The conversation was then diverted by Mr. Nethenabbi. Holding a pillow in his lap (he had plucked it from his back), he pretended to have just now noticed it. “This embroidery is beautiful. I love how it matches that painting of Longbourn manor.”
Alyce blushed. “Thank you. I did both the embroidery and the painting, as a set.”
Nethenabbi asked after her techniques and inspiration, and the rest of the tea passed in polite nothings.
Valeraine half wished that she could continue arguing her point with Miss Nedine. Perhaps Lelantos was old and hadn’t won a derby for a hundred years, but the house still had dignity. They were dragoneers. In the Netherfield derby, they would prove it.
That is, they would prove it if Kesley had very good luck with Lelantos. Much better luck than was his norm.
Who was Valeraine kidding? This would be a disaster.
Chapter seven
“Youwill ride for Longbourn?” Valeraine hissed to Kesley. She had caught up to him in the sunny courtyard outside the manor, as he went to return to his chores. He could not escape her censure that easily. She grabbed his coat sleeve, to emphasize her point. “What were you thinking?”
Kesley easily shrugged off her hold, reclaiming his arm. “I suppose that I will do a passable job at it.”
“But if you race for us, you and old Lelantos fighting each other for every mile of —”
“There’s no-one else to fly.” Kesley stood casually, bored and unbothered. He didn’t see the glaring, ruinous problem. He didn’t even care. He shrugged out of his dapper coat (much too hot for standing in the summer sun) and slung it over his arm.
Valeraine refused to be distracted by the way his shirt draped over his slender shoulders. “Longbourn will only be a larger laughingstock!” she argued. “We will only prove —”
Here, Selaide (never one to let an entertaining quarrel pass her by) entered the courtyard and bounced up to the couple. “Val, you are a genius. It was a masterstroke to volunteer Longbourn for the derby. Now, Netherfield will be hosting so many balls, with a derby-dragon nearby to challenge them.” Selaide was also never one to bow to such trivial things as the topic underway. She pioneered her own conversational gambits.
Selaide, the youngest of the Longbourn sisters, was fully grown and yet still the shortest of them. The petite frame suited her; it gave her manipulative leverage over their mother. Her shortness, combined with her large eyes, gave an impression of innocence and youth. Selaide had the immaturity of youth in spades, but the innocence was pure farce. She had the prettiest hair of the sisters: a rich auburn, with enough natural waves to hold a cultivated curl without getting frizzy. Her eyebrows were strikingly dark against her skin — the color of cream with generous honey — drawing more attention to her babyish eyes, ready to swallow an unsuspecting fool whole.
Valeraine rounded on Selaide, glad for a new outlet for her anxiety. “What did you think you were doing, insisting that Mr. Nethenabbi host a ball? It was the height of rudeness.”
Kesley let out one of his chuckles, rich and deep, and rejoined the conversation. “You mean like when you made me volunteer to race, Val?”
“I didn’t make you do anything, Kesley,” Valeraine protested. “You chose to put your foot in it.”
“Who else could have flown — Mr. Longbourn?”
Selaide tittered obligingly at this image.
“If Longbourn house is to participate,” Kesley continued, “and you have pledged us to, I don’t see who it could be except me.”
“It really was poorly done,” Selaide said. “When Kesley races for Longbourn, the gossip rags will write how decrepit we are that we need someone fromanotherweak dragon house to ridefor us. Before this, our house was unmentioned. Now they’ll have something to talk about.”
Valeraine could imagine it. Kesley would race, and do poorly. Everyone would be starkly reminded that Longbourn had no dragon suitable for a derby, and had nobody to ride that unsuitable dragon anyway. Nedine Nethenabbi would have won, been proven unequivocally correct. If they couldn’t make even an acceptable showing in a derby, did they truly deserve the title of dragoneers?
Of course they did. They would. They did, presently, have a dragon supporting their estate. He was old, but he flew. They just couldn’t prove it in a competition.
If they couldn’t prove the dignity of Longbourn, did it really exist? It didn’t to Miss Nedine.
They could back out of the derby... but that was almost worse. They would be surrendering, admitting to weakness and inconsequence without even making an attempt. It would be the height of folly, to back down from the derby simply because they were scared they would lose. That was the whole spirit of the derbies: everyone tried their mettle, courage, and the speed of their dragons. No win was ever guaranteed.
Selaide, meanwhile, was thinking of the problem from a different angle. “We must give the gossips something positive to talk about, so even if Lelantos does terribly, they still admire Longbourn house. We must use the scandal to our advantage.”
Kesley smiled at Selaide, doting. “How, pray tell? Will I simply have to win the derby for us?” he mused. “Disown Sidton house and be adopted into Longbourn, perhaps?”
“We will shadow you with an air of mystery and intrigue.” Selaide flourished her hands, baptizing Kesley with her outlandish plans. “You will wear a mask, a daring disguise. They will all speculate about you. Instead of the gossips being certainLongbourn is employing a rider from another house, it will be a mystery. They will adore the masked rider.”
Kesley took a step toward Selaide, catching her enthusiasm. “That might work. The smartest of them, or those who know us, will figure it is me. But the wildest gossips will speculate to no end, and they will love us for the pleasure. When it is eventually revealed, they will only feel satisfied at a mystery unveiled. I will get to be known — finally — as a true dragoneer.”
Selaide added, “Of course it will be the trump if you win, but with Lelantos...”
