Page 68 of Miss Bennet's Dragon
He waited, as attentive and considerate as always. When I looked puzzled, he said hesitantly, “I shall, of course, desist if you do not welcome this conversation. I am fully aware of my limited prospects. For myself, I am decided. I care not for my father’s wrath. But the admiration that prompts me to speak also makes me hesitate, for you deserve a match of greater consequence. Say a word, and it will be as if I had never spoken. My respect for you will be unchanged.”
Oh.
How different this was from my conversation yesterday. The colonel was a man I respected and genuinely liked. A man I would never wish to hurt.
And yet, I knew my answer was no. Why, though?
“I… Your regard honors me. Truly. And I care nothing for prospects. But I… This is a difficult time when I am unable…” I struggled to find words. Part of me wondered if I might, in time, say yes. Another part knew I never would.
“I understand. Shall we finish our walk?”
He offered his arm, and we proceeded in silence, my bottom lip crushed between my teeth to hide my feelings until I was alone.
27
WISHING
I packed slowlyin my room, or, more honestly, I unpacked and repacked, rearranging skirts and gloves and ribbons.
Colonel Fitzwilliam’s proposal, with his selfless decorum, left me feeling sad and cruel. And confused, for I was unsure why I refused. He was not odious like Mr. Collins. And for all his claims of penury, compared to my prospects once Longbourn was lost, the colonel offered a comfortable life.
In fact, if Jane and I were correct that a bound Bennet daughter might inherit Longbourn, I should jump at the first marriage proposal I got. Instead, I had declined three.
And why was I constantly being surprised by proposals of marriage? That seemed a poor way to move through life. I must be horribly inattentive.
“It is because I wish to be in love,” I said to the mirror. I had never said that before. The words sounded silly and selfish. Then, irritatingly, the image that popped into my head was walking through the trees with Mr. Darcy.
“I will cure Jane,” I announced. That was better.
The coach would arrive soon, and I had farewells to make. I closed a hatbox, stretched tense shoulders, then went lightly down the stairs. After checking that Mr. Collins was engrossed in his book room, I exited into the sunlit garden behind the house.
I found an area free of fragile young sprouts. A few breaths later, the wyvern glided to earth several steps away. This time, she came no closer.
you are leaving
“My sister is ill.” Did sister mean anything to a wyvern? Did illness?
I concentrated on Jane as I had seen her last, wasted and silent.
The wyvern stamped one bronze foot, distressed, her wings half-unfurling. Like memory, I saw an unknown woman, gaunt and staring from a crude bed of reeds. A victim of binding sickness?
The wyvern’s wings settled, her eyes leaf-green like the foliage around us.
you are leaving him
“Who?”
Images flickered through my mind. Postures and strides, not features or dress as I would describe a person. But it was Mr. Darcy.
“Yes, I am leaving him.” My throat tightened. Anger? Emotions blurred and chased back and forth.
go to the lake
Deep water the color of cold. The lowered path of the sun in the north. People’s faces striped in brilliant patterns of glowing indigo.
“I do not understand. What lake?”
for your sister
