Page 50 of Miss Bennet's Dragon
In a setting like this, I saw why Charlotte was happy. She was mistress of her own house and helping others. They might have a family. Perhaps fatherhood would reveal hidden depths in her husband.
Mr. Collins was attempting to move a large pile of leaves. It tumbled over, and a great number of insects flew out. I watched him run in circles.
“I encourage him to work in the garden whenever possible,” Charlotte added with total unconcern. “The exercise is very healthful.”
Charlotte would be a wonderfully calm mother.
She added, “I saw Mr. Darcy arrive yesterday. He stopped stock still when he saw you.”
“Well, he quite surprisedme. I had thought myself free of him.”
“Is he so persistent?” Charlotte sounded intrigued.
“Not persistent. We simply encounter each other too often.”
Mr. Collins was waving a tree branch at the insects. I doubted that would succeed.
“He was very attentive to you,” Charlotte said.
“Mr. Darcy? I thought him strikingly silent.”
“Silently attentive.”
Thinking of Rosings reminded me. “Have you seen the Rosings wyvern?”
“A few times when it flies overhead. I have no wish to approach closer.” I hmphed, for I had been about to suggest we visit. Charlotte smiled. “You could go, Lizzy. I am sure the gamekeeper would assist you. Perhaps you would encounter Mr. Darcy.”
I groaned. “I should have asked how long he was staying. Well, he is easy to spot. If I stay alert, I shall avoid him.”
“He is destined to marry Miss de Bourgh.” Charlotte pronounced that hesitantly, as if it were a delicate subject.
“Really?” I did not recall them even speaking.
“Her ladyship is quite open with her plans. She and his mother, Lady Anne Darcy, were sisters. The alliance of Pemberley and Rosings is greatly desired by Lady Catherine.”
Mr. Collins had now draped muslin over his head and was crawling while patting the ground, trying to find his shovel by touch. “Well, they shall make an excellent pair. Miss de Bourgh will whisper behind her fan, while Mr. Darcy says nothing.”
I approached Rosings obliquely,keeping a wary eye out for tall gentlemen, then strolled around the back of the manor. Then farther, to see the remaining side.
No draca house.
Where would they hide a wyvern?
An older man was leaning on a fence and watching my circuit. He wore good but worn leathers with a battered hat and had various pouches slung on his person. That was almost a uniform for gamekeepers, so I walked over.
“Ma’am,” he nodded.
He was about my father’s age, but wiry and vigorous with a weathered complexion. He seemed amused to meet a lady walking.
“Good morning. Are you familiar with the local animals?”
“A bit,” he said with a smile. “What would you be looking for?”
“A wyvern.”
“Well, that’d be a handful for a lady.”
I folded my arms. “I wish to see it, not carry it.” He snorted, and I decided to try flattery. “The Rosings wyvern is most famous.”
