Summery:
Thomas Bennet was an adventurer in his youth, until he was cursed. He tried to retire from the magical life but the curse followed him and Elizabeth now bears the full brunt of it.

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Prologue

The sky was a bright, cloudless blue. The sun was almost directly overhead, shining down on a dry, dusty lane. A young lady walked along the road, her bonneted head bowed with the heat. She was but eighteen. Her simple and modest dress showed her to be a gentleman’s daughter, but not one which could afford the best materials. She carried a book under her arm, her movements listless from the excessive warmth. Eventually, she looked up and saw the house she called home, but instead of making her way to the door, she took a winding path through the small park attached to the place.

There was a smaller cottage behind the main building. It was this dower house that she approached. The house looked uninhabited. It was in mild disrepair, overgrown with ivy, the windows dark and bare of any coverings. She opened the door and stepped into the cool, shadowed interior with relief. The thick walls kept out the worst of the heat, making the temperature in the dower house bearable even at noon time. She shut the door and leaned her forehead on it, her body slowly relaxing.

Something hissed from within the house. The young lady gasped in shock, and whirled around. She gave a short scream, pressing back against the door when huge shadows stirred the darkness.

There was a dragon in the house.

It was huge, its body as big as a carthorse, not counting a considerable length of tail and neck. Its great wings were even more massive, furled tightly against its sides in the cramped space of the dower house. The scales of its back were a glossy pitch black, fading to deep midnight blue along its sides and belly, which then became beautiful violet-indigo on its lowest points. The wings, too, were black closest to the head and blue-violet at the tips.

The young lady got a good look at the deadly beast—and sighed in relief.

“Oh, it is just you,” she said with a laugh. “You are home early.”

The dragon groaned, then scratched at the dirt floor. It pushed the exposed, damp dirt under its belly and tried to shift its bulk. It lifted its wings; the lady had to duck out of the way. The dragon laid its neck along the ground and sighed heavily. Hot breath gusted over the young lady.

“You poor dear, the heat is really difficult for you, is it not?” she murmured to it.

The dragon sighed again in response.

“If I come back in a little while with a bucket of water to pour over your wings, would that help?”

The dragon tipped its head up and down in a humanoid nod. The corners of its mouth pulled upward. It reached forward and nudged the young lady under her chin, very gently so as to not cause injury to the lady. She wrapped her arms fearlessly around the dragon’s head and placed a hand on its muzzle.

“Oh Lizzy, I am glad you have returned.”
***

Six Years Earlier

“…And so it was that King Henry V won the battle of Agincourt,” Thomas Bennet concluded, looking over his book at his three daughters. Golden Jane, only sixteen and already starting to show the curves of womanhood, continued her serene embroidery sampler. Lizzy, fourteen and still coltishly slim, met his eyes defiantly. Twelve year old Mary was breathlessly rapt, eagerly waiting for the next chapter. He was tempted to go on, but he had already kept his daughters later than usual for their evening reading. The pounding on the door, muffled by his sound-proofing spell, was another indication he had kept them long enough. “Here endeth the lesson,” he said finally, and shut the history book.

“Please, Papa, not there! Do go on, I beg you,” exclaimed his youngest daughter, gratifying his soul. Mary was the daughter of his mind, bright and curious. She loved stories of heroes and knights, and could be absorbed by them for hours. Unfortunately, she was also the daughter of his appearance, taking after his mousy-brown coloring and his dependence on spectacles. Unlike him, she did not have magic she could use to correct her vision without the use of glasses. He hoped she outgrew her plump, rounded frame in the next few years.

“I fear I have kept you up past your bed time,” he answered regretfully. “Surely your mother would have you sleep now, or she would have my head.”

Mary’s eyes opened wide with imagination. Jane murmured, “If you are up too late, Mary, you will be tired for our journey tomorrow.”

Mary shook her head quickly, and looked ready to retire to bed at once. The mildest threat of being left behind made her instantly contrite. Mr. Bennet smiled gratefully at his eldest. Jane was the daughter of his conscience, and his patience. She was the best at not losing her temper, which was vital in the Bennet household. “I am only surprised that Mama has not called already on us,” Jane wondered aloud.

Mr. Bennet hid his shame as he glanced at his middle daughter.

Lizzy stiffened imperceptibly at the mention of Mrs. Bennet. If Mr. Bennet had not been watching for it, he would not have noticed.

She has been pounding at the door for the last half-hour, Lizzy said silently, in the way only those with the gift of magic could communicate. Your spell has kept her out.

You could have undone my spell and let her in at any moment, he replied softly.

I do not want that woman in this room, she retorted harshly.

I will not have you speak ill of her, he barked at her. She is your mother, and you will respect her as such.

Color touched Lizzy’s cheeks, but the hard light in her eyes did not fade. All children needed discipline and accountability for their actions, but it was vitally important for Lizzy. Normal children said hurtful things and perhaps threw a tantrum in which they broke some items.

Lizzy could burn down the whole village.

Of all his daughters, Lizzy was the child of his heart, the only one to share his ability with magic. She was also the child of his guilt, for of all his daughters, she was the one who suffered the most for his transgressions. It was hard for him to remain stern with her for long. Softening his tone, he added, She also gave us Jane and Mary, remember that.

Lizzy put her arms around her sisters. It was a protective gesture, reminiscent of a mother dragon using her wings to shelter her young. Jane continued her sampler, while Mary looked back and forth between him and his middle daughter. Neither of his other daughters could hear or use the mental speech, but they were used to these silent exchanges.

And Kitty and Lydia, Lizzy pointed out with a hint of anger that made him fear for the lives of the youngest girls. He would be setting spells around their rooms tonight. They would not stop Lizzy—she would sense them almost at once—but it would alert him in case she moved towards Mrs. Bennet’s daughters. In the wild, rivalry between dragon siblings was harsh, even to the point of death. Mr. Bennet loved Lizzy unconditionally, but he feared he was losing her to the dragon-curse.

“I should like to say good night to Kitty and Lydia,” Lizzy said aloud, glaring at him.

He suppressed a shiver of trepidation. “Not now,” he said firmly, “I am certain they are asleep already and there is no need to disturb them.”

That was the real reason he had kept his daughters so late, making sure Mrs. Bennet would have settled her daughters in bed long before his girls—Lizzy especially—were released from his study.

It began as an innocent observation yesterday, when Lizzy wondered why Kitty and Lydia did not smell the same as Jane, Mary and herself. Mr. Bennet knew. He had always known. The times, though close, were not quite right. He had said nothing, for it gave Mrs. Bennet comfort to have her daughters, and it was but a small payment for what he had put her through with the curse on his middle daughter. Lizzy had remarked that the Lucas children all smelled the same—and that was when she worked it out on her own.

The tenuous respect she had held for Mrs. Bennet was shattered. And Mr. Bennet, knowing wild dragons would push the eggs of different clutches out of the nest entirely, had immediately separated Lizzy from Kitty and Lydia. Unfortunately Lizzy’s patience with him was running short. He knew that if she forced the issue, he could not restrain her. It had nothing to do with his love for her, and everything to do with the dragon she became for one-third of the month.

The curse had not been so long when she was younger. As an infant, when her dragon form was the size of a cat, it had been a mere three or four days. By the time she was nine years old, her dragon form was larger than the pony his other daughters were learning to ride on, and had taken her for a week. Now it was at least ten days that she was forced into her dragon form. The curse was progressing, and it worried him to no end. How long before she would have no time left as a human? He had adjusted well to raising his three daughters—one of them a dragon-child sometimes—but if he could not break the curse, it would crush his heart to see his middle daughter transform wholly into a dragon.

Mr. Bennet waited until Mrs. Bennet paused from trying to break down his door and then undid both his lock-spell and the silencing spell. Mrs. Bennet burst into the room.

“Mr. Bennet, you are very cruel to keep a mother from her daughter,” she shrilled.

“You have three daughters in this room,” Mr. Bennet pointed out quietly. She ignored him, as always.

“Come along, Jane! You must have your rest if you are to look pretty for your trip to London tomorrow. You must convince my sister and her husband to take you to the theatre at least once a week while you are there. Mr. Bennet, the pin money you have allotted for Jane simply will not do! I demand that you increase it—double it!”

“What about Lizzy and Mary’s pin money?” he asked sharply.

“Oh Mary, it is such a waste on her! I suppose London might have one bonnet that would look decent on her head, but she surely needs no more. Come, Jane, we must put the cream on your face before you sleep.”

“May I have a little cream, Mama?” Mary asked desperately, longing for a little attention from her mother. Mrs. Bennet scowled, but—at a fierce look from Mr. Bennet—conceded with bad grace. Mary’s face fell as she felt Mrs. Bennet’s disdain. It was Jane who took Mary’s hand and promised to rub the cosmetic into her skin. Mary brightened at that.

As usual, Mrs. Bennet left the room without ever looking at her second daughter. Nor had Lizzy looked at the woman who gave birth to her. Mr. Bennet tried to speak to his middle daughter, but she tossed her head and rose with a preternatural grace. He watched her go, biting the inside of his cheek to keep from screaming in frustration. It felt like his family was falling apart around him. The only physical manifestation of the curse was Lizzy’s transformation into a dragon, but the effects were felt far deeper than that.

It was with a heavy heart that he walked down the hall to the cold and empty master’s chamber. He set the spells in place inside Kitty and Lydia’s room, praying he could reach them if—when—Lizzy triggered his spells.

It happened in the middle of the night. He had managed to sink into a deep sleep when suddenly alarm ripped through him. Lizzy had absorbed one of his spells. And she had done it quickly, meaning she planned to use her speed to beat him to her quarry. There was a reason dragon hunters never accepted mages into their ranks. Common lore held that dragons were immune to magic, but he knew it was more than that. Dragons, being creatures of immense magic themselves, absorbed magical energy like bread sopping up milk. Any spell thrown at them only made them stronger, and so it was with Lizzy.

Mr. Bennet had slept in his shirt and breeches, knowing he would not have time to dress when Lizzy moved. He darted down the hall to Kitty’s and Lydia’s room. His heart sank to see Lizzy already in place, crouched on top of the bed between the sleeping children. What could he say to make her leave them in peace? There were no spells that could deflect her; even if there had been, he would not be able to use them against his daughter. He was scarcely over forty years of age, but at that moment he felt like an old, old man. He could not move fast enough to stop Lizzy if she struck. He could only hope to talk her out of any rash action. The sick feeling in the pit of his stomach did not bode well for his chances of success.

He reached out with his magic to ascertain the young girls were at least still alive, but Lizzy swallowed his magic easily, preventing any spell from reaching them. And then he paused, and truly looked at Lizzy for the first time. Faint moonlight from the window reflected eerily in her eyes. The irises that were violet during the day shown green-blue at night. She perched like a falcon on the bed, but her arms were stretched wide to cover the small girls. Exactly like a dragon using her wings to protect her brood. His heart clenched, stopping for a brief moment of time, and then began to thunder loudly in his ears. As the fearful tension left his body, he realized the extent of his error toward his second daughter.

“Oh child,” he whispered remorsefully, “how I have misjudged you.”

Lydia could sleep through anything, but Kitty was a light sleeper. She turned over, coughing fitfully. Lizzy glared at him, even as her hand stroked down Kitty’s back. She crooned to her younger sister, still watching him warily. Mr. Bennet eased his way into the room and sat gingerly on the edge of the bed. Lizzy tensed. She did not relax until he reached out and helped pat the nine year old Kitty back to sleep.

They are not your blood, Lizzy thought to him in confusion.

He shook his head. As if blood was everything that made a family. No, but they will bear my name. That is enough for me.

The fourteen year old clenched her jaw. She betrayed you! You could—

Do nothing, he interrupted firmly. They are her comfort, as you, Jane and Mary are mine. Any action I took against her would also reflect on Kitty and Lydia. Would you wish that on them?

No! She shifted the sleeping girls closer to her, following her dragon instinct to protect her family. Her brows drew together. They are my sisters as well, even if they smell like—

Do not tell me! Mr. Bennet paled. I do not wish to know.

Lizzy tilted her head and peered closely at him. Whatever she knew, she kept it to herself. Mr. Bennet felt fresh guilt at laying this burden on her as well. Something changed in Lizzy’s expression. He saw her straighten her shoulders as she accepted the weight he should have borne. He wished he could take it back, but she would not let him. That was the problem with having a dragon for a daughter: she was so strong, stronger than him.

I will stay here tonight, she said, easing from her crouch into lying on the bed between her youngest sisters. Her abnormally high temperature seemed to ease Kitty’s cough.

Do you have the time? he asked gently. They tried to maximize her time as a human by having her spend most nights as a dragon. The problem was that dragons were nocturnal, and she rarely slept more than a few hours at a time. It did not help that her dragon form was already nearly as big as a cart horse, and she continued to grow. Soon she would no longer fit inside the house as a dragon. Mr. Bennet had plans to build a cottage for her, but he loathed the idea of banishing his daughter outside.

I have some time, she said, snuggling her sisters against her. A look of aching tenderness crossed her face as she stroked Lydia’s hair. Mr. Bennet was struck by the knowledge that she would be a good mother someday—if she remained human long enough to bear children. He had tried every conceivable method of breaking the curse. Nothing had made the slightest difference. The last avenue available could not come to fruition for some years yet.

Love was a powerful cleansing force. If she could find love with a young man, and he accepted her fully in return, it might be enough to break the curse at last. But what young man would accept a dragon as a wife? He scowled to himself. What young man could ever be worthy of one of his daughters, let alone his precious second daughter?

Papa, Lizzy said plaintively, do we have to leave Mary in London with Jane? I know Jane does not enjoy our journeys so much, and Aunt and Uncle have the new baby she is fond of, but Mary prefers to come with us. Cannot she be included?

It was true: under the guise of visiting their London relations, he and Lizzy took much longer journeys, researching wild dragons for clues to Lizzy’s health, or chasing rumors of curse breakers. Jane did not crave the adventure like Lizzy and Mr. Bennet did, but Mary’s longing to accompany them was palpable.

Mr. Bennet hesitated. It was already unwise to take a fourteen year old girl on such journeys, though said fourteen year old could become a dragon larger than a full grown racehorse at will. Did he dare take a twelve year old who did not have magic to defend herself? Mary was smart and hard-working. She would be an asset to their research if the limitations of her youth did not stop her.

He looked at his second daughter, and was caught by the pleading in her eyes, and the strength of her arms as she held her youngest sisters. He knew he could only capitulate. There were still times when only he and Lizzy could press on—as a man and a dragon they had far greater physical stamina than a child of twelve—but for the shorter journeys, they could bring Mary. He nodded his assent.

Lizzy smiled in relief. Good. Then on the way back, I am sure we can find far more than one bonnet that would suit Mary very well. She would enjoy it very much.

What about you, Lizzy? he asked curiously. Could we not find a bonnet that would suit your head as well?

Oh, Papa! she laughed joyously. What need have I of a bonnet when I have wings?

So said the child of his heart, the child of his guilt. His heart and his guilt clenched in pain. When she made such a statement, he did not fear he was losing her to the dragon-curse.

He feared she did not want to be saved at all.***

Chapter 1


It was a brilliantly clear, perfect night. There was no moon, but the stars were out in their glorious millions without a single cloud to mar the view. Hertfordshire slumbered peacefully below, unaware of those silent observers. The road was a pale, almost unbroken stripe, straight compared to the ribbon of water that meandered alongside it. But there—where the small river came especially close to the road—it looked as though some gigantic mouth had taken a bite of the road and spat it out in the river below. By looking closer, the wheel of an overturned carriage could be discerned. There were tangled lumps that might once have been horses. One moved slightly, evidence that some life remained. Despite the hinted violence of the accident, the night was calm, as though nothing was amiss. It was certainly not the night that the young man in the river expected to die.

Fitzwilliam Darcy was shivering. It was a novel and entirely unpleasant experience. He almost giggled at the thought. Imagine that, someone who had never shivered before. But he was an ice mage, for goodness sakes! Ice mages were not supposed to get cold. Even in the depths of a Derbyshire winter, he needed no more than his greatcoat thrown over his regular attire to protect him from the elements. But now, submerged in the swift, chilly waters of the river, he was freezing. The water lapped at his chin and he was exhausted from holding his head up.

He had been dozing when suddenly his entire world twisted. There was pain, screaming horses, crunching wood, and the shocking intrusion of the water. He had woken up into a nightmare. The carriage had overturned, pinning him to the river bottom. Thankfully the river was not so deep as to prevent him from reaching the surface, but he had to actively strive to keep his face above the water. After hours of maintaining his leverage, he was exhausted.

He had never been this cold before, but then he had never lost this much blood either. As a boy, he had learned to freeze small, open injuries to stop the bleeding. It worked better than a wrap, so long as the wound was not too large. Unfortunately, this injury was very large: he had seen the wide stream of red that had trailed from his body when there had still been daylight. He had tried to seal off his wounds with ice, but the water had melted his ice too quickly. It had become more important to conserve his strength, and now it was fully dark. He imagined the blood flow had mostly stopped, else he would have been long dead.

Darcy knew it was only a matter of time until the end came for him. In the beginning he had had hope that someone might pass by this road and come to his rescue, but no one had. He did not know how much longer he could keep his head above the water. His left hip and leg were in agony, twisted into an unnatural position underneath him. He tried not to think about his right leg, the one he could not feel. He knew it was a stupid thing to worry about, when he was dying. But what if his leg was gone? How would he walk? How would he ride a horse?

He lost all urge to giggle. He knew it was part of the delirium brought on by weakness and desperation, but the thought was not a comfort to him. His muscles with the effort of keeping his head up. The remaining horse was mercifully quiet. The first horse had died nearly at once when the carriage had suddenly tipped into the river, as well as the driver. The driver’s body had been carried away by the current, so at least Darcy was spared that grisly sight. He hoped it had been quick for the man, not this lingering descent into pain and madness.

The second horse seemed to be mostly uninjured, but tangled in the traces and unable to stand. It had thrashed around for a while, screaming its panic. As awful as the sound had been, Darcy had not try to quiet it, praying someone… anyone … would hear its distress and come investigate. Each time the horse had tried to lunge to its feet, the carriage had shifted, grinding deeper into Darcy’s leg. On one of those shifts, he had abruptly lost all feeling in his tortured right leg. Instead of instant relief from the pain, he only felt added worry that his leg had been completely severed. How was he supposed to manage Pemberley with only one leg? How could he take care of his sister?

Darcy suspected he was growing delirious. He heard a quiet snapping noise, like a sail in a high wind. There was not even a breeze, and in any case this river, while large enough to drown him, was too small to admit such a sailing ship. He closed his eyes in exhaustion, letting his vigil rest for a moment. Water ran over his chin. He was starting to not care if he lived or died.

The horse whickered.

Please, no more, Darcy begged silently. No more pain. No more struggle as he was pinned more deeply to the river bottom. A few more inches and he would not be able to reach the surface of the water at all. That would finally be the end of one Fitzwilliam Darcy of Pemberley of Derbyshire. He opened his eyes to get a last look at the night sky in case it was his last.

The stars winked at him.

He stared in confusion. The stars, for a fraction of second, had disappeared all at once and come back with equal speed. It was exactly like a wink, or like…

His tired mind struggled to understand what could have caused the phenomenon. It was like something massive had blotted out the stars for that instant. The horse jerked fretfully against its lines, something making it uneasy. It was not enough to move the carriage, for which Darcy was grateful.

The creature came from behind him. One moment he was alone but for the two horses, one living, one dead, and in the next an impossibly huge shape swooped overhead. There was a quiet splash and a small wave as a dragon landed hind legs first in the water. For a moment Darcy was completely submerged, and he had the wavering impression of a truly vast shadow towering over him. He gaped at it stupidly, certain it could not be real. The last of the great dragons in southern England had been hunted to extinction a century ago. The northern mountains might still harbor dragons of significant size, but they were very rare, and never larger than a hackney. This creature could easily best a cart horse in size, and evidently feeling quite at home, in the middle of Hertfordshire of all places.

It—she—folded her broad wings neatly as she brought her front legs into the water. Darcy could not have said what made him certain that the dragon was female, but he knew it as surely as he knew his own name. He bobbed to the surface of the water again and took a shallow, silent breath, trying to avoid detection. The horse could not see her from its position, but it knew something was not right, as it began kicking half-heartedly at its restraints again. The dragon surveyed the carriage with her head cocked to the side, like a cat sizing up its prey.

A faint breath of air carried the dragon’s scent to the worried horse. It shrieked in sudden panic, bucking against the lines holding it down. The carriage jolted, grinding against Darcy’s flesh. He screamed, unable to keep still. The dragon’s head whipped toward him. She hissed menacingly, but he was in too much pain to care. At least death by dragon would be quicker than this slow blood-loss and hypothermia. He thrashed wildly, as if he could push the carriage off of his leg, his numb hands beat uselessly against the sodden wood.

The dragon suddenly lifted one front leg and lashed out, faster than a striking snake. Her claws were a blurred flash in the starlight, and the carriage came to an abrupt halt. Darcy held his breath, listening hard for the death-gurgle of the horse. He expected to be next. There was a lot of splashing around, and then ragged hoof beats as the wounded animal gained the bank and galloped away as fast as it could. Darcy closed his eyes with a sinking feeling. Today was not his day. Not only had the massive, meat-eating dragon missed her prey, she had accidentally freed the horse as well. He was left, pinned and quite helpless, with the largest predator on earth.

Something bumped him. His eyes flew open and he saw the dragon’s face peering closely at him. He jerked in instinctive reaction, though of course he could not get away. Great. Not only had he managed to attract what had to be the last giant dragon in all of England, but she turned out to be a man-eater as well. No, today was definitely not his day. He gritted his teeth and tried to gather his magic. He knew it would be useless; dragons were said to be immune to magic Perhaps he could form an ice shield to protect against her fire? It was a terrible plan, for dragon fire would melt through his ice even faster than his cousin Richard, a fire mage, could.

She placed one front paw on the carriage. He braced himself for pain, but there was none. She was not exerting any pressure on the wreck. Her paw was surprisingly delicate, almost human on a draconian scale. Despite the scales and the size, she still had four fingers and a thumb, each tipped with a deadly claw. Even though he was facing the greatest danger in his life, he could not help but to think that her paw was somehow graceful and rather lady-like. Then she clamped down on the carriage, her claws easily splintering the wood. She lifted the entire mess in a careless show of strength that would have shocked him if not for the pain.

Whatever tied him to the carriage pulled him down as she lifted it. The movement was worse than when the horse had jolted the carriage. The horse had barely been able to shift it with all its strength, but the dragon, with one paw, was able to nearly turn the carriage on its side. He was dragged underwater, agony lancing up his leg. He screamed, great bubbles escaping his mouth as his body was dragged down with unbearable force. Blackness threatened, and he thought he was going to drown with all his air spent.

And then, mercifully, the carriage lowered again. His face broke the surface. He took great heaving lungfuls of air, struggling to breathe past the pain. Something nudged him gently. He tried to shove the dragon’s head away, but only managed to splash a little water on her face. He was drained, miserable, and had the awful feeling that the dragon was playing with him like a cat played with a mouse. It was torture, not knowing when the dragon was going to move the carriage again, when she was going to let him come up for air. Part of him knew she was merely a beast as smart as a dog or horse, and therefore had no malicious intent. The rest of him felt like he was at the mercy of a cruel god that refused to let him die.

The dragon started to pick up the carriage again, slowly this time. The pain was as bad as the first time, but Darcy was too spent to do anything more than moan. She tilted the carriage to the point where his body started to tug downward again. His painful breaths quickened as he tried to get as much air into his lungs before he was jerked under. The dragon paused where she was, neither lifting nor dropping the carriage. She peered under the carriage, as if to see how he was attached to the broken structure. He looked as well, desperate to see what was left of his leg.

In the moonless night, the shadows were too deep to be pierced by his tired eyes, until the dragon snorted. A flurry of sparks showered into the water under the carriage and for an instant, the scene was visible. He groaned. Surely that bloated, swollen thing was not his leg? It more resembled a dead pig that had been thrown into the river a week ago than anything human. He could hardly believe it was still attached to him. But there must be some connection, or else he would not be pulled under every time the dragon lifted the carriage.

The dragon reached under the carriage with her other hand. He tried to protest, but could do no more than flop his arms weakly. “No,” he gasped, imagining those vast claws parting his flesh. It did not matter that his leg was most likely dead; it was his leg, and he wanted to keep it. His leg was might have been numb, but he still felt something tugging at his body. He was pulled under a couple more times. It was never for long, but each incident made him wonder if this would be the last.

At last he floated to the surface. Not just his face, but his whole body was suddenly free. Darcy tried to look at his leg to ascertain if it was still attached, but he was too weak to lift his head from the water. His next task was to straighten his left leg, the one he could still feel. Pain blazed down his body, making him curl in on himself. He had been in one position for too long, and his joints were locked in place. He did not dare attempt another move. The current kept him in place, gently bumping him against the wreckage of the carriage.

The dragon got hold of his arm and pulled him out from under the carriage. She let it fall to the river with a thump and splash that would have swamped him but for the dragon holding him up. Dimly, he realized this was not normal dragon behavior. She should have killed the horse and carried its remains to her den. He could maybe accept that she preferred man-meat to horse, but so far she had not carried him off to be devoured either.

Darcy considered the very real possibility that he was hallucinating. That made far more sense than what was happening to him now. Only the persistent cold of the river and the deep ache of his body made him doubt his hallucination. Were phantasms supposed to hurt so very much? Could he not have imagined a warmer illusion for himself?

The dragon shifted her grip on him. Her massive hands took him under his armpits, the way he might hold a small child asking to be picked up. Her fingers were not long enough to span his ribcage, but he was acutely aware of one thumb claw resting over his sluggish heart. His life was literally in her hands. All she had to do was squeeze, and her claw would puncture his chest with ease. Even through the soaked layers of his clothes he could feel the sharpness of her claws.

Yet she did not kill him. Instead, she picked him up, balancing on her hind-quarters. She was gentle with him, or at least as gentle as a dragon bigger than a cart horse could be. His body was unbelievably heavy outside the weightlessness of the river and water poured off him like a wrung rag. His left leg straightened at last, causing agony to lance through his body. He did not have the breath to scream and could only gasp weakly.

Surely, he thought, this is hell. Life could not possibly hurt so much. Grey and red spots swam in his vision. His body was as limp as a cloth doll, his head hanging lifelessly. If there was mercy in Heaven above, he would pass out now.

Mercy was not given; the dragon was not yet done with him. She crouched and then gave a powerful hop into the air. His ribs compressed excruciatingly under her hands, forcing the breath from his lungs. Her wings swept down in a rush of skin and air. Was this when she would take him off to be killed?

She landed in the road, well away from the damaged section, and laid him down almost delicately. She settled her wings along her back and looked him over carefully. For the first time Darcy was able to see the whole of her. She stood on four legs, her body somewhat similar to a cat, save that her shoulders higher than Darcy’s head. Her neck was long and slender, her skull lengthened like a carnivorous horse. Her tail stretched out equally, held in the air instead of dragging on the ground. Her wings were huge and fleshy like a bat’s, the ribs between the webbing extending along the whole span of her back. She was a very dark color, probably black, but her sides were a little lighter, her stomach almost rosy in hue.

Darcy was obviously not in his right mind, as the only thought that came to him was, Pretty. There was something magnificent about this beast, a kind of sublime feeling that one might experience while looking at a perfectly built horse, or artwork from ancient Italian masters. Every part of her was harmonious to the whole, conveying a sense of grace, control, and raw vitality

The dragon suddenly sank to her haunches as if to pounce. Somehow Darcy did not mind if death came to him now. It would almost be an honor to be dispatched by such a glorious creature. But her eyes turned skyward, not toward him. When she leapt, it was not to kill, but to launch herself in flight. His breath caught in his throat as the rush of wind stroked his freezing body. The sound of her wings—like sails in a high breeze—thundered in his ears. Then she was a dark form rapidly growing smaller. He could only see her by the absence of stars, but even that little comfort faded a second later.

Darcy was utterly alone.

He missed her.

The dragon had been a dangerous, unpredictable predator, but she had been life and warmth. Her actions had been puzzling and atypical. There was no doubt in his mind that his dragon had a greater share of intelligence than most. Her presence, his ability to perceive her, had been proof that he still lived. She gave him something to think about besides his desperate situation.

True, his situation was not quite as miserable as before, but he could not lie to himself. He was out of the river, but the night was still very cold and his clothes were wet. He did not have the energy to clench his fingers, let alone find shelter or warmth for himself. He was not sure where he was: he had been on his way to visit his friend in Hertfordshire, but did not know at what point the road had collapsed. He had tried to reach Bingley with his mind, but either he was too weak or Bingley was too well shielded to hear him.

His body hurt, and Darcy still could not feel his right leg. That was probably not a good sign. He could do nothing but to stare upward at the night sky. Without a moon, the bright, tiny lights of the stars were innumerable. They were pretty but impassive observers who cared nothing for him. He could only think that they would witness the passing of one Fitzwilliam Darcy and hold their silence forever.

One hot tear escaped his eye, followed by another on the other side. It seemed, even abandoned and close to death, he could still cry. It was not fear or paid that made him cry, but the knowledge that he was utterly alone at this moment. Everyone he loved was far away, and would not learn of his death for days to come. Weeks, if his body was not found quickly.

Darcy was so tired. He blinked and it was an effort to open his eyes again. He thought, Why bother? Yet he could not stop himself from staring at the stars, as if they held the comfort he needed. His heart was heavy in his chest. Each beat, slower than the one before, was a heavy thud in his chest, an unpleasant reminder that he yet lived and suffered. He wished it would stop. Every contraction felt like a kick to his soul. The only good thing was that they were coming further apart.

Above him, the stars winked.

He was too far gone to be curious about it, or to remember when it had happened before. It took him even longer to realize that the pressure in his ears was sound, the snap of cloth billowing against the wind. And then the dragon stood over him. A creature of that size should have shaken the earth when she landed, but she came down as light as fresh snow.

Darcy’s heart leapt and that steady muscle galloped painfully in his chest. His despair evaporated. She had come back. Maybe she came back only to begin her meal, but he was no longer alone. He was irrationally glad to see her. If he could have, he would have reached for her. He wondered if her shiny scales were hard or soft to the touch. What was the texture of her wings? Was she warm to the touch, or as cool as the night air? Curiosity burned in his mind, distracting him from his own misery.

Her neck bent to bring her head close to him, but he still could not touch her. She looked him over as she had before. If he could ascribe emotion to her reptilian expression, he would have said she was distressed; he longed to comfort her. How could he show her that he was not afraid of death now that she was near? She lifted one front paw, hesitated in a strangely human gesture, then delicately laid her hand on his chest. Darcy felt oddly elated that in death, he might be able to help his dragon. But she did not press down and crush his ribs. She merely rested her hand on his ribcage as if checking for breath.

Could she feel his heart pounding against her fingers? The heat of her hand slowly trickled into his body. It was a comfort he had not looked for and all the more meaningful for coming from a beast that had no reason to care for him. Did she realize how much he appreciated her touch? He stared at her gratefully as his heartbeat strengthened and steadied. He could breathe easier for knowing that one creature would be with him when he died.

Or would he die? He realized the heat from her touch was not imaginary, nor was it purely body heat. Something passed from her into him. Darcy was at a loss to describe it: warmth, energy, life, magic. It did not heal him. His leg remained numb, and he did not gain the strength to move himself. But he no longer felt so worn. He felt a fragile hope that perhaps tonight would not see his end. How was it possible? He knew dragons were beings of immense magical energy, but he had never heard of one helping a human in this way.

The dragon lifted her hand from his chest. Immediately he felt cold and bereft and a sound of dismay broke from his throat. Thankfully, she did not leave him. She folded her limbs as gracefully as a cat and lay on the road next to him. There were mere inches of space between his body and hers. A shocking heat radiated outward from her, as though she were a furnace rather than a living being. Dragons breathed fire; was this heat part of her fire?

All Darcy knew was that it was stifling hot. After the chill of the river and the cold night air, it was too much for him to bear. He was an ice mage and no more used to feeling heat than he was to feeling cold. The reason he felt the temperatures now was because his magic was too exhausted to insulate him. He gritted his teeth as the heat sent painful needles of sensation into his body. His skin pulled tight like leather left in the sun.

Darcy bore it stoically for several minutes and then his body passed some internal threshold. Abruptly, he was not hot, but painfully cold. Shivers wracked his form. The dragon’s heat was no longer overwhelming; he craved it, needed more warmth to stop his shivers. If he could, he would have rolled toward her, heedless of the danger of touching the wild beast. Though her actions had been altruistic, there was no guarantee she would remain so if he startled her.

Small whimpers—of pain and cold—escaped his chest though he tried his best to suppress them. The dragon shifted. One huge wing unfurled and draped over him, enclosing him in a heated leather cocoon. He sighed in bliss as her warmth pierced him deeply. He marveled at the living tissue that surrounded him. This close, he could see the veins that carried life-blood to the far reaches of her wings. Her skin was very thick, thicker than two-ply bull leather, but it was as soft and flexible as the finest kid gloves. He felt a kind of mad glee to be held by the dragon in this fashion.

Darcy basked in her warmth as the pains in his body slowly faded. After the travails of this night, he closed his eyes peacefully, wanting nothing more than to sleep.. The dragon snorted loudly and nudged his shoulder with her muzzle. The gentle buffet from her was almost enough to shove him upright. He eyed her warily, thoroughly awake now. She saved him from the river, laid him on the road, gave him warmth and now she decided to have a piece of him? His cousin Richard would no doubt quip on the capriciousness of women—even a dragon-lady.

She met his eyes, provoking a wave of disorientation in Darcy. Animals rarely met the eyes of humans and doing so was usually a form of challenge. He felt no challenge from her and neither did he see the blank stare of a beast without intelligence. There was something very different about his dragon. She lay her head and neck on the ground in such a way as to watch both him and the road. He tried to remain awake, acutely aware of how vulnerable he was in her clutches but he was worn to the bone. Now that he was finally warm , it was impossible to avoid the lure of sleep.

Every time he closed his eyes for a second too long, the dragon jostled him into wakefulness. He imagined she was giving him a reproachful look when she woke him. What was she waiting for? Surely she had put too much effort into him to eat him, but he had no other frame of reference.

A long time seemed to pass, until suddenly the dragon looked up, her body growing tense. Darcy tried to see what had caught her attention, but her senses were superior to his. Her haunches gathered beneath her but she did not move for several minutes. The faintest sound of hoof beats reached his ears. Without warning the dragon shoved upward, rising into the air with preternatural speed. A horse whinnied in fear. Cold wind rushed to fill the gap where her warmth had been. He cried out at the sudden loss—it was torture after the relative comfort he had enjoyed. Instantly he began to shiver again.

“Darcy!” someone shouted from the darkness. It took Darcy a moment to recognize Charles Bingley’s voice. He was dazed again, missing his dragon and not understanding how Bingley could have found him in the middle of the night on a deserted road. A horse galloped toward Darcy and abruptly drew to a halt. Bingley threw himself down from the horse and knelt by Darcy’s side.

“My god, Darcy, what happened to you?” Bingley whispered in horror.

Darcy did not try to answer. He looked around wildly, searching for his rescuer: the dragon.

“Easy, Darcy,” Bingley said, holding him down without effort. “Help is on the way. You are freezing! Your clothes are wet.” Bingley muttered under his breath and heat engulfed Darcy again. It was not at all pleasant like the dragon’s warmth. No, this was like hot pillows were shoving down at him. Bingley kept whispering spells as he checked Darcy for injury. Darcy felt invisible bandages pull tight against his wounds.

Bingley stopped and swore when he reached Darcy’s right leg. “You will need a healer if you are to keep your leg,” he said grimly.

Darcy did not feel what Bingley did to his leg. Tears leaked from Darcy’s eyes, not for his leg, but because his dragon had abandoned him again. How was it that she could inspire such loss after so short a time? She had saved his life and touched his soul. If not for her, he would have succumbed to his injuries long ago.

Bingley stayed with him until Darcy heard more horses and the jingle of a harness. The sound jolted Darcy into the memory of the accident and he panicked as though it was happening again.

“Steady on, Darcy!” Bingley called, pushing him down again.

Darcy blinked, coming back from the recollection shaken and sweating. A carriage had pulled up on the road and several men surrounded him. They picked him up as gently as they could, Bingley casting a levitation spell that felt like a cushion under his buttocks, then carried him toward the carriage. Darcy yelled and fought against them, heedless of the pain. He did not want to go into that dark, enclosed space. His heart pounded in terror. He heard Bingley shouting to him, but could not make out the words. The men struggled to hold him without hurting him.

High in the sky, the stars winked. Darcy stopped fighting, staring up in desperate hope. He imagined he could feel the breeze of the dragon’s passing, carrying a hint of her gentle warmth. She had not left him. He still did not want to be put in the carriage, but this time allowed it. The motion of carriage sent him into terror and jolted his many injuries. Only that glimpse of the winking stars prevented him from trying to bolt out of the door.

His dragon was out there.

Chapter 2


Darcy woke slowly. He blinked groggily at the unfamiliar room. Where was he? He tried to sit up, but groaned at the shock of pain in his body. Everything hurt. A door opened and someone stepped into the room. Darcy peered blearily at him. He had the look of a manservant, and it was confirmed when he spoke.

“Good morning, Mr. Darcy,” the man said. “The apothecary recommended that you not move for some days yet. I sent word to Mr. Bingley that you have awoken and he should arrive soon. I am Todd Green. Mr. Bingley assigned me to care for you, if it pleases you. Is there anything I can assist you with?”

Darcy tried to speak, but his throat was parched. “Wa…” he croaked. His eyes darted to the water pitcher on a chest of drawers. Green poured him a cup of water, and then had to support him while Darcy sipped weakly. After several swallows, he began to feel better. He nodded and Green set the cup down. That small effort exhausted him more than he was willing to let on. He rested for a few minutes, then asked, “Help me sit up, please?” His voice was a raspy whisper, but at least he could speak.

Green moved to comply. He was a very competent manservant as he held Darcy’s shoulder and pushed pillows behind his back to support him. Darcy hated feeling weak. He loathed the dizziness that made his stomach roil. Every muscle in his body felt wrenched. The accident on the road had caused more damage than he had thought. What about his dragon rescuer? Was there some way to find her again? Could he thank her for pulling him out of the river and keeping him company until Bingley came?

He looked down at his body and felt immensely relieved to see two lumps under the blankets where his legs were. He tried to flex his toes. A hint of movement caused his left knee and hip to protest vigorously, but his right leg did not move at all. With great effort, he managed to flex his ankle, sending a sudden fire up his entire side. It felt like living coals had been shoved under his skin; they writhed and burned against his nerves. His back arched as his muscles seized against the agony.

He was vaguely aware of Green leaning over him and trying to keep him still. After several minutes Darcy’s body sagged. He was pale and sweating as Green helped him drink more water. Darcy’s hand was shaking too hard to hold the cup and he had never felt so defenseless against his own body. Any sort of movement caused shards of torment to lance through him. He focused on his breathing, and tried to bring his frantic heartbeat into order. The sour taste of fear was in his mouth. This was worse than when he thought he might die in the river. This was the fear of living forever in a broken body, unable to move for the pain of it.

A knock on the door interrupted his dark thoughts. Green answered it and Bingley entered.

One look at Darcy and he exclaimed, “Blast, you are pale! Green, has he been bleeding again?”

“Not that I am aware, sir,” Green answered promptly.

“I am well, Bingley,” Darcy ground out, grateful he could do this much without undue discomfort. “It is only a bit of pain.”

“A bit! Far more than a bit, I would say,” Bingley fell silent for a moment, then said quietly, “Green, the laudanum.”

Darcy started to protest. He hated the fuzzy feeling the medicine gave him, like he had no control of himself under its influence.

Bingley gripped his shoulder. “A small dose,” he said firmly.

Damn himself, but Darcy was so afraid of the crushing pain that he allowed a few drops of the bitter medicine to be poured into his mouth. He washed it down with more water. He hoped it would be enough to dull the pain without affecting his senses. Darcy looked at Bingley and saw his friend watching him grimly.

“You are in more pain than you let on,” Bingley said soberly. “I told Mr. Jones that you would not be likely to take the laudanum.”

At Darcy’s blank look, Bingley continued, “Mr. Jones is the local apothecary here. We woke him last night and he said he would be back again today to check on you. I also sent an express to the London Healer’s Guild, so we expect a healer soon.”

Darcy nodded weakly. It was not the exorbitant cost of the healer that worried him—he could afford it—but he had never been so injured as to need a healer. They were extremely rare and only called upon for the most grievous of injuries. Undoubtedly a healer would have a better chance of fixing his leg than an ordinary physician, but he did not know if a healer could help at this point.

“What happened to you, Darcy?” Bingley asked, pulling a chair to Darcy’s bedside and sitting in it. “I saw how the road collapsed and your carriage fell in the river, but how did you climb out with your leg?”

Darcy shuddered as he remembered the terrible jolt of the accident. He thought again of his dragon. His eyes instinctively sought the window, as if she would be outside waiting for him. In the light of day, it was too incredulous that such a creature could exist. He wished he could see the scene of the accident, to look for tracks to confirm her existence.

“I am not sure you would believe me,” he told Bingley slowly.

To his surprise, Bingley nodded knowingly. “Yes, I thought so. I too have a tale that is hard to believe. If I tell you mine, perhaps it will lend credence to yours.”

Darcy was intrigued. Had Bingley seen his dragon? He shifted toward Bingley carefully. There was pain, but it was not so overpowering if he did not move his leg. Green discreetly excused himself.

“Last night,” Bingley began with a flourish, “You were saved by an angel!”

Darcy blinked. That was not what he was expecting. Neither he nor Bingley were the overly religious type prone to attributing common coincidence to angelic intervention.

