Page 39 of The Dragoneers of Longbourn and Pemberley
Valeraine was waiting for her reputation to burst. When would Pemberley and the Nethenabbis tell other dragoneers? When would the gossip break? And yet, the invitations to balls kept coming. The news did not appear inThe Dragoneer’s Journalsociety column, or any other section. Valeraine wasn’t sure how big of a story a woman racing would be. Would Uncle Haupter give the downfall of his niece the first page?
Valeraine and Alyce shared Uncle Haupter’s guest room, squishing their traveling trunks under the bed they shared. At night, Valeraine would brush Alyce’s hair, then Alyce Valeraine’s, sitting on the bed together. Then, Alyce would insist (in her careful, polite, Alyce-way) to inspect the wound on Valeraine’s shoulder. Every few days, they would change the dressings. Now, Alyce deemed it was time to remove Mr. Pemberley’s neat stitches. She borrowed small sewing scissors from Uncle Haupter (they were shiny, and had seen little use), and went to work snipping the threads.
Valeraine endeavored not to flinch. It wasn’t that the removal of the stitches hurt (the pain was small compared to when stitches were put in), but the tension of the threads pulling at her skin, followed by the sliding motion of pulling the thread from her body was vexatious.
Valeraine flinched, and Alyce was immediately apologetic.
“I’m so sorry, it must hurt. Here, let’s take a break, then I’ll be more careful.”
“No, Alyce, you’re doing wonderfully.”
But Alyce only smiled kindly to her protest, and laid down the scissors on the mattress. Perhaps Alyce needed the break, or perhaps she could see Valeraine’s discomfort too easily.
They sat in silence, lit by candles, and Valeraine stewed. She would carry this scar for the rest of her life: the gash across her shoulder. A memento of her time as a dragoneer.
She wondered how she might explain it to a future husband.“Just an accident, fell onto a sharp rock.”She wouldn’t have a future husband, not if it became common knowledge that she was a dragoneer. But she dared to hope, with each passing day the news did not spread, that perhaps she would have a future, after all. Perhaps she would have the opportunity to lie about the contents of her heart.
She wouldn’t need to explain it to Kesley, if he were her husband. He would understand what the scar meant to her, with this mixed feeling of pride in her accomplishment and longing for the times gone by, when she had ridden Lelantos freely.
She wouldn’t need to explain it to Pemberley, either, she supposed. He knew the whole tale, had even helped to make the scar. Shewantedto explain it to him, though. She wished he was here so she could explain what racing meant to her: pure exhilaration, the freedom of flight, and a chance to save her house. She would show him the depths of her soul, and hope he understood them, then respected it enough to promise not to reveal her. She couldn’t ever race again, except with the blessing of Pemberley.
Alyce’s mind was elsewhere. She had been working up to a different kind of confession: “I have received a response from the Nethenabbi townhouse.”
Valeraine’s melancholy was immediately discarded. “What did he say?” She leaned forward, and took Alyce’s hands. “Will he see you?”
Alyce stood and retrieved a letter from a stack of disordered papers on the bureau. “I haven’t yet opened it.”
Valeraine was silent in shock for a moment. Then, she asked, “Are you afraid it will be a rejection?” She tried to say this gently,without judgement. Because, of course this would be a rejection. Why would Nethenabbi write now, after so long in silence, for any reason than to tell Alyce to stop contacting him?
Because of Valeraine’s foolhardy racing, Alyce was being rejected. Officially, completely.
Valeraine may not have ruined her own reputation — only thanks to the discretion of Pemberley and the Nethenabbis, a close thing — but she had ruined her sister’s chance at love.
“It’s worse than that.” Alyce returned to sitting next to Valeraine, and handed the envelope over. “It’s not from Mr. Nethenabbi.”
The sender was Miss Nedine.
Why would she be writing? It seemed even less likely to contain good news.
Alyce, searching for a change of subject, grabbed up the scissors and turned to be in position to snip the next of Valeraine’s stitches.
Valeraine sought to calm Alyce’s turmoil. “Would you like me to open it?”
“Yes. Would you read it to me? Oh, but if it is terrible please do not. Or do. Don’t hide anything from me. Unless it’s completely horrid.”
Valeraine tilted the envelope to catch the light of the nearest candle, and popped the wax seal.
Miss Alyce Longbourn,
Thank you so much for your correspondence to our household. It warms my heart to see your persistence in friendshipping my family. However,my brother is ever so busy with the social season here, and has no time to answer your messages, so the task has fallen to me.
Your invitation to tea at your Uncle’s home is such a welcome one. However, our schedules are entirely filled, and we will not be able to make it.
As to your concern for Mr. Nethenabbi’s health, let me assure you he is doing quite well. He is happy in his current pursuits.
I can sense that you are trying to instate a courtship between yourself and my brother, and I must give you a piece of advice, just between us women. He has not mentioned you once, and indeed would be quite uninterested in seeing you in the city. I think he may have only tolerated you at Netherfield due to the lack of eligible ladies nearby, and his boredom.
I’m sorry, for I know how this must disappoint you.
