Page 2 of Miss Bennet's Dragon
I blinked, and the image was gone.
“What?” I whispered. Sunlight glittered on the pebbly scales around the drake’s eyes. Had it been a trick of the light?
The shiver returned, clicking my teeth. I wrapped my arms around my ribs and squeezed to still it.
Jane jiggled the meat, and our drake’s head flicked toward her. She tossed the chunk, and his serpentine neck flashed to catch it midair. It made a visible lump passing down his long throat.
He cooed and stroked his cheek along Jane’s hand. Jane drew a delighted breath.
I overcame my disquiet to produce an incredulous snort. “He is affectionate withyou. It seems one Bennet sister will bind. I am now certain that you will marry a handsome husband, and he will love you so desperately that you bind a wyvern on your wedding night!”
“Lizzy!” Jane exclaimed, for such powerful bindings were said to require shocking passion.
2
CLAWS AND FIRE
To shakeoff that strange vision, I walked around the manor before going in. In the side garden, two of our hired men were digging onions. I had promised them a pail of onions for themselves, and they gave an enthusiastic wave when they saw me.
Inside, Mamma, Lydia, and Kitty had occupied the entryway to gossip about a wealthy new neighbor. I squeezed by and found Mary, my younger sister, waiting for me outside Papa’s library. Her brow was furrowed over some dire Latin volume.
I tapped the library door and heard “Come, Lizzy,” as Papa knows my knock. Mary trailed me as we entered, her nose still in her book.
Papa had the estate journals open. He waved us to wooden chairs by his desk, then lowered his spectacles to inspect us.
“Mary,” he said at last, “I am pleased you are accompanying your sister this morning. And, as I am devoted to fashion, allow me to compliment you on your black dress. It is a joy to see mournful respect from a daughter, although I admit surprise from learning that I have died.”
Mary had opened her mouth to answer, but by the time he finished, she had closed it again. Mary was very literal, and Papa’s humor often took her by surprise.
“Mary has worn black for a week, Papa,” I pointed out.
“Ah. Then I was inattentive. A symptom of my grave state.”
“Iamin mourning,” Mary said, having composed her reply. “But for the unjust death of our fellow sentient animals, not for you. You and I could not be speaking if you were dead.” Papa nodded to this incontestable point, and Mary continued, “I have cast myself into the social movement for natural enlightenment, so I shun all animal food as it engenders disease and vice.”
“What?” I said. Usually, I knew Mary’s intellectual directions, but this time I had been as inattentive as my father, other than noticing her clothing.
“And did you eat no bacon this whole week?” asked Papa, astonished, although I thought that was for effect. Mary shook her head, her lips clamped. “Then I must take this seriously, for you were a great believer in bacon as a child. To what influence do we owe this new conviction?”
“I have been studying both Stewart and Hunt, in theExaminer.”
Papa’s white eyebrows shot skyward. This time his shock was sincere.
Seeing Papa’s cheeks coloring, I said, “Papa, I should like to visit the tenants before the morning grows late.”
We switched to discussing the tenants and business of Longbourn, with pauses for frosty and determined glances between my father and sister.
Mary’s studious ways irk my parents because Mary is oblivious to both society and subtlety, which are the loves of my mother and father, respectively. I have some guilt also because Mary is a lure for irony, which is my bad habit, and one I sometimes regret the next morning.
But Mary is adventurous in her bookish way, and her disregard for convention is due to deep beliefs. She is like Papa, which is why they clash. I love them both, but once convinced of something, they are unmovable. Papa uses wit to belittle any disagreement, while Mary pulls like a determined mule wearing blinders.
However, disapproving of Mary for reading theExaminerwas unfair. It was Papa who subscribed, not only to theExaminerbut to many liberal opinions. And each week, after he was done reading, the pages had a habit of finding their way to me or to Mary, depending on who spotted them first.
After discussing the tenants, Papa eyed me, then said, “And will you join your sisters in moping and crying if I do not call on Mr. Bingley?”
“Who?” I asked innocently, although from overhearing Mamma I guessed this was our new neighbor.
Papa huffed, but a smile twitched as he dismissed us.