“I think she was an angel, for I do not know what else she could have been,” Bingley said more to himself than to Darcy. “I was asleep when the vision began. A beautiful maiden appeared before me. She had golden hair and eyes that match the blue of the deepest lake. She was the most beautiful creature I have ever seen.”

Darcy stifled an impatient sigh. So far Bingley’s story was rather the opposite of angelic. Bingley was far too quick to be pleased with a pretty face with no thought for the mind behind it. More than once Bingley had declared his love of some young lady, only to be disappointed when she did not live up to his ideal. No doubt this figment was more of the same. His “angel” was nothing more than an idealized form of someone he had met recently.

“But she was distressed,” Bingley said, oblivious to Darcy’s skepticism. “Tears ran down her face. I longed to comfort her.”

If Bingley began a litany of how he had “comforted” the angel, Darcy was going to hit him, no matter how much it hurt. That was not the sort of dream he wanted to hear about.

“I asked her what was wrong, and she said there was a man who needed my help. She held her hands out to me. I took them, and was instantly transported elsewhere. I saw you, Darcy. I saw you lying on the road and the overturned carriage. It was so clear I recognized you instantly. It was as though I was looking down from a great height, where an angel would fly.”

Or a dragon, Darcy thought, his interest intrigued by Bingley’s dream for the first time.

“I traveled down the road at great speed, and at the end of it I saw Netherfield, so I knew precisely where you were. I saw the angel again, and she was more urgent than ever. I promised I would go to you at once. That was when I woke. It was so vivid I could not doubt the veracity of what I had seen. I dressed at once and set off on my horse. I instructed my men to follow in the carriage as soon as they could.

“That was how I knew to find you in the middle of the night, when I was not expecting you for a few days yet. I can only believe the angel I saw must have been your guardian angel, alerting me to your need,” Bingley concluded. “Now will you tell me what happened to you? I cannot imagine you climbed out of the river on your own. The banks are six or seven feet deep, and the edges are still likely to crumble if you venture too near them. Did you see the angel? Did she pull you from the wreckage?” Bingley leaned forward eagerly, no doubt hoping for further evidence of the angel.

“It was not an angel,” Darcy said slowly. He could not make sense of Bingley’s dream. He believed Bingley must have seen something which summoned him to Darcy’s side. From Bingley’s perspective, an angel made sense. For Darcy, he had never once thought his rescuer was an angel. “It was a dragon.” He told his story of how the dragon had saved him.

Bingley was as confused as Darcy had been when the dragon first began helping him.

“There has not been a large dragon sighting in southern England in over fifty years,” he exclaimed in consternation.

“I realize that,” Darcy said with exasperation.

“Most dragons are northward now, as they prefer colder climates,” Bingley added.

“I know that,” Darcy retorted through gritted teeth.

“The last report of a dragon that big was nearly a century past.”

“I am aware of that.”

“The only thing dragon hunters catch these days are nuisance dragons the size of hawks and cats. I doubt many of them have seen a dragon larger than a dog, let alone one the size of a cart-horse! And dragons do not act like that. It is like a bear or wolf coming to your rescue.”

“Yes, Bingley, I know!” Darcy snapped irritably. He had gone over the same facts in his head since waking up, but it did not change his memory of the dragon. He could not stop thinking about her. He longed to see her again.

Bingley sat back with a thoughtful frown on his face. “Do you think it possible that your angel took the form of a dragon to appear to you? That would explain its un-dragon-like behavior.”

Darcy refrained from barking at Bingley again and forced himself to consider it seriously. His dragon was certainly female, and she had acted against every known expectation of her kind. But an angel? No, the only thing his dragon had in common with the angel was the ability to fly. She had been too real, too alive to have been a messenger from a higher plain of existence. He shook his head.

Bingley shrugged. “You could always ask our resident dragon expert,” he suggested.

Darcy looked up sharply. “Dragon expert?”

Bingley nodded. “One Mr. Thomas Bennet. He called on me when I first arrived in the neighborhood. From what I heard, he was a rather prominent spell mage twenty-five or so years ago. He was some sort of adventurer, a risk-taker. Then ,without warning, he disappeared. Most thought he had been killed, or that a curse had caught up to him at last. Then about two years ago, he published a book about dragons. Apparently he spent his time studying dragons in the wild. Only, it goes against what all the current experts say about dragons. They call it a romantic farce.”

Darcy’s memory stirred. “I vaguely recall something like that. The book caused something of a sensation. You think I could find answers from the author?” He allowed his doubt to color his voice.

Bingley shrugged. “I did not say you were required to see him. Have you read the book yourself?”

“I have not,” Darcy admitted. He remembered well the scorn of his fellow mages when the book was released. He had not bothered to look into something that was considered pure romantic notion. Now he felt a twinge of regret. His dragon had not acted like how dragons should … according to the current experts. What if there was something in the book that explained why his dragon was so different?

“Perhaps there is a copy in the library here,” Bingley mused. “To be honest, I have not browsed through the shelves here.”

Darcy was unsurprised, but chose not to comment.

At that moment, there was a knock on the door and Green entered to announce the arrival of Mr. Jones, the apothecary. The examination that followed was both thorough and unpleasant. It was high on the list of memories he wished to forget. It was impossible to concentrate through the pain, but he knew his condition was bad. Mr. Jones was concerned about infection in his leg. If he did not see a healer soon, he would lose his leg, and possibly his life.

Afterwards, Darcy was left alone to rest. He fell into a fevered sleep, his body taking any escape offered.

Later that evening, a healer arrived from London. He remembered little of the treatment that followed, being too weak and ill, but he was finally able to have a deep, dreamless rest.

In the morning, he woke up starving. Other than being light-headed with hunger, he felt better than he had for months. He threw off the blankets, determined to find something to eat. His left leg was intact, but his right leg was swathed in bandages. He stared at it in surprise. Until this moment, he had forgotten he was injured. He flexed his good leg cautiously. He felt lingering twinges of pain in his joints, but overall was much improved. He examined his right leg without moving it and marveled when he felt no pain from the limb. The swelling had been much reduced.

He was still hesitant to move, remembering the awful pain from his last attempt, but his stomach growled loudly, reminding him of his hunger. He braced himself to move when ­the door opened. Green entered with a tray of tea and toast, making Darcy’s mouth water. He felt like a ravenous dog, ready to pounce on the poor manservant.

“You will not be getting out of bed, young man!” a new voice snapped.

Darcy stiffened. No one spoke to him with such familiarity, not even the Earl of Matlock, his uncle. A stranger entered behind Green. He would have been a tall man, if not for the pronounced stoop in his back. His hair was a wild shock of white, and his face was deeply seamed. Despite being twice Darcy’s age, the man’s eyes were dark and clear. Now he was glaring at Darcy, not affected by the equally stern look Darcy leveled at him.

The old man was still spry as he bustled to Darcy’s bed and unceremoniously pushed him down again. Darcy was surprised by his own weakness at not being able to resist. The man drew the covers over him again. Darcy caught a glimpse of a heavy signet ring stamped with the Rod of Asclepius: a single snake wrapped around a staff. His outrage at his treatment faded slightly. The healer had managed to save his leg, and healers were known to be no respecter of persons. It was hard to demand preferential treatment from someone who could easily withhold their services at the next injury or illness.

With Darcy safely tucked into bed—like a child, much to his disgruntlement—the healer introduced himself.

“I am Strom Faust,” he began regally.

“Doctor Faustus?” Darcy blurted before he could stop himself.

The man drew himself up imperially. “I am a healer ,” he snapped with asperity, “Not some academic who soul his soul for knowledge. I use magic to heal bodies, not practice quack medicine!”

Darcy was properly abashed for his irreverent comment. He was not used to being treated so casually and had lashed out without thought. Strom Faust was a man who deserved respect for saving Darcy’s life and livelihood.

The healer paused for a moment, and then added, “Though you will think I am the devil if you do not follow my instructions.”

Darcy looked up quickly. Mr. Faust’s eyes sparkled with mischief and Darcy found himself liking the old man. The healer was a strange man, Darcy quickly discovered. Everything he did was forceful and quick and yet his hands were exceedingly gentle as he inspected Darcy’s leg. The mangled flesh was difficult to look at, but it was flushed soft pink instead of angry red. It was as though four weeks had passed in a single night. Movement was still extremely painful, and Darcy was grateful Mr. Faust had stopped him from getting out of bed.

“It was good someone was able to infuse you, young man,” Mr. Faust said.

“Infuse?” Darcy repeated weakly.

“Yes, that is what we call it. It is an infusion, so to speak, of energy, magic, into another person. It is not well known outside of healing circles. Without that extra energy, I would not have been able to help as much as I have. If that was you, Mr. Bingley, that was very well done,” Mr. Faust added.

Bingley jumped in surprise. “No, not I,” he said in confusion.

“No need to be humble about it. Someone did it. That kind of power does not appear from nowhere,” Mr. Faust looked from Bingley to Darcy as if expecting one of them to confess. Darcy knew exactly who had given him an infusion. His dragon, when she put her hand on his chest. That warmth and life flowing into him, more than merely physical. But he could not tell the healer that a dragon had given him the energy. Bingley’s face cleared as he too remembered Darcy’s story.

“Perhaps it was an angel,” Bingley said with a grin. Darcy fought the urge to roll his eyes.

The examination complete, Darcy was allowed to eat at last while Mr. Faust left instructions. Darcy was to remain in bed for another three days at least, for his body was still healing at an accelerated rate, and needed to rest as much as possible. Darcy started to protest, but bit his tongue at Mr. Faust’s stern look. The healer demonstrated some small exercises Darcy could perform to help stretch and strengthen his leg after he was allowed out of bed.

He also showed Darcy, Green and Bingley the use of a leg brace and cane that Darcy would require for some weeks. Darcy’s heart fell as he realized he would not be able to ride a horse for above six months. The merest thought of a carriage ride made him break out in a cold sweat. It appeared he would be depending on Bingley’s hospitality for much longer than he had anticipated.

Though he had been awake for a short time—less than half an hour—he was thoroughly exhausted by the time Mr. Faust finished speaking. He thanked Mr. Faust gravely. The healer left with a knowing glint in his eye. Darcy was asleep before the door had closed behind him.

Darcy remembered little of the next three days. In the normal course of things, he would have hated being confined to his bed for so long. Instead, he slept long hours, waking only when hunger grew too great to bear. Green watched over him constantly, occasionally with Bingley as well. They plied him with strong tea and as much food as he wished.

Green would then help him sit up to attend to his toilet needs. Darcy would attempt Mr. Faust’s exercises, but they left him sweating and pale with pain after a very few repetitions. Then Darcy slept again. It seemed an endless round of waking and sleeping. Darcy quickly became bored of it, but could not resist the pull of sleep.

On the afternoon of the third day, Darcy woke and stared at the ceiling. It was a rare moment when Green was not in the room. He stared at long golden slices of light from the window, and wished he was anywhere but in bed. He desperately needed distraction from his situation. Perhaps Bingley could find that dragon book and bring it to him? And then Darcy realized this was the first time he had woken without that starvation gnawing at him. He was mildly hungry, yes, but not that great emptiness that demanded to be filled at once.

Green entered the room carrying a fresh tray with food. Darcy pushed himself up without assistance, clearly startling Green. Green set the tray in front him. Darcy looked at the food, and realized that he was hungrier for conversation.

“Thank you for tending me these last few days,” he said quietly. His voice was hoarse; he cleared his throat.

Green’s face showed surprise before he quickly masked it. “It is no issue, sir,” he answered properly. “It is my duty to serve. Pardon me for observing, but you appear much more alert than usual.”

“Yes,” Darcy said gratefully, his voice growing stronger with use, “Whatever trance Mr. Faust put over me seems to have broken. I am only a little tired, but I find I do not mind company now.”

“Very well, sir. Perhaps after your meal, you should like to attend to the exercises Mr. Faust left for you?”

Darcy blanched at the memory of pain and fatigue, but nodded bravely: there would be no recovery without some discomfort. “Yes, I think I should like that. What time is it?”

“A little before four, sir. I have already informed Mr. Bingley that you are awake. I imagine he will be here shortly.”

Indeed, Darcy was still picking through his food when Bingley knocked and entered. He broke into a wide grin at seeing Darcy awake and was more than happy to supply the conversation Darcy lacked. Green faded discreetly into the background as they spoke. Bingley described Netherfield and the surrounding neighborhood. Darcy hid a grimace to hear that Bingley’s sisters and brother-in-law were also in residence. The Hursts did not bother him, but Miss Bingley… He shuddered. He eyed the door to his room with trepidation, hoping it was reinforced against her entrance. He did not like to think how she might take advantage of him in his helpless state.

After Green cleared away his tray, Darcy consented for his bandages to be changed. In his three days of sleeping, it looked as though he had healed another two weeks. There were no longer open sores to protect, but his skin was still exceedingly tender. He had thick, ropy scars from the top of his thigh to mid-calf. Darcy eyed them with regret. Mr. Faust had said they might soften in time, but he would always carry them. It was obvious even to Darcy’s untrained eye that the structures under the scars were badly damaged as well. His muscles had atrophied, and needed to be built up again.

He was also surprised to realize he had lost over two stone of weight. His ribs were gaunt under his skin and he looked as though he had suffered a long illness. Mr. Faust had warned him of this as well. The energy for healing had to come from somewhere. The healer provided it initially, but to continue with the healing, his body had drawn on his own reserves.

Green wrapped Darcy’s leg again, to provide support and protection for his new skin. Darcy attempted the exercises for his leg. Green placed his hands on an undamaged section of Darcy’s leg to provide resistance against moving. Normal movement was still painful for Darcy. Movement with even the slightest resistance was instantly agonizing. He was exhausted in a very short time. He had hoped to begin walking at once, but instead it was all he could do to lay back in bed. Green had to lift his leg for him. Darcy was asleep at once.

In the morning, he fared somewhat better. After breakfast and the exercises, Green applied the brace to Darcy’s leg. He stood for the first time since the accident. It hurt—everything hurt—but standing on his own feet made him feel whole again. He tried to take a step, but nearly collapsed. Green caught him and eased him back to bed.

“Did Bingley hire you to be my valet or my nursemaid?” Darcy snapped at him.

“Today I am both, sir,” Green replied with perfect poise.

Darcy’s face darkened with shame. He had no right to take his frustrations out on Green. The man had been a faultless servant, and he did not deserve Darcy’s ire.

“I apologize,” Darcy said stiffly. “I fear I am not good company.”

“Not many people facing such hardships are, sir,” Green excused him with an incline of his head. As the manservant left, Darcy wondered what other invalids Green had attended before. His ability to deal with Darcy’s injury—and temper—without flinching spoke of previous experience. Darcy tried to remain awake, but without anything to focus on, he soon succumbed to boredom. He slept again.

He woke early in the afternoon to the sound of Bingley clumsily trying to sneak into his room. Bingley managed to look both chagrinned and pleased at having woken Darcy.

“I found that book,” Bingley said, holding up a leather-clad volume. “Endorsed personally by the author, our neighbor. I looked through it briefly. Pretty pictures, but I admit I did not read any of it.”

The dragon book. Darcy took it gratefully, but did not immediately open it. After sharing a light tea with Bingley, Darcy called for Green to help with his exercises. He practiced shifting his weight onto the cane, but did not try to walk. Bingley praised his progress vociferously, though Darcy did not feel he had earned such approbation, for any toddler could do the same.

He regained his strength slowly over time. He failed to see his daily improvements, which led to frustration and black doubts. By the end of the week, when he could limp heavily to the door and back, he concluded that he was indeed improving. He tried not to allow his limitations to depress him, but it was a frequent struggle. Anytime when he was awake and without company, he studied the dragon book.

It was titled simply, Dragons: A Study. The author’s name was listed as T. E. M. Bennet. Darcy skipped the first few pages and went directly to the first chapter, which detailed the anatomy and physiology of dragons. He searched for any hint of his dragon and why she had saved him. Darcy forced himself to read with an open mind. The book had been lauded as a farce and discredited by nearly every expert alive. And yet, if he told those experts about his experience with his dragon, he knew they would call him a liar. Perhaps there was more to dragons than was known. Was it possible T. E. M. Bennet had written undiscovered secrets?

At the beginning of the chapter was a small drawing of a red and copper-green dragon. It was done in bold jewel tones, impressing him with the quality of the work. The artist had made the little dragon very life-like, with a mischievous expression. He traced the beautiful illumination and found himself wishing he could commission the same artist to do a portrait of his dragon.

He tore his eyes from the drawing and began reading. Within a few pages, he slammed the book shut and shoved it away from him angrily. T. E. M. Bennet described a dragon’s front paws to be like that of an eagle’s talon, with three forward facing claws and a single backwards claw, but Darcy knew that to be patently false. He remembered every detail of his dragon, including how human her front paws had been. She had had four fingers and a thumb, covered with scales and tipped with massive talons, but very human-like in structure. Had Bennet ever seen a dragon in person?

With a heavy sigh he picked up the book and resumed reading. It took him three days to finish the book and by that time he was still doubtful as to the veracity of it. Popular opinion held dragons to be vicious killers, burning towns and villages to the ground without provocation. To see one in the wild was as good as a death sentence, for they would actively hunt down any human they saw. They were also purported to be immune to magic, and impossible to tame.

Bennet described dragons as shy, retiring creatures. They were mostly solitary animals that formed loose social groups with their closest kin. He held that dragons were territorial, fierce when cornered, and extremely protective of mates or offspring, but would otherwise choose to leave people alone if given the chance. The only thing Bennet’s book held in common with popular opinion was the inability to tame dragons.

No wonder the book was held as a sensational farce! He was not sure what to believe. While his dragon had not acted like the vicious, bloody-thirsty hunter, she certainly had not been shy to approach him.

Nothing explained his dragon’s actions, and he was growing more and more frustrated with the book and its author. Bennet claimed that dragons were impossible to tame, even when hatched from the shell, for eventually natural instinct would emerge. Bennet also observed that dragons, as well as eating a large quantity of meat, also ate magic , which was why dragons were often seen basking themselves at leylines—invisible rivers of magic—and nodes where two or more leylines crossed. Rather than being immune to magic, they were highly resistant to its forces on account of their ability to absorb any magic cast on them.

And yet, his most outrageous statement was that as well as absorbing magic, which was ludicrous enough, they could also exude magic. They used it to feed their young, or to assist a weakened companion. That was the only thing that kept Darcy from throwing the book from him in disgust. What Bennet described was very close to how he had felt when his dragon gave him energy. That was the infusion that Mr. Faust said had saved Darcy’s life and leg. So it was possible, and a dragon trait according to Bennet. But he still did not know why.

He flipped through the book repeatedly, absently studying the dragon sketches at the beginning of each chapter. The same artist had drawn them and they were done in gem-bright colors: orange and blue, purple and gold, silver and pearl. Each one was in a different pose and showed unique emotions, from pride to anger, from contentment to playfulness. He studied each one looking for his dragon, but these small drawings, no matter how masterfully done, could not measure up to her beauty and grace. She had possessed a liveliness of spirit that these dragons did not. For lack of a better description, she had been vitally intelligent and caring, while the dragons littered through the book were merely beasts.

Darcy scowled in disappointment. He was still undecided about talking to Bennet about the dragon he had seen. He tried to focus his energy on healing, but odd thoughts of his dragon continued to creep into his mind. Green had managed to fit his brace under his pants leg, so that it was not immediately obvious that he was impaired. The limp and his cane were unavoidable, but at least he could hide the stigma of the brace. He had to learn to walk all over again. The slightest pressure on his right leg was agonizing and he had to rely heavily on his cane. He persevered, despite the pain and weakness that were his constant companions. Every day he walked a little further. The rest of his body quickly gained strength, but his right leg remained his greatest vulnerability.

Riding was out of the question, and the thought of being in an enclosed carriage still made his chest tighten in panic. At least Bingley did not mind hosting him during his convalescence. Before Mr. Faust left, he had had cautious optimism that over time Darcy would regain nearly full use of his leg. He might always feel an ache when he was tired, and possibly retain his limp for the rest of his days. However, it was likely he could one day ride again. It was with this goal in mind that Darcy steadily pushed on with his recovery, no matter how futile it seemed.

There was, however, one positive outcome of his accident and injury. Miss Bingley still attempted to pursue him, but his physical impairment had cooled her advances. She pretended to fawn over him, but when she thought he would not see it, she sneered at the way he struggled with simple actions like opening a door or rising from a chair. Subterfuge of any sort was abhorrent to him, but secretly he acted slower and weaker in her presence. If his disability made him less desirable in her eyes, he was not above using it to his advantage.

When the house was too small to contain him, he took to walking outdoors. At first it was freeing to be in the fresh air again, but he was faced with a new set of challenges. His balance was less sure than before, thus he had to be more careful to choose his path. Stairs were very difficult and uneven ground was freshly hazardous to him. He feared a rock turning under his foot, causing him to fall and be reinjured. There were things even Mr. Faust could not heal, and he had no desire to lose his leg after all.

Whenever he went out, Green insisted on accompanying him. Darcy resented it at first—he was not a little boy who needed a nanny—but the lure of outdoors was too great for him. He pushed himself too far one day, and lost his strength to return. His leg seized up, and his heart felt like it was going to pound out of his chest. Green assisted him back to the house. Footmen had to carry Darcy to his room. His leg remained stiff and inflamed for two days after, while Darcy lay in a fevered stupor.

Thereafter, he was much more aware of his limitations. He still pushed himself to improve, but not to the point where he was worked to exhaustion every day. Mr. Faust had warned Darcy that rest was as important as exercise to his recuperation.

Throughout everything, he never forgot his dragon. He dreamed of his silent protector almost every night. As he walked outside, he scanned the skies for her shadow. At night, he stared out the window and waited for the stars to blink. When he was sitting with his leg propped up, he would flip disconsolately through Bennet’s book. He studied each drawing for hints of his dragon. He attempted to capture her image on paper, but his hand was unequal to the task of matching his memory of her.

When Bingley caught him looking through Bennet’s book—again—he suggested meeting with the author, who lived only three miles away. Darcy refused. He knew Bennet would not have the answers he wanted. He felt the need to protect his dragon from prying eyes and had no desire to share her with anyone else.

Ironically, Bingley was almost as obsessed with the angel from his dream. They still did not have an explanation for Bingley’s dream that led to Darcy’s discovery. Bingley continued to believe Darcy must have a guardian angel watching over him. There was a disconsolate look in Bingley’s eyes as he looked at Darcy. It was as though Bingley was distressed that Darcy had a greater claim to the angel than himself.

Darcy was less convinced that an angel had saved him. He had no other explanation, other than the dragon. Was it possible she had somehow communicated his need to Bingley? Again, he did not see how when dragons were as mute as dogs. Unless Darcy found his dragon, both Bingley’s angel and Darcy’s rescue were bound to remain a mystery forever.

Bingley exuded his usual air of cheerfulness, but Darcy knew his friend—Bingley was forever falling in love with pretty faces. It was clear to Darcy that Bingley was besotted with this angel. Usually being away from the lady in question would make Bingley come back to his senses, but this time it was only an image in his dreams that he was chasing. Bingley was unable to act on his impulses, and grew increasingly frustrated. Darcy cautioned him against losing his mind to a phantasm, and Bingley became uncharacteristically short with him.

He turned on Darcy. “And what of you?” Bingley demanded. “Insisting that some dragon pulled you out of the river, when no such creature had existed in this part of England for centuries? And you never doubt that she is real! I tell you, we both may be chasing images, but at least mine is an angel.”

Darcy could say nothing to that. Was this fixation with his dragon unhealthy? It was more than curiosity that drew him to her. If a dog had saved his life by dragging him from the river, he would still be deeply grateful. He would have made every effort to locate it, and if it was not owned, would have taken it home to Pemberley to be fondly cherished for the rest of its life. He felt a strong companionship to his horses at Pemberley, but did not feel the same longing for their presence that he felt for the dragon.

She had been gentle with him. She had delicately untangled his leg without severing his flesh, then carried him out of the river. She had kept him warm, and prevented him from sleeping when it would have been deadly for him. She was guided by more than animal intelligence. Was it possible that Bennet had achieved the impossible and tamed a dragon as a pet? Could Bennet have been a silent observer that night, directing the dragon into her unorthodox actions? Darcy’s heart clenched at the thought of his dragon being under another man’s control.

It was not that Darcy wanted to command her himself. Such a beautiful, wild creature should be free, not obligated to someone else. She had saved him and now he felt the desire to be her champion. He was not certain why he was convinced she needed a champion, but he longed to become her defender.

“You know, Darcy,” Bingley said a few minutes later, “I think we have been brooding for too long. There is an assembly tonight at the local village here, Meryton. We were invited but I did not want to attend until you were able. Why do we not go and free our minds from our troubles for a short while?”

Darcy cringed at the idea of a dance in his current condition. Bingley enjoyed the noise and bustle of public gatherings. Even at his best, Darcy did not. Now, at the thought of revealing his weakness in front of crowds of strangers, he felt physically ill. He knew he could not dance in his condition. He would look like an inept drunkard, tripping over his cane. There was every chance he would fall as he lost his balance. And that was only if the pain from his leg did not make him pass out first.

He opened his mouth to protest the notion of the assembly, but as usual with these things, it was too late to dissuade Bingley. Darcy could only close his eyes and pray the evening would pass quickly.

Chapter 3

Lizzy Bennet had a secret. Well, she had two secrets, really. There was the secret that everyone knew and the one that no one did. The first, the one she thought of as The-Worst-Kept Secret-Ever, was that she was cursed to spend more than half her time as a dragon. It had not been that much time when she was younger, but the older she got, the longer she was confined as a dragon. She had guessed that she had, at most, a year or two before she would be in dragon form all the time.

The reason she called it The-Worst-Kept-Secret-Ever was that though no one spoke of it, nearly all of Hertfordshire knew she was a dragon. Papa had tried to keep her dragon side hidden as long as possible, but it was nearly impossible to keep a normal human child contained, let alone a highly energetic and rapidly growing dragon youngster. Thankfully, Papa had also taught her the importance of responsibility as early as possible. There were times when he might have been stricter on her than on her sisters, but it had been necessary considering the damage she could have done if she had run wild.

The best thing he had done for her was make her responsible for Longbourn’s sheep herd at a very young age. While her sisters were learning etiquette and how to serve tea, Lizzy learned to attend lambing, how to select good bloodlines, to repair fences and manage the pasture. The sheep were more than Longbourn’s primary source of income: they were also Lizzy’s main food supply as a dragon. Being able to control her meals taught her the value of good stewardship. If the sheep suffered, so did Lizzy.

Sir William Lucas, their closest neighbor, had at first objected to Lizzy learning such mannish work. That was, until he noticed the pony-sized dragon that often perched on the fence, watching the sheep and guarding them from predators. Once Sir William understood that the occupation was keeping Lizzy as a dragon from getting into mischief, he became silent on the topic.

That was not to say that Lizzy did not have her share of childhood mishaps. But she was called to account on every one of them, and if she did harm to property, she was made to pay recompense for it like a grown man. That taught her early that her actions had consequences, even more so as a dragon.

That was how the dragon of Hertfordshire came to be an open secret. It was not talked about in front of strangers, but it was understood that the often glimpsed dragon was one of their own.

The second secret, the one that Lizzy told no one, was that she actually liked being a dragon. Sure, there were some aspects that were less than ideal. She would miss her family and her human life when the curse turned her fully dragon; she had no intention of remaining in Hertfordshire when that happened. Her family would only look on her with pity, especially Papa. He was the least reconciled to her condition, for he blamed himself for the curse that controlled so much of her life.

Another part that was difficult about being a dragon was her large size. She was much taller than a draft horse, though only about half as wide and not nearly as heavy. If not for the dower house, it would have been impossible for her to hide herself.

The worst part of being a dragon was the heat. Summertime was particularly miserable as a dragon. Her body generated a lot of heat from her internal fire, and retained it easily. The only way she could cool down was to pant like a dog and fan her wings. Papa often gave her permission to fly northward to cooler climes, or visit the ocean during the worst of the summer. Every year she prayed for an early winter to find relief from the unbearable warmth.

When she spent time as a dragon, she also had to eat as one. That meant she consumed several hundred pounds of meat a week when she spent a large amount of time in her scaled body. She tried to spend at least part of each day as a dragon when it was convenient, to minimize the time she would have preferred to be human but was forced into dragon shape.

Communication as a dragon was difficult as well: she could not speak in the human way. She was lucky that the innate magic of being a dragon—dragons being intensely magical creatures to begin with—was enough to allow her to speak in the magical way, with her mind. Unfortunately, she could only speak to those who already had a magical gift. She could speak freely with Papa and Charlotte Lucas, but not with any of her sisters. The better she knew the mage she was talking to, the further she could reach them with her mind. She could contact Papa from a couple hundred miles away. Charlotte was a much weaker mage than Papa, and so they could only talk from perhaps five miles or less. With a stranger she had never met, she could barely speak across the room.

Other than those limitations, she did not mind being a dragon. Most of the time, she loved it. There was always a part of the dragon that remained with her. She was strong, much stronger than a grown man, let alone the human girl she pretended to be. Her senses and reflexes were much sharper than those of her fellow humans. Her balance was unparalleled: as a child, she used to run through the treetops with the confidence of a squirrel.

She never got cold and she loved the snow. Her internal fire kept her warm, even when she frolicked in a deep, icy lake. She could lie out on an icy mountainside and feel only pleasant coolness.

On a trip to the sea as a child, her strength and immunity to cold had made her fearless when it came to playing in the waves. She swam much further out than most adults would venture. She had turned herself into a dragon in the water and found that she could swim even better in that form. So long as she was never out of the range of Papa’s mental communication, he allowed her to explore to her heart’s content. As a young dragon, she had been able to hold her breath for roughly ten minutes; now that time was nearly doubled.

It was in the ocean that she first discovered sea dragons. Sea dragons! They were as friendly and curious as dolphins, and at least as intelligent. They had only vestigial wings, and could not fly, but were able to hold their breaths for much longer. More than once she had been nudged to the surface when they felt she had stayed under long enough. Cavorting with the sea dragons was one of her fondest memories. To this day she still flew down to the ocean several times a year to visit her aquatic cousins.

Another advantage of being a dragon was that she could breathe fire. She was not very good at it, as she rarely got the chance to practice. However, she was proud of the modest flame she could produce. She had a magical immunity to being burned, even in her human form.

Magic was another bonus she enjoyed. Not only did magic allow her to communicate with other mages, but magic was a part of her daily life. She was constantly amazed by how much magic was in the world around her—and how deaf and blind humans were to all but the most obvious. Even Papa, the strongest spell mage she knew, could not detect half of what she did. Even as a human she was sensitive to the small eddies and currents in the magical flow around her. She was immune to most spells and magical effects. When she chose to, she could dismantle any spell by simply absorbing it.

She was constantly picking up small pieces of magic that way. It happened as simply as breathing. She could be walking with Jane and Mary, and a gust of magic would cross the road, like a breeze only she could feel. The magic would sink into her skin, perhaps raising the small hairs on her arms for a moment. That was only a sign of what happened to her on a daily basis.

When she crossed a leyline, an invisible river of magic, she shivered in response. If she came across a node, where two or more leylines met, her entire body was suffused in magic. It was all she could do to remain on the ground and not float away with the power of it. As a dragon the effect was greater. She could hover over a powerful node for days, letting the magic pummel her muscles like strong blasts of water.

Papa was convinced that magic sustained her as much as food did. She knew that she became restless when she went too long without visiting a leyline. As well as taking magic in, they had discovered that she could also impart that magical strength to another mage. When she did that, she had the same hollow feeling as when she needed to eat.

Without a doubt, the absolute best part of being a dragon was her wings. She could fly . There were no words to describe the great freedom that came from being able to fly. It was a dance in the air that her earthbound family could never begin to understand. She pitied them, for she could not imagine what it was like to look at the sky and not know she could climb upwards any time she wanted.

She loved flying. She lived for the rush of wind on her face and wings. She craved the coil and surge as her muscles powered her ever higher. She coveted that moment of weightlessness when she folded her wings at the top of a dive. She thrilled at the feeling of hurtling towards the earth, and the exhilaration of the great weight that fell on her when she snapped her wings open at last. She gloried in soaring high above everything else. The whole world and all its concerns were reduced to small figures that seemed unimportant when she flew. It was not about being above them; it was about being free.

Lizzy performed aerial acrobatics like other people walked and ran: tight corkscrews, wild somersaults, and lazy loop-de-loops. She had taught herself to hunt as a dragon. At first it was a matter of play when she first began to stretch her wings at ten years old. Later it was a form of exercise and defense as Papa, Lizzy, and eventually Mary began to venture deeper into the territory of other sky dragons in an effort to learn more about Lizzy. In a year or two, it would become a matter of survival when she left the safety of Longbourn to strike out on her own, fully dragon. She was determined not to raid the fields of poor shepherds for her sustenance when she was a dragon.

She had encountered other dragons on her journeys with Papa and Mary. On the whole, they tended to be more territorial and less friendly than sea dragons. Once she hit puberty, she had been larger than most of the fully grown dragons they had met. So long as her family maintained a respectful distance from the other dragons, very few of the wild ones bothered Papa and Mary with Lizzy, in dragon form, watching over them.

So for Lizzy, it was good to be a dragon. She had traveled further and was far more educated than most young ladies of limited means, all in an effort to understand her curse. She told Papa once that she enjoyed her time as a dragon, but he got such a hurt, sad look on his face that she never dared mention it to him again. He already carried the guilt from being the one that had caused the gypsy curse. Through all the years, he had never stopped looking for a cure to the curse. She knew he was not resigned to her future as a dragon, but they had tried every method to break her curse. Papa had chased down every rumor that might have led to a cure.

Lizzy knew he was holding onto the hope that she might yet find a young man to love her, for that sort of love was a strong cleansing force that might finally break her curse. Lizzy held no such hope for herself. She did not believe there was a man alive that could tolerate his wife being stronger than him, or understand her longing to fly. Furthermore, if her curse was truly broken, she would no longer be a dragon. She was not looking forward to the moment when she would be unable to return to her human body, but neither could she imagine not having her dragon-half curled inside her, waiting to emerge.

It was why she insisted on Papa putting all of their discovered knowledge of dragons into a book for publication. When she was gone, he would still have that book to remind him of her. They had spent hours in his study, slowly compiling his notes into a cohesive volume. She wished she was still in his study now, instead of this crowded assembly hall.

She did not care for dances as a rule. They were hot, noisy, and smelly. Having tasted the freedom of the skies, she hated being hemmed in on all sides. It was difficult to hide what she was in a crowd. She was so much stronger and faster than everyone else that she had to be careful how she moved and interacted with people.

She had a reputation as a graceful dancer, but when possible she preferred to defer to her sisters. Dancing in a hall was not at all like dancing in the air, and she did not feel that the company of a man made up for it. Her sisters were more likely to find husbands on the dance floor than she was. While she would never stoop to the levels of Mrs. Bennet in an effort to see her sisters married, she would be more comfortable when it came time for her to leave as a dragon if she knew good men were taking care of her sisters.

Lizzy moved slowly through the dance hall, avoiding attention while surreptitiously keeping an eye on her sisters. She mentally reached for Papa, somewhat jealous that he had managed to remain home this night.

What is it, my dear? Papa asked.

What book are you reading? she asked plaintively. Reading was another of those things she would miss when she was fully dragon. She loved to read, but as a dragon she was rather far sighted. It made reading the small print of books very difficult for her. First Papa, then later Jane and now Mary read to her as a dragon, continuing her education when she was unable to turn pages herself.

Papa chuckled. Bored, are we?

Please, Papa, she begged, Everyone is dancing but me.

He snorted. And if I know you, you already turned down everyone who asked you. Do not lie to your old man.

She did not answer. He was right, of course. He usually was.

If you would only relax a little at these gatherings… he began.

There was a stir at the door. Her curiosity was peaked. Dragons were as curious as cats, and that was another part that had bled into her human nature. The new party from Netherfield walked in. Among them was the stranger she had pulled from the river. Her focus narrowed on him. In the light of the room, she was surprised to realize that he was actually quite handsome. In her dragon form, she was not always the best judge of human appearance. Just now, his face was pinched and frowning. He walked with a cane and a heavy limp.

Lizzy, are you even listening to me? Papa asked. You feel distracted suddenly.

The Netherfield party has just arrived, she replied absently. The man from the river is here. He looks like he is in great pain.

Do not mother him, he warned. Men do not want to be mothered by their potential mates.

I am not a potential mate, she scoffed, and broke the connection to her father. She faded into the shadows of the dance hall, subtly stalking her prey. She did not usually reveal herself as a dragon to strangers, but once she discovered the man in the river, she could not have left him there. Papa said she had saved the stranger’s life, but she did not like to think of it like that. She preferred instead to say that she helped him, as though he only needed a little assistance to get out of the river on his own.

She did have to admit she was deeply curious about him, far more than even Papa suspected. She was the first in Hertfordshire to discover him and she felt drawn to him since she had played such a big role in his arrival. Papa thought she was only concerned that the stranger might cause trouble for her if he spread the tale of his rescue, but it was more than that. She studied him closely, trying to understand the tug she felt near him. His eyes swept the assembly. Her heart lurched in her chest, and she ducked behind a tall man to hide.

Suddenly she did not want to be near him. She wanted to run—fly—from him. Something like horror gripped her limbs, freezing her blood to the marrow. No other person had ever caused such a reaction in her. Dragons feared nothing in the wild, and she had shared that fearlessness all her life. For the first time, she felt her heart pounding in panic. She backed away from the Netherfield party, careful to remain unseen. And yet… she could not leave. She turned around to face the stranger again.

She still felt the peculiar urge to flee, but for the moment it was overwhelmed by that curious draw towards him. She had never felt such a thing for another person before. She did not know how to deal with her emotions. It left her fragile and unbalanced, two things she hated as a dragon.

She tore her eyes from the dark-haired stranger to look at the others in his party. There was the young gentleman mage she had summoned with an image of Jane. The older, heavy gentleman took a chair near the refreshments, helping himself liberally. His bland wife clung fearfully to the second lady of the party. This lady was proud and disapproving. She looked over the assembly as if each occupant had personally offended her. Lizzy was not fond of the gathering herself, but she bristled to see how fast the shrewish lady from Netherfield dismissed the good people of Meryton. The lady also stood possessively close to the stranger, seeking to draw his attention to herself. Lizzy was unaccountably jealous at the woman’s obvious scheming.

The stranger, however, was not taken in by her charms. He rebuffed her advances repeatedly, until the prissy woman gave up. Lizzy’s estimation of the stranger’s intelligence and taste rose. Thereafter, the proud lady spent the evening complaining to the little mouse still clinging to her arm. With the exception of the stranger and the one lady, the Netherfield party seemed harmless.

Mrs. Bennet bustled up to the newcomers with four of her daughters in tow. The fair-colored gentleman gave a start as he looked at Jane and quickly asked her to dance. Lizzy thought Jane seemed pleased by his attention. Not for the first time, she wished she could speak to her sisters in her mind.

Her attention was drawn back to the handsome stranger as he moved cautiously to a window. He limped, but tried to hide it. Did he feel as trapped in here as she did? The longer she watched him, the more her unease about him faded, leaving only a curious sense of kinship. Of course, he would not recognize her as the one who had pulled him from the river, but she found herself wanting to know more about him.

He stiffened when Sir Lucas and Charlotte approached him. The stranger inclined his head curtly, and moved away. His abrupt manner shocked the assembly. Murmurs rose around Lizzy, easily overheard with her sensitive ears. She did not care for the slight to her best friend, but as the man turned, she caught an expression like panic in his grey eyes. She had not seen eyes like that before, light and dark at the same time. Was he not healing well? She remembered how grave his injuries had been; against her better judgement, she had given him a dose of magic once he was free of the river. At the time, it had seemed the only way to keep him alive.

She shifted to keep the stranger in view, always keeping to the shadows on the opposite side of the hall from him. She felt a brush on her mind, and recognized the caller.

Would you like to know about them? Charlotte asked eagerly.

Lizzy laughed silently. Please, do tell, she responded. As the daughter of the master of festivities, Charlotte often learned things before anyone else. Being able to communicate in the magical way allowed the girls to trade information freely.

The one dancing with your sister is Mr. Bingley, and he is estimated to have 5,000 a year. The two women are his sisters, Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst. Mr. Hurst is the one refilling his plate a second time. The last gentleman is very rude, but I suppose since he is worth 10,000 a year, he can afford to give offence wherever he goes. He is Mr. Darcy of Derbyshire. I understand he owns a great estate there.

Lizzy was further intrigued by this tall Mr. Darcy. She had visited the Peak District in Derbyshire several times, and had all but decided to make it her home once she was fully dragon.

He is in pain, she defended him to Charlotte, and I do not think he likes crowds. She did not know why she was shielding him. Her friend, like most of Hertfordshire, knew that Lizzy was sometimes a dragon, but saving Mr. Darcy was something she had shared only with Papa.

Charlotte paused for a long time. What do you know that I do not? she asked.

Nothing yet, Lizzy said, and allowed the connection to fade.

Realizing that she could not stare at Mr. Darcy all night without drawing attention to herself, Lizzy forced herself to mingle with the crowd. She smiled and nodded to her neighbors, and danced once. Her attention remained trained on Mr. Darcy. She was always listening for him, if she could not always be looking. Loud gatherings usually gave her headaches, but now she was grateful for her dragon hearing. She stood with Charlotte and shamelessly eavesdropped.

Mr. Darcy remained a mystery. Other than refuting Miss Bingley’s advances, he said little. Was he arrogant or frightened? Pained or proud? Shy or aloof? Between dances, Mr. Bingley came to him.

“Darcy! Surely you can make a better effort than this,” Mr. Bingley chided. “Why not enjoy a single dance? You are walking so well, I am sure you can manage it. I have never met so many agreeable people in my life.”

