Page 55 of Miss Bennet's Dragon
“Different? How?”
Charlotte did not answer until we were climbing the stairs. “He speaks more.”
“He could hardly speak less.”
The colonel was at dinner,with Mr. Darcy, Lady Catherine, and her daughter. With us, that was seven, and conversation flowed, although occasionally it splashed to a halt when her ladyship became jealous of another group’s topic and demanded a report for her benefit.
Cheesecake was offered. I declined because I found Rosings’s sweets overly sugared. Mr. Darcy declined also.
Lady Catherine’s potent voice rose.
“Miss Bennet. Your father’s estate is entailed on Mr. Collins. Or would have been, had he bound.” That was thoughtless to say, but I answered yes. Shecontinued, “I think it ridiculous to entail estates from the female line. In any event, I held my draca after Sir Lewis’s death. Will your mother do the same?”
“I prefer not to speculate,” I said, a little testily. The question was prying and morbid.
“It is a matter of will,” her ladyship continued. “When Lewis passed, I was greatly affected. I feel all events, whether in life or in art, most profoundly. But a woman requires stature. I refused to accept the loss of a wyvern.”
That was intriguing, so I bit down my annoyance. “Were you not concerned about condemnation? A lady alone may gain stature from draca, but society does not always approve.”
She snorted. “Mendo not approve. Binding is a force of women. There will always be men who challenge a woman of intelligence or stature. Both I and my sister, Lady Anne Darcy, bound wyverns. That is the force of our maternal bloodline. But my sister was a fussy, fastidious thing. She lost her wyvern on her husband’s death. She had not my will.”
Mr. Darcy’s hand landed on the table with a bang. “My mother released her wyvern.”
“Impossible. There is no such action as release. And even if she did, what did it get her? Wasting away from binding sickness…” Lady Catherine’s voice stopped.
I had never heard any of this. When the silence stretched, I asked, “What is binding sickness?”
Lady Catherine’s eyes, strong blue behind her wrinkled lids, had teared. The unexpectedness of that moved me. It was like discovering a wall of flint could cry.
Colonel Fitzwilliam answered. “Binding sickness is a strange malady. It can affect bound wyves if their draca is killed. It is, however, rare even then. And because draca are so seldom killed, it is almost unheard of.” He paused. “It is thought to be more likely with a strong binding. I knew Lady Anne, a little. She had remarkable affinity with her wyvern.”
“I attended the only recent case,” Mr. Darcy said. His tone was rough, concealing emotion of his own. “Draca were killed in the idiocy of attempted application to war, and I feared those deaths would cause the sickness. But the French used some more foul weapon. Some draca died, but others were… driven mad, perhaps. It was as if their bonds were broken. One young wyfe of such a draca did not survive. We even attempted to restore her binding.”
“It was a wretched thing,” Colonel Fitzwilliam said softly.
No one spoke for a minute. But my curiosity got the better of me.
“But how could you restore a binding?” I asked. “I thought there was only one opportunity to bind. On the…” I stopped, realizing where the topic was headed.
“The marriage night,” Lady Catherine said. Her impenetrable exterior had returned. “Restoring a binding is nonsense. Marriage gold and passion create the binding. And not blind passion. Love. Sir Lewis and I had love. Although he performed well. The maternal bloodline is key, but men do contribute. It is a matter of technique.”
“Technique?” I had not intended to speak. The word just popped out, rather squeakily.
“Of course, technique. Your generation is hopelessly inferior at educating gentlemen for their marriage night duty.” She cast her formidable gaze at her nephew. “Areyoueducated, Darcy?”
“I prefer not to speculate,” he replied, so instantly and dryly that I almost laughed.
Her ladyship scowled at him while the next dessert, lemon tarts drowned in crystallized sugar, was served. Again, both I and Mr. Darcy declined.
Her blue eyes fixed on me. “Do you perform, Miss Bennet?”
I decided to match her boldness. “Given the subject, I am unsure how to answer.”
A man chuckled. The sound was from Mr. Darcy’s direction, but that was impossible.
Lady Catherine was unamused. “I refer to music. There are few people in England who enjoy music more than myself. Or have more innate talent. Do you play? Sing?”
“A little.”
