Page 61 of The Dragoneers of Longbourn and Pemberley
As for the blackmail you mentioned, I will clear up things there as well. (I refer to me blackmailing you, not when you blackmailed me.)
I never intended for you to live in the fear of exposure. I have not told anyone — save your father — about it. I only told him out of an effort to protect you. Your injury unnerved me more than I cared to admit, and it distressed me that you might race again. I knew this wasn’t my business, but it certainly was the business of your father, so I wrote to tell him, in case he did not already know. Save that instance, I have not told a soul.
I know you did not intend for me to learn of your racing, and I kept that accidental confidence like I would keep any other confidence given to me.
Valeraine wished she had his first letter to Papa in hand, so she could read it again. Hadn’t it contained a threat? Hadn’t he said he would tell the world if she raced again?
Maybe he hadn’t. She would have to check. But if she had misread it all this time... then he hadn’t ever been so terrible to her. But he was still a rough rider, who got racers killed, and who pretended at a gentle veneer. He had still kept Nethenabbi and Alyce apart.
As for the slander that I was responsible for the death of Mr. Allencourt, that is easily cleared. I do not know who told you thus, but it was not me. Mr. Ponsinter knocked him out of the sky. I was at the derby that day, but I was not near the incident. If you wish to confirm this version of events, you can write to these gentlemen who were also present at that derby: Mr. Nethenabbi, Mr. Bryton, and Mr. Whiterest.
Where had she heard the rumor that he killed Allencourt?
It had been Selaide, reading from a Scaleheart column.
A Scaleheart column.
Pemberley never would have criticized himself. There must have been some confusion in Selaide’s interpretation. She would have to check on that as well, to find proof of the error.
I admit, I have saved the most difficult point for last. This is of most concern and worry to me.
If you do care to answer this letter, I desire your response on only one point: how did you discover I was Scaleheart? What proof do you possess? To my knowledge, you are the only soul who knows. I am anxious to keep it this way.
Much like I am keeping your confidence, I dearly wish that you will keep mine. I say this not as a threat — even if you reveal my secrets, I will take yours to my grave — but as an earnest plea.
I understand how you see my writings as hypocrisy. I criticize the derbies, and yet I participate. I speak on the taming of hatchlings, and yet I am a man who has no business doing so. The Scaleheart column has caused many scandals, and my position in the races and status among the dragon houses has improved because of it.
However, every one of those words comes from my heart, and I endeavor to live them. I must race to maintain the renown of my house, and yet I do campaign for greater safety precautions and rules in the derbies. I care for the hatchlings of my nest — though this is not widely known, and I would like to keep it that way for propriety’s sake.
Sometimes I feel that Scaleheart is more of a representation of my soul than Pemberley is.
Yours, forever,
Bennington Pemberley
This morning, Valeraine was assured. She had known who she was, and who Pemberley was. She had been gripped in the powerof his blackmail, but eagerly awaiting reversing their positions. She was going to triumph over that odious man. Then, she would be free to race as she wished.
Nothing had gone to plan.
She had delivered her threat. Instead of justified retribution, it now felt like the most terrible kind of coercion. He had never been blackmailing her. It was all a misunderstanding.
He was not her enemy.
It was infuriating, to be proven wrong so thoroughly. Not just proven wrong, but proven to be the villain of the piece.
Would she ever reveal he was Scaleheart? Only if he wronged her greatly, which was looking less and less likely the more she discovered of his true character.
“What a fool I’ve been,” she murmured, and reread his letter.
I say this not as a threat — even if you reveal my secrets, I will take yours to my grave — but as an earnest plea.
No, she wouldn’t hold this weapon over his head — wouldn’t grip him in terror, like she’d been living. They would keep each other’s secrets.
It felt strange, now having this truce with Pemberley, who had been her greatest enemy. Now, he was the man who carefully held her secret, and trusted her to hold his.
He was still an arrogant buffoon who had stopped Alyce’s letters and sabotaged the love of his friend. She must hold onto her anger there. It was more difficult to maintain the fire of her distaste when she read his lines again, a genuine care for hisfriend shown. She would not forgive him for it, she resolved. Where would she be, if she didn’t hate him for something?
Thinking on it with terrible rationality, Valeraine could admit that Pemberley ramming Lelantos at the derby could have been an honest accident. He had attempted to rally the racers to caution, and he had treated her wound without any reward. He had even had the medical kit at the ready, and was trained in its use. That showed more dedication to safety at the derbies than the words in his letter could convey. What master of a dragon house busied himself with learning how to dress wounds?