“I rather doubt I am capable of dancing,” Mr. Darcy muttered. His eyes darted around anxiously. He desperately did not wish his weakness revealed. He was like a dragon concealing his injury for fear that others would prey on him. “And I daresay that you are dancing with the only handsome lady here.”

Lizzy watched Mr. Bingley carefully at the mention of Jane. His face lit up.

“Yes, she is beautiful, truly,” he agreed, then dropped his voice so even Lizzy had a hard time hearing him. “Darcy, she is the angel, I am sure of it.”

Lizzy smiled inwardly. Golden Jane was the prettiest and calmest of her sisters, and it pleased her to know others thought well of her.

Mr. Darcy rolled his eyes. “Not hardly,” he snapped, “She smiles too much. If that is an angel, I will swallow my cane.”

Any warm disposition toward Mr. Darcy abruptly shriveled. Indignantly she reached for Papa again.

Yes, Lizzy? he asked warily.

I do not think I like the man from the river at all, she snarled. He is very rude, and he does not like Jane!

Now, Lizzy, he warned quickly, I forbid you to growl and throw him out the window.

Papa! she complained, I was twelve, and John Lucas was pulling Mary’s hair.

Yes, he agreed amiably, and to this day young John will not come within a mile of Longbourn. I think he would be fond of Kitty, if he were not so frightened of you. Now stop bothering me and go enjoy yourself. He cut the connection sharply.

Lizzy yet seethed at Mr. Darcy. Everyone loved Jane. How could Mr. Darcy not see Jane’s inherent goodness? It was why Lizzy used Jane’s image to summon help for Mr. Darcy instead of her own face. Her features were too pointed and dragonish; it made people uncomfortable around her.

Mr. Bingley was still trying to make Mr. Darcy more sociable.

“Please, Darcy, at least talk to someone if you are sure you cannot dance. Look, there is my angel’s sister, she is quite pretty as well. Can I not introduce you?”

With a sense of inevitable horror, Lizzy realized Mr. Bingley was pointing at her . Mr. Darcy looked up. Their eyes met. The desperate need to flee consumed her. Charlotte grabbed her arm.

“Lizzy, you have gone pale, what is it?” she asked.

Lizzy could not speak. Her attention was focused on Mr. Darcy and his answer. She could guess what he was going to say, since he had already made it clear that he had no desire to dance. She knew when he was cornered he was liable to make cutting comments. What would Mr. Darcy say about her? Why did she care about it so much? She wished she had never seen him and yet she desperately wanted to dance with him.

No man wanted to dance with such a creature as her. Though her sisters claimed she was just as pretty as them, when she peered into the looking-glass, her features reminded her of her dragon form, with eyes too large and features too narrow. She looked like a dragon about to stoop on a deer. It was not a comforting image to partner on the dance floor.

Lizzy was certain that Mr. Darcy was going to refuse. No, worse than that, he was going to make it very clear why he would not want to dance or even speak with her. She could see it in his eyes, could almost hear his answer before he gave it. Words like, “She is tolerable, but not handsome enough to tempt me…”

Her heart pounded wildly and her fingernails bit into her palms. She stared into his eyes, waiting for him to dash all her hopes. His mouth opened to speak. Lizzy could not face it. She closed her eyes as if facing a firing squad.

“Yes, please.”

Her eyes flew open. Had she heard him right? Mr. Darcy was still staring at her. His grey eyes were alight with curiosity. It was the first time all night he did not appear to be in pain. Was it possible he wanted to meet her, and was not put off by her appearance? Mr. Bingley clapped Mr. Darcy on the back, and they began making their way toward Lizzy and Charlotte. The gentlemen were jostled in the crowded hall. Lizzy winced at what Mr. Darcy had to be feeling, but he let nothing deter him. She tried to back away from his approach, but Charlotte held onto her arm. She felt something like panic at the thought of actually talking, never mind touching, Mr. Darcy. Lizzy braced herself as the gentlemen reached them.

***


The assembly was every bit as miserable as Darcy had feared. The journey to the assembly hall had been an ordeal in itself. Unable to ride like Bingley, he had been forced to share the carriage with Miss Bingley and the Hursts. Miss Bingley had simpered at him the entire way, her powerful perfume threatening to overwhelm him. He still felt residual fear of being enclosed in small, moving spaces and it had been all he could do to not embarrass himself. His chest had lurched at every bump in the road; he had gripped his cane with white fingers as they delicately edged past the damaged area where the accident had been. It had seemed almost a miracle that they arrived safely.

For the first time he had realized his body was not the only thing that had been damaged by his accident in the river. His mind had been broken as well, and would require as much recovery as his leg. Acknowledging his fear as real had not made it easier to deal with, but at least he would be better prepared for it.

Once they arrived at the assembly, Miss Bingley clung to him for the first part of the night. He rebuffed every hint to dance, until she left with her sister to sulk. Then he stood around, feeling boorish, and wishing every moment he was back at Pemberley. His leg hurt terribly and every slight movement caused pain to jolt up his body.

When Bingley came over to coerce him to dance, he was not in the mood to be sociable. Bingley was convinced that Miss Bennet was the angel from his dream, and could not understand why Darcy showed no interest in “his” guardian angel. Frankly, Bingley would have been drawn to anyone who vaguely matched the dream. Bingley might have found his angel, but it did nothing to ease the pain in Darcy’s leg. Darcy was no closer to solving the mystery of his dragon.

Darcy realized that his responses to Bingley’s efforts were peevish. He had not wanted to come in the first place, and now that he was here, there was nothing for him to do. When Bingley obtrusively tried to get him to meet a young lady, a cruel comment sprang to his lips. By chance, he looked up to see the young lady in question. A flash of black and violet caught his eye. He thought of his dragon, and his heart clenched.

He met… the most beautiful pair of eyes he had ever seen. They were a unique violet-blue color, bright jewels in a pale face surrounded by silky black hair. He had seen pretty women before, but never one that caused such a visceral reaction. His breath froze in his chest and his heart stuttered erratically.

For the first time since the accident, he was not thinking of his dragon. He only thought of meeting this vision before him, of learning her name. Bingley called every lady he met an angel; for once, Darcy understood why. Except this lady could not be an angel. There was something too strong, too lively and centered in her air for her to be an ethereal being. Perhaps she was a wild pixie; she certainly looked as though she belonged to nature rather than the structures of man.

To think he almost eschewed her before looking at her! He would have been a fool to avoid her acquaintance. The pain of his leg faded as he agreed to meet her. He no longer felt clumsy and out of place. His limp was only a detriment slowing him down, rather than the brand of a cripple.

As they reached the beautiful woman, Darcy realized he had not taken his eyes off of her. She was looking at the ground now, determinedly avoiding him. It was rude to stare, but he could not help it as introductions were performed. He scarcely noticed Bingley asking Miss Lucas to dance, leaving him with Miss Elizabeth Bennet. He loved the long syllables of her name. He savored the way they rolled in his mouth before escaping his lips.

She glanced at him from under her lashes. Those strange eyes regarded him with a sharp intelligence that added to her appeal. Even the wariness in her face was new. Most ladies would throw themselves at him. To find one that did not instantly fawn over him was refreshing. As yet, she had not spoken. He longed to hear her voice, to see if it added to the mystery of her.

“Would you care to dance?” he asked.

She nodded very slightly. Darcy started to offer his hand, only to realize he was holding a cane. He carelessly set it aside, for he could not dance with a cane in his hand. He took Miss Elizabeth’s small hand and took a single step toward the dance floor.

That was as far as he got. Agony lanced up his muscles when he tried to bear weight on his leg. He had all but forgotten his injury in the fervor of meeting Miss Elizabeth. Now it came back to him as his leg buckled. His balance wavered; he groped for the cane but it was out of reach. To his horror, he tumbled toward Miss Elizabeth. This was what he had feared all night, that he would stumble because of his weakness. He was going to fall onto Miss Elizabeth and crush her, for she was such a small lady.

His body crashed into hers with a jarring thud. And there he halted. The force of the impact drove the air from his lungs as if he had hit the ground, but she was unmoved. She did not fall, but seemed to hold him up easily. She was much stronger than she looked. Was he damned that even in this moment, he noticed her softness and warmth? He felt her hands on his ribs, pushing him back to his feet. He tried to stand on his own, but his entire body trembled with pain and exhaustion. He was forced to lean on her a moment longer.

“I apologize, Miss Elizabeth,” he gasped. His mouth was dry and grey spots swam in front of his eyes. He was mortified. He had wanted to meet this enchanting lady, not paw at her! Worse, his humiliation had been witnessed by half the assembly hall. By tomorrow, the entire country would believe him a drunken idiot. Would they believe he only stumbled, or did they think he deliberately set out to press himself against Miss Elizabeth?

“Maybe you should sit down, Mr. Darcy,” Miss Elizabeth spoke for the first time. She sounded distressed. He struggled valiantly to bear his own weight, but his head was swimming. He might as well be drunk, with the way he felt now.

“I think you may be right,” he agreed hoarsely. The pain threatened to overwhelm him; it was all he could do to keep from passing out. Without warning, she ducked away from him. He teetered dangerously, but she shoved his cane into his hand. He leaned on it heavily, with both arms. His skin was on fire from the brace cutting into his leg. He half-expected to feel the trickling warmth of blood running down his leg from tearing his scar open again.

It took several minutes and many deep breaths before the pain began to fade. Only then was he able to think clearly. What had he been thinking, to ask Miss Elizabeth to dance? He could barely walk, let alone dance. Was it worth this pain and humiliation? Worth the rumors and the laughter behind people’s hands when they looked at him now?

He looked anxiously for Miss Elizabeth, certain she would have disappeared by now. His heart rose as he realized that she had not completely left him. She stood half a dozen paces away, poised as if to take flight. She was too far to catch him if he fell again—he did not blame her in the slightest for extracting herself from that situation—but so long as she did not run from him, he had a chance to redeem himself. He straightened slowly and took a careful step toward her.

She retreated several paces then halted. She watched him with those violet eyes, as wary as a wild creature. The look on her face was not fear or disgust, but she clearly did not want him near. He clenched his jaw but forced himself to not go after her. This was the first time he found himself wanting to pursue a lady, when her only wish was to be away from him. He could not chase after her in his current condition.

Above all else, Darcy was a gentleman. If she wanted to be gone, he would not stop her. Later, when he was more healed and able to walk without the damned cane, nothing would prevent him from at least having a conversation with her. He felt the sharp sting of defeat as he inclined his head toward her in farewell.

“Good night, Miss Elizabeth,” he said. She could not possibly hear him through the crush of people, but hopefully she would understand his intention. Damn his leg for failing him now. Damn his pride, which stung worse than his leg at the moment. He turned away from Miss Elizabeth and began looking for a place where he could relax.

“Mr. Darcy, are you well?”

He would recognize that voice anywhere, though his ears had been ringing the first time he had heard it. Out of the corner of his eye he caught a glimpse of black and violet. Miss Elizabeth had come back. He started to stiffen, but forced himself to relax. He had a feeling that dealing with her would be like breaking in a new horse. The more he pressed her, the faster she ran. But when he turned his back, established himself as nonthreatening, then her curiosity got the better of her. He smiled secretly.

“I am recovering, thank you,” he replied evenly. “I apologize again for my stumble. I am afraid that I suffered an accident recently which has left me unsteady on my feet.” He did not like to reveal his weakness, but he felt he owed her an explanation.

She nodded, her face serious. “Were you trapped under the carriage long?”

He stopped in surprise, turning to face her.

She blushed. “I saw that the road to Netherfield had been damaged. It must have been difficult for you to arrive today.”

He nodded slowly, still not sure how she had known of his ordeal. He had wondered if Mr. Bennet had managed to tame a dragon; was it possible Miss Elizabeth Bennet was the dragon tamer instead? He dismissed the idea quickly. No man would allow his daughter to be in close contact with such a dangerous creature. He still had no evidence that his dragon was controlled by an outside force. It seemed most likely, but there were stories of wild animals saving men before. Anything was possible.

“ There were… some difficulties, yes,” Darcy managed. He was not looking forward to the trip back.

“There you are, Mr. Darcy!” said a shrill voice he wished he could forget. Miss Bingley pounced on him. She placed herself firmly between Miss Elizabeth and himself. He had to step back to avoid bumping into her. “Do you not feel this company is rather dreadful ? It is so crowded, they caused you to trip. How abominably rude! Come Mr. Darcy, sit down by me. I will find Charles and tell him we are taking the carriage back early.”

“No, thank you,” he said louder than necessary. He leaned around her, looking for Miss Elizabeth. It was too late. She had disappeared as easily as a wraith.

Chapter 4

Lizzy slipped outside the assembly hall, grateful to be free of the confining air within. She was breathless from her encounter with Mr. Darcy, and not in a good way. He made her feel… unsettled. She resented him for it: she was a dragon, not some quivering maiden! Yet it felt very much like she had been reduced to exactly that when in Mr. Darcy’s presence. At least he had been polite about it. The way he had been willing to allow her to retreat was what had intrigued her to return.

If she cared to admit the truth, there had been more than one reason she had approached Mr. Darcy—this stranger from the river—again. She was not so crass as to believe he was indebted to her for saving his life, but she did feel a proprietary interest in his health. He was much improved from when she had pulled him from the river, but was clearly not fully healed. He was suffering, but allowed no sound of complaint to escape him. She had to admire that kind of strength. It was almost dragonish.

Lizzy knew he was mortified by the way he had fallen against her, but it had not been entirely unpleasant for her. Her instincts had shrieked a warning at his touch, yet it was secondary to the need to help him. In a way, she was glad to have been there for him. If he had fallen on anyone else, even a stout man, there was a chance he could have taken them both down. As it was, she had the strength to easily brace him up.

During those seconds, she had been aware of his scent, like freshly fallen snow, and had tasted his magic, like ice on the far away mountain peaks of his home county. As large as she was as a dragon, she sometimes forgot how diminutive her human body was. She was glad of her dragon strength, for she knew she needed never fear being unable to defend herself.

Lizzy seemed to fit within his hold like her sisters fit under her wings. In that instant, she had felt a sense of comfort and belonging, as though she were sheltered under his wing. It had alarmed her so much that she slipped away from him at once, and instead used her speed to snatch his cane for him.

She was gratified by his apparent interest in her, even if it did cause her stomach to twist in knots. She was below him in consequence but he had still been polite. Now that they had officially met and been introduced, she was determined to think no more of him.

Yet her chest felt tight, as though iron bands were squeezing her ribs. Lizzy recognized this feeling, had lived with it for as long as she could remember. The pressure, if she allowed it, would continue to increase until she was forced into her dragon body. It seemed to her that she felt that pressure more and more lately. The only way to stop the pressure was to change her form and spend sufficient time as a dragon to build up her reserve of human hours again.

Lizzy thought briefly of asking Charlotte to tell her sisters that she was leaving early, then decided against it. Her sisters were used to her absence at assemblies such as this. In all likelihood, they would never realize that she was no longer inside the hall. If they did take note, they need not worry for her, for what could accost a dragon?

She walked quickly from the center of Meryton to the woods on one side of the village. Long ago, she had adopted a simpler style of dress and had become adept at managing her own clothes. That served her well now, for she quickly shucked her dress and folded it for her to carry back to Longbourn. She stood bare in a clearing but did not shiver with the cold. The night air was bracing and her skin was as free as if she was a woodland nymph communing with the night. But only for a moment.

With a whisper of will, she called on the other—well, she used to say that the dragon was the other half of her soul, but it was more like the other three-quarters now—and where there had been a bare girl in the woods, suddenly there was a massive dragon. She stretched, muzzle to tail-tip, unfurling her great wings. She took a deep breath, her lungs filling with air like a bellow.

Lizzy was unbound, not only from her human self but from the constraints of human society. She took the small bundle of her clothes in one almost-human hand. She sank to her haunches, then lifted in the air as lightly as a feather on the breeze. Meryton quickly faded into a collection of orange-pricks of light. The whole of Hertfordshire was spread below her. So long as she lived, she could never tire of this.

Flying, being free, feeling her wings catch the air, feeling all concerns fade into petty nothings as she left them behind… When the curse had turned her wholly a dragon, she would miss her human family. But she would never regret feeling like this. She flew into the night, forgetting that anything ever bothered her about a stranger from Derbyshire.

***


Darcy scowled at Miss Bingley. She blanched for a second, before putting on a fake smile. He was in no mood to humor her, and excused himself curtly. He could not help but to think her sudden appearance was the cause of Miss Elizabeth’s desertion.

He was obliged to find himself a place to sit after his exertion of the evening. He stretched out his leg and kneaded the throbbing muscles surreptitiously. With a bit of concentration, he managed to form a layer of ice under his leggings. The cold helped soothe and numb his angry flesh. Thereafter, he had nothing to do but sit and scan the people, looking for that black-and-violet flash that was Miss Elizabeth. She never appeared again.

Darcy was deeply grateful when the assembly began to break up and Charles was ready to leave at last. However, to enter the carriage a second time that evening was a horrible trial for him. During the ride, every dip and bump in the road sent his heart pounding with terror. His hands clung to his seat so hard he nearly ripped the covering. A delicate pattern of hoarfrost spread outward from his fingers, his magic reacting to his anxiety. The temperature in the carriage dropped markedly, until they finally drew to a halt in front of Netherfield.

Darcy darted from the carriage, stumbling in his haste to get out. The footmen caught him, and Green came out to assist Darcy to his room. He was utterly wrung out. He could not stifle a cry of pain as Green undressed him and removed the brace. The contraption that allowed him to stand had caused deep welts on his healing flesh. For the first time, Darcy volunteered to take the fever powders. He felt distinctly unwell. Despite Bingley’s enthusiasm, Darcy’s first public outing had been a disaster.

That night he dreamed. He was back in the river, trapped under the carriage. His leg burned in agony as he was dragged deeper and deeper underwater. He struggled to the surface time and again, but his strength was running out. Overhead, his dragon flew in circles, dispassionately watching him thrash in the water. Eventually, he could no longer come up for air. His dragon saw him drown, and then flew away to never return.

Darcy jolted awake covered in sweat. His leg twitched in anguish. He rubbed at the muscle until it quieted down. His skin had a multitude of small scabs on it from the brace. When Green came in, he wrapped a thick layer of bandages around Darcy’s leg before applying the brace again. It still hurt, but Darcy could not stand to be in his room any longer. He was determined to leave under his own power, so Green helped him dress for the day.

Darcy sat alone in the breakfast room for some time, brooding over his dream. It reminded him of Miss Elizabeth, and the way she had acted at the assembly. She had fled from him just as the dragon had flown away, leaving him to falter on his own. He might have thought her apparent fear of him had stemmed from when he fell on her, but he remembered she had been wary from the first moment he had approached her.

Eventually the others joined him at the breakfast table. Bingley was insanely cheerful after the dance. He was already hoping for the moment when he might see his angel again. Since Darcy showed no interest in the lady that might be his guardian angel, Bingley felt free to pursue her. Darcy was too tired and sore to bother with urging Bingley to caution. Bingley was his own man; let him make his own mistakes.

Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst spoke of the assembly only to criticize. Miss Bingley was deeply incensed he had not asked her to dance. She was suspicious of his injury, as he still would not allow her to tend him. The attention he had paid to Miss Elizabeth had not gone unnoticed, and she was their primary subject of ridicule. For all that Miss Bingley complained, it did not dim Darcy’s appreciation of a pair of bright, violet-blue eyes.

Only when her connections were mentioned did he pay heed. Two uncles in trade? One a local attorney, the other residing in Cheapside? Miss Elizabeth might be a gentleman’s daughter, but it was clear her family was far beneath his in consequence. It was for the best that he had not managed to dance with her last night. He shuddered to imagine the rumors that would have spawned if he, Master of Pemberley, had danced with a lady from such a common family.

He resolved to put her out of his mind immediately. She was a temporary infatuation, and no more. In the light of day, he was certain her features would not retain their exotic beauty. His dream was of greater import. He had a feeling that he was running out of time to find his dragon. Where could he begin looking for her?

***


Mrs. Bennet was of course overjoyed when Jane received the invitation to Netherfield, even if the gentlemen would be out. The skies were a very dark grey, with a slow scattering of raindrops, so of course Jane had to take the horse. If it rained, she would be required to stay the night at Netherfield, and then she would meet the gentlemen after all.

When Jane rose to ready herself, Lizzy and Mary rose as well. They met in Jane’s room.

“You do not have to expose yourself for mother’s schemes,” Lizzy said tiredly. She longed to see her sisters happily married before she left as a dragon, but not at the lengths to which Mrs. Bennet was willing to go. It was an old argument, worn thin from so much use. “Will you not let me take you instead? It is not any more sheltered than riding a horse, but I will be much quicker.”

Jane paled and shook her head. “I cannot, Lizzy. I do appreciate the offer, but you know I have no head for heights.”

Lizzy nodded reluctantly. Somehow, all of her sisters had inherited what she considered to be an unreasonable fear of heights. Then again, none of them had wings of their own should something unfortunate happen. Did they really think she would not catch them if they began to fall?

“What if you take my shawl?” she offered, though she already knew the answer.

Jane shook her head again. “No, dearest,” she said reluctantly. “I would not be able to move in your shawl, let alone ride.”

Lizzy’s shawl was closer to an oilskin. It was heavy and thick to protect her sisters when they rode on dragon-back.

“What if you take my shawl, Jane?” Mary offered. “It is not as pretty as yours, but it is sturdy and will keep you warmer.”

“What will you do while I have it?” Jane asked.

“May I use yours instead? And I do not plan to go far today. Do you mind, Lizzy, if I got a sketch of you at the dower house?” The dower house was the sisters’ code for when they wished to see Lizzy in her dragon form.

“Of course not,” Lizzy agreed quickly.

“Then I would be pleased to have your shawl, Mary,” Jane accepted gratefully.

Lizzy put her arms around her sisters, holding them near. Dragons used their wings to protect their loved ones. In her human form, this was as close as Lizzy could come to a similar gesture. The girls leaned against each other for a couple moments, taking comfort in their proximity and support.

Eventually they stirred. Lizzy and Mary helped Jane dress for her ride. Once they saw her off, Mary gathered her art supplies and went with Lizzy out to the dower house. Mary drew Jane’s shawl tightly around her, but Lizzy walked out in only a simple dress. Not only did she not feel the cold as keenly as her sisters, but she would not have the dress on for long.

At the dower house, Mary helped her undress inside the house, and then waited for her outside. Lizzy’s transformation into a dragon was fast and painless. Her outline blurred, and then suddenly expanded into her dragon form. Unfortunately any clothes she was wearing were torn by her larger body, and so she had learned to undress herself before changing.

The dower house was very cramped for a dragon of Lizzy’s size. She ducked her head and crawled through the opening, holding her wings tightly against her back. Once outside, she stretched to her full height, arching her back like a cat. Her senses were sharper as a dragon, her body stronger, faster. She felt free and powerful in this form, nearly invincible. Why would she want her curse to be broken and have to give this up?

Mary waited for her to settle, and then began to push and pull her into position for the sketch. It was rather like a mouse directing a cat, Lizzy thought with amusement. She wished she could tell Mary, but as always she was unable to communicate with her sister. At last Mary was happy with Lizzy’s placement, and stood back to begin her sketch. After a few minutes, Lizzy chuffed toward Mary.

Mary glanced at her, and began talking. “I am sorry I cannot read to you while I am sketching, but I know how you love having conversation while you are in this form.”

Lizzy nodded.

“Head up, Lizzy,” Mary called. Lizzy complied, and the artist continued speaking as she worked. Lizzy did not mind posing for Mary’s sketches. Her sister was very talented, and was responsible for the beautiful drawings in the limited editions of their book. Lizzy enjoyed indulging her sister’s ability. She hoped that when Mary found a husband, he would appreciate the skill in his wife’s hands.

Mary was the sister Lizzy worried about the most. Jane was the most beautiful of the girls. She had both intelligence from Papa and Mrs. Bennet’s beauty. It was on Jane that Mrs. Bennet put most of her hopes for a successful marriage. Neither of her parents was likely to neglect Jane. Kitty and Lydia were great favorites of Mrs. Bennet as well, so they were given great precedence within the household. Poor Mary saw herself as plainer than her sisters. Mrs. Bennet despaired of making marriage material of her middle daughter. Papa seemed content that Mary shared his scholarship, and was not inclined to encourage her into matrimony.

It was true that Mary wore spectacles, and while her brown coloring did not stand out as much as Jane’s cream and gold, Lizzy thought she was still very pretty. It was a quieter sort of beauty than Jane’s or Lydia’s. Lizzy was forever hoping that Mary would find a young gentleman she could fall in love with, but she worried Mary was more likely to settle for whoever Mrs. Bennet thought to match her with.

Mary had been sketching for above half an hour when there was a far off rumble of thunder, and the rain began in earnest. Lizzy quickly extended her wing over Mary and her easel, protecting them from the wet. She raised her head to the sky, allowing the water to cascade over her. The cool drops were fingers trailing over her wings and back, easing the constant heat. Her body began to steam gently.

After a few minutes she twisted her neck to look under her wing. Mary huddled close to her side to stay warm and dry. She had her easel and sketch book packed up now. Lizzy nudged her delicately and pointed her head toward Longbourn. Mary nodded. “I am ready, Lizzy,” she called over the drumming of rain on Lizzy’s wing.

The two of them walked carefully to Longbourn’s kitchen door, Lizzy holding her wing over her sister. Mary managed to get inside without more than a couple raindrops falling on her. Once she was safe, Lizzy sat outside and debated with herself. She did not think that Jane could have arrived at Netherfield already. She wanted to check on her sister, but knew her dragon form would only spook Jane’s horse.

“Are you coming, Lizzy?” Mary asked.

Lizzy glanced at the sky. The rain did not look to be letting up any time soon. As much as she wished to fly toward Netherfield and see to Jane’s safe arrival, she reluctantly concluded that Jane would be safer without her. Hopefully Mary’s shawl would keep Jane warm enough until she reached Netherfield. Lizzy concentrated, and a few seconds later was a bare girl within the garden. She stepped inside quickly, her skin slick with rain. Mary gave her Jane’s shawl to cover herself, and the two of them went to Lizzy’s room for her to dress. Mrs. Hill, their housekeeper, and Sarah, their lone maid, were so well versed on Lizzy’s dragon habits that neither even blinked at her state of undress.

***


When Darcy learned that Miss Bennet was to stay at Netherfield until she recovered, he sighed inwardly. It was a classical fortune hunter tactic and Bingley could not see through it. Given what Darcy knew of the family, he was not surprised by Miss Bennet’s actions. Bingley was still certain that Miss Bennet was the angel he had dreamed of, but Darcy was equally certain that Miss Bennet was nothing of the kind. Would an angel really stoop to concocting such a scheme to ensnare an eligible gentleman? Bingley refused to listen to anything Darcy said to the contrary. His friend was already well on his way to being in love again.

The clouds were still grey from the recent rain, but not as heavy as they had been. Darcy was outside, enjoying the cool morning air as he took his morning exercise. His leg had suffered another setback after the assembly, and he was taking it easy this morning. He hoped a slow, long walk might begin to ease the cramps in his muscles. The bright sunshine was pleasantly warm, and slowly his stiffness wore away.

Netherfield had a large, green lawn, bordered by a fairly large stream. It was perhaps a dozen feet wide, and a little deeper than his hips. He had tried to ford it once, only to find that the current was deceptively strong. The moment his feet were wet, he had been thrown back to his night in the river, trapped and unable to move. Still he had persevered, until the water had lapped at his knees. By that time he had been shivering, not with cold, but with memory. His balance had started to waver, and he had difficulty keeping his mind clear of the panic of being back in the river. He was forced to retreat that day, but Darcy refused to live his life in fear.

He had been back several times already. He had allowed the sound and feel of the water to rush by him, telling himself there was nothing to fear. His magic was easier to work around so much water. He practiced making ice spouts and delicate, arching bridges of ice. He threw water in the air and formed snowflakes as it fell around him. Ice formed around his legs and spread across the surface of the water. It was easier to ignore his anxiety when he worked magic. When he was pleasantly exhausted, he would break the ice at his legs with a command, and limp back to Netherfield.

Darcy did not plan to linger at the creek today. His main goal, besides stretching his leg, was to get him out of Netherfield while Bingley was still in the breakfast room, mooning over Miss Bennet upstairs. By the time Darcy got back, the breakfast room should be empty. Then Darcy could settle himself in the library or his room, and generally avoid the company of others.

A hint of color caught his eye. He paused and looked up. A young lady was approaching the stream from the other side. He was too far to be sure of her identity, but the long black hair made Darcy think of Miss Elizabeth. He stood under the shade of a tree as she walked toward the stream. He wondered if there was a secret path of stepping stones that he had missed, for she looked to have no intention of stopping when she reached the creek. Perhaps if the stones were not too slick, he might learn to use them himself.

The young lady—he was certain she was Miss Elizabeth now—did not pause at the creek. A few feet from its bank, she broke into a swift-footed run. Surely she was not planning to jump it like a small puddle? She would never make it! But she did jump it. Darcy stifled a shout of alarm, certain she would fall short of the far bank and be swept away in the creek.

She was a beautiful and carefree creature as she jumped, arms out stretched, hair streaming behind her. Her joyful abandon made Darcy think of his dragon, and his breath caught in his throat. He started toward the stream as fast as he could, knowing he would be too late to save her. Could his ice magic reach so far?

He began to call up his magic when the need to do so abruptly vanished. Miss Elizabeth touched down on the opposite bank as lightly as she had left the first. She did not stumble as she landed. She barely broke pace at all, sedately continuing her walk toward Netherfield. Darcy gaped after her in astonishment. Were his eyes deceiving him? How had such a small lady jumped the creek without getting her feet wet? Many grown men could not accomplish what she had done with ease!

He looked back at the creek. Surely it was narrower in that part than in others? It was the only way he could imagine her leap possible. He waited until she was out of sight and then hurriedly hobbled down to the creek. She had left barely a mark in the moist soil for him to find. He reluctantly concluded that the stream was not thinner here, or any other place where she might have jumped. He could not explain her miraculous leap over the water. He refused to believe she had jumped unaided, and concluded she must have a gift of magic, perhaps some sort of levitation, to make the crossing.

He had not sensed any overt magic about her on their brief meeting, but as an ice mage he was not the best at detecting the talents of others. Bingley, as a spell mage, was better at that sort of thing. Perhaps he could ask Bingley if Miss Bennet possessed any magic, and from there inquire about the rest of the family. Then again, why did he care how Miss Elizabeth had made the crossing, or whether she possessed magic? She was nothing to him but a passing curiosity. If he was bound to be drawn into a mystery in Hertfordshire, let it be the mystery of his dragon, not Miss Elizabeth!

Thus fortified, Darcy set about returning to the house. He had had enough of exercise this morning. When he entered Netherfield, he walked into a discussion between Bingley and his sister.

“I think it shows admirable concern for her sister,” Bingley declared hotly.

“Charles, see reason!” Miss Bingley said in exasperation. “First we have Miss Bennet, and now her sister! Soon we will be host to every Bennet in the county!” She noticed Darcy and tried to get him on her side. “Mr. Darcy, while you were out walking, Miss Elizabeth arrived. She professes concern for her sister, but can there be doubt that her aims are similar to Miss Bennet’s?”

Miss Bingley clearly suspected an ulterior motive. Was Miss Elizabeth in competition with her sister for Bingley’s attention? It seemed unlikely, as she had not spoken more than an introduction to Bingley during the assembly. But she had talked with Darcy for a few minutes before Miss Bingley cut in. Had her apparent shyness during their meeting merely been a ploy to attract his attention?

Miss Bingley saw that he was weakening, and pressed her advantage. “Surely Darcy, you can see the poor breeding it shows that she traveled all this way alone for a mere cold. What could her parents be planning, but that there is more sport here than at their home? Would you want your sister to walk so far, through the mud, without an escort?”

Darcy thought of Georgiana attempting the leap across the creek and failing to cover the distance.

“Certainly not,” he shuddered. It was a good thing he had already decided to put Miss Elizabeth from his mind so she would have no hold over him. Miss Bingley looked triumphant at his admission, but he wanted no part in this debate. He excused himself and began the laborious process of climbing the stairs to his room.

At the top, he was obliged to rest for a time to catch his breath and allow the ache in his leg to fade. Voices came down the hallway, and he could not help but to overhear.

“Lizzy? You came for me? Please do not be cross at me, Lizzy,” came Miss Bennet’s hoarse voice. Darcy started guiltily. She truly did sound ill.

“Easy, dearest,” Miss Elizabeth soothed. “Why would I be cross with you?”

“Because I did not go with you when you suggested. You could have brought me to Netherfield before the rain, but I did not listen.” Miss Bennet coughed fitfully.

“I am not cross with you, dear sister. I wish you were not ill, but that is not your fault. Come now, rest a bit and I will lie with you for a time. After that, you will have no choice but to feel better.”

“Yes… I think I shall.”

Darcy was unexpectedly moved by the care Miss Elizabeth showed her sister. He thought of sitting by Georgiana’s side when she had a fever and understood the bond that siblings could share. If, as Miss Bingley suspected, Miss Elizabeth had come in order to put herself in Darcy’s path, would she not appear now to gain his attention? But she did not. Darcy felt an uncomfortable stirring of shame. He did not like the idea that he could have misjudged Miss Elizabeth so greatly. He pushed himself up from the banister, and continued to his room.

Darcy lingered there for much of the day. He perused Bennet’s book again. The thought that there were now two of the dragon expert’s daughters at Netherfield crossed his mind. What did they think of their father’s interest in dragons? It was clear that Bennet had traveled extensively to spend so much time with wild dragons. Did his children resent the time they had lost with their father? Or were they excited to greet him home, and listened to his tales with wide eyes?

He pictured a little girl with violet eyes and black, silky hair. What was Miss Elizabeth like as a child? Abruptly he slammed the book shut as he realized his thoughts had strayed once again to Miss Elizabeth. He did not understand how she could have captured his attention so thoroughly!

Miss Elizabeth emerged in the afternoon to report that Miss Bennet was still ill, but sleeping now. Miss Bingley reluctantly extended the invitation for her to stay. Bingley was anxious for Miss Bennet to have every comfort and offered to send a note to Mr. Bennet informing him of his daughters’ stay.

“There is no need,” Miss Elizabeth said gracefully. “I shall tell him myself.” She touched her forehead briefly, indicating the silent speech of magic users. This confirmed that she had some unknown magical talent.

“Papa will have a trunk packed, and I will bring it over tonight,” Miss Elizabeth paused, and then blushed. “I mean, he will send it over, with Jacob our farmhand.”

At Netherfield, away from the crowded assembly hall, Darcy noticed that Miss Elizabeth was even more alluring. Her skin was clear and flawless, her carriage light and pleasing. Her blush added a becoming color to her cheeks. Darcy was drawn to her like a moth to the flame. His mouth went dry. Magic had to be at work here. He could not be so enamored by her appearance alone. He favored an intelligent mind and logical speech in the women he admired.

With an effort, he tore his gaze away from her. Miss Bingley noticed his distraction and smirked knowingly at him. He was not sure if it was at the evidence of the Bennets’ poverty, or the admission of magic that Miss Elizabeth had made. Miss Bingley was shred enough to suspect that magic was involved in Darcy’s sudden infatuation with Miss Elizabeth. Darcy was beginning to agree with her. He was not usually so attracted to a lady he scarcely exchanged a word with.

That night, Darcy struggled to sleep. He was distracted by knowing that Miss Elizabeth was just down the hall from him. He fought his growing attraction to her by building on the resentments of her casting some magic on him. It was the only explanation for the way he felt toward her. He had fallen on her in their first meeting, he reminded himself. She could have easily done it then. He was after all a very eligible bachelor. He was wealthy, had his own estate, and could be a very caring individual. What young lady would not want to ensnare him?

Uncomfortably he remembered how many women, young and old, had tried to attach themselves to him. Miss Bingley was not the least of them. What of that fearful look Miss Elizabeth had given him during the assembly? What of the way she retreated when he tried to follow her? Did that not speak that she was not interested in him? He shook his head; if anything, her fear was that he would discover the spell that she had placed on him. Tomorrow, he would ask Bingley to have a look at him, and remove any spells that might have lodged on Darcy. Then he would find out what sort of magic Miss Elizabeth possessed, in order to guard against it.

As Darcy was lying in bed, he heard a quiet sound he could never forget: the soft snap of dragon wings in the night air. He bolted upright. He threw the blankets off and placed his feet on the floor. His leg would not allow him to rise without the brace providing support, but he stood on his single leg, straining toward the window. He gritted his teeth against the pain and half-hopped, half-fell toward it. He caught the sill in his hands and pulled himself up.

He was unable to open the heavy window on his own, but leaned against the cold glass. His breath steamed up his view. In irritation he sent a layer of frost across the glass and then peeled it away, leaving the glass clear. He looked out, careful not to get too close to the window this time. Where was she? He had no guarantee that it was his dragon, but how many dragons could be in Hertfordshire?

Clouds covered the sky, the half-moon providing only dim illumination. It was a darker night than when he had been trapped in the river. He despaired of finding the source of the sound. And then she flew overhead, appearing from so near she might have launched herself from Netherfield’s roof. Darcy ducked behind the window sill instinctively, stifling the urge to laugh wildly. The dragon was just a black blur against the night, but from her size and outline, he was sure it was his. He looked out again, and caught another glimpse of her wings and tail before she whipped around the corner.

He remained at the window all night long, but did not see her again.

Chapter 5

In the morning, Green was startled to find Darcy propped up against the wall near the window with a silly smile on his face.

“Are you well, sir?” Green asked, attempting to feel Darcy’s forehead with his hand.

Darcy waved him away. “I am perfectly well. It was beautiful last night and I simply had to see it.”

Green pursed his lips and did not comment.

“Err, I seem to be unable to rise on my own, though,” Darcy admitted.

“Very well, sir.” Green slung Darcy’s arm over his shoulders and helped him onto the bed. Darcy’s leg had stiffened during his night on the floor but his good mood remained as Green helped him dress. He had seen his dragon again. He was sure now that she was not a figment of his imagination. Even better, she had not abandoned him. She was somewhere near, perhaps hiding in the woods during the day and coming out at night. If he could find her, he would be that much closer to helping her.

Darcy forgot himself enough to smile at Miss Elizabeth when they came into the breakfast room at the same time. Her head jerked back, clearly startled by his expression. After a moment, she cautiously smiled back. It was the first time he saw her face anything but carefully guarded and all thought of his dragon was driven from his mind. Her smile, small though it was, transformed her from merely exotic and beautiful to something magical and breathtaking. She seemed shy, rather wary, and not at all like a fortune hunter. It made Darcy long to reassure her… as no doubt she intended.

He looked away quickly, disappointed in himself for falling so quickly to her charms again. It was vital he talk to Bingley soon, both to report the sighting of his dragon and to remove Miss Elizabeth’s influence over him. He left the breakfast room after only a few bites, determined to get away from Miss Elizabeth as soon as possible.

Unfortunately, Bingley was a late riser. Darcy prowled the first floor restlessly, until his leg grew tired. He forced himself to sit in a parlor until he heard Bingley’s voice. Darcy impatiently waited for him to breakfast, then quickly pulled Bingley aside into an empty room.

Bingley was astonished to hear of his concern that Darcy was under a spell. Darcy, aware of his friend’s regard for Miss Bennet, did not name who he suspected had cast the spell. When Bingley examined him magically and declared him to be spell-free, Darcy was shocked.

“That cannot be!” he exclaimed. “How is it possible that I am not under a spell? I have never felt so precipitously toward another as I have toward—” Just in time he closed his mouth and prevented himself from revealing the name of his tormentor.

“You mean Miss Elizabeth?” Bingley asked casually.

Darcy stared at him.

Bingley grinned and clapped him on the shoulder. “I have been in love often enough to recognize the signs of it in another,” he said cheerfully. “It is about time a woman shook you out of your careful reserve. Now, do be careful with Miss Elizabeth. Even I can tell she is not immediately enamored of you, so treat her gently until you win her regard.”

Darcy was still sputtering his denial as Bingley laughed and left the room. Darcy had not even had the chance to reveal his dragon sighting! It took him several minutes to regain his composure. Only when his usual reserve was in place did he dare face the rest of the house. Everyone but the Bennet sisters was gathered in the morning parlor and Darcy was relieved to see that their guests were missing. Bingley’s low chuckle told him that his reaction had not gone unnoticed.

Darcy quickly settled in a chair and picked up a book to read. He needed something to take his mind off of dragons and ladies for a time. This book on the connection between Roman roads and leylines should help him. He did not remember seeing it before and thought that Bingley must have unearthed it somewhere and placed it here instead of in the library.

After a few minutes, the door opened. Darcy knew instinctively who entered. It was as though he could feel when Miss Elizabeth came into a room. He stiffened and tried in vain to ignore her presence, but some instinct made him glance up. Darcy was startled to see her approaching him. He leveled a glare at her, halting her in her tracks. Her face was stricken for a moment, but she quickly turned to occupy herself on the other side of the room.

Darcy’s curiosity about her grew until he allowed himself to peer at her over the top of his book. She was standing at a high chess board, looking down at it with interest. Darcy suppressed a shudder. He no longer played high chess, a magical form of the game. He had not been able to since Ramsgate, when his chess set had become corrupted by the events there. Miss Elizabeth looked up, her eyes bright with excitement. Darcy’s heart lurched. Bingley swore there was no magic involved, but Darcy felt cursed when such a simple look from her could make him feel this way. It was not love, no matter what Bingley said.

Her look was not even directed toward him, but toward Bingley. “Do you play high chess, Mr. Bingley?” she asked.

“I do,” he confirmed cheerfully, “though Darcy is a much better player than I.”

