Page 49 of Miss Bennet's Dragon
That seemed a statement, not a question, so I replied, “Correct.” She frowned, but I was reconsidering my answer. “Noisy, though. I rode in an iron-barred carriage, and the bolts kept coming loose.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“We stopped several times, and the driver attempted to tighten them. He even tied some joints with leather straps. It seemed most inefficient to me.”
“Upon my word. You give your opinion very decidedly.”
“It is just that the purpose is unclear. People claim fear of feral draca, but the bars are…” I showed the gap with my hands. “Most draca could squeeze through. And the carriage itself is wood, so if a draca threw fire, a few bars will not stop it. In fact, I have seen a roseworm throw fire with the express intent of tearing open a metal cage, and it did so easily.”
“My word.” Her ladyship seemed stunned.
“Itwasremarkable,” I agreed. Her frown deepened. Had I misunderstood? “Of course, bolts are the real issue. The debate over the standardization of screw threads.” I had read essays while researching blacksmithing. Despite Mary’s skepticism, I was still intrigued by the idea of commodities like wheels and bolts.
“What do you say, Darcy?” her ladyship asked.
My ears had played a trick. “What?”
“Miss Bennet has an interest in smithing,” came a baritone voice behind me.
“My nephew is obsessed with such things,” Lady Catherine said. “Come, Darcy, introduce yourself. I gather you know the Collinses?”
I turned in my seat, astonished to see Mr. Darcy bowing over Charlotte’s hand. “Mrs. Collins. I offer you my best wishes.”
He turned to Mr. Collins, who appeared terrified. I remembered the disaster of Mr. Collins approaching Mr. Darcy at Netherfield.
“Mr. Collins,” Mr. Darcy said, with a slight chill but a nod. Mr. Collins bowed back, vastly shorter and close-lipped for once.
I rose as Mr. Darcy approached.
“Miss Elizabeth Bennet,” he said. There was a pause between each word. It gave the scene an odd sense of import, or perhaps unreality.
“Mr. Darcy,” I answered as I curtsied. He was Lady Catherine’s nephew, so it was hardly impossible to meet him here. But it was a surprise. My heart was racing.
“Do not stand and stare,” Lady Catherine said, irritated. “What is this bolt nonsense, Darcy?”
“Bolts are difficult to fabricate,” he said. He still had not looked away. I began to feel disconcerted. He turned to his aunt. “Imprecision in the threads loosens them.”
“They should be precise, then,” Lady Catherine said, lifting her nose.
Conversation proceeded. I half-listened, annoyed at myself for being surprised. No, annoyed at Mr. Darcy. It had not been necessary to lurk behind me like that.
True to form, Mr. Darcy had fallen silent. He was dressed for riding, and dusty. I was surprised he did not go to change. I had never seen him other thanperfectly attired. I had guessed he was one of those well-dressed gentlemen who are more fastidious than ladies.
He might be with us the entire evening. Even for dinner. Here I thought I had escaped him when I left Netherfield. But at last, he said he had to greet a friend and departed solemnly.
20
WYVERN
Charlotteand I lingered after breakfast. The dining parlor of their little home was charming in the morning, sunlit and decorated with ornaments of crochet and ribbon. I recognized Charlotte’s craft.
Outside, Mr. Collins was already at work with a hoe.
“He has organized your garden beautifully,” I said. Even this early in the season, there were rows of young plants.
“I agree. I think we shall feed ourselves, and more. Mr. Collins is insistent we help the poorer families. Lady Catherine aids those in Rosings Park, but outside our parish, they are not so lucky.”
That was an aspect to Mr. Collins I had not known.
