Page 141 of Miss Bennet's Dragon
“Am I?” I looked down. My dress was smeared with dirt and clay, and dotted with burrs and dried leaves. A chunk of torn petticoat dangled.
“Only for a lady,” she amended, even though she looked far better than I.
“I have rather abandoned being a lady.”
“Lady is as lady does,” she said in a singsong that made me think it was a local saying.
She clicked her tongue, and something small barreled towards us and jumped up. She caught it expertly and tucked it into the crook of her arm. A roseworm. The scales on his back shone forest-brown above the rich red of his belly.
“You are bound,” I said, shocked.
“Four years,” she said with a comical eye roll. She held up her left hand, showing a narrow wedding band of silver. “Got a daughter running about, too. She’s three, and a right handful. Full of strong opinions, like her father.”
“I should like to meet her,” I said, but underneath, I was stunned. Only gentry bound draca. Only gentry wereableto bind. Or so I had been taught.
She gestured to the woods. “Jacob—that’s my man—he’s off with Mr. Darcy checking the house.” Her expression became worried. “They was to be back afore now.”
“I am sure he is fine.” In fact, fear had tightened my chest, but meaningless reassurance was a social habit—one I found irritating when done to me. However, Aggy smiled her thanks, then cocked her head, watching me.
“You know Mr. Darcy?” she asked.
My concern must have shown. “Yes.” I waited for her to declare that I was the notorious Elizabeth Bennet, but she just nodded in sympathy.
“Would you like a cup of tea?” she offered.
“That would be wonderful,” I said fervently.
Aggy’s house was nicely kept and roomy enough to have a separate room for sleeping. It was less polished than the houses of the Longbourn tenants, but as comfortable. The kitchen had a table, a few chairs, and a tiny iron stove. The village must trade for more than bread and tea.
Together, we brushed the less ground-in debris from my clothes. I tore off the dangling strip of petticoat and borrowed Aggy’s tin looking glass in a doomed attempt to discipline my hair, as several pins had been lost.
We sipped nettle tea and chatted about village life. Although her conversation was light, Aggy was worried about her husband’s absence. When any voice called, she stopped mid-word to listen. Her nerves were contagious, and I became more worried for Mr. Darcy. When she straightened in her chair then dashed out the door, I dashed out myself.
Mr. Darcy was on the other side of the clearing, clasping arms with Lord Wellington.
I stopped. Seeing him was a tumult—a shock of relief, a pull like a magnet, then acute uncertainty for how I would be greeted. An unannounced visit was a far cry from our choreographed meetings at Jane’s wedding. And he had forbidden me from Pemberley.
Behind Mr. Darcy stood my driver from Longbourn, his head hanging. He looked exhausted. Beside him, a fair-haired man in a cotton shirt was being hugged by Aggy.
Unlike Lord Wellington, Mr. Darcy still wore his coat, but he had discarded his waistcoat and neckcloth, leaving his collar open. A curved saber hung from his belt, and a pistol handle protruded from his coat pocket. His face was grave and determined. There was a cut and bruise high on his forehead, half-hidden by his mussed, hanging hair.
“—I must go back,” he said. “They have Miss Bennet. I still do not know—” His eyes found mine, and he stopped.
Then I was crushed up against him, the side of my face pressed into his chest, his arms enclosing me. I slid my arms up behind his shoulder blades and held tight. After a breath, his arms loosened. “Do not let go,” I whispered, and his grip tightened again.
Finally, the silence made me self-conscious. I heard only the forest—tweets and chitters, rustling leaves. I relaxed my fingers, and Mr. Darcy let go a moment later.
I stepped back, looking up into his eyes, brown with flecks of green like the woods around us.
“I was most worried for you,” I said. He nodded. A barrier between us, something that had been tearing and reforming, seemed to fall at last.
Lord Wellington was winding his watch with many meticulous shakes and peering adjustments. My driver was staring at Mr. Darcy and me with wide eyes. But Aggy and her husband were oblivious, their arms around each other’s waists, foreheads pressed together while they murmured inaudible secrets. I felt a surge of jealousy for their openness.
Lord Wellington looked up from his watch to Mr. Darcy. “Ah. I see you spotted Miss Bennet. Excellent. If you no longer need to run off and search for her, we should pool our information. I—and Miss Bennet, for that matter—have made discoveries.”
“By all means,” Mr. Darcy said. He gestured for me to precede him to one of several long tables at the edge of the clearing. We walked, and I imagined his eyes on my hanging hair and bedraggled dress. The sensation was oddly pleasant.His clothes were as bad as mine; when we embraced, my temple had pressed bare skin through his open collar. That thought heated the back of my neck, a heat that drifted down to stir unexpected warmth low in my belly.
While I bit my lip and stared at my toes to settle myself, Mr. Darcy recounted how he and Aggy’s husband approached Pemberley House.