“I no longer play,” Darcy said quickly. His heart lurched at the thought of being near such a board again. As high chess was played with magic instead of carved pieces, each mage built a mental set of pieces based on their own life experiences. Events that left a great impact on the mage’s life, such as what had happened at Ramsgate, left an impression on the mage’s set. Darcy refused to play with any set that now included Wickham and Mrs. Younge.

Bingley gave Darcy a surprised look, then shrugged and turned back to Miss Elizabeth. “Would you like to play a game?” he offered. Her face lit up and Darcy fought the urge to strangle Bingley.

“Yes, please,” she said and sat behind one side of the board. She laid her fingers on the edge and lines of runes blazed to life among the squares. Darcy grudgingly admitted that whatever her magic was, she was strong. Only mages of above average ability were able to form and maintain a magical chess set. Bingley sat down at the opposite side of the board and did his own examination.

Once the runes he had raised faded, both players placed their hands on their respective sides. Magical mist began to swirl over the board as the mages called their sets into being. Darcy looked away, not wanting anything to do with the hateful game.

“How many sets do you maintain, Mr. Bingley?” Miss Elizabeth asked.

“Oh, just the one,” Bingley said breezily. “Darcy has two, or at least he used to.”

Darcy gritted his teeth. Why did Bingley insist on bringing him into the game again? Miss Elizabeth spared a glance from her board to look at Darcy. He resisted the urge to straighten under her gaze. “That is a great accomplishment. Papa maintains his standard set well, but his second set lacks cohesion. I almost always win against his second set.”

“And how many sets do you maintain?” Darcy asked against his better nature.

“Three,” she responded easily. “Though I hardly have a chance to use my second and third sets.”

There was a moment of stunned silence from the mages in the room. Maintaining a single set was a difficult enough task. Creating not one, but two additional sets required a very strong discipline of mind and magic. It was almost unheard of for any but the most powerful mages to maintain so many.

“What sets do you have?” Darcy asked.

She threw him a confused glance, as if she did not know if he was genuinely curious or making a mockery of her. “Beside my standard set, I also maintain a water set, and a naturalist set.”

Standard chess pieces were made of people familiar to the mage. Water sets were usually made of boats and played on water instead of landscapes. Naturalist sets were made of animals, and played on wilder terrains. Darcy’s interest was reluctantly sparked. His second set had been a water set, before the turmoil of Ramsgate had made maintaining more than one set impossible for him. Water sets were quite rare. Perhaps if he was able to practice against someone else with a water set, he might be able to build his fleet again.

“Darcy has, or had, a water set,” Bingley exclaimed. “You move first, Miss Elizabeth.”

“Is that so?” she gave Darcy an appraising look, before turning back to Bingley with a mischievous smile. “No, Mr. Bingley, I insist, your move first.”

Bingley shrugged, frowned in concentration, and the game began in earnest. Darcy watched for a time, though he still felt an aversion to playing himself. High chess was far more like directing troops on the battlefield than the mundane game. The pieces were animated with magic and had personalities and abilities of their own according to how the mage perceived the people they represented. After a very few moves, it was clear that Miss Elizabeth was the better player. Soon she had Bingley’s side in full rout, and a little while later she had won.

“Good game!” Bingley laughed in delight. They shook hands briefly and Bingley turned to Darcy. “Well old man, would you fancy a match with the winner?” Bingley inclined his head toward Miss Elizabeth. She looked at Darcy curiously. Her violet eyes caught him and he nearly agreed without thinking. Then he realized what playing high chess would entail. He would have to bring out his flawed set, containing Wickham, Mrs. Younge, Georgiana, and other members of his family. She would not recognize the people, but she could not fail to see how his pieces turned against each other under the slightest stress. Darcy’s chess set would reveal the turmoil in his heart. He refused to put himself on display before all and sundry.

“No, I do not,” he said curtly, resolutely turning his attention back to his book. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Miss Bingley smirking at his abrupt dismissal and Bingley giving Miss Elizabeth a sympathetic grimace. As for Miss Elizabeth, he felt her staring at him for a moment. He told himself that it was only magic that made him feel guilty for treating her so harshly. She was a very powerful mage, as evidenced by her ability to keep three separate chess sets. It was entirely possible that Bingley had not been able to detect any spells she might have put on him. Shortly after that, she left to check on Miss Bennet.

Darcy wished Bingley would stop being so friendly with Miss Elizabeth. Bingley persisted in his idea that Darcy felt something of import toward her and even went so far as to scold Darcy for the boorish way he had behaved that morning. Darcy acknowledged that he had been rude, but he balked at the suggestion that he should apologize to Miss Elizabeth. He would apologize to her when she admitted to placing him under a spell.

He was relieved that she did not come down again until later in the evening. Bingley invited her to join them after her report that Miss Bennet was well and resting. Darcy was managing to write a letter to Georgiana, despite Miss Bingley’s interference, when Miss Elizabeth made her way toward him. Darcy stiffened. She stood behind him for a time, until he reluctantly looked up at her. He meant to give her a glance of disapproval, but nearly lost himself when he met her eyes. He swallowed hard and forced himself to be stern.

“May I help you, Miss Elizabeth?” he asked pointedly.

“I was wondering if you have finished reading my book,” she responded. Unlike previously when she had shied away from his censure, she held her ground. She had apparently found her courage; Darcy found it hard not to be attracted to the strength in her gaze. There was something about her, whether it was magic or merely the way she held herself, that made her seem like a half-wild creature: shy yet fierce when provoked.

“Your book?” he asked in surprise.

She nodded, gesturing to the volume at his elbow. He glanced down and saw only the book on Roman roads and leylines.

“This is yours? ” he blurted. In his shock, his words came out more harshly than he had intended.

Bingley winced, “I say, Darcy…”

Miss Elizabeth’s face colored, but she nodded, refusing to back down. Darcy took the book in question and opened it to the nameplate. The name listed within was not Bingley as Darcy had thought, nor the previous owners of Netherfield. It was Thomas Bennet. It was Darcy’s turn to flush in embarrassment. No wonder she kept approaching him when she entered the room. She had been trying to retrieve her book. Or rather, her father’s book. He could not imagine any young lady truly being interested in the state of ancient Roman roads.

“I apologize, Miss Elizabeth,” he said, snapping the book closed and holding it out to her.

She did not take it. “If you have not yet finished it, you are welcome to study it further. I have already read it and brought it only to review.”

Surely she was joking? Darcy stared at her in astonishment. Why was it that he had to rethink everything he knew about her every time she spoke?

“You have read it before?” As before, his words came out as an insult when he meant none.

Her chin rose a fraction; anger flashed in her violet eyes, though her tone was well modulated. “I have, as I stated. I do not know why you take me for such a simpleton who cannot read, let alone one who would not find an interest in old roads and leylines.”

Utter silence greeted her words. Darcy knew he had stepped over every boundary of decency, but part of him longed to see that breathtaking flash again. He bowed to her from his seat.

“Again, I apologize. I meant no slight to your intelligence. I have not yet finished your book and would be grateful for the opportunity to examine it. If I may ask, what is your interest in old roads and leylines?” Out of the corner of his eye, Darcy noticed Bingley shaking his head and leaning away from him.

Miss Elizabeth regarded him steadily for some time, clearly wondering if he was being serious or facetious. Eventually she took a seat on the couch across from the writing table where he sat.

“As it happens,” she began, “I find leylines to be fascinating. My interest stems in a large part from my own talent.”

“And what is your talent?” Bingley asked, cautiously approaching now that it looked like Miss Elizabeth would not take umbrage against Darcy. “I was very impressed with your game this morning, and that you maintain three sets. Why, most of my professors from school did not have so many.”

Darcy resented Bingley entering the conversation, especially as Miss Elizabeth relaxed and gave Bingley a friendly smile. Was Darcy feeling… jealous? Surely not! He had no interest in Miss Elizabeth herself. If he was feeling anything, it was only what her magic made him feel. If she answered the question, he might discover how she had managed to bespell him.

“My magic is not nearly as great as you make it to be,” Miss Elizabeth laughed. “It borders on wild magic and differs only because I have it under semi-regulation.”

Darcy was surprised by her admission. Wild magic was completely involuntary and out of control. There was not as much of a stigma attached to it as there used to be, but it was unusual that someone would admit to wild magic as easily as she had done. Then again, she said she had her magic under semi-regulation, which meant she had at least partial control over it.

“I am extremely sensitive and able to detect all forms of magical energy,” Miss Elizabeth continued. At Bingley’s look of concern, she assured him, “It does not pain me. Rather it is that I can feel very minute amounts of magic, beyond any mage I have ever met. I am resistant to most magic effects, and can absorb magic as well.”

“Like a magic-eater?” Darcy asked in shock. Magic-eaters were one of the most feared mages. Their talent did not involve magic so much as the absence of it. No magic could affect them, and any spells around them disappeared as if they had never been cast. They pulled all energy out of an area, even down to life-force, leaving only death behind.

Miss Elizabeth gave Darcy a scornful look. “I am not as destructive as a true magic-eater. There is a low amount of magic that is constantly drawn to me, but I can control how much or little I absorb—I was able to play high chess without affecting the board. In addition, the magic is not destroyed when I take it into me, only converted into another form.”

Darcy colored, realizing his mistake. “Of course,” he agreed.

“For example, Mr. Bingley if you would be so kind as to cast a spell to raise my hand?”

“I would be pleased to,” Bingley agreed, and a moment later Miss Elizabeth’s hand rose in the air.

“As you can see, your spell does affect me, because I allow it to. However, when I choose,” she paused, and lowered her hand under her own power. Bingley’s eyes widened.

“My spell is gone!” he exclaimed.

She smiled. “Of course, I warned you I could absorb the magic. However, unlike a magic-eater which destroys magic, it is still inside me. As well as taking magic into myself, I can also share the energy with another magic-user. May I touch your arm, Mr. Bingley?”

“You may,” he agreed, offering his arm to her. Darcy felt a strange urge to substitute his own arm for Bingley’s. Miss Elizabeth put her hand on Bingley’s arm. Bingley sucked in a startled breath.

“I feel that!” he said excitedly.

Miss Elizabeth gave him a pleased smile, withdrawing her hand. “Just so. However, that is the extent of my ability to use the magic. I cannot form spells or use it through a medium, as Mr. Darcy uses magic through ice. The most I can do is absorb the energy or pass it on to another. That is why I find leylines to be so fascinating. Since they are strong currents of magic, there is a lot of energy I can absorb there. I also think it is not coincidence that so many of the Roman roads were built along leylines.”

“The book theorizes that the Romans might have used the magic of the leylines to help them travel faster,” Darcy said, earning a rare look of approval from her.

“Yes,” she agreed. “The Romans were so adept at finding leylines that I wonder sometimes if they used dragons to find them…”

“Dragons?” Darcy asked sharply.

“Oh Lord,” Bingley laughed, “Do not get him started on dragons. He has become obsessed.”

Darcy gave a thin smile, less than pleased with his friend. He glanced at Miss Elizabeth and started in surprise at the coolly assessing look she leveled at him.

“Do you fancy yourself a gentleman dragon-hunter, then?” she asked archly.

He thought of his black and violet dragon pierced by a hunter’s spear and shuddered in revulsion.

“Absolutely not,” he said shortly.

She relaxed, her expression becoming less imperious. “A naturalist, then.”

It appeared that the daughter shared the father’s interest, Darcy noted. One more intriguing side of Miss Elizabeth was revealed. He also had to conclude that she had not put a spell on him. He believed she was telling the truth about her magic, which meant her talents did not run to bespelling people to love her. That could only mean one thing: Darcy was in trouble. If a spell was not the source of these new emotions, then they were genuine, and he had no idea how to react to that.

“I suppose that term is as accurate as any,” he allowed. Growing bold he added, “It is something of a new occupation for me. What is your own stand on dragons?”

“Naturalist, to be certain,” she said instantly, a hint of a humor in her voice. “It is, after all, a family matter.” Her eyes danced with mirth and her lips pressed together to prevent a laugh from escaping.

Darcy found himself wishing she did not hold back. “You speak, of course, of the book that your father wrote?”

She gave him a guileless look. “Of course, Mr. Darcy,” she demurred, “What else could I mean?”

He felt a wave of heat under his clothes. He was convinced she was mocking him, but he was powerless to say why.

Darcy cleared his throat. “I have read that book. The artwork is very fine, but the subject is controversial. Mr. Bennet professes many things on dragon-kind that differ from popular opinion.”

Her innocent expression disappeared and her eyes narrowed with faint irritation.

“And whom do you believe, Mr. Darcy? The public, most of whom have never seen a live dragon, or my father, who has spent the last twenty years of his life studying them?”

He had stumbled on a difficult subject by accident. Darcy truly regretted it, for though he was fighting his attraction to her, he had not meant to raise her ire. Bingley was looking uncomfortable again.

Be careful, Darcy, he sent in silent warning, though Darcy hardly needed it.

He found himself answering honestly as a kind of apology.

“I have not yet formed my opinion on the matter; I see words of sense on both sides and I was not given reason to question it until recently. However, I admit that it was seeing a dragon act in a way that should not have been possible that led me to your father’s book. Perhaps, as popular opinion cannot explain what I saw, there is more truth in the book than in common thought.”

Instead of being mollified, Miss Elizabeth looked distinctly uneasy.

Following his intuition, he asked, “What do you suppose could make a dragon act against its nature?”

She fixed him with a hard expression. “Absolutely nothing, Mr. Darcy,” she declared firmly.

“But if a dragon is held to be as intelligent as a dog or horse, both of whom are the domestic animals with the highest degree of training, does it not follow that a dragon can also be trained?”

She shook her head. “A dragon may respond to stimulus, but both horses and dogs have been domesticated for thousands of years and selectively bred to be tractable. Dragons have never been domesticated and extensive hunting has ensured that only the least trustful have survived. Dragons cannot be tamed. On that, both Papa’s book and public opinion are the same.”

Her tone was irrefutable and Darcy realized that to inquire further could only cause argument. He was not satisfied with her answer, but did not wish to incite her. Unwilling to completely abandon the topic though, he sought another subject which was not so far away.

“Why is it that you believe the Romans used dragons to find leylines?” he asked, “Maybe they used mages with similar abilities as your own.”

Miss Elizabeth relaxed slightly as she arched her eyebrows. “The dragons would be more likely than that they had another mage of my ability. In order to find so many leylines and with such great accuracy, it is my opinion that they must have at least closely observed wild dragons, if they did not have captive ones.”

Darcy was intrigued by her firm statements. “Cannot many mages detect leylines?”

“Can you detect all leylines?” she returned.

“I cannot,” he confessed. “My magic is with ice, hence I can only detect and tap into leylines that are sympathetic to cold magic. There are not many with that characteristic.”

“And you, Mr. Bingley? You are a spell mage, can you detect all leylines?” she asked.

“No,” Bingley cheerfully admitted. “I daresay I can feel and use more leylines than Darcy, but some are too subtle for me, or fail to resonate with my own magic.”

“Exactly,” Miss Elizabeth concluded. “The Romans extensively mapped out a variety of leylines and nodes. They had everything from the very strongest, to some so subtle that they are barely a game trail in the forest. No one but a dragon could have that unique sensitivity to every kind of magic.”

“And yourself,” Darcy added. “You have, if I may say it, a dragon’s ability with magic.”

“Just so,” she agreed, and her blue-violet eyes danced with hidden laughter.

He very nearly grinned back at her. Miss Elizabeth was nothing like what he imagined his wife ought to be: her family was insignificant compared to his and her education and reading habits were unorthodox at best, though it was true she was the most beautiful lady he had ever seen. She had a simplicity in her natural looks that was more appealing than all the perfectly coifed society ladies. Was that from where his attraction stemmed? Was he experiencing nothing more than a healthy man’s fascination with a beautiful woman? Darcy had himself half-convinced his attraction was purely physical, but the next half-hour thoroughly destroyed that notion.

Miss Elizabeth and Bingley engaged in a lively and intelligent conversation about different types and uses of leylines. Darcy said little but he listened with great interest. There was not much Darcy could add with his limited experience of leylines, but it was a true pleasure to watch Miss Elizabeth’s face light up with passion about her topic. By the time Miss Elizabeth recalled the time and retired to tend to her sister, Darcy was unwillingly enamored of her. It was an uncomfortable feeling, for he knew he could never act upon it. He told himself it was a passing fancy, the sort of infatuation that Bingley often engaged in, which would then fade in a few weeks. Darcy had to guard himself against developing any material romantic feelings for her. He was also aware that he must avoid raising any false hopes in Miss Elizabeth, for there could never be anything between them. She was too far beneath him.

Yet that did not stop Darcy staying up late to finish her book on roads and leylines.

The next morning, Miss Bennet was well enough to come down for a time. Miss Elizabeth was very attentive to her sister. He could not help but to notice that her care for Miss Bennet was very much how he believed siblings should act toward each other. That same care also raised a sneer from Miss Bingley. Darcy could not imagine Miss Bingley or even Mrs. Hurst doing half as much to see to the care of each other or their brother.

Bingley displayed his devotion to Miss Bennet as well, seating her by the fire and fetching a lap rug to prevent her from catching a chill. Miss Elizabeth faded into the background with a startling ease. It seemed she far preferred to watch Bingley and Miss Bennet without drawing attention to herself. Again, her behavior was the complete opposite of Miss Bingley, who could not enter a room without wanting herself to be the sole focus. With such a family as hers, Darcy was surprised at Miss Elizabeth’s polished manners and dedicated care. Then again, he had to admit he had rarely found fault with the eldest Bennet sisters.

He observed as Miss Elizabeth sat alone, a contented smile on her lips as she watched Miss Bennet and Bingley. She was as silent as a cat; indeed, there was something of the patient attitude of a hunter in her movements, though Darcy could not have said what made him think so. He took the opportunity to return her book. Against his better judgment, he engaged her into another conversation, longing to see the interest in her eyes turned on him .

They found a common topic in the history of the Roman Empire. Darcy was startled at first to learn she could read and speak Latin, but chuckled to himself. Of course she could. He was beginning to picture Mr. Bennet as a very indulgent parent, who had not denied any request of scholarship from his daughter. Despite their engaging conversation, Miss Elizabeth proved that her attention was still on Miss Bennet, for she rose at Miss Bennet’s first sign of fatigue. She helped her sister up to their room. Miss Bingley scoffed, Bingley looked forlorn without Miss Bennet, and Darcy was dangerously close to missing Miss Elizabeth as much as Bingley missed her sister.

Darcy made an effort to avoid Miss Elizabeth for the remainder of her stay at Netherfield. He did not speak to her beyond a common greeting when they were in the same room together, though he could not stop his eyes from straying toward her, as they often did. She was aware of him watching, for she looked up several times to catch his unwary gaze and meet it with a stare of her own until he forced himself to look elsewhere. There was no challenge or flirtation in the way she returned his gaze. In her eyes was only an awareness that she was being watched and perhaps still a hint of wariness about his actions.

If she was confused by his behavior, it was only fitting. She was never far from his mind. He could not browse the library without wondering what she would have to say on the books there. He could not practice his magic without thinking of her ability to absorb and give out energy. Her black and violet colors haunted his dreams as often as his dragon did. There were countless of times when it was on the tip of his tongue to ask if she had seen any large dragons in Hertfordshire, but he held back each time.

He threw himself into his exercises in an attempt to drive her from his thoughts. His leg ached sharply at the end of each night but there was no doubt that he was slowly regaining the use of it. He relied less on his cane, though he could not abandon it entirely. He also set about trying to capture his dragon’s image on paper. He was no artist, but he began by copying the drawings of other dragons from Bennet’s book as practice. He was seldom happy with the results but it gave him the illusion of moving forward.

He had not seen his dragon since that first night Miss Elizabeth stayed at Netherfield, but for some reason he was certain she was near. It was a feeling lodged in his heart, only supplanted by his awareness of Miss Elizabeth whenever she drew near. It was Darcy’s lot to be plagued by unattainable females. One had captured his imagination, but was out of his reach for the expectations of his family to marry well. The other had saved his life, and remained frustratingly elusive since. He was also beleaguered by one more female, who felt she was entitled to his company in the hopes of attaching herself to his wealth. He eschewed company as much to avoid Miss Bingley as to prevent himself from paying too much attention to Miss Elizabeth.

Meanwhile, Bingley gave every indication of becoming increasingly fond of Miss Bennet. Miss Elizabeth was a silent chaperone, always watching protectively, but not inclined to interfere. Bingley’s attachment to the serene Miss Bennet bothered Darcy greatly, for he did not trust that she returned Bingley’s regard in the slightest.

Miss Elizabeth, with her small smile, showed more reaction than Miss Bennet when Bingley paid the elder sister a compliment. Darcy feared Miss Bennet was only a fortune hunter, and Miss Elizabeth had come along to report on how well Miss Bennet’s seduction was progressing. It was a small saving factor that though Miss Bennet did not discourage Bingley, she was also not avidly scheming like Miss Bingley.

When the Bennet sisters took their leave five days after their arrival, the entire house was affected. Miss Bingley ordered the servants around unnecessarily, trying to remove all traces of the Bennets’ presence. Bingley was filled with a restless energy that left him wandering from room to room unable to settle. Darcy was profoundly relieved at first. It had become increasingly difficult for him to hide his growing attraction to Miss Elizabeth. If she had not removed herself when she had, he feared what he might have done.

Yet once she was gone, a dismal lethargy enveloped Darcy: colors were dimmed, sounds were harsh to his ears, his skin felt numb, perfumes were irritating to his nose, and his food tasteless. He no longer pushed himself during his exercises, but contented himself with the least amount of effort. On his walks, he did not go to the stream that she had jumped across. He avoided all things that might remind him of her.

His dragon book became painful to look at, for he could not study it without remembering that she too had studied dragons with Mr. Bennet. Worse yet, the sense that his dragon was near had faded. He was miserable with the loss of both Miss Elizabeth and his dragon. If it were not for the lengthy carriage ride, he would have retreated to Pemberley where he could at least continue his convalescence without constant reminders of either female.

Chapter 6

Several days after Miss Elizabeth left, Darcy was in the library, disconsolately paging through the dragon book once again. He had looked at it so often that its spine was creased and it fell open to the sections he lingered at the most. He reached the end of the book and idly turned it over to the beginning again. He flicked open the cover, the pages turning automatically to the first chapter. As he did so, he realized he had never explored the pages between the first chapter and the front cover. He had skipped them so often that they had become stuck together.

He carefully pried apart those first pages, hoping there might be more of the artist’s excellent dragons. He was rewarded on the title page, where a little teal, green and gold dragon was caught in the act of chewing on the “S” in Study. It had a comical look of guilty surprise, its teeth cunningly embedded into the letter by the artist’s skilled hand. Darcy wished, yet again, he could see a rendition of his dragon by this artist. He was still chuckling when he turned the page and his wish was answered.

His heart gave an almighty lurch. There was another picture on the next page, the only full-page drawing in the entire book. In his opinion, the artist could not have chosen a better subject. He recognized the outline of the dragon. The artist was flawless in capturing the curve of her neck, the sweep of her wings. It was his dragon, in all her dark glory. Her back was inky black, fading into pure sapphire along her sides, and turned violet on her stomach. She sat in profile to the viewer, her wings—also black, blue, and violet—slightly extended behind her. There was pride in her bearing, but even more, there was quivering life . She could explode off the page at that very moment and it would not surprise him at all.

For the first time a human was portrayed next to the dragon. It was a young lady with brown hair, pictured from the back. She seemed to be reaching for the dragon. Unlike the dragon, which was done with such fine detail he wondered if magic was involved, the lady was drawn with light, flowing lines. She was almost more of a suggestion of a person, than someone real. Both sketches were done in scale, so that the dragon towered over the young lady.

Darcy realized he was holding his breath and let it out in a rush. His hand trembled as he reached out and touched the perfect figure of his dragon. Frost spread from his fingertips. He snatched his hand back, then hastily removed the ice from the page. This was it, he realized with growing excitement. All this time he had been looking for evidence of his dragon, and here it was. His dragon was in Bennet’s book. Bennet held crucial information about his dragon.

Darcy shoved himself upright, energy coursing through him. He had not wanted to share his dragon with Mr. Bennet before, but now he knew that Mr. Bennet and the artist had seen the dragon in person. He called for a carriage, for once not dwelling on his fear of the contraption. Darcy paced impatiently in the entry hall, his cane thumping on the ground. He brought the book with him, determined to confront the author at long last.

Once the carriage pulled up in front of Netherfield, Darcy hurried into it. He felt the momentary discomfort of being enclosed in the moving box, but would not let it distract him from his goal.

“To Longbourn,” he ordered gruffly. The coachman complied. By the time the short journey was concluded, sweat had gathered along Darcy’s back, both from being in the carriage and the excitement of his discovery.

He left the carriage with alacrity, glad it had been a short trip. Staring up at Longbourn’s ivy covered walls, he took a moment to catch his breath,. They had passed fields of sheep on the way through Longbourn’s lands, but it appeared that the sheep had not been allowed to graze close to the house, for the drive up to the house was lined with long tufts of grass.

Movement caught his eye as someone twitched back the curtain to look at him. Darcy felt a jolt down his spine, as he suddenly recalled that Longbourn was not only Mr. Bennet’s home but also Miss Elizabeth’s. Was he ready to meet her today, after he had spent so much time trying to forget her? Was he now safe from her charms? He only had to consult his heart for a brief second before knowing that he was not yet safe from her temptation.

Darcy straightened his spine. He did not have to see Miss Elizabeth, he told himself. He was here to speak with her father. There was no reason to linger before or after. If he did see her, it would only be in passing. Surely that was not too great a danger? Set in his course, he walked up to Longbourn’s door. He felt the awkwardness of his gait keenly, knowing that strangers were watching him from within. He was grateful for the work he had done to strengthen his leg but it was not enough to fully overcome his limp.

An older lady, presumably the Bennets’ housekeeper, opened the door for him. Before he could greet her and explain his purpose, Mrs. Bennet’s shrill voice called out, “Who is it, Hill? Show them to the parlor.”

Darcy gritted his teeth but could not avoid a brief visit with the mistress of Longbourn. He was shown into a room with Mrs. Bennet and four of her daughters. He could not have said if he was disappointed or relieved that Miss Elizabeth was not among them. It was on the tip of his tongue to ask after her—he was concerned for her health, nothing more—but he bit the words back. The ladies curtsied and he responded with a bow. Mrs. Bennet invited him to tea, which he declined as politely as he could manage. Quickly he turned to Mrs. Hill and requested an interview with the master of the house.

The housekeeper obediently led him away. As the door closed behind him, an excited babble of voices broke out, loudly wondering what purpose he could have to seek an interview with Mr. Bennet. Darcy shuddered at Mrs. Bennet’s certainty that he had come to ask permission to court one of her girls.

“It must be you, Kitty,” Mrs. Bennet declared boldly. “Jane is already spoken for by Mr. Bingley, and Mary is too plain to attract a man like Mr. Darcy. Lydia wants to marry an officer, therefore Mr. Darcy will belong to Kitty!”

“I do not know that Mr. Bingley feels anything for me,” Miss Bennet protested genteelly.

“Mama, please lower your voice, Mr. Darcy might hear you,” Miss Mary begged.

“I do not want to marry Mr. Darcy!” Miss Kitty exclaimed in fright. “He is very grim, and walks strangely. I am quite terrified of him!”

Darcy walked out of hearing range at that moment, cutting off further discussion of his marriage prospects. He was simultaneously horrified at Mrs. Bennet’s shrewdness, and mortified that Miss Elizabeth had to endure such a mother. It was very well that he had not allowed his heart to overrule his head where Miss Elizabeth was concerned! He did wonder, though, why Mrs. Bennet had not offered her second daughter as his future companion. Or had Miss Elizabeth, like Miss Kitty, already opined that she would not have him?

Why would Miss Elizabeth refuse him, if he should ask? Surely she had more sense than to reject him for such petty reasons as Miss Kitty had stated. He was eminently wealthier than the Bennets, with an ancient family and a great estate. His relations were certainly not as vulgar as hers. He believed himself to be tolerably handsome, especially to the ladies of the Ton. He could remove her from her grasping family and provide her with many opportunities. Why, Pemberley’s vast library contained many shelves of books on the history of the Roman Empire, to name a single topic that might interest her.

Darcy was badly distracted as he climbed the dark, narrow stairs to Mr. Bennet’s study, which left him in a poor state of mind to confront Mr. Bennet. Mrs. Hill knocked on the door to Mr. Bennet’s library and Darcy’s heart made a nervous lurch. The book from Netherfield was clenched tightly in his fist. He tried to focus solely on his dragon and push all other concerns aside.

“Enter,” Mr. Bennet called negligently. Darcy pushed the door open and walked into a comfortable yet shabby-looking room, festooned with books on nearly every surface. Mr. Bennet sat behind a desk, a book in hand. He glanced up at Darcy. If he was surprised by the unexpected visitor, he gave no sign of it.

“Yes? Mr. Darcy, is it? Please have a seat. What can I do for you?” He kept his finger on the page to mark his place.

Darcy limped to the chair Mr. Bennet had nodded to. He was obliged to shift several volumes to make room for himself. With nowhere else to put them he placed them on a haphazard, knee high stack next to the desk. Only then could he take a seat, favoring his leg.

“Good morning, sir. I have a question for you,” he began, thinking at first of his dragon. Abruptly, another black and violet beauty flashed before his eyes, bringing him to a sharp halt. He suddenly realized, had circumstances been slightly different, he might have been asking Mr. Bennet about Miss Elizabeth at that moment. He swallowed hard, trying to push the image out of his mind. She was not for him, he reminded himself firmly. Who was she? Just some country squire’s daughter, that was all. It was not like she was on the same level as he , master of Pemberley. No matter the shimmering length of her hair, or the way her violet-blue eyes flashed when she fixed on a point…

He was lost in his recollections long enough that Mr. Bennet cleared his throat sharply.

“What is it?” he asked with ill-concealed impatience. Darcy jumped guiltily, bringing the Netherfield book in front of him like a shield. Mr. Bennet noticed the book.

“Is that what you want?” he asked with a tone of boredom. “Yes, I wrote the thing. That is Netherfield’s copy, is it not? I put my autograph in there before I sent it over. I can sign it again if it has become damaged or lost somehow.” The older man set his book aside with great reluctance and began to look for a pen on his haphazard desk.

“What?” Darcy stammered. “Yes, I mean, no…” He had come here expecting a confrontation, but thinking of the man’s daughter, of asking for Miss Elizabeth’s hand in marriage had completely disarmed him. Mr. Bennet stopped looking for a pen and gave Darcy an exasperated look.

Everything Darcy had planned to say on the way to Longbourn was forgotten. He took the most direct approach, opening the book to the incriminating page showing his black-blue-violet dragon. He placed the open book on Mr. Bennet’s desk, facing the older man.

“What do you know about her?” he asked sharply, his voice hoarse and his heart pounding with nerves. Mr. Bennet glanced at the book and then made a show of putting on his glasses and holding the book at arm’s length to put the image in focus. Darcy gripped his cane hard in frustration.

“Oh yes,” Mr. Bennet said after a few seconds of silent study. “That was one of the dragons I saw during my travels. I am impressed you realized it is a female. Did you notice the egg horn on her nose? It is to help her young when they are hatching. Males have a pair of larger horns toward the back of their heads. I thought the artist was unusually good at rendering dragons, so I insisted on a few limited editions with full color images. Very pricey, but I think the cost was worth it. What was it you wanted?”

Darcy had expected Mr. Bennet to dissemble, and was surprised by the man’s frankness. At first his heart had leapt at hearing the admission of knowledge of the dragon, but it fell as he listened to Mr. Bennet’s casual words. And yet his information sounded too familiar: he must have known this dragon very well, though he pretended not to. Darcy’s dragon was not his, but Mr. Bennet’s.

“How did you tame her?” he asked, envy gnawing at his insides. What would he not give to have been the first person to see that beautiful dragon?

Mr. Bennet started and then laughed openly at Darcy. “Tame a dragon? You can no more tame a dragon than you can tame a woman! Though a woman is a lot less likely to eat you if she disagrees with your methods.”

Darcy clenched his jaw. “Do not toy with me!” he ground out. “I have seen this very dragon twice since coming to Hertfordshire. You obviously know her. At least do me the courtesy of not pretending ignorance.”

Mr. Bennet gave him a look over the top of his glasses. “I have not lied to you, whatever you think you have seen.” he said solemnly. Darcy’s pulse throbbed in his head. His hands were clenched so tight his knuckles ached. He had never been closer to challenging another man to a duel.

Mr. Bennet noticed Darcy’s fury. He sighed, then removed his glasses and began polishing them. “Let me ask you this: do you really think there could be a dragon of this vast size living here? If so, would there not be screaming and flames every night as the dragon hunted?”

Darcy forced himself to answer with bare civility. “Dragons do not choose to hunt humans except in dire circumstances, and they do not use their fire to hunt. You stated those facts yourself in your book, sir .”

Mr. Bennet’s eyebrows rose almost to his hairline. “I cannot believe you actually read the thing! You must be the only one who has, other than the critics. And if you know my book, you know what everyone says about it: pure romantic nonsense. Not a lick of it is true.”

“But you and I both know differently, do we not?” Darcy said, frustration coating his words. He was sick of being led around by Mr. Bennet’s bumbling answers. It was a false front behind which to hide the truth and Darcy was not falling for it.

Mr. Bennet gave Darcy an appraising look. The image of a tired, inept country squire began to fracture under the intelligence in his faded blue eyes. The older man leaned forward, his elbows on the desk and laced his fingers in front of his face.

“Very well, young man,” he said, “Let us look at this rationally. You say you have seen a very large dragon, not once, but twice in this area.”

“Not any dragon,” Darcy pointed out, “This dragon,” he stabbed a finger at the illustration still open on Mr. Bennet’s desk.

“Yes, yes, that dragon. Now, if you have read my book, and believe the words written within, you would know that dragons prefer cold climates and high elevation. What do you have to say about the lack of both in Hertfordshire?”

Darcy was furious with Mr. Bennet’s patronizing tone. He did not feel like being quizzed , of all things!

“I do not know,” he snapped angrily.

Mr. Bennet’s expression—for only an instant—registered disappointment. Then it was hidden under his sleepy country mask again, as though Darcy had never seen the man underneath. It was only that which kept him from leaping to his feet in outrage as Mr. Bennet shook his head and tsked.

“Then there can be no dragon in Hertfordshire,” the older man said. “Go home and forget you ever saw her.”

Darcy swallowed an angry retort. He hated being taken to task like an errant child, especially by a man who had no right. Mr. Bennet went back to reading, ignoring Darcy’s presence. Darcy took a deep breath and tried to clear his mind of hot emotion.

“Something else must be keeping her here,” he said eventually.

Mr. Bennet looked up, and there it was again, that hint of a razor intellect behind those guileless eyes. Darcy became certain he was on the right track.

“And what could hold a dragon, a creature with fire and wings, in one area?” Mr. Bennet prompted quietly.

Darcy did not want more questions, but he forced himself to think it through. Magic could not hold a dragon. Chains or imprisonment were out of the question. Not only had the dragon been free, but any metal would have to be monstrously huge to be strong enough to resist a dragon of that size, and wood could simply be burned through.

His first thought was that Mr. Bennet had somehow trained or tamed the dragon, but there was a ring of truth to the old man’s statement about taming a dragon. A dragon could no more be tamed than a woman… but a woman would go with a man she loved. Given that he had only seen the one dragon, he doubted there was a mate or hatchlings for her to protect in the area. That only left attachment to something, or maybe someone, else.

“There is something here which she loves,” Darcy nearly whispered the answer.

There was unmistakable interest in Mr. Bennet’s gaze now. “What is it?”

Darcy shook his head. “I do not yet know her well enough to guess,” he admitted wearily. He braced himself for another dismissive retort from Mr. Bennet, but instead the older man nodded musingly.

“I will let that one be. Now then, how do you explain why Hertfordshire is not overrun by would-be dragon hunters, and no one is in panic over the fire-breathing beast that lives next door?”

Since answering questions was the only way he was going to learn about the dragon, he gave it thought.

“She must have some place to hide during the day,” he said slowly. “Are there caves nearby?”

Mr. Bennet shook his head.

“Not in caves, then. Perhaps in the woods, but there are paths all through that area… Although, I would say that where does not matter. The point is, she has shelter, and it is somewhere safe, hidden and nearby. Then she only comes out at night…” he remembered the way she had saved him from the carriage accident, his first night in Hertfordshire. His leg pulsed at the memory and he rubbed it absently. At the time he had been astonished to see a dragon that large.

Now, looking back, he thought about how remarkable it was that she had no hesitation to approach him. She had taken pains to pull him from the river, to wait with him and keep him awake until Bingley arrived.

“She is smart,” he wondered out loud. He had always known her actions were not those of a normal dragon, but he had never considered exactly what that meant. She had no fear or shyness of humans like a regular wild dragon. She showed problem solving and altruistic abilities. She acted far more like a person than a true dragon.

“Dragons are supposed to be as clever as a dog or horse, but she is really smart. As smart as a person. And she is used to being around people.” He understood, suddenly. “Someone in Hertfordshire is protecting her. He gives her shelter, and she remains hidden during the day.” His eyes cut toward Mr. Bennet.

The older man had the face of a card shark, giving away nothing. Only the gleam in his eyes told Darcy he had guessed right. Mr. Bennet had to be the one protecting the dragon. He had made dragons his entire life study once he dropped from the public eye. The only thing Darcy couldn’t figure out was why Mr. Bennet was doing it—and how that particular dragon was so well adapted to life among humans.

“And what does this supposed dragon eat?” Mr. Bennet asked pointedly.

Darcy’s first reply was too obvious: anything she wanted. But no, that was not true, because she did not eat humans. He supposed that she could be hunting for herself, but he had not seen the kind of large game that could support a predator that size. He had never fed a dragon before, but he estimated she could easily go through several hundred pounds of meat a month. That meant a full-sized cow every month, or two or three pigs, or even… sheep. Like the flocks that grazed in Longbourn’s pastures. He met Mr. Bennet’s eyes and each man recognized their shared knowledge.

That was when Darcy realized he had underestimated the older man. Mr. Bennet’s eyes took on a dangerous glint. The gentleman farmer façade dropped away, showing the bold—maybe even reckless—adventurer he had been in his youth. Startled, Darcy tried to rise from his chair, but found he could not. His mouth went dry as he realized Mr. Bennet was a much more powerful spell mage then Bingley. Bingley’s spells always felt like big soft pillows holding him down. Mr. Bennet’s spells felt like nothing at all, but Darcy was still effectively trapped.

“I love her like a daughter,” Mr. Bennet warned in a low tone.

Darcy realized that coming here to confront the older man was a mistake. Yes, he had wanted to learn more about the dragon, to solve the mystery of her presence plaguing him, but in doing so and figuring out who was harboring her, he had exposed himself to someone who would do anything to protect her.

“I have no quarrel with you, sir, or her,” Darcy tried to keep his voice even. “She is…” he wanted to say, the most beautiful thing I have ever seen , but once again a black-violet image of the man’s daughter rose in his mind. Miss Elizabeth’s beauty could not be compared to the dragon’s, though both were kindly blessed. “Very beautiful,” he choked out. “I never came here seeking her harm.”

“Maybe,” Mr. Bennet replied enigmatically. “Do you play high chess?”

A chill went down Darcy’s spine. “Not if I can help it,” he said.

“That is a shame. You do maintain at least one set, yes? I find you can often take the measure of a man by playing a game of high chess against him. Humor me for a while, would you?” Mr. Bennet began clearing off his desk in preparation for their game.

The last thing Darcy wanted to do was reveal his flawed set before this man. He tried to rise again, but his legs still would not move.

“You have me at the advantage,” he said stiffly. A true gentleman would never unwillingly confine another in this way. The fact that Darcy was helpless to counter it only added to his ire. His ice magic was not suited to breaking spells. He thought of Miss Elizabeth’s ability to absorb magic and fleetingly wished he could do the same.

Mr. Bennet only glanced at him as he laid out a battered chess board. The black and white squares made Darcy’s heart pound nervously. He had not been able to play a game of high chess since Ramsgate, and he knew his issues with his set were not resolved.

“Relax, I mean you no harm,” Mr. Bennet said brusquely. “But when one is involved in a venture such as I am, one cannot be too careful.”

Darcy was close to begging for release, but pride held his tongue. The master of Pemberley did not beg, and in any case he knew it would be ineffective. Mr. Bennet was a man with a secret to protect. He would be as fierce as a brooding dragon until he was satisfied.

The older man placed his hand over the board and closed his eyes briefly. Along the edges of the board a series of runes and sigils suddenly glowed and sprang to life, then faded again.

“Can never be too careful, can you?” Mr. Bennet said conversationally. “Please, check the board.”

“No, thank you,” Darcy gritted out. He wanted nothing to do with the hateful board.

“I insist,” Mr. Bennet’s voice hardened, and Darcy knew he had no choice. Mr. Bennet looked quite capable and willing to hold him until Darcy complied. Reluctantly he held his hand over the board, closed his eyes, and extended his magic senses toward it. He knew the runes once again flashed with light, but this time he felt them in his mind. Any mage able to play high chess was taught how to check a board for errors. The boards were a very powerful and delicate bit of magic. Should a single line of script be out of place, the entire construct could collapse with disastrous effect. Having both players check the board was also insurance against cheating. The board felt whole and undamaged in Darcy’s mind. He withdrew his hand and nodded his acceptance.

“Now then, shall we be started?” Mr. Bennet asked cheerfully. He set his fingers at the end of the board and took on an expression of intense concentration. Magic rose like fog and began to eddy on Mr. Bennet’s side of the board.

Darcy discovered that he was not too proud to beg.

