Page 72 of Miss Bennet's Dragon
“Mr. Darcy,” I answered, in a tone of moral condemnation that would have impressed even Mary.
Mrs. Hurst laughed bitterly.
“Your sister Jane is a gentle, kind-hearted girl. I thought she loved my brother, and I know my brother loves her. But I do not like you, Eliza Bennet. You are a clever, pretty flirt. The sort who drifts through life pursued by doting men whom you treat thoughtlessly, as if it is an accomplishment to bend hearts. The sort who never learns that life is a battle. Have children, and you will learn what it means to care, and to fight for something, and to defend those whom you love from those who would take everything you cherish.”
I had never been called a flirt before. I thought it a poor attack. Compared to her sister’s unblushing pursuit of Mr. Darcy—or to my two youngest sisters—I was a cloistered nun. But her words stirred unpleasant echoes of Mary’s criticism at the ball.
A lot had changed since then.
I said, “I think, madam, that you do not know me. I certainly do not know you. I will say only that I love, and defend, and am fighting for my sister.”
She shook her head, derisive or disbelieving. “For my brother’s sake, I would not oppose your plan. If I could call it that. But Charles is traveling.”
My relief at securing so crucial an ally made me light-headed. Now, there was hope of success. More than success. A happy ending. A fairytale ending.
Then I realized what else she had said.
“Traveling? May I ask when he will return?” Perhaps I could have Jane in London by then.
“He is in America. He is not expected back for a year. Longer, most likely.”
My relief—my vision of hugging Jane and Mr. Bingley at their wedding—fell to dust.
28
GRACECHURCH STREET
The rattleof iron bolts and bars ceased as the coach stopped on Gracechurch Street, a respectable but more economical neighborhood.
This destination was a haven, the home of Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner, my uncle and aunt. They were sensible and efficient people. That was desperately appealing.
I rang. A housemaid not yet eighteen, with brilliant yellow hair escaping her cap, peered through the opening door, then swung it wide and broke into smiles. “Miss Elizabeth!”
“Dorothy,” I answered, smiling back. From private talks with my despairing aunt, I knew Dorothy was a marginal maid, but she was full of infectious good spirit and wonderful with the children. My aunt had two girls and two boys, all younger than nine, so this was a gift.
“Oh, my goodness! Let me tell the missus!” Dorothy ran off, forgetting to invite me in. But I had visited many times, so I invaded their entryway, closed the door, and shook out my shawl.
“Lizzy! What a wonderful surprise!” My aunt gave me a hug. Her grip tightened when she realized I needed a good squeeze.
“I am sorry I did not write before coming,” I said when we separated. “It has been a confused and worrying few days.”
“What is wrong?” Her face was drawn up in concern.
At that moment we were assaulted by squealing children. Mrs. Gardiner shooed them away with promises of a visit later, and she and I retired to the parlor.
She straightened her dress as we sat, choosing her words. “Mr. Gardiner will be in the office for several more hours. Unless… Lizzy, should I send for him?”
“Please do not. I must continue to Longbourn. I am here in part to see a friendly face”—at this, my aunt reached over to hold my fingers—“but also to ask a large favor.”
I explained that Jane was seriously ill, although I hoped not in immediate danger. I continued, “It is a rare and exotic illness that relates to draca and binding. I have it on good advice that a cure exists in the northern lakes.”
“That is very strange.” My aunt looked dubious. “What authority gave you this advice?”
“You will think I am mad, but you must believe me.” My aunt’s eyebrows rose. I took a deep breath. I had not shared this with anyone. “I was told by a draca.”
“You cannot be serious.”
“I am quite sincere. A wyvern told me. I have discovered they are capable of speech. Well, notspeech. Her mouth could not make the sounds of human speech. But we communicate. Her words rather pop into my head. If she is in the mood.”
