Page 39 of Miss Bennet's Dragon
Outside the window, a horse with regimental markings was tethered by our entrance. An officer’s horse.
Curious, I went out and walked around the manor. As I approached the rear, I heard Lydia’s excited voice through the overgrown laurel hedge.
“The dog was utterly mad, barking and jumping andveryterrifying. I was so frightened! You would not believe the way my chest pounded. And then, like a bolt from the blue, our drake swooped in! And… the dog was dead! Just like that! I thought I should scream!”
Lydia was telling the story of Mary’s and my encounter with the mad dog, revised as if she were present. I was amused more than anything. Lydia was sixteen. Her exuberant personality turned heads, but she was still a child.
“And then…fire!It whooshed, and then Ididscream! But from excitement. I was not afraid at all. He was protecting me!” Her excited tone became curious. “Is this what you mean, about power? I should like to tell draca what to do.”
“I dare say you have a gift with drakes,” a man’s voice answered, sodden with flattery. “Perhaps I can encourage it.”
My next step skidded on the gravel. I knew the voice.
Lydia and Mr. Wickham came into view. Together. Intimately close. Lydia was wearing short sleeves, a fashion fresh from London that I had not yet adopted. With astonishment—disbelief more than anything—I saw Wickham’s hand cradling her bare elbow.
“Mr. Wickham.” I heard the words. I must have said them.
“Miss Elizabeth,” he said, turning with a charming smile. There was not even a hint of embarrassment, although his hand was now at his side. “We have been exploring Longbourn’s park.”
“Go inside, Lydia,” I said. My voice tasted strange and stiff on my lips. “You should not explore alone with a gentleman.”
“Oh, that is very nice,” she said. “Are you a chaperone, now? You are not so old asthat, Lizzy.”
“Go inside.”
“You are jealous!”
“Lydia! Go inside.” I snapped it with all the authority I could summon from four years of seniority and my favored standing with Papa.
Lydia stomped off.
Wickham grinned as if this were a great joke. When the manor’s rear door slammed behind Lydia, he came toward me—closer even than Mr. Darcy had been after carrying me away from the river.
“Areyou jealous?” he asked in a teasing voice. His hands enclosed my arms.
“Mr. Wickham!” I tried to free my arms, but his grip was tight. “You forget yourself.”
“Is forgetfulness so bad?” He pulled me closer. His leg brushed my skirts.
I slammed both hands hard against his chest, driving us apart. “That isenough. Leave now. You are not welcome at Longbourn.”
“Who are you to say whether I am welcome?” He was annoyed now.
“I shall happily fetch Papa. I assure you he will agree. Or Mr. Hill can summon the footman to lead you to your horse.”
He laughed and strolled away toward the front of the house.
I stood, rigid with fury and fear and dismay. An hour ago, I had lain on my bed and fancied whether I could love Mr. Wickham. The memory turned my stomach and climbed like bile in my throat. I was as angry with myself as with him. Almost.
A wide, sharp shadow flashed over the shrubs, and again. Our firedrake soared to an elegant, soundless landing in front of me.
“A little late,” I said. I was shaking like a leaf. The drake spread his wings and gave a trilling cry. “But thank you for coming.”
It was good he had not come sooner. I did not wish to raise dangerous questions in the mind of a man I could not trust. Questions I could not answer, even for myself.
16
TWISTS OF ENTAILMENT