“Please,” he began, nervous sweat trailing down his back. “I fear I am not a good player, and my set has become damaged. I bow to your skill, and accede the match to you. I swear on my word that I will not tell a soul about the dragon or your sheltering her. She will come to no danger from me.”

“This is not about the dragon,” Mr. Bennet said coolly. “It is your own fault for not maintaining your set properly. If it is as bad as you say, this will be a quick match, and I shall know what to do with you then. Now, play the game.” His warning was unmistakable. Darcy would not be able to avoid the game.

Reluctantly he placed his fingertips on the edge of the board. The runes hummed gently, eagerly waiting his input. He closed his eyes in fierce concentration. Please , he thought desperately, just this once can I not have a different set that is not damaged? He felt his pieces slowly coalesce out of the magic of the board. For a moment, as he was forming the queen, Miss Elizabeth’s image leant itself to his creation. No! What a disaster that would be, to reveal his unwise interest in the man’s daughter while playing this awful game. He wrestled the queen’s features back into faceless submission, and went on with the rest of his pieces. If only he could have a different set of knights, and different bishops… Even before he opened his eyes, he knew he had failed.

High chess was only loosely related to the normal chess that any person could learn. They used the same board and the same number and type of pieces, but that was where the similarities ended. One had to be a mage to play high chess, and each set was unique to the life experiences of the mage. Instead of capturing the king, a stronghold was the object of the game. Darcy fearfully peered at Mr. Bennet’s side of the board before looking at his own.

Mr. Bennet’s stronghold was of course Longbourn. The miniature was in great detail, but oddly foreshortened as though viewed from very far overhead. It was not a common point of view, but it was so accurate that it was instantly recognizable. Darcy felt a certain sadness when he realized that Mr. Bennet’s dragon must have flown him into the air to gain that perspective. It was a privilege Darcy knew he would never have. The landscape of the first two rows on Mr. Bennet’s side were gently rolling Hertfordshire hills.

Darcy took stock of Mr. Bennet’s pieces quickly. For the king and queen, Mr. Bennet had obviously chosen himself and Mrs. Bennet. The queen piece seemed greatly weakened, the small figure of Mrs. Bennet comically nagging and then throwing up her hands with nerves. If his circumstances were not so dire, Darcy might have smiled at the image. As it was, he took note that the queen’s power had been moved to a different piece, and moved on. It was interesting to note that Mr. Bennet had also chosen female faces for his bishops, just like Darcy. In the older man’s case, his oldest and middle daughters were the chosen ones. Miss Bennet had a serene beauty, while Miss Mary’s plain face was offset by the intelligence behind her glasses. Mr. Bennet’s knights were Sir William Lucas, an obvious, but somewhat pedantic choice, and…

Darcy’s breath caught in his throat. Mr. Bennet’s second knight was Miss Elizabeth, standing with her hands behind her back, an innocently mischievous expression on her face. There seemed to be something odd about her piece as well, as though Darcy were not seeing the whole of it. He kept it in mind and forced himself to look at the other pieces, as much as his eyes wanted to linger on the knight. The rooks were occupied by a man and woman Darcy did not recognize. The pawns were alternately Miss Kitty and Miss Lydia.

Mr. Bennet was studying Darcy’s pieces as well. Darcy, as always, had Pemberley as his stronghold, with the craggy Derbyshire land as his surrounding ground. The game took Mr. Bennet’s hills and blended them into Darcy’s crags in the middle four rows of the board. Darcy had himself as the king, and a faceless female figure as his queen. It was dangerous for any single man to allow a queen to resemble an actual woman, and he was far past the age where his mother was considered an acceptable substitute. From there, his pieces only got worse.

One of his bishops was Mrs. Reynolds, a solid choice, but the second was Mrs. Younge, already looking shrewdly conniving. With despair, Darcy looked at his knights. One was his cousin Richard, whom he need not fear, but the other was Wickham which was going to be disaster as soon as Darcy tried to move him. Darcy’s rooks were his aunt Lady Catherine de Bourgh and his uncle the Earl of Matlock. And his pawns… his heart clenched. His pawns were all twelve year old versions of his sister Georgiana. With such a set, the game was doomed from the beginning.

Mr. Bennet acknowledged his opponent, and the match began. The pieces of high chess had similar ranges as their regular chess counterparts, but it also took into account the landscape each man had chosen, so that a piece on higher ground might have a movement or attack bonus. That was where high chess became more like a general commanding an army, for multiple pieces could be moved at once, and there was no taking turns in the game. An attack did not mean an automatic capture, though several weaker pieces could gang up on a more powerful one. Each piece was also imbued with a certain power as well, according to the desires and knowledge of the wielder. It was common for bishops to have a healer aspect, or for knights to inspire their surrounding pieces. Rooks often added a bulwark to the pieces around them, just as a real castle protected those behind it.

In the first thirty seconds of the game, Darcy realized Mr. Bennet was a better player. Not only did he have a set that worked well together, but his grasp of tactics was also superior. After a mere two minutes, as Darcy lost a couple Georgiana pieces to one boisterous Miss Lydia, disaster struck on Darcy’s board. Mrs. Younge struck out at the remaining Georgianas, while Mrs. Reynolds tried to pull the pawns toward safety. Wickham also attacked the Georgianas, but Richard leapt over the faceless queen and began wrestling with Wickham.

“Get control of your board, man,” Mr. Bennet said in gleeful surprise, moving several of his pieces to take advantage of the chaos.

“I can’t,” Darcy gritted through his teeth. He deliberately threw Mrs. Younge into the way of Sir William, who appeared to be a lazy knight but still managed to capture the woman. Darcy glanced around for Mr. Bennet’s other knight, but did not see Miss Elizabeth on the board. Her father must be holding her in reserve for later, a common tactic. Mrs. Reynolds ushered the remaining three Georgianas toward Pemberley. Darcy vainly tried to separate Richard and Wickham, who continued to damage each other.

The Earl of Matlock did away with a Miss Lydia and two Miss Kittys, before Miss Mary and a Miss Kitty took him down. Wickham suddenly turned from Richard and lunged after nearby Miss Lydias, removing two of them from the board. Richard then stabbed Wickham in the back, and Wickham fell. In a bold move Richard took out Mrs. Bennet, both unknown rooks and Sir William before bowing to Miss Mary and being neatly captured by her.

Miss Mary then led the last Miss Lydia and the two remaining Miss Kittys in a brilliant campaign that took out Darcy’s faceless queen, Lady Catherine, and wounded Mrs. Reynolds. Miss Bennet finished off Mrs. Reynolds, and the three Georgianas she had been protecting fell on Miss Bennet.

Panting, Darcy looked around the board wildly. Mr. Bennet still had his king piece, one Miss Kitty, and Miss Mary. His Miss Elizabeth knight was still hidden somewhere. Where was she? Mr. Bennet laid siege to Pemberley, and Darcy struggled in vain to protect it. He poured energy into the board, sending his own king piece darting around to protect the remaining Georgianas. Miss Mary snuck in behind him and finished off all but one Georgiana. His king piece lashed out and caught the last Miss Kitty and Miss Mary. The Mr. Bennet piece applied steady pressure as the Darcy piece cradled his sister and protected her with his own body. Mr. Bennet steadily brought more pressure against Darcy, and Darcy pushed back as well as he was able.

“Give it up, boy, the game is over,” Mr. Bennet said. “No need to push yourself to exhaustion.”

This was the problem Darcy had with high chess. Besides his pieces turning against each other, his stronghold was Pemberley and to give up was to see Pemberley fall, which he could never do. So he slammed magic recklessly into the board, vainly trying to protect both Pemberley and Georgiana. His head pounded in pain at the effort.

“You are not even attacking,” Mr. Bennet said incredulously. “Cede the game to me and let this be done.”

Darcy shook his head, even though his vision flashed grey. “I will not,” he snarled. “You have only the king. I can outlast you.”

Mr. Bennet was also looking wearied by the game. Darcy began to hope he could hold out against the older man. Mr. Bennet shook his head, and then brought out his last piece. The Miss Elizabeth knight burst forward. Darcy knew it was her, for Mr. Bennet had no other pieces, but she had been transformed. She was now a vast dragon, black, blue and violet, winging toward Pemberley with fire in her jaws. Darcy threw ice around Pemberley, but the dragon fire was hotter still. Pemberley began to burn, trapping Georgiana inside. Darcy did not understand. It was a cheat, turning Miss Elizabeth into a dragon, but the board had been whole. The pieces were always drawn from the user’s own experiences. The only way for Miss Elizabeth to have become the dragon was for them to be connected in real life.

The fires consumed Pemberley and even though his home was lost, Darcy still tried to save it. His head sunk to the table as he poured more magic in. The dragon circled Pemberley, watching it burn. And then he understood.

“The dragon,” he gasped, not talking about the game anymore. “Miss Elizabeth is the dragon.”

The last thing Darcy saw was Mr. Bennet’s implacable face as he reached out and crushed Pemberley under his thumb.

Chapter 7

Darcy woke up with a pounding headache. He found himself lying on a musty old couch, his feet propped up on one end. His neck-tie had been loosened, and something damp was laid over his forehead and eyes.

“I would not try to move yet, young man,” Mr. Bennet said calmly. Darcy stifled a groan as the older man’s voice acted like a hammer on his skull. The cloth over his face had absorbed the heat of his body and was now lukewarm. He reached out with his magic and the water within the cloth half-froze. It became instantly cool and soothing. A few moments later, he no longer felt he was dying.

His thoughts began to race as he recalled what had happened. Miss Elizabeth was somehow—impossibly—the dragon. It made a fiendish kind of sense as he recalled everything strange about her. Her strength when he had stumbled into her at the Meryton assembly. The way she had leaped the creek on Netherfield’s property. Her dragon-like ability to absorb and infuse magic. She moved like a dragon, silent and graceful, with the air of a hunter around her. Even her coloration was similar, her hair like the scales on the dragon’s back, her eyes the color of the dragon’s underside. He began to think he must have been blind not to see it before.

He cautiously pushed back the cold cloth and looked around. The light was cruel on his eyes but his sight adjusted quickly. He was still in Mr. Bennet’s study, on a beaten couch that had been unearthed from under all the books. Mr. Bennet sat in the chair Darcy had occupied during their game. He watched Darcy keenly.

“You were quite a fool to hold on for so long,” Mr. Bennet said bluntly. “I do not know what you could have been thinking. Does that often work for you, refusing to cede the match until the other fellow gives up first?”

“Sometimes,” Darcy gritted out. He sat up, his head spinning slightly.

“Then they were cowards not to push you to the end,” Mr. Bennet said sharply. “Though I suppose you are quite a tenacious fellow.”

Darcy’s temper flared. He had had enough of this man’s patronizing tone. “I bid you good day,” he said curtly, unsteadily rising from the couch. He did not see his cane, so he formed one of ice. He limped toward the door. If Mr. Bennet had sealed it with a spell, then Darcy was going to batter it with ice until he broke free.

“Considering your game, I did not expect you to give up so easily,” Mr. Bennet taunted him. “Did you not come to learn of the dragon?”

Darcy rounded on Mr. Bennet furiously. “I came here to ask about the dragon,” he snarled. “Since I have arrived, I have been questioned, ridiculed, held against my will, forced into a game I detest, and rendered unconscious because of it. What possible reason have I to stay?”

Mr. Bennet stared at him, mouth falling open a little more with each accusation. Finally the older man bowed his head tiredly. “You are right, I have treated you unfairly. I know that I have pushed you beyond decorum. I can only say that I am a worried old man and I wanted to know if I could trust you.”

“Then what now?” Darcy asked starkly. “I did not win at your game; what possible reason could it give you to trust me?”

“It was not about winning,” Mr. Bennet countered almost gently. “I wanted to see how you played, see what sort of man you are. The man that played that game was a good sort of man, not without foibles, as we all are, but also caring and very nearly able to stubbornly outlast me. In short, he is a man I would trust with the information he is seeking.”

Darcy hesitated, torn between outrage and determination. Mr. Bennet looked worn, as though he had been aged by the game. He no longer appeared to be the sleepy farmer gentleman or the sharp-witted mage, but a merely mortal man who was exhausted. In the end, Darcy’s curiosity won out. He faced Mr. Bennet fully, shifting his weight off of his injured leg.

“I am not in the mood for more questions,” he warned.

“Just one more, though I have little right to ask. What is she worth to you?”

Darcy’s heart froze in his chest. What was she worth to him? Did Mr. Bennet mean Miss Elizabeth, or the dragon? Even knowing they were one and the same it was impossible to reconcile his feelings toward each. He had obsessed over finding the dragon, thinking to protect her from the world and would-be dragon hunters. To learn she had lived in the same house as him for a week, in the form of Miss Elizabeth, tore at him.

As for Miss Elizabeth, he had been unwillingly attracted to her from the first moment he met her. Was that because he had been looking for his dragon, and some part of him had recognized her from the beginning? Or was there something deeper at stake? Why had he become so interested in the dragon, before he knew she was more than a silent beast? What was she worth to him? Both woman and dragon were important enough for him to remain in the presence of a man whom he had no reason to like and every reason to dismiss. Perhaps he had twice the reason to stay now, knowing his dragon was Miss Elizabeth. The fact that his feet did not carry him out the door was as much of an answer as he was willing to give.

“Speak on,” Darcy said guardedly.

Mr. Bennet’s shoulder slumped in relief. “Ask what you will,” he invited, gesturing to the couch. “I will answer all that I can.”

Darcy watched him for a time, uncertain that Mr. Bennet was truly repentant. “Is Miss Elizabeth truly the dragon herself?”

“She is, as you have surmised,” Mr. Bennet confirmed.

Some of the ire left Darcy at this great revelation, and he released his breath through pursed lips. He walked to the couch and sat down, favoring his right leg heavily. Nothing escaped Mr. Bennet’s attention.

“I could probably design a new brace for your leg,” the older man mused. “It would work better than what you have on now. Only be sure to keep my Lizzy away from it. I cannot tell you the havoc she plays on spells and magic when she has a mind to.”

“So then that is Miss Elizabeth’s true talent,” Darcy thought out loud. “She becomes a dragon.”

“No,” Mr. Bennet spoke sharply. “I want to be clear from the beginning. My Lizzy does not choose to be a dragon because she can. She is forced into it. She is cursed, and it is my fault.” Shame showed clearly in his bearing.

“You laid a curse on her?” Darcy asked incredulously. Each new statement was more astonishing than before.

Mr. Bennet stiffened, and then sat back in his chair in collapse. He looked down at his hands, his posture one of helplessness. “I may as well have,” he said softly, glancing up at Darcy. “I have a story to tell, if you are willing to listen.”

Darcy nodded.

Mr. Bennet took a moment to gather his thoughts before speaking. “Many years ago,” he began, “I was a foolish young man. I had a gentleman’s education, and when I graduated, I wanted to go on a Grand Tour with many of my peers. Since my family could ill afford it, I left without telling anyone. I took no money, for I was convinced my wit and my magic were enough. I was a very powerful spell mage, you see, at the top of my class. For a time, everything was well.

“Unfortunately, I was not content with the common sights my peers experienced. I longed for greater adventure, more daring. No challenge was too great for me to undertake. I pushed my luck into more remote, dangerous places. Soon my reputation grew. People with an interest in magical artifacts approached me. They offered to pay me if I was willing to procure a certain item for them. I was happy to comply. The money seemed great for the small risk involved.

“I did not at first realize the legal ramification of my actions. I got the item they wanted, and was rewarded handsomely. It was not long before another group approached me, and another. My exploits took me through most parts of Europe. I felt myself invincible, for I was never caught. And then one day, I was.

“I had been contracted to liberate an artifact from a gypsy clan. I thought it was work like any other. The gypsy clan was headed by an old woman, who was a very strong mage herself. I was able to reach the artifact, but was caught as I was attempting to make my escape. Several of the young men of the clan beat me, but the old woman prevented them from killing me. She laid a curse on me instead, that by attempting to take their magic, my children would be marked by it instead. The artifact I had tried to take was a dragon figurine.

“The curse scared me like nothing else had. I returned home to my grateful family. I put all trace of my Grand Tour and ill-gotten gains behind me. I found a simple merchant’s daughter with no trace of magic and married her. I thought, if I refused to live by my magic anymore, I might defeat the curse.

“When Mrs. Bennet announced she was increasing, I laid every spell for health and protection on her. I waited anxiously as her confinement came to an end. My firstborn, Jane, came into this world as a perfect life. From the beginning she was sweet and very dear to both Mrs. Bennet and myself. There was nothing dragon-like about her. I was proud that I had beaten the curse.

“My only regret was the spells which had kept my Jane safe also prevented her from having magic of any sort. What I longed for was a child I could share my magic with. Progeny spells usually only affected the firstborn, and I had already defeated the curse. I was convinced it would not strike again. When Mrs. Bennet said she was increasing again, I did not lay the protection spells on her.

“Her confinement was normal until the seventh month, when suddenly she began to have unusual fatigue, with bleeding and spasms. My Lizzy was born within the week, and her labor was very hard. She was born with a thick caul, not only over her face, but her entire body. Being born with the caul used to be a sign of great favor, but when her caul was breeched, we saw what was underneath.

“My second daughter had succumbed to the curse. She had the hind legs, tail and wings of a dragon. I was able to cast a spell that turned her dragon parts to human. The midwife was upset, but her mothering instincts were greater than her fear. A young creature, whether human, puppy, or dragon, was still worthy of love to her. It was not so for Mrs. Bennet. My wife rejected her new daughter and threatened her life until I was forced to place a memory spell on her.

“Thereafter, Mrs. Bennet did not try to harm Lizzy but neither would she have anything to do with her. I hired a wet nurse, the midwife’s daughter, to care for Lizzy. For a time, all was well. Before a month was up, Lizzy reverted into full dragon form. I tried to spell her into human form again, to no avail. I took over the care of Lizzy, for the wet nurse could not provide for her. I discovered that Lizzy would take some cow’s milk mixed with sow’s blood, and so I was able to nourish her while I looked for a cure.

“Within a few days, she became human again, and the wet nurse returned. Every month for three or four days, Lizzy became a dragon. From then on, whenever Mrs. Bennet said she was increasing, I always put the protection spells on her. I thought that a few days a month was the extent of Lizzy’s curse, but I was soon proven wrong.

“It quickly became clear that even as a human she retained many dragon abilities, such as superior strength and senses. She also had a strong predilection for magic. I was forever replacing all the spells around the house, until I realized that she craved the magic as much as she craved food for substance. I did not know how to care for an infant dragon, and so began my study of dragons.

“I could not trust Lizzy at home, so I brought her with me on my journeys. As such, I began to notice the changes in her. She grew much faster as a dragon than as a human, and needed a constant supply of meat. She learned to control when she changed, though she was still required to spend several days per month as a dragon. That was perhaps the greatest change in her, for as she aged, she had to spend more and more time as a dragon.

“For the last several years, her curse has been accelerating. She must spend more than half of her time as a dragon. Within another year or two, I fear the curse will take her over completely. I think she plans to leave when that happens, as if that will spare me the knowledge of what is happening to her.” Mr. Bennet fell silent at long last.

Darcy’s head was reeling with all he had learned. He had not minded that Miss Elizabeth became a dragon, but to learn she was under such a progressive curse was unfathomable. His first thought was for her welfare.

“You must not let her go, of course,” he said without thinking.

“Is that so, Mr. Darcy?” Mr. Bennet said acerbically. “And tell me, how much experience with children who are dragons do you have? No magic or chain could hold her, and should I dare try she could fly so far I would never see her again. No, as much as it pains me—and until you are the father to a bright, precious daughter yourself, you cannot imagine the sweet pain of seeing her grow—my daughter must be free to fly as she chooses. I can only tell her how much I love her, and pray she takes pity on an old man.”

Darcy felt a flash of memory from this summer, when his sister Georgiana had been so devastated by Wickham’s perfidy. She was not his daughter in truth, but he had essentially been her father-figure since their patriarch had passed away years ago. Her pain was his, and the thought of Georgiana suffering under a curse that would take her away was unbearable.

He ventured another question, “I imagine you have tried to have her curse broken?”

“With every way under the sun possible,” Mr. Bennet confirmed quickly. “As well as many ways not under the sun, and spells that I invented myself. I have chased down every seer, every curse-breaker, and found no answer. I even tried to find the gypsy clan again, but they have hidden from the world and are long lost. No, I have but one hope left for Lizzy’s curse to be broken.”

“What is that?” Darcy asked, unwillingly drawn in by the story.

“I hope that someday Lizzy will find a young man worthy of her. If he loves her truly, accepts her both as a dragon and a maiden, then I hope her curse might be broken.”

“True love,” Darcy agreed, though he felt a need to hide his own regard for Miss Elizabeth. He was fond of her, but he did not love her. Nor could he allow his feelings to grow into love. Could he?

Mr. Bennet sighed. “I do not know where to find such a young man. I imagine he would have to be a rather tenacious fellow, though.” He gave Darcy a sharp look under his bushy brows.

Outrage flashed through Darcy. The husband was as much of a fortune hunter as the wife! He said nothing, determined not to be drawn into this scheme. He was profoundly saddened by Miss Elizabeth’s plight, but knew he could not be the one to save her. He stood abruptly.

“I thank you for your honesty,” he said, more curtly than he had intended. “But I must be away at this time. Have a good day, sir.” He walked toward the door.

“Mr. Darcy,” Mr. Bennet called sternly. “I understand if you choose not to pursue Lizzy. She must be far beneath you in wealth and circumstance and I know my wife and her daughters are rather lacking in decorum. But the least you can do, as a gentleman, is to thank her for saving your life. You can find her in the dower house in the back.”

He bowed his head in acknowledgement, feeling a prick of conscience at the mild reproof. He did owe Miss Elizabeth his life and even livelihood. The least he could do was express his gratitude toward her. Then he could finally lay to rest his obsession with both her and the dragon.

Darcy left Mr. Bennet’s study, deeply troubled as he painfully navigated down the narrow stairs. Had he not been thinking that he could not form an attachment to Miss Elizabeth for the very reasons Mr. Bennet had declared? When Darcy thought of her lack of wealth and connections, his motives against her sounded just and rational. Yet when the same words came out of Mr. Bennet’s mouth, they sounded harsh and arrogant. Was that how he appeared to others? Had he not scorned others of his set for the very pride he was now displaying? Did he have need to marry for more wealth? He did not. His family expected him to marry well, but he was a man of independent means. He needed to answer to no one in his choice of partner.

Did he desire for more connections to those he disdained? The answer was a resounding no, but when he thought of the connections he would gain by aligning himself with Miss Elizabeth, namely Mrs. Bennet and the younger sisters, he recoiled in horror. How could he contemplate polluting Pemberley’s serene halls with Mrs. Bennet’s shrill cries? No, he would not condone it!

He reached the lower floor and took a moment to catch his breath. Going downstairs was harder than going up. Was it unseemly to accept Mr. Bennet’s offer of a brace when he had no interest in furthering his connection to the family? Steeling himself, he walked out of the house. He looked around the riotous Longbourn gardens, and set off toward the back of the property.

While he had no intention of raising Miss Elizabeth’s expectations toward him, he also did not want to leave her with such an arrogant impression as Mr. Bennet had intimated. He located the dower house, a squat stone building with an unusual set of double doors, more appropriate for a barn than a house. At the moment one door was open and it appeared dark on the inside. Mr. Bennet had said Miss Elizabeth would be there, so Darcy thought nothing of approaching the house.

He was distracted by his thoughts, wondering how exactly Miss Elizabeth viewed him. He wanted to leave her with a positive, but not hopeful, image of himself. He was contemplating what phrases to use on her, and quite forgot to announce himself as he walked into the dower house.

In retrospect, it was probably not a good idea to startle such a large dragon. There was a monstrous snort as something huge shied away from him. Darcy instinctively ducked as something passed over his head. The stone house shuddered as a vast creature slammed against it. The dark space inside the house seemed full of flying limbs as the occupant attempted to get away from Darcy.

She will bring down the house, Darcy thought to himself, his heart pounding in atavistic fear. “Miss Elizabeth!” he cried, flinging up his hands as if to calm a wild animal.

The frantic scrambling came to a sudden halt. Dust billowed in the air. Combined with the darkness of the interior compared to the sun outside, it took several minutes for Darcy’s eyes to see in the dower house. He began to slowly make out details. Once he could see the beast entirely, he had to resist the urge to step back and swear softly. He swallowed hard, and hoped his racing heart was not as audible to the creature as it was to him.

His dragon—Miss Elizabeth—was inside the dower house. Darcy did not know if his memory was faulty or if it was the effect of seeing her inside a human dwelling, but she seemed much larger than he had remembered. Yards of coiled muscles and limbs met his eyes. Her huge wings stretched overhead. Her tail was wrapped against her body for there was no room for it otherwise.

She was breath-taking. Darcy’s fear left him in a rush as he studied the dragon-lady, and he admitted that his memory had not lied to him on this point. She was a stunning creature, all smooth lines of grace and power from the tip of her muzzle to the ends of her claws. He could easily see how dragons were the most feared hunters in the world, and also the most envied. She had clean, straight limbs that had never known a limp like his, and even if she were, God forbid, injured, her wings were strong and fresh to carry her above the world.

As Darcy was admiring her, he began to realize that she was not nearly at ease as he. Her claws had dug deep furrows in the dirt floor in an effort to get away from him. Her shoulders were pressed against the stone walls, as if wishing to carve a new door for herself. Her wings were barely constrained by the thatched roof, longing to be free. Her wing tips trembled slightly, and she breathed in quick, shallow pants. Her eyes were wide in fear as she looked at him.

He realized his grievous error in coming upon her unannounced and quickly tried to put her at ease. He bowed to her.

“I apologize, Miss Elizabeth. Your father said I might find you out here. I am afraid it did not occur to me that you might be…” He trailed off, not sure how to delicately refer to her current body.

Slowly, her body relaxed. The house was still crowded with her form, but she arranged her limbs into a more comfortable position. She settled her wings along her back. Darcy stifled an envious sigh as he eyed their silken length. He looked at her face, and jumped in surprise as he met her eyes. His face colored, but he could not hide his reaction. He did not know why it startled him so much that her eyes were the same color whether dragon or human, as well as the obvious and familiar intelligence within, though at that instant her expression was still wary.

When a moment passed and she still made no sound, Darcy realized he was effectively the only one able to speak. He hastened to fill the silence.

“Er, yes, Miss Elizabeth, I know it is you, as the dragon. I saw your picture drawn in your father’s book, and came to ask him about you. During the course of our… conversation, I connected several similarities between yourself as a human, and the dragon I saw before. I guessed that you were related, and your father told me of your…” he coughed and shuffled his feet. He had a feeling that it was somehow uncouth to speak of her curse.

She seemed to relax further. Her muzzle tipped downward in slight acknowledgement. She watched him expectantly. Like when she was human, Darcy found himself unable to tear his eyes from her. He vaguely remembered that he had come for a purpose and forced himself to speak again.

“I wish to thank you, for saving my life. I have no doubt that had you not pulled me from the river, kept me warm, and even infused me with magic, I would not be here today.”

Miss Elizabeth—it was deeply strange to think of the dragon as the black and violet beauty that had stayed at Netherfield, but he supposed he must get used to it—ducked her head. She made a slight motion as if to bury her face under her wing, but was prevented by the smallness of the house. He got the impression that she was embarrassed by his thanks.

He had said what he had come to say, but Darcy could not bring himself to leave. His interest in her was too great, and he lingered against his better judgement.

“The first night I met you, as a human, you knew I had been trapped under the carriage. I could not figure out how you knew, but now I understand, for you were the one to free me,” he said. He was dangerously close to rambling on. Miss Elizabeth rested her chin on her paws as if wearied. She gave a heavy sigh and hot breath washed over his lower legs. Her sides moved rapidly as she resumed panting. Did the night they met bother her so much?

“Please, Miss Elizabeth,” he begged unwisely, “I know you can speak in the way of mages, you spoke before of talking to your father from Netherfield. Could you not give me some reply that you understand me?” The act of speaking mind to mind was an inherently intimate act. In general, it was considered unseemly for unmarried men and women to speak to each other so. Darcy was desperate to have more than an animal response, though, and he thought there was little risk to her reputation, as she was quite obviously a dragon at the moment. If anything, Darcy was the one under greater danger at the moment. It would be too easy for a dragon of her size to do him in and then dispose of the body afterwards.

There was the lightest of unfamiliar touches in his mind. He opened his thoughts to the new connection. Faintly, he heard Miss Elizabeth’s voice, I do not know what you want me to say, Mr. Darcy.

His heart leapt at having this additional contact with her. To prevent her from feeling unduly pressured, he continued to speak out loud. “A healer came from London to tend me, and he said that without your infusion, I would have doubtless lost my leg.”

Please do not mention it, she pleaded, I was not a hero that night, or any other. I saw that you were in need and I was able to help in a unique way. That is all I did.

“But you did save me, Miss Elizabeth,” he insisted. “You saved my life, and probably my livelihood as well. You must allow me to reward you for your actions—” Foolhardy, he stepped forward, reaching out as if to lay his hand on her shoulder.

Her head jerked up as she growled at him, her spine bristling. She watched him through narrowed eyes. Darcy’s muscles turned to water in sheer instinctive recognition of the angry predator before him.

I have no need of your charity, Mr. Darcy, nor will I take any offer of compensation for performing my Christian duty, she snapped in his mind, punctuating her words with a flip of her wings. He stepped back quickly. He was unsure whether it was his words or his attempt to touch her that upset her more.

“I apologize,” he said quickly, “I did not mean to imply that you suffered any lack, or needed my help. I only meant to say that I am very grateful to you. I will be silent on the subject.”

She lowered her head again, still watching him balefully. She began to pant heavier than before, her mouth gaping open to reveal long, sharp teeth.

He hesitated, slowly learning to respect her dragonish pride, but decided to speak anyway. “Forgive me for noticing, but you appear to be in some distress. Is there anything I might do for you?”

She studied him for a moment, and then said, It is only that it is so hot in here. I fear that as a dragon I am quite sensitive to the heat.

Darcy had not noticed the dower house being warmer than outside, but then his magic kept him comfortably insulated from the temperature. He resisted the urge to give a smug smile. “As an ice mage, I have the ability to lower the temperature in here. Would that be acceptable for you?”

I would thank you if you did, she replied reluctantly.

He reached for his magic, and let it spill freely into the air. He felt the dower house grow slightly cooler, but noticed that almost as soon as he released his magic, it was drawn to Miss Elizabeth. Her ability to absorb magic was still in great effect.

It is much stronger when I am a dragon, she explained, And I have less control over it when I am like this.

“It is no issue,” he quickly confirmed, though he wondered if she received any benefit from his magic at all.

It is better in here, she said politely, but she continued to pant.

“Is there nothing else I can do?” he asked, growing uncomfortable with her obvious discomfort.

There is a bucket by the door. If it is not too much to ask of you, could you fetch water from the well to pour over my wings? That is how my sisters help me stay cool during the height of summer. I would not expect you to linger after.

Darcy found the bucket and went to fetch the water. He was somewhat troubled by her suggestion to leave. He had not intended to stay, but he found he did not want their conversation to end. Darcy returned to the dower house, taking a moment to study it from the outside, privately amazed the plain exterior could hide such a massive secret within.

He entered the house again, absurdly pleased that Miss Elizabeth was waiting for him. She spread one wing carefully. His breath caught in his throat as he eyed the smooth skin transitioning from the purest black near her head to blue and violet at the tips nearest her tail. She looked at him curiously. If he did not wish to propose to her, he needed to do a better job of hiding his reaction to her!

He hefted the bucket, and after only a little hesitation, splashed the water onto her wing. He reached out with his magic, and where the water contacted her skin, he froze it instantly to ice. His magic was not absorbed because it was so quick, and once the water was ice he did not need to maintain it with further magic.

Miss Elizabeth jerked in surprise. For a moment, he was afraid it was too cold for her. Then she sighed in obvious relief, allowing her body to relax.

T hat does feel good, she confirmed. It reminds me of lying in the snow.

Darcy grinned. “Then let me fetch another bucket, and I will wet your other wing.”

I do not think there is enough room, she said regretfully.

“Then I will pour more water on your back, if that is permissible.”

It is, thank you, she agreed.

Darcy fetched another bucketful of water quickly. His leg gave him a slight twinge at walking and standing so much, but his excitement at being of service to Miss Elizabeth helped to dull the pain. He carefully poured half the bucket over her back. The ice on her wings was already mostly melted. He was astonished to see the water steaming in places. Was she truly so warm? With the addition of water in the air, it became easier for him to work his magic. A light touch of his magic turned the floating water into snowflakes.

Elizabeth made a surprised noise, and watched the falling snow avidly. Her head darted forward for her to catch one on her tongue. He laughed at her action. She looked bashful, but a moment later was pleased when he splashed water in the air and thickened the snowfall. He put his fingers in the remaining water in the bucket. Ice rose from the bucket like living vines that trailed around his arms.

Elizabeth was fascinated by the snow and did not notice until he touched her wing with his hand, sending the ice branching out across her skin.

Oh! she exclaimed, and made a strange noise aloud, somewhere between a purr and a hum, deep in her throat. She crooned as she laid her head on her paws, her eyes closed blissfully. I like that. I am only sorry that I absorb your magic so quickly.

It was true, the ice was already melting. As far as Darcy was concerned, it was worth it to hear that soft crooning noise. He had a feeling that dragons did not always acknowledge their pleasure so vocally, and was glad to have created it in her. Nothing could entice him to leave now. Neither did Elizabeth seem inclined to remind him to leave.

“The healer, the one that came from London,” he said, eager to have any conversation with her. She opened her eyes warily. “His name was Faust.”

She was every bit as brilliant as he expected, for she blinked in astonishment.

Doctor Faustus? she asked.

He burst out laughing. It felt good to have such a relief, after weeks of pain and obsession. Elizabeth was taken back for a moment and then made a chortling noise that he quickly realized was dragon laughter.

Darcy felt surprisingly comfortable in her presence. He could not think of her wholly as an apex predator, nor as the young lady that had unwittingly intrigued him. Perhaps her current form was responsible for his ease, for he could not converse with a wild dragon in such a way, yet he did not feel society’s expectations in talking to a single lady. Logically, he knew she was both dragon and woman, but at that moment she seemed only someone with whom he did not have to be guarded.

Thinking back over their previous conversations at Netherfield, he began to chuckle.

Miss Elizabeth tilted her head to the side in a curious expression.

What is it that amuses you, Mr. Darcy? she asked.

“I was thinking on our discussion on roads and leylines,” he answered. “And I believe you owe me a conversation.”

How is that? she appeared to relax, her body no longer held with such quivering tension.

“When you spoke before on Romans using dragons to build their roads, I had no notion that you had such personal experience on the matter. You were withholding the information, and allowed me to speak in ignorance.”

Is that so? she gave a sly, dragonish grin.

He was momentarily startled to see so many teeth, but quickly overcame his trepidation. “It is,” he declared. “Therefore, I should like to revisit the subject in light of your experience, if that is amenable to yourself.”

I can always speak of old roads and leylines, she said with a chortle.

They spoke for nearly an hour afterward. Darcy overturned the bucket and sat on it to rest his leg. Periodically he raised his magic and sent more snow and ice cascading down her back and wing. He learned that she was in dragon form because she had used up much of her time as a human in caring for Miss Bennet at Netherfield.

Say what you will of that, she said with a note of defiance. I love my family and would do anything for them.

“I think it shows admirable care for your sister,” he responded archly. “If I were so ill, I would hope my sister might have half so much concern over me.”

You have a sister?

He paused, suddenly recalling where he was. What was he doing, speaking to this young lady with such abandon? In truth, he had nearly forgotten that she was a dragon, for many of her expressions were surprisingly human. His stomach rumbled, reminding him of the lateness of the hour. He had not come to engage her in conversation, but to thank her and lay down his interest in her. He feared he had only managed to do the opposite. Darcy had rarely felt such pleasure in talking to a young woman, even one in as different a form as she currently was.

“I do,” he said, frowning slightly. “Forgive me, Miss Elizabeth, I did not mean to take up so much of your time. I fear the day grows late, and I must return now. I thank you again for the services you rendered me.”

I… it was nothing, she said awkwardly. He stood, stifling a groan at the way his leg had stiffened. He could tell that she was confused, but striving not to show it.

“I wish you the best of luck, Miss Elizabeth,” he said formally, then bowed and took his leave. It was far more difficult to walk out of there now than it would have been an hour ago. Despite his best efforts to crush his feelings toward her, he felt he left part of himself in the dower house as he walked away. There was a deep ache in his chest as he waited for the carriage to be brought up. He rubbed it absently on the way to Netherfield. Being in the carriage was not as bad as it usually was, for he had other problems to focus on.

Was this pain of leaving Miss Elizabeth, knowing he could not have her, the sort of love that Bingley was always preaching about? He did not know how Bingley had survived the heartache all this time. He would certainly be kinder the next time that his friend suffered a disappointment.

He arrived at Netherfield to discover that his presence had been missed. Miss Bingley was in a mood for having been denied his company all day. Frankly, he did not care. Bingley himself showed unusual restraint in not asking where Darcy had been. As soon as they were alone, though, Bingley pounced on him.

“You went to see Miss Elizabeth!” Bingley exclaimed without preamble.

“I went to see Mr. Bennet,” Darcy corrected.

“You were at Longbourn. You saw Miss Elizabeth there,” Bingley insisted.

“I did,” he agreed, not sure why Bingley thought it important.

“And?”

“And what?” Darcy asked in irritation.

“And what happened?” Bingley demanded.

“We spoke.”

“You talked to Miss Elizabeth?”

“Yes, and she talked back to me. I fail to see your interest in this.”

“How long were you talking?”

“Almost an hour.”

Bingley gave a low whistle.

“What now?” Darcy demanded.

“That is a new record for you, Darcy! You spoke an hour with a lady without scaring her off.”

Darcy thought of Miss Elizabeth in her dragon form, and smirked at the idea of her being frightened of anything.

“What was that look right now? What happened while you were talking to Miss Elizabeth? Did you frighten her after all?”

Darcy scowled. “I am not that bad… am I?”

Bingley nodded solemnly. “The look you gave me now, my friend, was positively curdling.”

“I am not trying to impress you . I would not look at a lady that way.”

“Then you admit you are trying to impress her?” Bingley asked.

Darcy clenched his jaw. “No, I am not.” The subject of Miss Elizabeth was increasingly painful to him.

Bingley stared at him in astonishment.

Darcy sighed. “Say what you are thinking so I can have peace.”

“You are an ass, Darcy.”

He gave Bingley a cold glare. “Excuse me?”

“You spoke with the lady for an extended period of time. In my experience, it is unprecedented that you found a female you can tolerate for so long. And yet you have no intention of wooing her? Did you even make plans to see her again?”

“I did not.”

Bingley shook his head.

“I raised no expectations in her,” Darcy said defensively. “She is not anticipating a return in my addresses.” Uncomfortably he remembered her look of hurt confusion as he took his leave.

“Do you have any intention of ever marrying?”

“Of course!”

“Do you? Because you will not have any lady of the ton—” Bingley began ticking off points on his finger.

“I have yet to find one I can stomach any length of time,” Darcy said sharply.

“You will not marry your cousin—”

“She is sickly!”

“You will not marry my sister, not that I blame you there—”

Darcy only glared, wondering when Bingley would get to his point.

“And the only time you find a young lady that you can tolerate, you immediately reject her, probably because of some ridiculous, and may I add pompous, notion of suitability!”

“Are you done?” Darcy asked shortly.

Bingley shook his head. “You are an ass!” He repeated, then paused. “Now I am done.”

“Good, because I am done with this conversation. Good night, Bingley.” Darcy rose stiffly and made his way to his room.

Chapter 8

Lizzy saw little of Mr. Darcy after their conversation, for which she was grateful. He was the first stranger to have knowledge of her ability to change into a dragon. All of Meryton knew of her, but she did not consider any of them strangers as she had been raised with them. She did not know how she felt about Mr. Darcy discovering her like that. When she had pulled him from the river, she certainly had not expected this outcome!

The grey-eyed stranger from Derbyshire confused her greatly. He continued to alarm, vex and intrigue her in turns. She still felt her instinctive aversion to him, an urge to fly away. It was as though she was about to do something mortifying and she did not want Mr. Darcy to see it. She had never reacted to someone in such a way.

She could not rightly classify her response to Mr. Darcy as fear, yet she had no other reference for it. It was not that Lizzy had never been scared, but as a dragon there was very little that could cause her fear. There was something about Mr. Darcy that made even her dragon self keenly aware of him. It took all of her willpower to remind herself that she was indeed a dragon of steady mind and nerves and not prone to maidenly flights of fancy.

His behavior did not make him easier to comprehend. While at Netherfield, he had been distantly cool and disapproving for long stretches of time. It led her to the conclusion that he objected to her. She felt that was rather unfair, since she had been the one to save his life! However, he was unaware of that fact and she was more inclined to find humor in his dislike than to take offence by it. Lizzy had resolved to treat him with the same dispassion and think no more on him.

But he would insist on breaking character just when she was satisfied with her idea of him. Such as his interest in dragons, which was entirely amusing. Still, he had been stubborn enough in his search for answers that it had led him to Papa, and ultimately discovering her curse.

The conversation that had followed was one of the oddest in her life. For one, she was unused to being able to speak to others in her dragon form, let alone such a distinguished gentleman. It had been equal parts embarrassment and wonder, for she discovered that Mr. Darcy was an excellent conversationalist. He displayed an intelligence and keenness of mind she had never observed in anyone outside of her family. Her unease around him faded, and she especially appreciated the touch of his cold magic.

