wish to speak of Jane’s health.”
He became serious. “We have the medicine you provided, and the instructions have been shared with our housekeeper. She is much more efficient than I.”
I smiled at that. “I hope you will not need it.” I summoned my courage and barreled forward. Jane’s life was at stake. “You recall that both marriage andbindingare crucial to Jane’s recovery?”
He nodded. “You told me. You attended the binding ceremony yourself.”
My last fear, driven by the experience of Mr. Collins and Charlotte, was that Jane would fail to bind. I could not imagine Mr. Bingley praying all night like Mr. Collins, but Jane could fall ill as the evening progressed, and then Mr. Bingley might be… too considerate. Too patient.
My face was heating. I turned a quarter turn, stared at a rose bush, and said in a rush, “Binding requires more than ceremony. I have it from good authority that success requires a passionate night.Thisnight.” I dug my nails into my palms. “To be safe, excessive passion might be advised.”
When there was no answer, I stole a glance. Mr. Bingley was staring at the same bush and as scarlet as I.
“In fact,” he said, in an artificially matter-of-fact tone, “Mr. Darcy provided a book from the Pemberley library on this subject.”
“Abook?” I was so surprised, I turned to Mr. Bingley. Alarmed, he spun completely away from me, so I addressed his back. “Whatkindof book?” He shook his head in desperate silence, and I realized I really did not want to hear him explain. “Well, references are helpful for…” Forwhat?In growing panic, I cast about for a word and finally reeled in “novices.”
The back of his head nodded up-and-down, and I fled.
Colonel Forster found me traumatized by a tray of mince tarts. He gave an understanding smile. “Weddings are emotional affairs. Harriet became quite misty at ours.” He waved a glass of punch, which I took, gulped down, and handed back. He tilted the empty container, looking bereft. Was thathisdrink? My throat was burning. The fumes climbed into my nose, reeking of juniper and making my eyes water.
The colonel talked about his wedding while warmth spread from my belly.
“Miss Bennet,” Mr. Darcy said as he joined us.
Oh, not now. I tried to remember where we had left our conversation, but all I could think of was books. “It is good I did not peruse the library.” Mr. Darcy looked puzzled, and I realized I had spoken aloud. What was in that punch?
Mary and Miss Darcy arrived, discussing the atrocious tuning of our pianoforte. They had been inside, testing it.
