Page 66 of The Dragoneers of Longbourn and Pemberley
“Yes, I will.” Seeing Pemberley again would be torture, but Valeraine could endure that for her house. “And when I build up Longbourn to glory, where will you be? At my side, growing old with me and my dragon?”
“Who can say what the future holds?” Kesley turned away from her, and took up the scrub brush for Lelantos. The dragon flinched away from the first touch of his brush, then settled down and let him continue.
What did her future hold? It was time to take it in her hands. She wanted this nest to be bursting with dragons. And she wanted a companion by her side, building the nest with her. Like Kesley always did. When she imagined her future, he was always in it. “True, we can’t know what the future holds, but we make our future through our actions, our commitments,” she said.
Valeraine couldn’t finish the thought. She couldn’t propose marriage to him; he would have to lead in that step. Especially because she would be asking him to leave his birth house for Longbourn. True, his house held very little for him, crowded with five older brothers, but it was still his family.
Kesley looked at her, intensely focused. He did not miss her meaning. He shrugged and returned to the brushing. “The future is years away. Now, we have to get Lelantos in shape.”
Kesley wasrightfor Longbourn in a way she could hardly describe. It would be a tactical union for both of them.
Did she want a tactical marriage? If she had truly wanted that, she could have accepted Rosings, or even Pemberley. But those futures had been strategic for herself, and marrying Kesley would be for Longbourn’s future. Her heart yearned for Kesley, this perfect partner. She yearned for security and for Lelantos, her other half.
The future before her was plain: she would race in the Pemberley derby, then the Royal derby, and get an egg for Longbourn. If she failed to get the egg, at least Merna would be happy.
If only her romance was so simply outlined.
Chapter forty-six
January was here, and with it blew in colder weather and hatching dragons.
Mr. Nethenabbi called on Alyce, again and again. They had tea together several times a week — sometimes at Longbourn and sometimes at Netherfield — and Mamma was ecstatic. She gossiped to the matrons of Galsopshire about how she had always known Alyce would marry well.
Alyce came home smiling from every visit. She would talk for long minutes (only to Valeraine) about the latest cute and kind and extraordinary thing that Nethenabbi had done. She brought home news from the Netherfield nest, which had welcomed three new dragons into the world. Nedine was hatch-mothering them, very competently, all reports said. The hatchlings were already tame enough for Alyce to handle by February.
In a year, Valeraine promised herself, she would have her own egg to hatch-mother. Maybe in two years.
Valeraine and Kesley continued training with Lelantos; timing his flights, pushing his endurance farther. They would sneak little kisses, in the air and on the ground. Valeraine wanted more; if only some gossiping neighbor could catch them in a kiss, and the social pressure would finally force Kesley to propose. Kesley also wanted more, but it was of the physical variety Valeraine wouldn’t give him, at least not until they were married. She didn’t want a fast, fleeting love. She needed a strong alliance.
In February, as the family prepared to go to the Pemberley derby (Alyce was particularly excited, as Nethenabbi would also be attending), Selaide made an unexpected overture. She returned Valeraine’s cream gown. Of course, she returned it still sized to her own measurements, and she brought it to Valeraine with a speech: this gown so tired now, it had been worn to too many balls already, Selaide would be getting a new gown so she supposed Valeraine could have it, now that she was finished with it.
If Selaide wanted to apologize, she could. She hadn’t. The returning of the gown was not a peace offering, or a truce, or a restitution. It was merely another weapon Selaide wielded, leverage against Mamma. For Selaide could beg for a new gown, now that she had lost this fine specimen.
Valeraine had to pester Selaide for days before she deigned to do the alterations to restore the gown to Valeraine’s measure. A close eye could still see where the stitches had been, the tracks of Selaide’s treachery, the little stains that she had accumulated, the small fraying and wearing-in. The gown was no longer new — it was definitely a hand-me-down.
Valeraine tried it on, to test Selaide’s restorations. It was a little tight in the arms, but that was likely because of the muscle she had built from training since she had first been measured forthis gown, last summer. Valeraine admired her silhouette in the mirror. Finally, she would wear it to a ball.
Then, Valeraine realized it would not do.
The style of the bodice was following the current fashions in Fellarik, and the neckline was off her shoulder. The top of her left arm was exposed.
Though the gash from the Rosings derby had healed well, the scar was still obviously fresh: dark purple in color, the skin warped around it. It was only five months old, after all.
Everyone who saw it would wonder how she had gotten such a grisly wound.
Valeraine took off the dress.
Perhaps she should give it back to Selaide?
But, no. Selaide didn’t deserve such a peace offering.
Valeraine would be wearing the blue gown again, after all. She had changed too much to be comfortable in the dress she had once treasured.
Then, finally, the day was upon them to go to Pemberley. It was a day and a half coach ride to the north. Most of the Longbourn family left in their coach early in the morning, but Valeraine and Alyce bundled up in their warmest clothes and flew there the next day. It was time to win a derby, and show Pemberley just how strong their house was.
Chapter forty-seven
Despite how much Scaleheart pushed for it, there were no standard rules in derbies. Most derbies, at the very least, would not look positively on a dragoneer who had gotten someone killed, and occasionally bar him from racing.