Then he had left so abruptly. The shift in his mood had reminded her why she could never be comfortable around him. If Lizzy was forced to tell the truth, her feminine pride had been injured. Though she thought of herself as a dragon more often than not, she acknowledged that if it were known that Mr. Darcy had spoken to her at such length without a chaperone, her reputation would have been damaged. She would have expected a gentleman such as he to at least realize the danger.

Thankfully, other events were able to take her attention from that vexing gentleman. There began to be more strangers around Hertfordshire than usual, for the militia had taken residence nearby. The sudden influx of redcoats made Lizzy keep a stern eye on her sisters. Jane was progressing slowly with Mr. Bingley—not nearly fast enough for Lizzy and Mrs. Bennet’s tastes, not that either of them would admit to agreeing on anything. Lydia and therefore Kitty, who was all too eager to follow her younger sister’s lead, were ecstatic over the presence of the redcoats and took every opportunity to flirt with the soldiers and make a fuss of themselves.

But it was Mary who Lizzy was most worried about. She noticed Mary watching the soldiers in their fine crimson uniforms with a longing that was nearly as palpable as Lydia’s, though with a good deal more decorum. Lizzy did not have a problem with her sisters finding husbands among the soldiers, as long as their partners treated them well. What bothered Lizzy was that instead of taking the time to speak with the redcoats, Mary became more withdrawn. Though never outgoing, Mary became painfully demure, doing her best to attract no attention at all.

Mrs. Bennet had no use for her middle daughter, as nearly all her hopes were placed on Jane and Lydia, with a little leftover for Kitty. It hurt to see how Mary secretly yearned for acknowledgement yet did nothing to seek it out. Lizzy tried to encourage Mary to have more confidence, but Mary only shrugged and hugged herself tightly as if trying to protect herself. The problem was that no matter how Lizzy tried to raise Mary from the doubt of her own worth, a sister was not like a mother. Lizzy thought it was a mixture of her sister’s innate shyness, broken self-esteem, and a complete loss of hope of ever finding a match.

Lizzy herself had given up on taking a husband long ago. She had realized at fourteen—when certain uncomfortable truths about her family had come to light—that finding a good match for a normal human was hard enough. Finding one for herself was impossible. No man would choose a dragon as a wife. However, there was no reason her sisters would not make perfectly acceptable matches, and it was to this aim she had turned her attentions.

To make matters worse, Lizzy had used up many of her human hours while caring for Jane at Netherfield and the curse weighed heavy on her, restricting the amount of time she could spend in her lesser form. Usually when there was an influx of strangers around Meryton, Lizzy could hide as a human or fly away for a time. Papa did not mind if she traveled as a dragon, so long as she told him where she was going and was careful not to be seen.

On this occasion, she felt too anxious for her sisters to leave. Some instinct was pushing her to protect them and she could not do that from a distance. Jane caused her the least amount of anxiety, but that was the only relief she received. Mary’s devastating timidity was enough of a problem on its own. As if Lizzy did not have enough to fret about, there were also the wild behaviors of Lydia and Kitty.

Her youngest sisters had reached the age where they were determined to become the most determined and outrageous flirts in England. In their limited neighborhood, there had not been much danger of Lydia and Kitty falling into serious trouble. For one thing, no one was willing to risk an angry dragon descending on them for daring to compromise one of her sisters, nor did anyone want that same dragon as a sister-in-law. But the militia did not know of Lizzy’s alternate self. Lydia was headstrong enough to break free of what she saw as Lizzy’s controlling behavior, regardless of the consequences, and Kitty was eager to follow the younger girl.

She supposed that in other families, the parents must take the children in hand. In her family, her father rarely bestirred himself outside of his book room, and her mother was nearly like an adolescent herself, leaving Jane and Lizzy to try to inflict some control on their youngest sisters. Some of that might be blamed on the circumstances of Lydia and Kitty’s births, but mostly she suspected it was the disinterest of her parents. Mr. Bennet had little use for daughters who could not hold a serious conversation, and Mrs. Bennet was doing all she could to encourage her youngest daughters to catch any husband they could. Kitty and Lydia were far more likely to listen to the mother who had nothing but praise for them than to the sister who was always restricting them.

The youngest two girls seemed to delight in vexing Lizzy. It was fortunate for them that Mr. Bennet had raised Lizzy with a strict view of what was and was not appropriate regarding her dragon form, for at the moment she would have liked nothing better than to collect her youngest sisters and fly away with them. She could sit them in a distant cave with enough food and water to last a week, then perch herself at the entrance to make sure they could not leave. Maybe time away from the enticements of Meryton and the militia would cool their ardor. At least then she would know they were safe.

The irony of her desire was not lost on her: she longed to do what dragons of legends were infamous for, namely the stealing away of maidens. If those legendary dragons were merely trying to protect their overzealous sisters, then she could well understand why they acted so! Then again, if she were to hide away Lydia and Kitty, some well-meaning officer would most likely try to play the part of the knight-gallant in shining armor, or in this case, a redcoat, and attempt to rescue them. Those stories never ended well for the dragon.

No, Lizzy could not possibly consider leaving her sisters in such straights.

She spent her nights and much of her days as a dragon in the hope of regaining her human form for a couple of hours. She used those hours judiciously, going with her sisters to their entertainments. It would have been very odd if Lizzy never showed herself at any of the events she was invited to and she knew that if she were present, at least someone would be watching over her sisters.

Whenever Lizzy was in her smaller body, it felt like a tight iron band was around her chest so she could hardly breathe, but living in the dower house was little better. What had seemed a generous apartment as a child had become very cramped when her dragon reached full majority. She could only fit by curling herself into a tight ball, and her muscles often ached from maintaining the position for so long. She was frequently short tempered and restless, though she did her best not to reveal her ire to her sisters.

Lizzy’s nerves were already strained with having to hide from the militia when her sisters decided to go to Meryton. She had not wanted to go, but Kitty and Lydia had made such a fuss of seeing the officers in Meryton that Lizzy felt obligated to accompany them, if only to make sure that they did not make great fools of themselves and by extension of their family.

Jane and Mary were also accompanying them on this trip to Meryton. Lizzy trusted them to be sensible and to help curb the worst of Kitty and Lydia’s impulses, but she could not be completely at ease unless her sisters were under her direct supervision. She knew, from Papa’s extensive research, that she was feeling her dragon’s instinctive nesting behavior. Knowing it did not make it easier to deal with, especially as there was genuine reason to be protective of her sisters.

The journey to Meryton was accomplished without incident. As the distance was short and the weather was fair, they had elected to walk. Normally Lizzy enjoyed the exercise, for she preferred to be out of doors to being confined. However, with the feeling of compression constantly around her ribcage, the simple walk was something of a trial. She chafed at her pace, slow enough that her youngest sisters were constantly threatening to outdistance her. Thankfully Jane had been able to rein in Kitty and Lydia so that they arrived together.

Once in Meryton, Lizzy felt still greater anxiety, for the militia was much in evidence. Their fine red coats drew the eye, announcing their presence for all to see and admire. Lydia and Kitty were reduced to blushing giggles as they viewed the officers. Though the street was not terribly crowded, the addition of all the redcoats made Lizzy feel closed in. She wanted to get away, to change into her dragon self and fly high in the air where she had nothing but freedom on all sides.

“Ow! Lizzy!” Mary suddenly hissed.

Lizzy started, and looked down to see that she had unconsciously grabbed her sister’s arm with more than human strength.

“I am sorry, Mary!” Lizzy said, quickly releasing her. “I did not mean to hurt you; you may have a nasty bruise coming morning.

“Are you well?” Jane asked in concern.

Lizzy nodded with melancholy. “I am, only I feel…” she could not find the words to convey herself, the sensation of being trapped without her wings. Jane and Mary exchanged a glance, then moved to frame her. They each put an arm around her waist and immediately Lizzy could breathe easier. She always felt better with her sisters so close.

“Thank you, dear sisters,” she said, hugging them gingerly in return.

Lydia and Kitty walked off, still giggling, for the hat shop. Jane, Lizzy and Mary followed at a more sedate pace. Lizzy kept a wary eye on her youngest sisters, but for the moment they seemed more interested in comparing ribbons and bonnet finishings than in the militia men.

The older girls paused by the book shop. Mary wanted to buy more paper and pigments for her paints, and Mr. Bennet had placed an order for Jane to pick up. Lizzy loved browsing the bookshelves, but on this day she was too apprehensive to allow her attention to wander from her sisters. It was bad enough that the group had split up so she could not have each sister within arm’s length. She remained outside, watching Kitty and Lydia while still listening for Jane and Mary within the bookshop. Her dragon senses were attuned to her sisters’ voices and would quickly pick up any distress.

The younger girls left the hat shop and almost immediately stopped to talk to an officer and another gentleman. Lizzy tensed, torn between remaining close to Jane and Mary or moving closer to Lydia and Kitty. A glance behind her showed that Jane and Mary were finishing their transactions, so with a clear heart, Lizzy moved toward her youngest sisters.

The officer she had met before, one Mr. Denny, but it was the gentleman with him that seized Lizzy’s attention. She knew introductions were made, and likely an explanation for his presence, but she heard none of it. From the moment she met his eyes, her dragon soul suddenly shrieked . Her knees trembled and her head felt faint; all she was aware of was the overwhelming urge to be away. It was far worse than when she had met Mr. Darcy. Then she had merely wanted to flee, but under this man’s eye she felt like a mouse pinned by a hawk. She was alternately terrified and furious. How could she, whose second self was a dragon of great size and strength, feel so exposed before this mere human?

There was something about him that was more than unsettling. She did not like him, did not like the way he made her feel. Her heart was fluttering erratically; it was as though wings were beating against the inside of her ribs, demanding to be let out. She could not catch her breath: the band around her chest was drawing painfully tight. Her entire body throbbed with heat and pain, like her human skin was stretched too tight around her dragon form. She realized that she was on the verge of changing right there in the street. Lizzy fought down the compulsion by the narrowest margin, barely restraining her dragon self from emerging. Everything in her told her to run from this man. If she could not run then she ought to pounce on him and rend him into pieces!

She was all but deafened by loud growling in her head. Never before had her dragon soul reacted so vehemently to another person. She was actually frightened of what she might do to him. It took several minutes for her to regain control of herself, during which Jane and Mary joined them. Having all her sisters near helped slightly, but she could not look away from the man. If her attention wavered in the slightest, something horrific would happen.

Because of her intense focus on the man, she was startled when a new voice called out, “Miss Bennet!”

Lizzy jumped and dared to look behind her. Mr. Bingley was approaching with a pleased grin on his face. She would have felt some relief in having another ally, but for the person limping beside him. Mr. Darcy accompanied Mr. Bingley, leaning on his cane as he walked. At the sight of him, all her old insecurities and alarm rose again. She was caught between the unknown man who provoked such a vicious response in her dragon and the gentleman from Derbyshire who equally unsettled her. Beset on both sides, she could not have been rendered more breathless than if a mule had kicked her sternum.

It was not a figure of speech: she literally could not draw breath. Her mouth gaped open, but no air rushed into her lungs. Her dragon-self raked sharp claws against her insides, causing her to clutch her stomach in pain. Abruptly, she realized she was going to change. She had no control over it, no way to push it back. The only thing she could do was turn and run as fast as she could, seeking to distance herself from the people.

Lizzy staggered as she ran, weakened by the lack of breath. Spots swam before her eyes and she was nearly certain she was going to faint. She barely managed to hold on long enough to leave Meryton for the woods beyond its borders. Scarcely had she reached the first trees before she lost everything and her dragon form exploded outward. There was a great crash as her suddenly larger body smashed against the trees and brush that were too close when she changed.

Air flooded her lungs and she panted for breath. She felt little relief, for her body was raw and pained from her forced change. There had been times when the curse had forced her into dragon form before, but she had never felt as injured as she did now. She was used to being short of breath when the curse was upon her, but this was the first time it had caused her to almost pass out. She could not have said whether this was a further effect of the curse, or merely the result of being trapped between two men her dragon had formed such a strong dislike for.

Once Lizzy got her breathing under control, she was able to move herself deeper into the woods where she would not be seen. She had not been able to shed her clothes before her change and now she shook off the remains of her ruined dress. She wished she could fly away from here, but she could not do so without drawing attention to herself. Meryton was too close and in the middle of the day, she was sure to catch the eye of any would-be dragon hunters among the militia.

Now that she was away from the situation, Lizzy began to feel deeply mortified by her actions. What had she done, but lost control in broad view of everyone? Her sisters would understand what had happened, though not the cause, but she would be very suspect to all others. She hoped she had not lessened Jane’s chances with Mr. Bingley by her behavior. And Mr. Darcy! What he must think of her, fleeing from him as she had?

To make her mortification complete, she realized she had abandoned her sisters to the company of a man her instincts warned her was dangerous. Now trapped in her dragon form, she could not speak with any of them. She did not know Mr. Bingley well enough to use her mental speech with him at this distance, which meant her only point of contact was… Mr. Darcy. She already knew he thought of her as deficient and this could only lower his opinion of her.

With great reluctance, she cast her mind out to touch his.

Mr. Darcy?

Miss Elizabeth! he exclaimed with great alarm. Are you injured in some way? What is wrong?

I am not injured, she assured him, startled by his apparent care despite the disdain he had showed her. I am afraid that I have become… indisposed, though. It took me by surprise. As you can surmise, I am now a dragon and will be for some time.

Are you safe? With the militia here—

I am hidden in the woods. I can stay here until nightfall and then it will be dark enough for me to fly to Longbourn without causing an outcry.

I will keep you company.

No! Her head shot above the tree tops in alarm before she remembered to keep it down. No, Mr. Darcy, you must not! My sisters are still in Meryton, you cannot leave them. I know it is a great imposition on you, but please do not leave them undefended. You are an honorable man, if you would just escort them to Longbourn, I would be forever in your debt.

Mr. Darcy was silent for several minutes, making her pray that he would stay with her sisters. When he spoke again, her hopes were dashed.

I will still come to you. Bingley will stay with your sisters and escort them to their home. I can speak with him over a considerable distance and he will inform me when they reach Longbourn.

She breathed a sigh of relief that someone would be with her sisters. It was followed by irritation that Mr. Darcy would insist on coming for her.

I assure you, I am quite well, only a little startled. This is not the first time I have been forced into my dragon form. I am not in need of company.

Miss Elizabeth, you are a dragon within sight of a military regiment. While I do not doubt your ability to escape in case of discovery, it is possible that either you or the soldiers might be injured in such a confrontation. As you are a dragon, you currently lack the ability to speak with them and tell them of your harmless status. Therefore, I will keep you company, and should someone stumble upon us, I can explain that you are not, in fact, a wild beast.

She was grudgingly impressed with his logic, though one thing rankled her. I am not harmless, she informed him. Her claws dug deep furrows in the ground to prove her dangerous strength. He could not see it, but she felt better for her actions.

To her surprise, he chuckled. Of course not, you are a dragon, he amended his statement. You are not harmless, but let us say instead that your intentions are gentle.

Her dragonish pride was satisfied and she found herself laughing with him. I find that acceptable.

Excellent! Now if you could direct me to your location, I have almost reached the trees.

She gave him directions and waited for him. It took longer than she expected for him to reach her and when he arrived he was pale and sweating.

Mr. Darcy! she cried in shock, Are you well?

I will be in a moment, he said, still using his mental voice instead of speaking aloud. I find the uneven ground is somewhat… arduous for me to traverse.

Lizzy had the impression that he had used the mind-speak because he was too breathless with pain for a verbal response. She regarded him closely, her tail tapping the air in agitation. She felt rather guilty for making him come this way to be with her. It had been his idea and his insistence that led to him being here, but he had done it on her behalf.

Mr. Darcy stared intently at her, making her want to curl her limbs inward to make herself smaller. He had seen her dragon form before, twice now. Surely he had no cause to study her so fixedly? She had to resist the urge to look over herself to be sure nothing was amiss. Was part of her dress still clinging to her? How mortifying that would be! Then he would realize that she was essentially bare before him. Though she had never thought of her dragon body being naked before, she wanted to draw her wings around herself to hide from view.

Or maybe his glare had little to do with her? He leaned heavily on his cane, his fingers white where he gripped it. It was obvious he was still in considerable pain. There was a sunken appearance to his grey eyes, as though he had been drained by his efforts. Lizzy wished she could offer him a place to sit, but with his injury it would be difficult for him to rise from the ground. She could easily pick him up and set him on his feet if he did choose to sit, but she rather thought he would not appreciate the gesture.

After several long moments, his labored breathing became a little easier. Some color returned to his face, though his lips remained pinched in discomfort. He stood awkwardly, most of his weight away from his bad leg. She could see how the unnatural position was taxing him.

Mr. Darcy, Lizzy offered hesitantly, I know of a more comfortable place to wait. It is not far from here.

He looked around, an expression of misery crossing his face for an instant. Then he straightened his shoulders and nodded.

Lead the way, Miss Elizabeth. I am slow, but I will follow.

Chapter 9

Walking through the woods with Mr. Darcy was a difficult expedition. One of Lizzy’s strides was equal to many of his. Furthermore, his injured leg meant he could not walk as fast as a normal man, so their pace was further hindered. Lizzy thought about offering him a ride on her back. She had often carried Papa and her sisters in that way when they were younger, though her sisters had refused to ride once she had gained the strength to fly. However, she was uncertain if Mr. Darcy could ride in his current state. She also did not care for the idea of his legs astride her in such an intimate position.

Observing his struggle, she had to admit that he did not seem so alarming now. Something about his reduced ability made him seem humbler, more human than before. He was obviously in considerable agony, yet he did not allow a sound of pain to cross his lips. She came to admire him, for his fortitude if for nothing else. She wondered if she should lend him some of her energy, as she had done the night she had found him in the river. It seemed almost shameful to imply that this proud man might need her help and she feared he would be insulted by her offer.

The place she had in mind was about one-quarter mile away and after far too much time, they finally reached it. A small stream that was a tributary of the nearby river ran through these woods. She had widened a section of the stream to create a shallow pool and it was here that she led them. Lizzy walked into the pool and lay down, allowing the cool water to run over her underside. If Mr. Darcy had not been with her, she would have rolled in the pool to coat her entire self with water. However, it caused a lot of splashing and mud to be thrown up and she did not want to appear so undignified before him.

At the mouth of the stream as it ran into the pool was a moss-covered log. Lizzy had placed it there as both a footbridge for her sisters and a place for them to sit and dangle their feet in the water. Mr. Darcy made his way there and all but collapsed on the log. He looked truly ill: he was gasping for breath and his face was pale but with high spots of color on his cheeks as if in fever. He kneaded his leg with a grimace of distaste, jaw clenched and teeth bared. Lizzy felt awful for making him walk on his wounded leg. She seriously considered reaching out to Papa to ask him to send help for Mr. Darcy.

I am sorry for your leg, she said abruptly.

Mr. Darcy looked up at her in astonishment.

If I had come upon you in the river sooner, your leg might not have been so badly injured.

Miss Elizabeth, if you had come upon me later, I would not be here at all, he responded. I will take some discomfort in my leg in exchange for my life.

She was grateful that dragons could not blush, for she felt certain she would have then. She did not truly believe him. To a man of great pride and bearing such as he, any imperfection must seem magnified. Some discomfort? He looked to be in agony. If only there was something she could do to relieve him.

He glanced down at the water, and then stretched his hand out to it. He did not touch it, but ice formed along the surface. Lizzy felt his magic in the air, like a sudden chill breeze in the middle of summer. She longed to taste his magic, to pull it into her, but to do so would be bad manners. She could only watch with interest as a spire of ice rose from the stream and touched his foot. It twined up the inside of his pant leg and was lost to sight, but she felt his magic gather in a ring around his thigh. She wondered if it was the cold or the compression of the ice that helped his leg; either way, his hands no longer grabbed at the painful muscle. He sat back, his skin almost grey with fatigue.

His use of magic reminded her of something she could do to help him.

Mr. Darcy, she began, If you like I can lend you some of my energy.

He stiffened and raised his head in defiance. No, that is not necessary at this time, he said curtly.

She bit back her automatic retort, that he looked to be nigh on speaking terms with Death and that it was certainly recommended, if not fully necessary. But he was a man of consequence and would not like her pointing out any weakness in himself.

Instead, she forced her voice to be gentle as she spoke.

It is only that I feel bad for making you come this way for so little in return. The journey here cost me nothing and this is the least I can do to repay you.

Your thanks is all the return I need for being of service, he returned gruffly, but Lizzy thought she detected a softening in his manner.

Please, she asked. I would feel unequal if you did not agree.

He hesitated, then finally nodded. Lizzy rose from the pool, water streaming off her scales. She only had to stretch one hand out to reach Mr. Darcy. To her amusement, he did not blanch at the monstrous claws approaching him. He watched her hand without any sign of fear. Her estimation of him rose, for no one outside Papa, Jane and Mary could face her dragon form with such aplomb.

She offered her hand to him and he did not hesitate to place his hand on her fingers. Of course his was much smaller than hers, yet there was nothing childlike about the difference. She found the pressure of his hand to be firm, his palms calloused from work. This was not a man who led an idle life. She imagined him tending to his lands and tenants as an active overseer. His injury must chafe even more for restricting him from his usual activities. His magic was a faint thrum of energy surrounding him and she felt a thrill as wisps began to seep into her. As much as she would like to sample his magic fully, she realized that to do so would drain him to a dangerous level.

Lizzy reached inside herself, to the warm, glowing sensation of power that seemed to reside behind her breastbone. It rose within her, a wellspring of heat, magic and life that continuously powered her. She loved this sensation. It was as poignant and beautiful as when she was flying. This was another reason she never wanted her curse to be broken, for she would miss the magic within her. She urged a trickle of energy to flow down her arm and into Mr. Darcy. She had never done this to anyone but her Papa before and now she had done it twice for this gentleman from Derbyshire.

The first time he had been nearly unconscious and at that point she had truly thought he might not survive if she did not share her magic with him. This time he was awake and aware of her. It was shockingly intimate, as though she were allowing him to touch her naked skin. The wealth of sensations it caused in her were strange and different, too intense yet not without pleasure.

Lizzy pulled away with a faint shiver. She felt a little tired and rather hungry, but the effect on Mr. Darcy was much greater. His erratic breathing became easier and healthy color came back to his face. He blinked and straightened, looking more composed than he had a moment ago.

“Thank you,” he spoke aloud. His voice did not seem strained.

You are welcome. She went back to the pond. Her dragon form might not show her to be flushed, but she still felt overly warm. She stood in the water, carefully dipping first one, then the other wing to cool herself. The pond temperature abruptly dropped and she felt little chips of ice bumping against her wings. She could not help but to chortle in delight, using her wings to scoop water up and send it cascading down her back. She enjoyed the way the water teased along her body and carried away the excess heat that so plagued her. It was refreshingly brisk as she lay in the pond again.

Mr. Darcy held his hand out to the stream as it flowed into the pond and it was he who was responsible for the sudden coolness. Because he froze the water at the source of the pond, there was no trace of his magic by the time the ice reached her. It was a clever way to use his magic around her without the risk of it being drained by her dragon abilities. Once again he had been compassionate to her as a dragon, suffering from the heat.

Thank you, she said gratefully, dipping her head down to drink deeply. Larger chunks of ice began to float by her and she seized them with her mouth, crushing them with her powerful jaws and swallowing the remnants. To his credit, Mr. Darcy did not flinch at her display of power, nor at the loud noises of the ice as it was broken.

I have had my fill, she said a little while later. She did not want Mr. Darcy to spend all the energy she had just given him. The pond returned to its normal temperature, though an occasional cool current wound around her.

Silence fell between them. He watched her with the same intense scrutiny he had before, which quickly made her feel awkward and insecure. She considered herself pleasing to the eye when she was in this form—more pleasing as a dragon than as a human—so she could not say what made him stare at her.

Come, Mr. Darcy, we must have a little conversation. It would be very odd for the two of us to be entirely silent while we sit here.

He smiled slightly. “Do you talk by rule then, while you are a dragon?”

I do enjoy the interaction, for though I look it, I am no wild beast content only with its own company. I speak with Papa the most, and with one or two others who are aware of my situation and have the mage-talent. My sisters often talk to me, though they lack the magic to allow me to reply to them.

“Very well then, what think you of books?”

Now you are very unjust, for I cannot read as I currently am. I find my vision far away is very clear, but close up is not as distinct. If I were to read, I must have the book several dozen yards from me, and then to change the page I must continuously rise and go to it. If I do not knock the entire book over with my hands, she held up one large hand as an example, I must then go back to where I stood before, to read a page more, to then have to move forward to turn to a new one again. Such interrupted reading can only be frustrating! I also find the print, while adequate for human eyes, is too fine while I am a dragon. It gives me a headache to make it out.

Mr. Darcy covered his mouth with his hand, but she saw the mirth in his grey eyes. She felt an unexpected thrill at being able to amuse him. At least he was no longer staring so blatantly at her.

They spoke for a time, the topics ranging broadly. Lizzy was once again impressed by his conversation. Not only was he well-educated and fluent in speech, but he spoke to her as an equal. Not as a dumb creature, nor even condescending as some gentlemen who expected females to be less informed than they. It was refreshing, and during the course of their talks, she found herself quite forgetting that she had ever been apprehensive of Mr. Darcy.

At one point during their conversation, he paused in midsentence, his eyes going distant. She tilted her head to the side, her interest growing as he nodded and chuckled. It was a fairly pleasant sound. Finally her curiosity was satisfied when he looked back at her.

“Bingley reports that your sisters arrived at Longbourn—several hours ago. He was invited to dine with your family and only now remembered that we were waiting on his word.”

Lizzy was simultaneously relieved and guilty. She was glad her sisters were safely at Longbourn, but felt ashamed that she had forgotten them until now. Some fine protector she was, allowing herself to become so distracted! The mention of time made her realize how late it had become. Though not yet full dark, it was tending toward vespers. By the time she escorted Mr. Darcy out of the woods, it would be dark enough for her to fly in safety.

Mr. Darcy was regarding her thoughtfully. “I never considered the sacrifices you must make. Are you hungry?”

She was, even more than she had been when she gave him her magic. I am, she admitted. However, my manners are not fit for company. She bared her teeth briefly, but he was unaffected by her display.

“I imagine so,” he responded mildly.

She felt awkward and rose from the pond. If we begin now, we might have a little light to guide us. I can take you to the road; would you be able to make your way to Netherfield from there?

He nodded. “I will ask Bingley to send a carriage. So long as he knows where to find me, it will be well.”

Then follow me, please.

Thankfully there was a walking path near the little pond. Lizzy was able to guide Mr. Darcy there, and the smoother ground was easier for him to navigate than the brush. They did not speak as they traveled. Lizzy felt as though to break the silence would shatter the amiability of their situation. She had never been able to talk so freely to anyone outside of her family; she would treasure these hours they had shared, even if they meant nothing to him.

It was very dark by the time they reached the road. The night was no hindrance to her eyes, but she wondered how well Mr. Darcy could see. She thought it unfathomable that humans lived their lives half-blind and deaf compared to her dragon form, yet hardly ever bumped into things.

Once she was free of the cover of the trees, the sky began to call to her. Her wings ached with the desire to fly. Lizzy was torn between waiting beside Mr. Darcy, or taking aloft at once. After all day bound to the soil, the lure of freedom won.

I am going to fly ahead to see if the carriage is on its way, she told him. The horses will not like it if I am beside you when they arrive.

“Of course,” he agreed.

She barely waited for his agreement before she hopped a short distance away, then sprang into the air. Finally she was free. Her powerful muscles bunched and stretched as she rose higher. The rush of wind greeted her like an old glove, beloved and comfortable. Her wings cupped the air, reaching out to their full, glorious extent.

The sheer joy of flying seized her and she released a small, exhilarated flame. Flying was nothing like swimming, though it was the closest a human could get to the sensation without wings. She did not feel weightless; the earth still pulled at her body, but she was greater than it. She exulted in her brash strength, her heart soaring over the land below.

Lizzy glanced down at Mr. Darcy. He was watching her with an expression of envy on his face. It was not the petty, hateful emotion of a jealous rival, but rather a wistful longing. She understood, and in that moment she pitied him and all creatures without wings of their own.

For a time she gave herself over to flying. It was more difficult to fly at night, for there were less pockets of warm air to bear her up. It was more about raw might and the ability to thrust herself upwards. She paused for a moment, gliding gently as she looked around to get her bearings. Places looked different from the air as from the ground, but she had taught herself to recognize most landmarks in Hertfordshire.

Meryton was before her, so she turned in the direction of Netherfield. She followed the road on swift wings and within a short time found the carriage moving toward the town. No doubt they were moving at a good clip, but they seemed dreadfully slow compared to her speed. She took herself higher so as to not frighten the horses, then circled back to Mr. Darcy.

He was waiting by the side of the road, and though his eyes must have been compromised by the dim light, he was watching for her. She swooped low, barely twice the height of the trees, and shed most of her speed until she was barely held aloft.

Well done, Miss Elizabeth, he said. It had become instinctive to hear his voice in her head. You are very agile.

Lizzy was rather embarrassed, for though she had not intended to show off, that was exactly what she had done. She climbed the air again, seeking to put enough distance between them so that she should have been nearly invisible against the stars. Still she felt his eyes upon her, and did not know if she were more flattered or alarmed by his attention.

Your carriage is a little way down the road, she said to cover her chagrin. I do not think it will take long for them to arrive.

She remained above him, turning lazy rings in the air. Lizzy was reminded of an eagle circling its prey. She considered sharing the notion with him, but did not think Mr. Darcy would appreciate being compared to a rabbit or other small animal.

Within one-quarter hour, the carriage arrived at his position. He raised his cane to the sky in a final salute.

Thank you for keeping me company, he said. I enjoyed it.

For some reason his words sent a knife through her chest. It was nothing in his tone or choice of words, both of which were innocuous. She was reminded of her first reaction to him, that sense of alarm that made her want to flee.

Go to your repast, she said rather gruffly, as I go to mine.

Lizzy cut the connection to him before he could reply and flew away from there as fast as she could. She felt hollow and unsatisfied, as though something was missing. It left her unsettled, for that was a rare feeling when she was a dragon. She loved this body and all the abilities that came with it. Generally she was perfectly content, never more than when flying.

But this… this was the opposite of content. Somehow it was linked to Mr. Darcy, but she could not blame him for it. She recognized that it originated within her own breast, though she was at a loss to explain it.

Being in his presence brought to mind the sense of being poised on the edge of a cliff, ready to leap into flight. Only as soon as she jumped, her wings disappeared and she began to fall. It was the sensation of falling, the anticipation of pain when she hit the ground, that made her flinch whenever she was near the grey-eyed man.

Lizzy flew long and hard to assuage her thoughts. She wished she could have flown all night, but eventually she reminded herself of her responsibility to her family. What would it be like to be truly a dragon, to be able to fly without thought of having to return or report to another? Then again, if she were a wild dragon, she would be concerned about territory, mates and prey. Perhaps it would not be such a good thing to be a dragon forever.

Despite the length of time she had flown, she was not lost. She knew every inch of Hertfordshire and the surrounding land from the air. Even if she had gone beyond her known territory, Mr. Bennet had taught her to navigate by the stars. Clouds were no hindrance to her when she could simply fly above them. More than all of that, she also had a dragon-instinct for directions. It was like she had a compass inside her, only instead of pointing north, it led toward Longbourn. No matter how far she went, she could always find her way home.

The return journey was leisurely in comparison to the frantic flight out. As she came near her home environs, she drifted over Netherfield. Lizzy looked down at the familiar roof. Was there any building in Hertfordshire that she could not identify by its crown? She did not believe so. The house appeared dark; Mr. Darcy must have arrived hours ago and any ensuing fuss had since died out.

Most likely everyone within slept, including Jane’s beau. She was convinced that Mr. Bingley was a good match for her older sister. Unlike Mrs. Bennet, Lizzy was more concerned with his personality than his pocketbook. Everything she had seen of him proved him to be an amiable gentleman who cared about Jane. If only her sister would stop worrying about Lizzy and allow herself to love Mr. Bingley!

Then Lizzy thought of the other single gentleman living at Netherfield. Mr. Darcy. The man who made her want to flee. Abruptly she sped on, seeking to leave Netherfield behind. It was not enough. She angled herself upward, climbing at an impossible, nearly straight angle. The earth pulled on her with every wing beat, but she threw herself higher.

She breached the cover of the clouds and continued to rise. Higher and higher she strained, her muscles growing warm with effort. Her lungs began to burn with the lack of air, but still she chased the limit of the sky. She fixed her gaze on the stars, making them her goal.

One day, she thought, dizzy with exertion, I will reach the stars and pull one down with me.

Her wings were getting tired and she was slipping down a dozen feet for every few she tried to gain. Lizzy lunged upward one last time, her claws stretched out as if to catch a star. She closed her eyes and surrendered to the call of gravity. She fell, her body limp for the first couple seconds. Instinct took over, and she corrected herself until she was in a proper dive, head downward and wings tight to her back. Her form was streamlined, allowing her to gain speed quickly.

Faster and faster she dived. The wind rushed by her, roaring along her scales. Her heart pounded with exhilaration. She tore through the cloud layer, trailing wisps behind her. The ground raced to meet her. Lizzy fought the urge to open her wings to slow her fall as the tiny features of Hertfordshire grew. She watched them with interest, noting that she usually pulled up long before this.

Finally, seconds before she would have hit the ground, Lizzy spread her wings as wide as she could. Unimaginable force struck her as the earth and sky warred with her in the middle. Wind and gravity tore at her body, threatening to snap bones and shred flesh. Her muscles strained against collapse, her heart thundering in her ears.

She skimmed dangerously low over the grass before she won against gravity. Her wings ached slightly as she pumped them, rising above the level of the treetops once more. She panted with effort, hardly able to believe that she had been so daring. Yes, she loved to fly and loved the acrobatics she could perform in the air, but that was closer to a suicidal dive than any normal flight.

This is how it feels to jump from a great cliff, she told herself. But at least I have wings. If I had no wings, it would have hurt very much. Do not jump, Lizzy.

Her body was weary, yet her mind was still restless. Was it worry over Jane and Mr. Bingley? Over finding someone who would see past Mary’s shyness and love her? The fear that Lydia and Kitty were too foolish to realize the kind of harm they could bring upon themselves? Or was it something more, that indefinable sense of longing, of an emptiness inside her? A pair of grey eyes and magic that tasted of chilled winds intruded on her thoughts. For a moment, hardly more than an instant, she no longer felt so hollow.

When Lizzy realized what she was doing, she threw herself into flying, trying to chase away the feeling of wanting more in her life. Truly, she had a loving father, loving sisters, powerful magic, and the ability to fly . What more could she possibly want in her life? Yet no matter how she flung herself into wild twists and heart-stopping turns, the doubt remained within her, like a worm gnawing on her heart.

A couple of hours before dawn, Lizzy returned to Longbourn exhausted and famished. She flew over the sheep fields, looking down at her flocks with a measure of pride. There was a separate pen where sickly or unproductive sheep were kept. Most sheep farmers would try to sell those as cheap mutton, but in her case they had another use. She selected an old barren ewe and swooped down silently. She killed it on first strike and lifted off again, trying not to disturb the others in the flock. Though the ewe probably weighed in excess of twelve stone, she barely felt the additional burden. Papa had estimated that she could easily carry more than three or four times that weight, though she had never been given cause to try it.

Lizzy brought the sheep to the woods where she might eat in peace. Usually she would harvest the carcass as neatly as the butcher, but this day she ate with the savagery her dragon nature demanded. She tore into the warm flesh, ripping off large pieces and throwing her head back to gulping them whole.

She gorged on the sheep until her stomach felt heavy. Her blood flowed sluggishly now as sleep called to her. Sated—if not satisfied—she left her kill for the foxes and crows to pick at. She flew to a stream where she could drink deeply of the cold water and wash the ewe’s blood off of her scales.

Lizzy rested for a time in the water, trailing her wings in the current. It was not nearly as pleasant as when Mr. Darcy had frozen the water for her and she did not linger long. She rose, shedding water as she shook out her wings, and took to the air again. Between the wind and her body temperature, she was soon dry.

Lizzy landed in front of the dower house, where she had to duck and crawl in on her belly. There was no use to complain of it, not when she would be leaving in a year or two. She curled up within the house, though her fatigued muscles wished she could stretch out instead. Despite the cramped quarters, she would always be grateful for Papa for giving her this place to rest… for as long as it lasted. She closed her eyes, and was soon asleep.

Chapter 10

All told, Lizzy spent a little more than a week as a dragon. It was not that she was unable to return to human form but that she chose to remain in her dragon form. She had driven herself to the ground in an effort to protect her sisters, but she was of no use to them if the slightest provocation forced her to change shape. It was hard to stay at home while her sisters went out, yet she trusted Mary and Jane to be sensible and to watch over Lydia and Kitty.

Lizzy used her time as a dragon wisely. She slept most of the day, and once it was dark, she left the little cottage to stretch her muscles before flight. She went to nearby leylines, soaking in the magical energy and refilling her reserves. In the excitement of everything else, she had not realized how low on magic she had become. With her stores replenished, she regained a sense of peace and well-being toward the world. She could face what challenges might come, with equilibrium. Towards dawn she would return to Longbourn. Most mornings she ate a sheep, replenishing her physical reserves as well.

It was a lonely week for her. Papa would sometimes wake her up for conversation, but it did not last long. She could speak with Charlotte if she wanted to know the happenings of the neighborhood, yet not being able to participate in the entertainments was its own trial. Mary and Jane did visit her, but not being able to speak back to them saddened her.

Of Mr. Darcy, she saw and heard nothing.

It was both a disappointment and a relief that the gentleman from Derbyshire was absent. A new conversation partner, especially one as intelligent and quick-witted as he, was extremely refreshing. Yet the time away from him also gave her a chance to examine what she felt when he was near.

She used to think herself of calm disposition, not shaken by minor disturbances. She considered herself the direct opposite of Mrs. Bennet, who could not observe the slightest change in plans without calling for her smelling salts. Of course, that was before Lizzy had met one—and now two—gentlemen which inspired such strong reactions in her.

That was not to say she had never taken an instant dislike to someone before. During her travels with her father, certain individuals had stood out to her. There was nothing she could pinpoint about them, save that her dragon had immediately bristled in their presence. There were even people whom her dragon detested in Meryton. She could never be easy in their presence and, as if sensing the predator’s watchfulness within her, those same people instinctively avoided her. And yet, she had never experienced such a strong visceral reaction as she had in Meryton.

Lizzy remembered little of her meeting with the man, save for the terror and rage she had felt at that time. The man’s name was lost to her and she had only a vague recollection of his features. He had been too overshadowed by her dragon’s sudden emergence.

She had met with Mr. Darcy far more often and was able to make a better sketch of her reaction to him. Away from him, and sated on both meat and magic, he did not seem so fearsome. Yet she only had to think of talking directly to him to feel that same sense of alarm. Her heart would beat rapidly while her breath became short. Her stomach twisted while her feet or wings twitched with the urge to be away. It was not fear, not dread, not even excitement. It was simply alarm, a feeling of increased alertness, the need for higher vigilance.

Maybe it was something to do with how her dragon was low on magic, the way any person became more short-tempered and irritable when lacking food or sleep. The only thing she could resolve in the case of Mr. Darcy was that despite how she felt, he had been gentlemanly. He had given her no reason for her alarm therefore she would act with comportment around him.

Her first return to human form was for her Aunt Phillip’s card party. Though several officers of the militia had been invited, it was a casual affair. Lizzy could attend it without much fear for Kitty and Lydia’s behavior. Mary and Jane were very glad to see her once again human and helped her prepare for it. Lizzy took special care to praise Mary’s looks in the hopes that a more relaxed setting might allow her to mingle with the officers and perhaps attract their attention.

Mary gave Lizzy a sad look, then hugged her.

“Please do not worry about me, Lizzy,” Mary whispered in her ear. “I am well, I promise.”

Lizzy could hear the despair in her sister’s voice. She hugged Mary tightly and silently prayed that Mary would find someone to love her.

What surprised Lizzy about the card party was that the man she had met previously was attending as one of the officers. She did not remember much of him, but she knew he had not been in uniform then. Her reaction to him was the same as before. Her need to escape from him was only eclipsed by her need to stand between him and her family. She realized now that the panic she had felt upon her first meeting with him was not for herself, but rather the feeling that someone dangerous was too close to her family.

Unfortunately Lydia seemed rather taken with Mr. Wickham, as the man was called. Lizzy made sure to remain at the same card table as Lydia and Mr. Wickham, though she would have rather pulled her sister away from him completely. Objectively, he was a handsome man with pleasing manners, but her dragon’s intense dislike of him prevented her from looking on him with any degree of favor. Her skin crawled to be near him and there was a constant, low growl in her head. It was all she could do not to bare her teeth at him.

Lydia was distracted more and more with the cards, which meant that Mr. Wickham turned his attention to Lizzy. He smiled at her; she reminded herself that she was not currently a dragon and therefore could not breathe fire on him, no matter how much she longed to.

“Miss Elizabeth, is it not?” he asked pleasantly. “We met briefly the other day, before you were taken ill. I trust that you are feeling better?”

Lizzy stiffened at being addressed, then realized she was allowing her reaction to him make her uncivil. She gave a small smile, hoping it did not appear too forced.

“Yes I am, thank you,” she answered.

“I could not help but to notice that Mr. Darcy appeared to follow you. He did not importune you?”

Her usual discomfort at Mr. Darcy’s mention was heightened by Mr. Wickham’s presence. Her instinct was to avoid both of them, but she hated the idea of merely running away.

“He did not,” she responded. Something told her it would be better to allow Mr. Wickham to guide the conversation.

He hesitated, then asked “Has he been in the county long?”

“About a month,” she supplied and then, unwilling to let the subject drop, added, “I understand he is the owner of a very large property in Derbyshire.”

