Page 62 of Miss Bennet's Dragon
Despite my exit, I still stood in Rosings Park. I could walk for miles before I escaped. Around me, the moon silvered elaborate hedges and flower beds. The same ones I smugly judged as ostentatious while hiking to and fro, building a good appetite for dinner.
I felt polluted and sick. And stupid. Angry at myself. Sometimes, I had even admired her ladyship’s fierce independence.
Did Charlotte know the source of her patron’s wealth? She could not live in Rosings Park without discovering the truth. It would be prize gossip for anyone who disliked Lady Catherine, and there must be many.
But Charlotte might have been told after her marriage. Imagine learning you are committed to a life funded by brutal slavery.
Mr. Darcy stopped beside me, his familiar stride grinding sand and grit on the flagstones.
It was gratifying to have a target for anger other than myself. “How could you not tell me? How can youstay?It is abhorrent.”
“My aunt and I disagree on this. Often, and strongly.”
“Disagree?” I remembered the pamphlet I took in Meryton. The cover was a cartoon—a plantation owner stirring a vast pot of boiling syrup while a slave’s limbs flailed in the liquid. “How strange I did not guess the strength of your condemnation. After all, you refrained from eating custard.”
“She is my aunt.”
“And therefore, she is beyond your censure? I assure you, I do not treat my relations with that deference.”
“I would not want you to.” He said that with strange passion.
“You are in no position towantanything of me.”
“This is… I have endeavored to—”
“What?” I was furious now, and I knew why. All those perfected manners had made me forget his abominable entitlement. I had started to imagine a person livedbeneath those layers of exquisite etiquette. But it was an act. A ploy to exploit my complacence. “Was it a struggle to spend four weeks strolling Rosings Park to amuse your aunt? You are your own man. Surely you can find a better use for your time.”
His face worked. He looked lost, hunting for words.
I was more angry than I could explain. “Speak, for once!” I shoved one of his solid shoulders. He retreated a step. “She said Pemberley also profits from slavery. Is it true?”
“Pemberley is an old estate. There was a time when—”
“Oh, do not plead that to me.” I turned and began walking. “I am done.”
“Miss Bennet.” He followed. “It is late and dark. Allow me to accompany you.”
“No!” I turned, lifting a sharp finger between us. “Goodnight.”
I stalked off. There was not a single footfall behind me. He must have stood where I left him.
The path was visible where the moonlight struck but pitch dark in every shadow. Common sense fought with anger until I slowed my pace enough to be safe.
Returning to Longbourn would be easy. I could order a coach tomorrow and leave the following day. That was soon enough that I would not embarrass Charlotte by declining an invitation to Rosings. Although I was unlikely to be invited back after storming out.
My cheeks were wet. I stopped in the dark, frustrated by flickering, conflicted feelings. I wiped my eyes, then wiped my hands on my skirt. “What iswrongwith me?”
I felt, more than heard, the wyvern glide above me. She settled beside the path a few steps away.
I had not met her at night before. Her eyes were black voids, but when her head moved, they caught flashes of moonlight, sparking red or gold.
child
I heard her. In the dark, in the moonlight, it seemed natural. My anger was lost in wonder.
“You spoke to me before,” I said. Her head cocked, scales like frost in the moonlight. “How can you speak?”
i do not speak