Mr. Wickham gave her an appraising look. “Yes, his estate there is a noble one. A clear ten thousand per annum. You could not have met with anyone more capable of providing information on that topic than myself, for I have been connected with his family since I was very young.”

Lizzy was startled. Was it possible that her reaction to both gentlemen had something to do with their connection?

Mr. Wickham smiled. “You seem surprised, Miss Elizabeth. Do you know Mr. Darcy well?”

There was something in the way he asked the question, a certain malice in his gaze that stirred her protective instincts, this time for Mr. Darcy. For all that he unsettled her, Mr. Darcy had always been a gentleman in her presence. She would not lightly throw him to the wolves. At the same time, she found herself wanting to know more of his past with Mr. Wickham, if only to solve her own mystery.

“Not well,” she replied. “He is a proud man.”

“I am sorry to say so, though I expected as much. He has ever been so, even as a young boy. His father, the late Mr. Darcy, God rest his soul, was my godfather and the truest friend I have ever had. The current Mr. Darcy and I were raised together as lads. When his father passed, the will expressed a wish that I be given a living when it should fall open. Two years ago, it did, just when I was at an age to receive it. Unfortunately, the son saw fit to give it elsewhere, despite his father’s final wish.”

Lizzy found the story to be improbable, for Mr. Wickham’s indiscretion in relating it to her if for nothing else. However, she attempted to show sympathy in the hope of gaining further confidence.

“That must have been hard for you,” she murmured, keeping her voice down to hide her doubt. Mr. Wickham leaned closer to her and her legs twitched with the urge to push his chair away. “Was there nothing you could do to dispute his actions?”

Mr. Wickham shook his head with an air of studied sorrow. “The will was worded in such a way as to make it open to interpretation. An honorable man could not have denied it, but Mr. Darcy chose to treat it as a conditional request and denied it to me on no grounds at all.”

“I wonder that you do not announce it and reveal the sort of man that he is, for surely he would suffer from public disgrace.” Her tone was a bit too hard, revealing her skepticism.

Mr. Wickham’s eyes turned shrewd as he gazed on her.

“My love for the father is such that I could not endure bringing shame upon his name, little though the current bearer deserves such approbation,” he said, then schooled his features into one of entreaty.

He tilted his head slightly, as if to ask, You do believe me, do you not?

Her instinct was to shout, No! She forced herself not to dismiss him out of hand. That some or many parts of his story were fabricated she had no doubt; the chore was to tease out what little truths remained. She could not consider her dragon’s personal dislike of the man, for he had given her no real reason to disregard him like that. The strange warning instincts from her dragon had never been confirmed, which led her to doubt them.

Then he brushed his fingers along the skin of her arm.

Lizzy’s reaction was a shudder down her spine and a clenching of her hand. The sudden pressure she put on the table caused it to creak and become unsteady. Thankfully the sound was too low for any but dragon ears to hear. She was deeply affronted that he dared to touch her on so slight an acquaintance. Her dragon was maddened by the need to remove his hand, from his arm, if need be. But the worst—far worse than anything else—was his magic.

His magic had nothing of the feel of Mr. Darcy’s clean, crisp magic. It was slick and cloying, making her want to burn it away like the blight it was. She felt it pushing at her emotions, urging her to trust Wickham, that there was no artifice in him, that every word which came from his mouth was absolute fact. In short, he had a golden tongue: the ability to use magic to manipulate others, and clearly know well how to use it to his own advantage.

Lizzy was utterly disgusted by Wickham. She no longer used the title of Mister before his name, for in her mind he had lost all right to call himself a gentleman. To tell such an incredible story to begin with was questionable, but then to back it up by his use of magic on her was beyond the pale. With a twitch of her own power, she absorbed his. Thankfully when she took in magic that way, it was cleansed and made into pure energy without any taint of its former owner. She stood from the table.

“Come, Lydia, I fear the cards do not favor us at this table,” Lizzy said coldly, staring hard at Wickham while reaching down to take her sister’s arm.

“What? No, I do not want to go!” Lydia was oblivious to the tension around her.

Lizzy took Lydia under the elbows and picked her up, maneuvering her to another table with Kitty before she could protest. Lydia was so startled by Lizzy’s uncharacteristic show of dragon strength that she did not give voice to her complaints, quickly becoming involved in the game again.

Lizzy remained on guard the rest of the evening, watching Wickham while staying as far from him as possible. Just because his magic did not work on her did not mean he could not use it on others. She was tempted to drain him of magic, but it was a temporary measure at best. Not only would his magic come back with time and rest, but doing so had as many legal and moral repercussions as his use of magic on her. Wickham’s particular talent fell into a murky grey area in the use of magic. It could be put to good use, such as calming someone who was panicked while they were in danger. And it could be used—much as Wickham had this night—to influence others into actions they would not normally take.

Papa had taught Lizzy to always be careful with her magic, to never take so much from a person as to harm them. Though Mr. Bennet was a powerful spell mage who could easily cast his spells on unsuspecting people, there were restrictions against the use of harmful or unnaturally influencing magic on others. There was a special branch of the Bow Street Runners that dealt with rogue mages, and had ways of shutting down magic to contain criminal mages. She did not know if their methods would work on her particular brand of magic and she did not care to find out.

Lizzy did not know what to do about Wickham, save that it did not feel right to allow him to wander unchecked. She knew now that her instincts about him were correct. He was a weasel sniffing around the coop, cunning and treacherous, but also cowardly. So long as she was willing to stand up to him, he would back down. His actions were dubious at best, but he had not caused actual harm to her person or property. There was not enough to report him to the law enforcers that dealt with wayward magic. Her thoughts turned again to his wild story. Though she longed to dismiss it outright, there was one piece of information in his tale which could help her.

Who better than to expose Wickham’s treachery than the maligned party?

The next day, Lizzy resolved to see Mr. Darcy as soon as may be. Even before breakfast she was outside and striding for Netherfield. She had been badly tempted throughout the night to reach out her mind to him. Propriety held her back, as well as the thought that this was a conversation best delivered to his face.

She crossed the dividing stream onto Netherfield’s property at a running leap. She was in luck that within a few moments of being on the land, she encountered the very person she was in search of.

“Mr. Darcy!”

He looked up in surprise. “Miss Elizabeth,” he greeted, his manner somewhat stilted. He could not have expected to encounter her this morning.

Lizzy quickly closed the distance between them. “I was hoping to find you this morning,” she said.

He gave her a sharp look. “Indeed?”

“I lately made a new acquaintance,” she began without preamble. “One Mr. Wickham.”

The change that came over Mr. Darcy was instant. He paled with anger and his magic roiled. The air actually felt colder around him.

“Is that so?” he spat. “No doubt he spun you a pretty tale of the ills I have done him, and now you have sought me out to castigate me on his behalf. Save yourself the trouble, madam. Good day!” He spun on his heels and began to walk away.

Lizzy stared at his back in shock, which soon turned to hurt resentment that he had not bothered to even listen to her.

“Not at all, Mr. Darcy!” she snapped back at him. “I came to tell you that he is spreading lies about you!” To her humiliation tears sprang to her eyes. Now she was the one to turn back the way she had come.

She heard his sharp intake of breath and suddenly he was calling after her.

“Miss Elizabeth! Wait, please, Miss Elizabeth!”

Lizzy would have continued onward without looking back but for his sudden pained yelp. She faced him to see that in his haste to come after her, his cane had caught on the ground and his weight had come down on his bad leg. Now he swayed precariously, his balance wavering. Without thought she darted forward to slip under his arm.

He leaned on her heavily, but, just as previously at the assembly, she was strong enough to bear him up. His arm came around her shoulders in a lover’s embrace. She was aware of his body pressed to hers, her own arm finding a place at his waist. He was cool and solid, his clothes soft and fine. It was a delightful contrast of hard muscle under fashionable cloth. There was something almost comforting about the contact, the living weight of another person. It was startling how well they fit together. She was surprised by how much smaller she was than him and that it did not bother her to be held so closely. He smelled like his magic: ice and earth. They were both too upset to control their respective powers. His magic washed over her like a cold plunge into a deep lake, while her own dragon magic greedily took his in. It was as pure as she remembered, nothing like the foulness of Wickham’s magic.

Mr. Darcy’s breath hissed through his teeth in pain, but he still forced himself to speak.

“Miss Elizabeth,” he gritted out, “Please stay. I fear I have done you an injury and would like to make reparations.”

She made no reply, too confused by her own reaction to his nearness, but there was no doubt in her mind that she would stay. As his weight on her lessened, he seemed almost reluctant to release her. Her heart was clamoring so loud he must have heard it, yet she could not say the sensation was unpleasant. Once he was steady on his feet again, she ducked down to return his cane to him. She was almost disappointed that he took it instead of leaning on her again.

Lizzy backed away several steps, not looking at Mr. Darcy. She had never touched… been touched, in that way by a man outside her family. She still felt the strange alarm at being near him, but she could not truly say that she had minded the way he had held her. She felt an extraordinary draw toward him, a yearning she had never experienced and could not name. Her life had never contained so much confusion before she had pulled him from the river!

Her cheeks felt warm when she dared to look at him and grew warmer still to meet his eyes. She looked away quickly, pointing to a nearby stand of trees.

“There are several fallen trees in there where we may sit and talk without being seen,” she said, not adding that she had knocked down the trees several years back during one of her less spectacular landings. She had not been as experienced at flying then as she was now.

Mr. Darcy inclined his head toward her. Lizzy led the way to the gathering of trees, choosing an easy path for him to follow. She sat first so he would not feel obligated to stand in her presence. Secretly she watched him as he limped to a fallen log. Having felt his body, she felt a new appreciation of his form. She could admit to herself that he cut a very fine figure; his limp did not detract from him one bit. Others might find physical limitations to lessen his appeal, but not she. He caught her watching him. At first he looked startled, and then strangely pleased. She quickly tore her eyes away from him.

A moment of silence passed while Lizzy attempted to calm her racing heart. Really, what was with her reaction to him? Could she not conduct a civil conversation with him and not have her body thrum with awareness?

He cleared his throat and began speaking. “I believe you were telling me about your new acquaintance, Wickham.” His face tightened with anger again, but he made a visible effort to set it aside. “I admit it surprises me that you are not on his side. He has a gift for drawing people to him.”

“That is because he has the magical talent to make others believe him,” she said tartly. “I, on the other hand, have the magical talent to be immune when others attempt to work magic on me.”

His eyes widened and suddenly he grinned. “I doubt he has ever encountered your dragon magic before. I confess, I am grateful that you were not taken in by his manners.”

“His manners can seem very charming,” she admitted, “But if one looked closely, one would detect some artifice in them. After a very short time speaking with him, I felt I could not trust him. That was before he attempted to press his magic on me. After, I was very determined to have nothing to do with him. I would not be so impolitic as to ask for details, but he did cast you in a poor light in his story. I only wish to know if you have reason to think he cannot be trusted.”

“He cannot,” he said grimly. “Wickham is blessed with such happy manners as may ensure his making friends. Whether he may be equally capable of retaining them is less certain.”

“Whereas your manners make you seem a proud man and distant from company,” she said with great frankness. “If his habit is to make you seem disagreeable, you make his task easy for him.”

He stiffened. “I have not the talent of conversing easily with people I have never seen before. I cannot catch their tone of conversation or appear interested in their concerns.”

“I cannot breathe fire as the wild dragons do,” she responded tartly. “My fire does not have the same force or size as others I have seen. But then I have always supposed it to be my own fault, because I will not take the trouble to practice. It is not that I do not believe myself as capable as wild dragons.”

Mr. Darcy did not immediately respond to her, but smiled softly, watching her with an almost tender expression.

Her face flushed, certain that she had overstepped herself and said too much. He was a great man compared to her family of little means; he could not appreciate being upbraided by her.

“Please, do not be alarmed,” he said upon observing her flustered reaction. “It is only that I have never heard of talking to strangers being compared to breathing fire, yet I think it must be the most apt description I have ever heard.”

Her entire body grew warm with his statement and she knew not what to make of it. She sought to draw his attention back to the topic at hand.

“Concerning Mr. Wickham, is his only aim to discredit you, or does he have more vices to be wary of?”

Mr. Darcy’s face darkened. Frost formed on the tree where he rested his hand. “He is very free with his funds, whether or not he has them. With his ability, he is often able to convince shopkeepers and others to extend him a line of credit which can run very dear, and which he has no means to repay.”

“I shall seek to warn the merchants of Meryton to keep their wares close,” she said. “I can counteract his magic when I see him using it, but I fear I cannot always be around.”

“My cousin and I have discovered that a sudden, unpleasant shock, such as sharp pain or uncomfortable alarm, can also free them from his influence. That method also appears to give them some resistance to falling under his magic again.”

“That is very well, but I cannot go around pinching people when I see him speaking with them.”

He nodded, then looked as if he would say more but hesitated.

“If the merchants must watch over their wares, must they also beware of their daughters?”

Mr. Darcy colored, but nodded. “I did not know how to bring up such a delicate topic, but that would not be an unwise precaution.”

“I thought as much.” She shuddered, remembering the familiar way Wickham had touched her.

“He did not attempt—?” he asked sharply.

“No,” she assured him. “He did touch my arm when he tried to use his magic on me, but I left his presence soon after. I shall not allow him near my person again, or my sisters.”

“You take prodigious good care of them,” he said.

“I take care of what is mine,” she said fiercely. “Perhaps it is the dragon in me, but I cannot stand to allow harm to come to them. I am better able than most to protect them and I shall do so even if it requires me to be more dragon than human.”

She expected her bold statement to make him look on her with disdain, but instead he seemed thoughtful.

“I think I shall return to my home now,” she said. “I would like to relay Mr. Wickham’s untrustworthiness to my father in the hope that he may help me in protecting Meryton.”

Mr. Darcy stood with only a little lingering stiffness. “I would escort you, at least to the property line.” He offered his arm to her.

Her heart gave a little lurch, yet she was not adverse to being in contact with him again. She rose and took his arm, muscles as firm under his sleeve as she had remembered.

With a little smile, he said, “I fear I cannot cross the stream to Longbourn’s lands as you can, unless I freeze the stream to allow me to walk on it.”

“Would not the ice be slippery?” she asked as they began walking.

“Ice is only slippery when I want it to be so,” he responded. “I have never lost my balance on ice. It was quite frustrating to my cousin when we used to play on ponds that had frozen over in winter as boys. His magic is to create fire, thus he was far more likely to make a slick surface and cause himself to fall, than I who was always surefooted on the ice.”

She looked up at his face, entranced with this vision of him as a boy. His grey eyes danced with amusement as he regarded her. She felt another jolt in her chest. He was quite a handsome man, she realized not for the first time. If he had not been aware of her dragon form, she thought she might have almost been in danger from him. As it was, there was no chance a man of his consequence would taint his name and home with someone under a curse.

They reached the stream where they would part.

“Thank you, Mr. Darcy for your intelligence. You can be sure I will be discreet as to your being the source of my information regarding Mr. Wickham.”

“I would not expect anything less,” he responded. “Good day, Miss Elizabeth.”

“Good bye, Mr. Darcy.”

She took a running start to jump across the stream, then continued onward to Longbourn.

***

---

Darcy watched Miss Elizabeth walk away, admiring her figure. She was all grace and fire, swift movements and confident stride. If she looked at him now, she would surely know how she was prying into his heart, and then he would be lost. She did not look, for which he was grateful. It could only raise false hope in her heart if she realized he admired her. As it was, he was determined only to think of her in his head and not his heart. He would do nothing to betray that he felt any inkling toward her at all.

Still, Darcy had to admit that when she had apparently taken ill at the sight of Wickham in Meryton, he had felt an uncommon amount of concern for her. He had been determined to follow her before she had reached out to him. After that, nothing could dissuade him from her side. It had been the first time he had seen her dragon form in broad daylight and she fairly took his breath away. She was larger than he remembered; it astonished him that a lady of such delicate proportions would become a dragon of such significance. Her colors gleamed in the sun, gaining depth and hue until he was nearly hypnotized by them.

Her wit remained the same. Every word she spoke into his head proclaimed her intelligence and curiosity. Then, when night had fallen, to see her fly again! He envied her ease of movement, the joyous freedom she found in flight. She seemed utterly ethereal when she flew, until she breathed that small gout of flame, and he was reminded that she was very much flesh and blood.

No, it had been no hardship at all to remain with her that day.

Indeed, it had been far harder for Darcy to remain away from her. Bingley called on Miss Bennet almost every day. It had strangled Darcy to not go with his friend, to not ask him to pass on his regards to Miss Elizabeth. At most, Darcy could listen for a mention of that lady, but there had been none in the week following the time he had spent with her. She was always absent when Bingley called and Darcy suspected the dower cottage was very much occupied.

He told himself it was for the best, to make a clean break of not seeing her again, to make sure that neither of their affections became further engaged than the precious friendship they now shared. After more than a week of telling himself such, he was nearly able to believe it. Of course, that was shattered when his morning walk had been disturbed by the sound of her voice.

The rush of warmth he had felt when he looked at her had told him he was in very great danger. She had approached him, apparently in a state of great excitement. Darcy’s first reaction was pleasure and the hope that he was the cause of her enthusiasm. Then more rational thought intruded and he felt a weight sink in the pit of his stomach.

He could only think of two reasons for her to come out, unchaperoned, like this. Either she had detected his slight preference for her and had allowed herself to believe he felt more than he did—thus coming to rendezvous with him—or she had realized the undue attention he had paid her and therefore had come with mercenary intentions. Either way, he could not allow himself to fall to such paltry and obvious marriage schemes.

Darcy had allowed his greeting to her to be rather cool. When the first words out of her mouth had been about that miserable cur Wickham, he had lost his temper. That blackguard had already taken too much from him! Wickham’s golden tongue had conned several thousand pounds from Pemberley’s coffers and cost a dear sister’s happiness. It was by the nearest of chances that Georgiana was still unsullied and Wickham was not his brother-in-law. More than one of Darcy’s friends had been turned against him by Wickham’s influence and for it to happen to the woman he admired—however so slightly and imprudently—was more than he could bear.

He should have known to trust Miss Elizabeth. Besides her dragonish immunity to magic, it was not in her behavior to either fawn over him or to fall prey to a pretty set of manners. She was both more intelligent and better read than most ladies he met. Furthermore, whether it was a result of her curse or her personality, she also lacked ambition. Not that she was not passionate in her pursuits, but she was one of the least mercenary of his acquaintance, surpassed only by Bingley.

Darcy shuddered to think he might have lost her good opinion due to his pride. If he had not stumbled, she would have easily left him behind. Thankfully her compassion in the face of his pain had been greater than her hurt and indignation. He had been able to make a semblance of an apology, which had somehow convinced her to stay. He would always be grateful to her for that. Hearing what she had to say about Wickham touched a wounded place in his soul. Darcy could never make up for the ills that Wickham had inflicted on Georgiana, but he liked to think he could repay that scoundrel a small part of what Darcy had suffered at his hands.

So it was that Darcy returned to Netherfield very much in high spirits. It was his great pleasure to meditate on the beauty of a pair of fine violet eyes. Bingley met him for breakfast. By contrast, the younger man lacked his usual good humor. He nodded coldly to Darcy and said nothing. Darcy was startled and attempted to entice some conversation out of his friend. Bingley answered tersely, until Darcy gave up. Whatever was bothering Bingley could not affect Darcy’s jovial mood. Bingley would have to come out of it on his own.

Chapter 11

Armed with her new knowledge of Wickham, Lizzy returned to Longbourn determined to protect her family from him. She would also do what she could for the merchants of Meryton, for what affected one part of their community had an influence on all of them. Her family was barely stirring for breakfast by the time she arrived. She waited impatiently for the meal to be over and followed Mr. Bennet into his study when he left the table.

“Yes, Lizzy, what can I do for you?” he asked, settling himself at his desk and picking up a book.

“I wanted to speak to you about one of the officers,” she began, sitting on a chair before the desk.

Papa looked up in interest. “Oh? Has one caught your eye?”

The thought of Wickham being an object of desire was abhorrent to her and she shuddered in disgust.

“No!” she declared vehemently. “Quite the opposite. It is Mr. Wickham. I do not like him, and I think he has the means to do great harm while he is here.”

“Indeed. Are you certain?”

“Yes. When I first met him I felt…” How could she describe the tumult of emotions that had raged within her when she laid eyes on Wickham? Her dragon’s visceral reaction? The conviction that he meant no good? There were no words for something that instinctive.

“Bad,” she said inadequately. “Like I wanted to flee—fly away from him—and if I could not fly, then I would fight him.”

“Lizzy,” Papa began with a sigh.

She knew he thought she was letting her dragon nature get the best of her.

“I have more reasons than my reaction to be concerned about him,” she said sharply.

“I will hear you out,” he said solemnly.

“I met Mr. Wickham again last night at Aunt Phillips’ card party. There he told me a story of misdeeds committed on him by another gentleman.” She would leave Mr. Darcy out of this matter as much as she could, as she had promised him.

“I found the story to be improbable, but then he touched me—”

“He touched you?” Mr. Bennet sat up abruptly. “I hope you put him in his place.”

“I wanted to, but it was only a brush on my arm and I did not want to draw attention to myself. But he used the touch to try to work magic on me. He has a golden tongue and the magic was to make me believe him without question.”

“His actions are dubious to be sure, but you did not take harm from him, did you? Was his magic able to affect you?”

“It was not,” she allowed.

“I daresay that must have been quite the shock for him that you did not fall under his charm. He seems to be a young man of uncertain character; he probably used his story and his ability to persuade other young women to sympathy for him,” Papa said dismissively. “Now that you are aware of him, I trust you will avoid him and advise your sisters to do the same. Maybe the militia will be the making of him.”

“I have more to say,” Lizzy reported grimly. “I have since found that he is known for running up large debts that he is unable to pay, as well as a wandering eye toward the fairer sex.”

“And you discovered all that from the touch of his magic?” he asked in amusement. “Your ability must have grown. Or you have gone sleuthing. How very like gossip it seems. I am surprised by you.”

She clenched her jaw in irritation that he seemed determined to dismiss her concerns as little more than womanly fancy. Was he forgetting that she was also a dragon? Surely her instincts deserved more consideration than that! Reluctantly, she realized that she was going to have to reveal the source of her information so that Papa realized she was not merely spreading gossip.

“Mr. Darcy,” she stated coolly.

“Pardon?” Mr. Bennet’s attention suddenly deepened. “What has that gentleman have to do with this matter?”

“He is the one Mr. Wickham claimed to have mistreated him. I think he was attempting to blacken Mr. Darcy’s name.”

“Though it appears to have not worked. Tell me, have you met with Mr. Darcy often outside of these walls?”

“No,” Lizzy answered in confusion, then honesty compelled her to answer, “Twice only. He kept me company when I became a dragon unexpectedly near Meryton, and this morning I sought him out for the truth on Mr. Wickham’s story.”

“And Mr. Darcy was the one who told you to beware of this Mr. Wickham? Did he provide any particulars?”

“No,” she confessed. “I did not feel it proper to ask for them.”

“Yet you trust him regardless, over Mr. Wickham?”

“I do,” she replied firmly. “I would sooner trust a fox to watch a henhouse than I would trust Mr. Wickham.”

“Then Mr. Darcy does not make you feel ‘bad’?” Papa chuckled at her inadequate vocabulary.

She blushed, shifting in her seat. Speaking about that gentleman with her father was fast becoming uncomfortable.

“With Mr. Darcy I am… nervous. But it is not the same as with Mr. Wickham.” If it had been, she would have never gone to him for the truth. No, more than that: she had gone to him to warn him about the slander Wickham was spreading. She had thought he deserved to know and deserved a chance to defend himself as well.

Mr. Bennet stared at her for a long moment. She felt the same as when he had caught her trying to practice breathing fire as a young dragon. It was a good thing that had been a particularly wet summer. Lizzy’s heart began a rapid tap against the inside of her ribs. In that moment she would have gladly taken the alarm that Mr. Darcy gave her rather than face her father’s assessing gaze.

Finally he spoke. “Very well then, shall I see if I can make some charms to protect our dear shopkeepers in Meryton?”

“I do not think this can be solved by charms,” she said, trying to contain her temper.

“Then I will send a note with the charms, will that satisfy you?”

She nodded grudgingly. It was the best she could expect from him. “Thank you, Papa. It helps to know that you believe me about the danger.”

“And I have no doubt you will protect your sisters from this rapscallion with tooth and claw,” he chuckled. “But do try not to burn down the town in your zealousness. Now, off with you. You know I cannot make charms when you are near, especially if they are delicate. For that matter, stay away from the house entirely. I will tell Mary and Jane to carry the charms into town so that you do not risk making them impotent by the time they arrive.”

“Thank you,” she repeated, standing and kissing him on the head before leaving the room.

***

---

Bingley remained distant to Darcy for several days. Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst noticed and tried without success to discern the cause. Darcy became concerned, for it was clear that with everyone else Bingley was as amiable as ever. It was only toward Darcy that he was ill-disposed. He could not think what he had done to offend his friend, but was sure there must be something which had caused Bingley’s current behavior.

Finally, Darcy had had enough of the surly treatment. He caught Bingley as the man had been about to leave to visit Longbourn again and all but wrestled him to the study. It was somewhat difficult given Darcy’s injured leg, but Bingley did not put up much of a struggle.

“What is this?” Bingley asked coldly once the door was shut behind Darcy.

“No, what is this ?” Darcy retorted, gesturing between himself and Bingley. “We have ever been friends and I value our confidence in each other. Your attitude towards me has changed. I can only think it must have been something which I have done. Tell me so that I may rectify it.”

“You have done nothing,” Bingley responded, but his curt tone belied his words. “Or rather, you had done nothing until this moment. You have prevented me from leaving to see my beloved Miss Bennet. I am to meet her in the woods, where we will be quite occupied for some time. It amazes me what can occur between two people without a chaperone present.”

Darcy recoiled from Bingley. He had never heard his friend speak such vulgarities. In the next moment, his hand clenched and he had to fight not to knock Bingley down. He was speaking of Miss Elizabeth’s sister. Certainly she knew nothing of it, or she would have visited her dragon’s wrath down on Bingley.

“Then you intend to marry Miss Bennet? She will be quite ruined by the time you are done, even if nothing occurs.”

“Marry her?” Bingley laughed harshly. “Of course not, why should I? I care nothing of her reputation, or what she might suffer after I am gone. Why should I?”

“This is not how a gentleman acts!” Darcy barked. “If this is your true character, I am ashamed to be your friend!”

“As I am ashamed to be yours!” Bingley responded with heat. “If I had acted in such a manner to Miss Bennet, it would only have been because I followed your example in how a gentleman acts!”

“Me!” Darcy exclaimed.

“Yes, you! Do you deny that you have spent hours with Miss Elizabeth, unchaperoned and in quite a secluded place? More than that: you had the effrontery to tell me to send a carriage to your location, while leaving Miss Elizabeth to walk home, after dark, alone and in shame! Was that the end of your liaisons with her? No, for mere days ago you were seen to embrace her, and then walk with her into a stand of trees where once again you remained alone with her for an extended length of time!

“My intentions toward Miss Bennet have always been honorable. I cannot call anything you have done to Miss Elizabeth the same. I consider myself her almost-brother; why should I not call you out for how you have acted toward her?”

Darcy gaped at Bingley, equal parts humiliated and indignant. The idea of anyone imposing on Miss Elizabeth while she was in her dragon form was ludicrous. Not only did she have superior strength, size and speed, but she could also fly away at any time. Even if she were somehow hampered and could not fly, she also had talons and teeth as vicious as scimitars and daggers. Failing everything else, she still had a dragon’s ultimate offensive weapon: her fiery breath. Yet Bingley did not know Miss Elizabeth could become a dragon, did he? It was not a secret readily shared with strangers. Darcy did not consider telling the truth of the matter to him, for it was not his secret to reveal.

In any case, it remained that Miss Elizabeth had been in her human form when they spoke about Wickham. He dismissed the notion that they had embraced; she had merely caught him when he would have fallen. Only it had felt very much like an embrace. He had enjoyed it as such, once the pain in his leg faded sufficiently. She was still nearly as strong as a human as when she was a dragon; certainly stronger than him. Again, Bingley knew nothing of it. He only knew that Darcy had apparently been taking advantage of Miss Elizabeth with no intention of marrying or otherwise providing her protection.

Bingley was still expecting an answer. Darcy wished that he could tell Bingley that the circumstances were different with Miss Elizabeth, except it smacked of the hypocritical manners he had always despised. Having been woken to the situation, he could not look back on his interactions with Miss Elizabeth with a clear conscience. He had toyed with her reputation, lulled into a false sense of security perhaps because she was often a dragon. Was Miss Elizabeth any less a young lady, a gentleman’s daughter no less, because she was sometimes also a dragon? Did her curse give him the right to act in such a dishonorable way toward her?

His father would have caned him for treating a serving girl in such a way, let alone a lady of genteel birth! Her family might not have the same consequence as his, yet that did not make her undeserving of consideration. More than her reputation might be on the line. By meeting with her so frequently, he was also guilty of leading her on, perhaps even falsely engaging her affections when he had no intention of asking for her hand. Had a gentleman treated Georgiana as he had been treating Miss Elizabeth, Darcy would not have hesitated to call him out.

“I am sorry, Bingley,” Darcy spoke in a low tone. “I had not realized how damaging my actions were toward her.”

“Damaging? Good God, man, you have treated her as no more than your mistress! Unless you do intend to marry her?”

“Of course not!” Darcy snapped.

Bingley shook his head, an expression of condemnation on his face.

Darcy felt a hollow swoop in his stomach. How many times had he blamed Wickham for turning his acquaintances against him? This time he had managed to do it all on his own.

“Charles,” he said desperately, “You must know—please believe me when I say I never touched her. I swear I have not in any way attempted to compromise Miss Elizabeth.”

Bingley relaxed slightly. “I believe you. But you were seen embracing.”

“I stumbled; she kept me from falling. I released her as soon as I could.”

“She must be prodigiously strong to have caught you,” Bingley mused.

Darcy tried to arrange his features into an innocent expression.

Bingley fixed him with a hard look. “While I believe you have not sought private trysts with Miss Elizabeth, you must realize that is exactly the kind of gossip that might be started from your actions.”

Darcy’s heart leapt to his throat in agitation. “Has there been talk?” he demanded. If there were rumors that threatened Miss Elizabeth’s reputation, he must do the right thing and offer for her. It might not be the kind of match either of them had looked for, but he would not leave her prey to social ruin from vicious words.

Bingley shook his head. “Miraculously little, just that you have been seen sometimes in her company.”

Oddly, Darcy’s first reaction was not one of relief—but of disappointment. He was not ready to explore what that might mean and quickly locked the thought away.

“It pains me to say it,” Bingley began sternly, “but I ask that you have no further improper contact with Miss Elizabeth. If you cannot adhere to that, I must ask you to leave my house. I am sorry it has come to this, my friend. I had thought better of you than this.”

“So did I,” Darcy acknowledged quietly.

He could not flee the room fast enough.

Bingley’s words continued to trouble Darcy. Sleep eluded him as he lay in his bed that night, his mind churning with the conversation. He tried to reassure himself that it was not as though he had treated Miss Elizabeth as a mistress, but he could not deny that he had been high-handed with her. Once he had decided not to pursue her, he should have regarded Miss Elizabeth as no more than a casual acquaintance, instead of the undeniable friendship he had allowed to form. He had tried not to leave her disappointed, but doubt gnawed at him.

What was Bingley about, prodding him about marriage? Just because Darcy was not like Bingley—who was always in a state of love, whether it was falling in, or falling out of it—did not mean he would not appreciate and look forward to the company of a woman he could call his wife. Bingley was too quick with his emotions, often thinking that his brief infatuations were the basis of a good marriage.

Darcy wanted a marriage like his own parents, one built of respect, esteem and affection. He believed he could achieve such a marriage by selecting a good match for himself, and allowing his feelings for her to develop naturally. He had rejoiced that his own emotions were more consistent than Bingley’s, that he was not attracted to every pretty face that smiled at him. Did that not mean when he found someone that could touch his heart that his affections would be stronger for it? If no one else had ever caught his interest before, did that not mean there was something special about the one lady that had?

The silent confession stole his breath. All his life, he had thought he would select his partner through careful deliberation, and yet Elizabeth had slid past his reasoning to touch his heart. He refused to call what he felt for her love; in no way did it compare to the way his parents had treated each other. His parents had been joined as equals, not perfect, yet accepting of each other’s foibles. Darcy only had to think of Elizabeth’s family to realize his disdain for them far outweighed her appeal. Yet he could not deny that he held a certain… fascination toward Miss Elizabeth.

There had to be other women that could spark his interest and stir his heart! Just because he had not found any before now did not mean they did not exist. But Darcy remained worried. He was not a fickle creature. He could not so easily turn his heart to another, as Bingley often did. Darcy had thought he had prevented himself from becoming too attached to Miss Elizabeth, but now he was afraid he had failed. He had prided himself on his consistency, yet now that might prove to be his downfall. If he could not convince his heart to give up Miss Elizabeth, and society dictated that he could not have her, what was left for him but a hollow existence?

Chapter 12

Darcy was plagued by confusing thoughts and emotions in the days to come. There was little for him to do but brood on the matter of Miss Elizabeth. His injury prevented him from taking part in much of the sport that could have distracted his mind and body. He kept close to the house on his walks to avoid the possibility of encountering Miss Elizabeth again. Though she had been the one to approach him the last time, Bingley was right that as a gentleman, Darcy should have had more prudence in meeting with her. He wanted to scoff at the idea that Miss Elizabeth, as the dragon, could have needed a champion. Except of course she did need a champion to save her from her curse, and he could not be that person.

It did not help matters that Bingley was consistently absent during the day, gone to Longbourn to court Miss Bennet and coming back insufferably cheerful each night. Darcy did not feel quite right in directing his friend’s behavior when his own had been questionable lately, but he could not help but to advise restraint toward Miss Bennet. He feared that even if she had no mercenary intention toward Bingley, Mrs. Bennet likely did. He thought it very probable that Mrs. Bennet would urge her daughter to accept Bingley’s suit whether there was genuine care on her part or not.

“Are you sure you ought to be going to Longbourn so often?” Darcy pointedly asked one morning as Bingley was getting ready to leave.

“And why should I not?” Bingley asked coolly.

The friendship between them had remained irritatingly strained, even though Darcy had followed Bingley’s instructions to have no further contact with Miss Elizabeth.

“If you continue to call on them, it can only raise speculation as to your purpose,” Darcy hedged.

Bingley gave him a significant look. “ I should be the one to raise speculation?”

Darcy colored. “I only wish the best for you—”

“Goodbye, Darcy. Have a pleasant day.” Bingley walked away and shut the door firmly behind him.

His attempts to speak with Bingley over the next few days were met with the same resistance.

---

“Do you think it a wise move to encourage Miss Bennet so?” Darcy asked.

“I can think of no better person to encourage. Pardon me, the housekeeper said she wished to speak with me.”

---

“Bingley, I must urge you to caution—”

“Because you have been very cautious yourself since arriving here?”

---

“Bingley, do you have a moment?”

“Not at this time, I plan to enjoy a small night cap and go to sleep.”

---

“Bingley, would you mind—”

“Sorry, I promised I would go shooting with Hurst this morning.”

---

“Bingley—”

“No, I must be off to Longbourn, I was invited for supper.”

---

Darcy tried repeatedly to corner Bingley, even resorting to magic to freeze the door latch.

“Really, Darcy, locking me in with ice? Do you not think that is childish?”

“I would not have to resort to such means if you would consent to speak with me.”

“So speak.” Bingley crossed his arms over his chest.

“Thank you. Now concerning your involvement with Miss Bennet—”

Bingley scoffed. He turned and muttered a sharp spell that broke the door around Darcy’s ice, threw a narrow glance at Darcy, then swiftly left the room.

---

After a week of this, Bingley had had enough. He confronted Darcy one morning, in a scene reminiscent of their previous argument.

“Why should I listen to you about my love-life when you have made a muddle of yours?” Bingley demanded. “You know nothing of love! You believe that every woman is a fortune hunter if she is below you in wealth and not worth your time if she is above you. You have no concept of what would please you! I would rather be a pauper with Miss Bennet than to own Pemberley and be as fastidious as you!”

Darcy reeled back in shock. “I was only trying to see that you are not trapped in a marriage without affection or advantage.”

“Tell me, how often have you seen Miss Bennet that you are so certain of the supposed lack of affection? For that matter, what might be seen to be a detriment to the great Fitzwilliam Darcy of Pemberley is not so to me. Miss Bennet is a gentleman’s daughter, while my father was in trade. If anything, she brings advantage to our marriage,” Bingley retorted.

Darcy was deeply stung by his friend’s words. “Bingley, I did not mean—”

Bingley stormed out, leaving Darcy to grasp at the pieces of their friendship and wonder how it had gone so foul. He was both hurt and angry. How dare Bingley speak to him in such a way? It was not as though Darcy had ever tried to set himself above Bingley. Did he not know that Darcy only had his best interests in mind? As for Bingley’s claim that Darcy was impossible to please, that was utter nonsense!

Or was it?

He was plagued by the same doubt that had tortured him all week. Was he truly so exacting when it came to the state of matrimony? Darcy had not thought so, but the face in the mirror was the blindest of all. He did not believe that every woman was a fortune hunter, though he had to admit he had met an abnormally high number of them. Bingley knew Darcy had no intentions towards his sister and had seen Darcy rebuff other ambitious highborn ladies.

In his experience, Darcy had met two kinds of women. The first was like Miss Bingley, shrewd yet grasping, seeking only to recommend themselves to their current target. He could not talk to one without hearing them agree with his every thought, even if he should profess something completely ridiculous. They had no original idea of their own, unless it was a method to trap him into marriage. Even those attempts were remarkably similar. He should have been outraged at their impudence, yet more often he was dismayed that there was not one unique characteristic about them.

The second kind was more like his cousin, Anne de Bourgh. She was the sole heiress to Rosings and need not marry for security, despite Lady Catherine’s stringent demands that Rosings and Pemberley be united through matrimony. Darcy had taken the occasional opportunity to speak with his cousin, away from his aunt’s influence, and was left uniformly disappointed by each encounter. Anne, either due to her health or upbringing, was such a listless character that a response could hardly be had from her. Her answers were monosyllabic and lacking in any sort of forethought or engagement. If she should venture a question of her own, it was most often for the next application of her medicinal snifter.

Yet he knew there were other women of worth! His own mother was a prime example of what a lady could be. She was kind, intelligent and generous. There was no doubt that she had deeply loved her husband and her children. That was not to say that his parents had never argued, but they never made their children pick sides, and never, to Darcy’s knowledge, went to bed angry with each other. Why could he not meet a lady like that?

A living and more recent example was his uncle’s wife, Lady Matlock. Aunt Eleanor was quiet-spoken and demure, able to articulate her opinions without raising her voice. However, she also had a backbone of solid steel. She was not given to outbursts of temper as Lady Anne had been; when provoked, she was more likely to smile and gracefully change the topic, giving the appearance that she had been bested. The real danger lay afterwards, for she would quickly and efficiently organize her revenge.

The earl of Matlock was the head of the family but Darcy had no doubt that even he was quietly governed by his wife. Through it all, he had no doubt that his aunt and uncle were besotted with each other. Richard never complained of any distance between his parents. Indeed, the united front of Uncle Matlock and Aunt Eleanor had spoiled many a boyhood plot for mischief.

Darcy did not know if he would appreciate a wife who could so easily manipulate him, but he had to admit that Lady Matlock was certainly a lady of worth. Why had he never been introduced to such a lady? Was there something lacking in the current generation, that he would never meet a woman who could meet his expectations?

All his life he had been taught that he must marry not only for himself, but for the good of his family and Pemberley. Was he at fault for wanting a marriage partner he could have an intelligent conversation with? Had it become unfashionable for ladies to be more than pretty breeding stock? Was it too much to ask that a woman be interested in him instead of his pocketbook? In fact, the only woman who had impressed him with her witty conversations and lively character was Miss Elizabeth… whom he was determined not to have.

He had to wonder again at his own reaction to Miss Elizabeth. She was unafraid of him, well-read—if a bit unorthodox—and exhibited several other desirable traits. Her loyalty to her sisters was commendable, as well as her discernment in not being taken in by Wickham’s lies. One might go as far as to say that the only thing preventing her from being a good match was her low connections and lack of wealth. The idea was deeply disturbing to Darcy. If he had met her, not in the wilds of Hertfordshire, but at a ball hosted by Aunt Eleanor, would he have considered her a suitable partner? If he had not met Mrs. Bennet and her youngest daughters, if Miss Elizabeth did not have one uncle in trade and another as an attorney, would she have been worthy of Pemberley?

Bingley came back from Longbourn that night, and perhaps because of the disagreement from earlier, indulged in drink far more than he was used to. For once Bingley did not avoid Darcy, but invited him to take part. Afterwards they sat in Bingley’s study, staring at the fire in a rare companionable silence. Darcy said little, hoping to repair the rift between them.

Bingley at last ventured to speak. “You know, Darcy, I am glad you are not courting Miss Elizabeth,” he said, his voice slightly slurred from drink.

Darcy jumped, for he had been thinking of her just then.

“And why is that?” Darcy indulged his friend, grateful for any conversation.

Bingley peered at him blearily before seeming to remember his comment. “Because you are not good enough for her,” he said, nodding sagely.

Darcy sat up indignantly.

“When Jane speaks of Miss Elizabeth, there is something so sad in her voice,” Bingley went on. “It is as though Miss Elizabeth is dying. Jane wants to help her, but knows she cannot. So Miss Elizabeth deserves someone who will love her freely. Not someone who might use her only for their own comforts, or who would look down on her. She is far too clever for the likes of me, and she needs someone who would not try to change her ways.”

Darcy felt a chill, thinking of Mr. Bennet’s suspicions that Miss Elizabeth planned to leave when her curse took over her life. Living as a dragon was nothing like dying… but neither was it like living as a human. For the first time he felt a measure of grief for what Miss Elizabeth would lose when she became fully dragon. In a way, it would be the very real death of her human form.

“I am not worthy of Jane,” Bingley lamented. “I doubt any man is really worthy of the women around them. But I say to you: I am a better man for Jane than you are for Miss Elizabeth. I love Jane and I am not ashamed of it. I am there for her, even when her family is loud and obnoxious. I am not as blind as you think I am. I know their actions are not always proper but Jane is worth any discomfort that they might cause. So indeed, I am glad you are not courting Miss Elizabeth. She deserves a better man than you.” Bingley bobbed his head for a time, and then abruptly dropped his chin and gave a loud snore.

Darcy rose unsteadily. He, not worthy of Miss Elizabeth? He would have challenged any other man who suggested as much. How could Bingley speak to him like this? Or was the younger man right? Bingley had already taken him to task for not treating her properly. Why else had Darcy sat there through Bingley’s rambling without defending himself? Some deep part of himself realized that he had made a mistake.

The first time he saw Miss Elizabeth, felt that sudden interest in her, he should have fled back to Pemberley. He had been selfish, staying near in the hope of seeing her, allowing his feelings to develop while knowing he could never act on those feelings. He was very much afraid the reluctantly admitted attraction to Miss Elizabeth ran deeper than he wanted. Without realizing it, he had fallen in love with her. But was it the sort of love that could save her from the curse? Was it the sort of love that could withstand the scorn of his peers, or would he come to resent her for not being more than she was?

To stay when he knew he could not have her was torture. No more! He would go home to Pemberley and heal both body and heart in peace. Next season he would enter the marriage market again. He would be less critical of women, to please Bingley. Darcy would find a lady who was kind, intelligent, brave enough to withstand his moods, and her name would not be Elizabeth Bennet. He would marry her and surely then he would finally forget the young dragon-lady from Hertfordshire.

By that time her curse would have fully taken affect, if she did not find another gentleman to love her. With two uncles in trade, and unable to attend the season in London because of her condition, he had to admit that her chances of finding someone else were slim. That was not his concern, though. He was packing for Pemberley tonight. By morning, when Bingley left to court his Miss Bennet, Darcy would be gone.

His resolve lasted until he reached his room. He sat down heavily on his bed, suddenly deflated of energy. Whom was he fooling? Certainly not Bingley.

Darcy could not leave Netherfield. If he left now, he would never again glimpse Miss Elizabeth’s human face. Staying was unbearable, but leaving was impossible. Was it not his duty as a gentleman to render aid to a lady in need? Did he not owe Elizabeth more than anyone else? He rubbed at his face, torn between his heart and head. Perhaps if he saw her one last time, he could lay this demon to rest? Or would that only fuel the flames licking at his chest? No, he could not see her; it was selfish in the extreme. It would only break his word to Bingley and continue to toy with Miss Elizabeth’s emotions.

Darcy went to bed, unsatisfied and undecided. He slept poorly that night. He chased dreams through his head: glimpses of Elizabeth as a dragon, as a human, frightened of him, smiling timidly, saddened, furious. Again and again he felt himself tumbling into the water and Elizabeth would pull him out, sometimes as a dragon, sometimes as a human. Then his dream began to change, and suddenly she was the one underwater. She reached for him, eyes wide and pleading.

He tried to pull her out of danger, but her hands slipped from his grip no matter how tightly he tried to hold onto her. She begged him, cursed at him, cried out in despair. His heart broke for her. Eventually, he could not take her pain any longer. He turned his back on her, and walked away. Darcy heard her shouting his name. He walked faster, until he was running, running away from her, from his heart being ripped in two by the sound of her drowning. With a great roar, a black, blue and violet dragon swooped down at him. He tried to run, but tripped instead. The dragon pounced on him, seizing his leg in her teeth. She clamped down on him, severing muscle and tendon with great relish.

Darcy awoke with a start, his sheets and pillow stained with sweat and his leg burning in pain. He sat up in bed, clutching his leg. His muscles spasmed as he tried to knead the knotted muscles into submission. He reached blindly for the pitcher of water by his bed. His hand sank into it and he used the water to form a thick binding of ice around his leg. As the cold sank into his burning flesh, the tight pain began to ease at last.

He sighed in relief, sinking back to his pillow. Sleep was out of the question, for the dream haunted him. He did not possess the ability of predicting the future in his dreams, but there was a ring of truth in what he had seen. He was letting Elizabeth slip through his grasp, when he might be the only one that could help her. Darcy did not believe she would physically hunt him down when her curse completed itself, but he knew the thought of her would always prey on him.

He wanted to help her, he realized at last. She should not have been cursed in the first place and she did not deserve to be a dragon for the rest of her life. The problem was that the only way to help her was to love her… without reserve. He already knew he felt an undeniable attraction towards her, but could he open his heart and allow himself that deeper connection to her? He had to love all of her, as a woman and as a dragon. But how could he stand for her family to be joined with his? He did not know how Bingley was able to tolerate Mrs. Bennet and the youngest sisters.

What had Bingley said? That being with Miss Bennet was worth any discomfort her family might cause? Darcy had far more to lose by becoming associated with Mrs. Bennet and her ilk. The ton would openly sneer at her and cut off all connection to himself and his wife. Well, in truth there were very little of them he thought worth the effort of knowing. The few that were good fellows would have to prove their steadfastness when the time came.

His family would act in the same way. Lady Catherine would be furious , but he had never intended to marry his cousin anyway. The Fitzwilliams were a more difficult branch to decipher. The Earl of Matlock could be an awful proponent for propriety, but he himself had married for love. Aunt Eleanor, the Earl’s wife, might support him, as she had been quietly opposed to the idea of Darcy marrying his cousin Anne for years. The Earl’s oldest son was almost definitely a lost cause. As for Richard… being a colonel on the frontlines had given Richard decided opinions on the shortness of life, and the importance of seizing love no matter what burdens it came with. Once Richard knew the depths of his feeling for Elizabeth, his cousin would be his greatest support no matter what happened next.

Was this it then? Had Darcy truly convinced himself to pursue Miss Elizabeth? There was a light, giddy feeling in his chest that he had not felt since coming to Hertfordshire. It was like waking up on Christmas morning when his mother was still alive. It was like holding his baby sister for the first time and falling utterly in love with her. Because he was in love, he realized. He was in love with Miss Elizabeth and it was definitely not a brotherly kind of love! He had finally set himself free to love her.

His heart raced as he imagined Elizabeth’s smile. He grinned in delight as he remembered the joy of their conversations and sighed at the beauty of both of her forms. Darcy realized that he was uniquely suited to helping her, because while he hoped to free her entirely of her curse, he did not mind that she had to spend much of her time as a dragon. His love would be the instrument to save her!

Not even the threat of Mrs. Bennet dampened his enthusiasm for Miss Elizabeth. He might never be comfortable around the matron, but he knew he would rather take the mother’s shrill cries than forego the daughter’s company. The thought of introducing Georgiana to Miss Elizabeth filled him with giddy pleasure. Miss Elizabeth did not seem shy about anything; if the ladies became friends, perhaps her boldness might help Georgiana overcome her fright in company.

Darcy knew that choosing Elizabeth as his wife would inevitably reflect onto his sister as well. He could not pretend that he did not have some doubts regarding Georgiana’s future coming out because of his choice, but again, those that remained by his side after his marriage would likely be more worthy than those who abandoned them. He would not allow a young man who might snub part of his family to become close to Georgiana.

Darcy threw off his covers and called for Green to help him dress. It was early, but Darcy did not want to risk missing Bingley on his way to Longbourn. Green was somewhat surprised by the cuff of ice around Darcy’s leg. It had mostly numbed his flesh, so that he only felt a twinge of pain as he moved. If Mr. Bennet could make a brace of magic, could Darcy make one of ice? It was an interesting thought, but he set it aside for later. For one thing, he would have to continuously pour magic into it and he was going to see a lady that was particularly attracted to magic. He commanded the ice to break, then set the pieces back into his bedside pitcher.

Darcy waited for Bingley in the breakfast room. He lingered there for several hours, having forgotten Bingley’s late night indulgence. His friend slept longer than usual and looked to be sporting a headache when at last he entered the breakfast room. Darcy glanced up from his perusal of the dragon book. Now that he had decided to court Miss Elizabeth, he was as driven to learn about dragons as Mr. Bennet had been when the man had learned he would be raising one. Of course, Darcy also frequently turned to the beginning of the book, where he studied Miss Elizabeth’s picture. He was beginning to suspect that the lady pictured with Miss Elizabeth’s dragon form—it obviously was not Miss Elizabeth—might be one of her sisters, but the details were too vague to be certain which one.

Bingley gave Darcy a surprised look as he sat down gingerly. Darcy had made it a habit to avoid his friend in the mornings, trying to distance himself from any thought of Longbourn’s inhabitants. Darcy waited with barely concealed impatience while Bingley sipped tea and nibbled on toast. After Bingley had taken three small bites—Darcy counted, while pretending to study his dragon book—he finally asked, “Do you plan to go to Longbourn today?”

Bingley nodded warily. “Of course, as you well know. I am not in the mood for your admonitions today—”

Darcy winced. “No, I have no intention of making any such comment. I was wondering… would you mind if I came with you?”

Bingley gave him a hard stare. “To what purpose?” he demanded.

Darcy swallowed an angry retort. He deserved Bingley’s suspicion after the way he had spoken against Miss Bennet and treated Miss Elizabeth. He took a deep breath and forced himself to reveal the truth. “I may not be a worthy man… but I can be better than I have been.”

He was expecting Bingley to be happy that he had finally decided to pursue Miss Elizabeth, but his friend was unimpressed.

“What is your aim?” Bingley asked steadily. “Do you go only to have conversation because you are bored, intending nothing more? Will you steal her away into the park unattended?”

“No!” Darcy exclaimed. “Do you really think me so fickle? No, if you must know, I have… honorable intentions toward Miss Elizabeth.” Why was Bingley questioning him so hard? Bingley was the one that was constantly falling in and out of love. Darcy’s actions might have been indecisive, but his regard for Miss Elizabeth had never waned despite his efforts to forget her. Surely his friend must realize that? Darcy would have never acted so imprudently with Miss Elizabeth if he had not been attracted to her!

“Do you really? You intend to have Mrs. Bennet as your mother-in-law, and Miss Kitty and Miss Lydia as companions to Miss Darcy? You will be proud to have Miss Elizabeth on your arm at the theatre and at dinning engagements? You will present her to your family as your wife?”

Darcy stood, slapping his hands down on the table. “What are you accusing me of?” he shouted furiously, “Speak plainly, man!”

Bingley leveled a hard look at him. “I only want to be sure you have not decided to go for Miss Elizabeth now, only to abandon her when you face opposition from your family and the ton, or hear something unpleasant from her family. She does not deserve to suffer ridicule and derision because you will not support her.”

Guilt burned at Darcy’s insides. Had he not been wrestling with the same things since he met her? At the same time, his own anger flared. His face flushed with color.

“I do not deserve your doubt. I admit my behavior was at fault before, and I have had no further contact with Miss Elizabeth. Since then, I have come to realize that she means more to me than I could have guessed, and I am determined to rectify my mistakes toward her. I am not walking in blindly, nor did I ever consider the matter frivolous. But I am decided in my path, and I will not be dissuaded from it,” Darcy said coldly.

Bingley had the grace to look ashamed. “Understand, Darcy,” he said softly. “That I think of Jane’s family as my own, and therefore I care for Miss Elizabeth as her brother. I was disappointed in you once, and I fear you may have already hurt Miss Elizabeth, so please forgive me if I am not so trusting of you as before. I already warned you I would take measures if you continued to mistreat her.”

Darcy was astonished. He struggled with his temper, varying between amusement that Elizabeth, as a dragon, would need protection, and fury that Bingley would threaten him so. He felt again that he had let Bingley down in how he had dealt with Miss Elizabeth. It hurt to realize that his character must be tarnished in his friend’s eyes.

Finally a strange mixture of humility and sentimentality won. Darcy had always been the stronger, steadier man in his friendship with Bingley. He had guided his young friend through difficulties and entanglements before. But now, Bingley had grown enough to challenge him. Darcy felt proud that Bingley had found his own feet, able to stand up to Darcy without flinching. Was this what the love of a good woman, Miss Bennet, had done for Bingley? Allowed him to act with courage when he knew what was right? How could Miss Elizabeth change Darcy, if he let her?

He was also touched by the concern Bingley showed for Miss Elizabeth. Bingley might not know of her curse, but he was still determined to defend her honor as stridently as he would his own sisters. Darcy had no intention of letting slip Elizabeth through his fingers again, but it was good to know that an upstanding gentleman was watching out for her in case Darcy failed.

“Do you have an understanding with Miss Bennet, then?” he asked, forcing his voice to be calm. Bingley’s use of Miss Bennet’s Christian name had not escaped Darcy’s notice.

“Not yet,” Bingley admitted. “Despite what you believe of me, I do not rush into these things so lightly. I feel we have not yet known each other long enough. But I have every intention of asking for her hand, when I am sure I could make her happy.”

Darcy held Bingley’s gaze. “That is what I feel for Miss Elizabeth,” he said. “Despite what you think of me, I will not abandon her.”

“I wish I could say that I did not have good reason to doubt you…” Bingley trailed off.

“I understand your concern,” Darcy said. “I will even applaud you for it. Dare I hope that our friendship shall survive these last weeks, because I intend to repair my honor, which I believe has been damaged in your eyes?”

“I would hope so, but I fear it is pending on your behavior,” Bingley said quietly.

“You might not trust me,” Darcy gritted out, “But you cannot stop me. When I asked if you minded me coming along, I was not asking your permission.”

Slowly, Bingley nodded. “Then you are welcome to accompany me.”

Chapter 13

There was a tense silence at the breakfast table as Bingley finished eating. Darcy’s stomach twisted. He wondered how he—who prided himself on his upright morality—could have strained their friendship so badly. He had carried on with his own concerns, blind to how he affected those around him. Darcy had thought he had raised no expectations in Miss Elizabeth, but he had not treated her fairly. It might not be in her nature to go after him as a dragon, but he was probably lucky Mr. Bennet had not sent a curse of his own in Darcy’s direction.

Bingley called for the carriage and Darcy steeled himself to enter the contraption. Seeking to both distract himself from the journey and to repair his friendship, Darcy asked Bingley about Miss Bennet. Bingley was wary to answer at first, but as Darcy showed genuine interest in the object of his friend’s affections, Bingley opened to him. By the time the carriage arrived at Longbourn—Darcy only a little paler than usual—the two men were sharing easy smiles again. Bingley had tentatively asked about Miss Elizabeth. There was not much Darcy could answer, for he had already wasted much time when he could have been wooing her.

Not being able to speak of her curse or her other form also limited what Darcy could share with his friend. He wondered why Miss Bennet had not told Bingley of the curse, but he thought it was more likely a sign of Miss Bennet’s loyalty to her sister rather than a lack of confidence between the courting couple. He trusted Bingley with his life, but Elizabeth’s secret was not his to share.

Perhaps it was a subject he could delicately broach with Elizabeth, that Bingley was trustworthy, if she was willing to share the knowledge of her condition. She could then decide if she wished Miss Bennet to tell Bingley. She did not seem to mind that Darcy knew of her being a dragon and it could only draw Miss Bennet and Bingley together for there to be fewer secrets between them.

They were shown into a parlor with Mrs. Bennet, Miss Bennet, and the two youngest sisters. Darcy was disappointed not to see Miss Elizabeth and then brightened at the idea of finding her in the dower house. Surely he must be the only suitor whose intended’s residence changed based on her current form.

Conversation began, and it was not long before Mrs. Bennet suggested that Bingley and Miss Bennet take a walk in the garden. Miss Bennet blushed, whether it was in pleasure at Bingley’s company or at her mother’s crassness, Darcy could not tell. Then he found himself the subject of Mrs. Bennet’s attention.

“Mr. Darcy, would you like to see the gardens? Kitty, you can escort Mr. Darcy outside.”

Miss Kitty jumped. Darcy was mindful both of Bingley’s admonition to accept Elizabeth’s family, and Miss Kitty’s overheard fear of him on the day he had confronted Mr. Bennet about the dragon. She looked distinctly nervous as she faced him.

He gave her a gentle smile, offering his arm. “I would be pleased to see the gardens with you.” Perhaps she knew where Elizabeth was. Mrs. Bennet was delighted that her ploy to see Darcy and her fourth daughter together had worked out so well.

Miss Kitty, if possible, looked even more terrified. She was pale as she rose to take his arm. She remained utterly silent as they followed Bingley and Miss Bennet outside. Darcy could feel her trembling. He had to fight the urge to scowl. Was he really so fearsome? Elizabeth did not think so! But Elizabeth is a dragon, he thought to himself, and even she had sometimes been uneasy when facing me. It did not help that Bingley glanced back at him and grinned smugly.

Darcy gritted his teeth and attempted to make small talk with his companion. He treated her as caringly as he would Georgiana. Miss Kitty spoke as little as possible, making his task to encourage her difficult. Bingley and Miss Bennet drew ahead of them, until Miss Kitty directed him to a different path altogether. He was growing frustrated with his lack of progress with the young girl when he heard voices in the garden.

“No, move your arm more, Lizzy,” a lady said. “Closer to your body. Yes, that is better. Stay like that.”

“I think we have company, Mary,” Elizabeth’s voice said, as Darcy and Miss Kitty came around the corner. Darcy’s heart lifted to see Elizabeth at last. She was sitting on a bench, being painted by Miss Mary.

Miss Kitty brightened considerably at seeing her sisters. She released Darcy’s arm and skipped to give her sisters a hug.

“Mama wanted me to show Mr. Darcy the gardens, but both of you are out here far more than me, so you can show him,” Miss Kitty said quickly. “I am going to ask Lydia if she wants to go with me to Meryton.” The young girl ran off, leaving Darcy alone with Elizabeth and Miss Mary. The older girls exchanged an exasperated look, and then turned to him.

Miss Mary barely glanced at him before dropping her eyes to her easel. Another Bennet lady frightened of him? Bingley must be correct in that he needed to work on his social skills. Elizabeth met his eyes warily. In his imaginings, Darcy had hoped to see her gaze shine with happiness when she greeted him. He realized he had given her little reason to have that expression, but part of him thought she might recognize that he had come for her—to save her.

Instead he found himself being coolly assessed. Darcy had a sudden, disconcerting memory of Mr. Bennet looking him over the same way. It was clear that Elizabeth got her intelligence from her father. He bowed to both ladies.

“Miss Elizabeth, Miss Mary,” he greeted them, “Would it be acceptable if I joined you for a time?”

Miss Mary gave a squeak of alarm and looked to Elizabeth. The dragon lady was quick to reassure her sister.

“It will be well, Mary,” she said. “Mr. Darcy came upon me at the dower house several weeks ago, and is aware of the time I spend there. We can speak freely in front of him.” She gave him a speculative look now. “Mr. Darcy, my sister is a very good painter. If she would consent to show the piece she is working on, I think you will be impressed.”

Darcy turned to Miss Mary. Now that he was determined to have these people as his family, the least he could do was be friendlier with them.

“May I see your painting?” he asked politely, trying to smile without frightening her away. It did not work. Her face was white. She could not look at him, but seemed to be in paroxysm of panic as she slowly turned her canvas to face him. His breath caught in his throat as he saw her painting. It was striking in so many ways.

It was a water color of Elizabeth, not as she appeared now, but as a wild fairy. She was barefoot, her hair unbound, wearing a Grecian robe. From her back arched not the traditional fairy wings, but her own gorgeous black-blue-violet dragon wings. He recognized those wings. Not because he had seen them in life, but because he had seen those wings drawn by the same hand, the same artist.

“It was you!” he exclaimed, staring at Miss Mary. “You did the artwork for your father’s book.”

Miss Mary gasped. She looked ready to faint. In an instant, Elizabeth was at her side. She put an arm around her younger sister. It might have been a gesture of sisterly comfort, but Darcy had seen her move as a dragon. He instinctively recognized it for what it was: a gesture of protection. Drat! He thought he had been doing so well!

“Yes, Mr. Darcy,” Elizabeth confirmed, giving him a defiant look. “Mary traveled with us and drew many of the dragons we saw in our studies. She may be shy of her accomplishments, but I am proud of her.” Her expression dared him to speak against their unorthodox rearing.

Darcy, however, began to chuckle as something else occurred to him. “Miss Elizabeth, your father’s name, his middle initials are not E and M, are they?”

“No, they are not,” she smiled cautiously. “We asked Jane if she wanted to be included, but she declined. She helped us organize our notes, but said we had done the bulk of the work. She did not feel right putting her name on our book.”

Darcy nodded. “I suppose that T. J. E. M. Bennet would have been an even longer name,” he said, “Especially if your other sisters wanted their piece as well.” Furthermore, he realized that the young lady pictured with Elizabeth’s dragon in the book was Miss Mary herself. It was a story fantastical tale, but he believed every word of it. Perhaps others would have been opposed to young ladies being involved in such a project, but Darcy found himself delighted to meet all the authors of the book he had admired for some time.

“I am afraid that the only copy of your book that I have at the moment belongs to Netherfield. However, as soon as I can, I plan to purchase a copy for myself, and then I shall be honored if both of you, and your father, signed your names in my book,” he said, determined to honor each participant’s contribution.

He had the very great pleasure of watching Miss Elizabeth’s face turn pink. For the first time today, she looked less like a watchful dragon, and more like the bashful maiden she was. Miss Mary even glanced up at him.

“You do not mind?” she whispered timidly. She was rather pretty behind her spectacles, Darcy thought. She only looked plain compared to Miss Bennet’s glowing perfection and Elizabeth’s exotic appeal. He began to realize she was not terrified of him , as Miss Kitty was, but rather she was crippled by shyness. In that moment, she reminded him very much of Georgiana.

“I do not mind,” he confirmed. “I believe it excellent for young ladies to involve themselves in such a meaningful endeavor. I will also say that I am very impressed with the quality of the work you have put out. Well done, both of you.” Darcy could not remember being so effusive with his praise before, but it was worth it to see the sisters give each other pleased looks. Darcy felt rather smug. Bingley thought he was hopeless with women, but he had proven he could compliment these particular women without giving offense.

Miss Bennet and Bingley came into view. Bingley looked rather startled to see Darcy with Elizabeth and Miss Mary. Darcy glanced quickly at Miss Mary’s painting, but she had turned it away from the newcomers with a deft gesture. He was startled to receive another assessing look—from Miss Bennet this time.

She studied him for a moment, then turned her gaze on her sisters. She was wondering which one he had come for. Which one would she choose for him? Her eyes lingered a little longer on Elizabeth than Miss Mary. For the first time Darcy saw the sorrow that Bingley had talked about. When she looked at him again, he saw a trace of something new. It was not hope—she did not dare so far—but it was something that she wished she could hope for. He wondered how he could have been so blind to the love and loyalty between the three oldest sisters. It could only be because he had willed himself not to see it. No more: his eyes were open now.

The five of them talked for a time. Miss Mary even ventured a shy comment. The ladies subtly manipulated their positions, until Lizzy stood between her sisters, her arm around each of them. Her posture had changed. It was no longer about protecting her sisters, but about touching those she loved. One day, Darcy vowed, he would be the one that she loved to touch.

Eventually, the men made their excuses and left Longbourn. On the carriage ride back to Netherfield, Darcy stared out the window, using thoughts of Elizabeth to distract himself from his surroundings. She had looked very well during their visit, but then she was always beautiful to him. He thought he had acquitted himself well during the visit. At least she had lost that wary look by the time he and Bingley had left. He especially loved Miss Mary’s watercolor of her as a fairy. Was it too soon to ask if he might purchase the painting?

Darcy had also made a point of stating that he planned to come back with Bingley. He did not want to leave any doubt that he might abandon her again. He had not been able to single her out—it was still too soon for that—but he thought she looked pleased. Elizabeth had looked at Miss Mary when he said he would be coming back. The younger Bennet lady managed to come out of her shell a bit by the end. He regretted that he had already lost much time in courting Elizabeth. When he thought that he could have been coming every day with Bingley, he wanted to kick himself.

“Very well, Darcy,” Bingley said, breaking into his thoughts. “I will admit, you are not entirely an ass.”

Darcy threw back his head and laughed. Bingley joined in and Darcy’s heart was lightened. He had his friend back and a future in gaining a wife. He might have started off poorly, but he was determined to make up for it now.

***

---

Later that evening, the three eldest Bennet girls gathered in Mary’s room to talk about their visitors. Jane was cautiously pleased with Mr. Bingley’s attentions.

“I think he does like you,” Lizzy encouraged her older sister, “But I do believe you should encourage him more if you like him.”

“I think I like him,” Jane admitted softly, “He is all that is nice and gentlemanly. I might grow to like him very much, but I worry I cannot be truly happy until you are happily settled as well, Lizzy.”

“Me?” Lizzy laughed. “If you want to make me happy, Jane, then you should know nothing would make me happier than to see you settled with Mr. Bingley, or another kindly gentleman of your choosing.”

“Lizzy,” Jane sighed, shaking her head. She changed to subject. “What did you think of our other visitor?”

“Mr. Darcy?” Lizzy shrugged and looked to Mary. “What did you think of him?”

“I think he could be very frightening when crossed,” Mary said, “But he was being nice when we spoke with him. He is a very grand gentleman, I am sure.”

“Do you think he is handsome?” Lizzy asked.

Mary looked uncomfortable as she considered the question. “Yes, I would call him handsome,” she said slowly.

“Do you like him?” Lizzy pressed.

At this Mary was startled. “I thought you liked him, Lizzy.”

Lizzy was confused. “Why would I like Mr. Darcy?”

“You told him about being a dragon, instead of scaring him away.”

“I did not tell him,” Lizzy corrected. “Mr. Darcy saw me as a dragon when he first arrived in Hertfordshire, and has been looking for me ever since. Then he saw your picture of me in our book, and came to ask Papa about it. Papa told him.” Papa was the only one who knew the full story of pulling Mr. Darcy out of the river. She had guarded the memory at first because of the risk she had taken by exposing herself, then later because it was a claim to Mr. Darcy that she alone held. Now she protected it because Mr. Darcy was a proud, private man. He did not like others seeing his weakness.

“That does not sound like Papa,” Jane said doubtfully.

“I wonder what Papa did to him first?” Mary asked astutely.

“I do not know,” Lizzy grinned briefly. “I asked, but Papa would not tell me. I think he must have been awful to Mr. Darcy. After all, it took him this long to return.”

“And why do you think he came back?”

“How would I know? Perhaps he was only bored of staying at Netherfield!” She felt strangely defensive as they talked about Mr. Darcy.

Jane and Mary exchanged a glance and continued the attack.

“Do you think he is handsome?” Mary asked.

To her surprise, Lizzy blushed. After spending so much time as a dragon, she had rarely felt anything like attraction to the opposite sex before. Most men could not hope to keep up with her: she was physically stronger, her magic was unlike anything seen before, and her unique upbringing had made her both educated and unafraid to express her opinion. Mr. Darcy might walk with a limp, but his mind was easily as sharp as hers. She had literally tasted his magic and knew he was strong as well. He was not at all easy to dismiss from her thoughts.

“Yes, I think a blind woman would know Mr. Darcy is handsome,” she declared nervously.

“And do you like him?” Jane insisted.

Lizzy’s mind went blank. Like Mr. Darcy? They may as well have asked her if she liked the mountains in the winter: beautiful from a distance, but dangerous to the unprepared. “Of course I do not like him!” she exclaimed without hesitation.

Jane covered Lizzy’s hand with her own. “Lizzy, are you sure?” she asked gently.

Lizzy felt her face growing warm again, but her sisters did not understand. “Of course I am sure. I am… uncomfortable around Mr. Darcy. When he is near, I want to run away. I feel as though I am about to do something dreadfully embarrassing, and all I want to do is to get away before I do it.” She shuddered. “No, I do not like him at all!”

“He has not done anything untoward?” Jane asked quickly.

“No, nothing like that,” Lizzy assured her with a cheeky grin. “We have spoken probably more as a dragon, than as a human. If he had made any move, I could have put him in his place quickly. Never fear that I would hesitate there! But still, I cannot rest easy when I am near him. There is nothing to hate about Mr. Darcy, but I feel no desire toward him. I was hoping that maybe Mary would find something appealing in him, for he could take her away from here.”

“Lizzy!” Mary protested, her cheeks turning red.

“Lizzy, be kind,” Jane admonished. “Not all of us are so eager to be away. For all that you have the greatest ease of travel, you chafe the most at being here.”

Lizzy shrugged again and spoke earnestly to Mary. “He knows and approves of your work in our book. You should have seen his face when he saw Mary’s painting today, Jane. He could provide well for you and you would never want for anything while you were his wife. I think you could do worse than fall in love with Mr. Darcy. Or is it because he does not wear a redcoat?”

This time Mary was pale. “You know about that? Please Jane, say nothing to Mama!”

“Of course not,” Jane soothed, “But what is this? Why am I only hearing it now?”

“It is a foolish notion of mine,” Mary said miserably, “From reading too many books, I am sure. Lydia so goes on about the way the men look in their uniforms that I did not want to follow suit, but in truth I think them quite handsome too! I think I could be very happy as an officer’s wife, not only for their looks, but because they have experienced so much that I can only read about. It is un-ladylike, but I am quite fond of strategies and tactics. I did not want Mama to know because she does not think I am fit to marry an officer. I fear she will try to match me to the butcher’s son to be his book keeper.”

“I would not let her do that to you,” Lizzy said. “You know I will say nothing of it. And you will find an officer to wed, if I have to fetch one for you myself.”

Mary smiled weakly, but it was clear she was still worried.

“Well Jane,” Lizzy said briskly, “It looks as though you are the only one of us to have any prospects at all. You must marry Mr. Bingley right away, and then you can look after Mary in her dotage. I think that is the only way we can settle this quandary we are in.”

As she hoped, her sisters laughed. Jane was not easily put off though. “What about you, Lizzy? Shall I take care of you in your old age as well?”

“I think I shall visit you from time to time. I will take all your ten children flying, and then I will eat all your livestock, but you shall be able to afford more.” Her tone was light, but she did not look at Jane as she spoke. Jane and Mary exchanged a worried look.

“I think it has grown rather late. Let us sleep now,” Jane said, trying to divert the conversation.

“That is an excellent idea,” Lizzy agreed. Jane and Lizzy tucked Mary into bed, and then walked to Jane’s room. Lizzy tucked Jane under the covers and made to leave. Jane caught her hand.

“Lizzy, you are not our mother,” Jane said gently. “Nor are you Papa. You do not always have to worry about us and protect us. You need to be yourself, too. It is fine if you open yourself to the possibility of love. I really think you should consider Mr. Darcy again. I am almost certain he came to see you.”

Lizzy sighed and sat on Jane’s bed. “I really cannot, Jane. Mr. Darcy… he frightens me. When he is close, I feel as though I am standing on a great cliff. I am about to jump, but as soon as I do, my wings are lost, so that I fall instead of fly. I am afraid to jump, Jane. I do not want to fall.” For a brief instant, something like tears glistened in her eyes. She dashed them away quickly and grinned at her sister. “As for the rest of it, I love you too much not to worry about you, and I am going right now to be myself.”

“Lizzy?”

“I am a dragon and I feel like flying tonight. See? That is being myself.” She pulled herself free with her dragon strength and swiftly left the room.

Behind the door, she heard Jane sigh sadly. In truth, Lizzy had always been the strongest sister. She was physically strongest and the only one with magic. Between that and her dragon abilities, she could not remember a time when she did not feel responsible for her sisters. Jane, as the oldest, tried to watch over her, but it was difficult when Lizzy was being independent. She stood apart from her sisters, as a dragon literally towering over them. How could she not feel the need to protect her “little” sisters?

Lizzy stepped out of Longbourn. The night welcomed her, cool and refreshing, the darkness no impediment to her. As a girl, Lizzy was the only one of her sisters that was never afraid of the dark. She often had trouble sleeping at night, not because she was frightened, but because she longed to be outside, exploring the world.

She took a deep breath of fresh air, extending her senses. All was peaceful at Longbourn. She heard the crickets chirping and the small rustle of mice through the garden. Lizzy walked quickly to the dower house, where she shed both her dress and her human body. She squeezed out through the small house’s doors, glad she was more lean and narrow than broad and muscular. As it was, it was already difficult to lower herself enough to crawl out and her wings scraped along the door frame.

Finally free, she stretched luxuriously then took to the air. She flew lazily, without any purpose in mind. It was not that she felt restless, but more that she craved the movement to help herself think. The steady rhythm of flying gave her a sense of serenity that she lacked whenever she was on the ground. This was something her sisters could never hope to understand, how she was as much a creature of the air as she was of the earth.

Her mind wandered over Mr. Darcy’s visit. She had been greatly surprised to have heard his voice in the garden. That he was attempting to speak with Kitty was equally astonishing. Lizzy could not think that either Kitty or Lydia would have much to say that could be interesting to that gentleman. Yet, to his credit, he had tried. Kitty had seemed not quite intimidated by Mr. Darcy—she was not shy—but she was not comfortable with him either. It was only to be expected that she would foist him off on her other sisters as soon as may be.

Lizzy had felt her usual wariness in facing Mr. Darcy, but had quickly tamped it down. Here was an opportunity to show Mary to him and see if they were agreeable to each other. It was not that Lizzy wanted to force a union on either of them, but she thought they might suit. They were both quiet, bookish people, more fond of studious pursuits than parties. Mary would want for nothing as Mrs. Darcy.

Unfortunately, Mary’s shyness meant she could barely glance at him from the corner of her eye. Still, Mr. Darcy had done an admirable job at trying to engage her. Lizzy hoped that his genuine praise of Mary’s artwork and their book would show Mary that he was not to be feared, but it was not until Jane and Mr. Bingley arrived that Mary began to relax.

Bless Jane, even if she worried too much. Lizzy was resigned to her fate. She was not fighting it and even welcomed it on most days. It was her sisters who still held out hope for her when she had none for herself. Lizzy feared that Jane’s excessive concern for her was preventing her from paying full attention to Mr. Bingley’s courtship. Lizzy loved her older sister, but sometimes she wanted to shake her for taking care of everyone but herself. This was Jane’s chance to seize happiness! Lizzy would never forgive herself if Jane missed out on finding love because she was too focused on Lizzy.

Realizing that nothing was going to be solved by flying, Lizzy returned to the dower house and crawled inside to sleep.

Mr. Darcy visited three more times in the coming week, once while she was human, and twice while she was a dragon. Lizzy attempted to make sure that Mary remained close whenever he came, but Mary was all too glad to make excuses to leave. It was very frustrating for Lizzy, as she could not even speak with her sister in dragon form.

The greatest success came when Mr. Darcy happened upon them as Mary was painting her. Mary had poised her as if she were sunning herself. The intention was to render her lying on a mountain peak. The mountains were currently rough sketches that Mary would fill in later, but for the dragon part of the painting, she preferred to have a live model. As the sun was not too hot on Lizzy’s back that day, she did not mind lying in the garden.

The only risk was when Mr. Bingley and Jane stepped outside as well, but Jane quickly directed them to another part of the park. Lizzy rather thought Jane’s caution was pointless. If Mr. Bingley wanted to marry Jane, then he ought to see Lizzy in all her dragon glory. If he was still brave enough to court Jane after that, knowing a dragon would set him on fire if he broke her sister’s heart, then he would be a worthy partner. In fact, maybe that should be a requirement of all her sisters’ potential suitors, that they should meet her first.

So far, however, the only one to live up to that ideal was Mr. Darcy and no matter how much she hoped, she could see no attraction between him and Mary. Why he persisted in coming to Longbourn was a mystery, but she was not about to turn away the one person who could hear her as a dragon.

Mr. Darcy was so impressed by Mary’s paintings that he commissioned her to do a portrait of himself.

Mary blushed and stammered, “Please sir, I am only an amateur artist who paints for the pleasure of it. I am sure you must be able to afford the finest masters to take your likeness. I fear my work would not at all be acceptable.”

“I saw the little dragons you did in your book,” he responded warmly. “I am more than pleased with the quality of your work. I am convinced that a portrait by you would be worth as much as one by any of the masters.”

“Thank you, sir. If you would stand by Lizzy, I could begin now. The light is best from that angle.”

Mr. Darcy moved to stand next to Lizzy.

Could you ask Mary if I should move out of the way? she asked him.

He repeated her question.

“No, Lizzy, you do not bother me, as I am only trying to capture Mr. Darcy. Thank you, sir. It is convenient to have another mage around, otherwise I would have no idea that she wished to speak.”

“I am glad to be of service. It must be frustrating, both to be unable to speak and unable to hear.”

You have no idea, Lizzy grumbled.

Mr. Darcy smiled.

“Did Lizzy say something?” Mary asked.

“She agreed with my statement,” he reported.

Mary set up paper to make a sketch of Mr. Darcy. “Do you want your cane included?” she asked.

“Indeed not,” he said, and disdainfully dropped the cane to the side.

Lizzy worried that he would need the support of his cane, but for standing he did not seem to waver. However, as more than a quarter hour passed, she noticed that his posture became stiffer, his expression fixed. She hated to see him in distress and wished she could pick up his cane and offer it to him, though she feared his pride would not accept it.

Thankfully, before too many more minutes had passed, Mary spoke. “You can relax now, Mr. Darcy. I have the main outlines done and do not need you to pose at the moment.”

His sigh of relief was only audible to Lizzy. He relaxed his body, reaching out to support himself on the nearest object. As his cane was on the ground, the nearest object happened to be Lizzy’s back. She felt a little jolt when he touched her, the usual sense of heightened awareness when he was near, yet she did not mind. She was glad to be of use to him.

Presently, he realized what he was leaning on. “Forgive me, Miss Elizabeth,” he said with surprise. He attempted to straighten, but grimaced and leaned harder on her.

It does not bother me, she hastened to tell him, turning her neck to look at him. She met his grey eyes and a frisson of energy passed through her.

“Oh!” Mary exclaimed, “Do not move, you both make such a pretty picture there, I must try to get it down.” She scrambled for new paper.

Miss Elizabeth? Mr. Darcy asked uncertainly.

Trust her, she replied indulgently. Mary has a very good eye for the picturesque; you will not regret letting her draw us.

I am not putting too much pressure on you?

Not at all, she assured him. And you? Are you comfortable like this?

Yes, my support is very obliging, he said dryly, and she chortled in response.

They remained like that, looking at each other. It was uncomfortable for Lizzy, not only because of her usual wariness towards Mr. Darcy, but also because of the strangeness of staring into his eyes for so long. In contrast, he seemed perfectly at ease now that his weight was off his leg. He seemed to be studying her, not at all disconcerted to be looking at a dragon’s face. His own contentment helped to relax her until it no longer disturbed her.

He flexed his fingers along her back, faintly stroking her supple scales. It caused a wave of sensation to run through her and her muscles coiled involuntarily. A hint of ice spread from his hand, both the physical sensation and the coolness of his magic. It felt even better than when she had sat in the pond with ice around her.

“Yes, I am done,” Mary said with satisfaction.

Lizzy jerked her head away, suddenly embarrassed that she had been looking at the handsome man for so long. For that matter, since when did she notice his attractiveness as a dragon? Usually her perspective was so different in her other form that the human standards of beauty did not apply.

Mr. Darcy was slower to move, not rising from his position against her back. Though she felt embarrassed by her own actions, she had no desire for him to break contact.

“How many sittings do you require for both the portrait and this composition?” he asked Mary.

Lizzy knew her sister had a keen memory; once Mary learned a scene, she could recall it with near perfect clarity. It was unlikely that they would need to sit for either painting again. She reluctantly began to tell Mr. Darcy as much, when Mary spoke first.

“I cannot say for certain, but I shall need several more, I think,” she said with unusual confidence. “Especially with you and Lizzy together, for that one has more movement and I should like to do it justice.”

Lizzy stared at her sister in astonishment, before realizing what Mary was intending. She was trying to put Mr. Darcy and Lizzy together, the same as Lizzy had attempted with Mary and Mr. Darcy!

With a growl she darted her head forward, intending to nudge Mary hard to make her displeasure known. Without hesitation, Mary picked up one of her paint brushes and rapped Lizzy on the nose with it. Lizzy jerked back with a snort, shaking her head. Her muzzle felt wet and she could smell the pigments. She tried to wipe the paint off with her forearms, but it was impossible to know if she was reaching it.

Mr. Darcy watched the sisters with apparent amusement. “I am not adverse to that. Miss Elizabeth?”

She looked at him with a disgruntled whine.

He began laughing.

“Allow me,” he said, pulling out a clean handkerchief.

Gratefully, she extended her snout toward him. He cleaned the paint off her face, his touch firm and gentle. There was something both soothing and exciting about the way he held her so close.

I will not force you to attend these sittings with me, he told her silently. But you are the one who suggested I would not regret allowing your sister to paint us together.

She realized her ire at Mary made him think she was reluctant to spend the time with him.

I would enjoy your company during the sittings, she confessed quietly.

I am glad, he responded. Finished with cleaning the paint off her face, he held up the handkerchief to show the pink pigment on it. She mock-growled at Mary.

Mr. Darcy chuckled again and Lizzy thought it had been worth the embarrassment of being covered in paint to hear his laughter.

---

Chapter 14

The Monday following that initial sitting, Mr. Bennet woke Lizzy while she was sleeping in the dower house.

Yes, Papa? she asked sleepily. She tried to stretch her dragon form, but immediately ran into the walls of the cottage. At least she was able to shift her weight slightly, but her muscles were still sore from resting in the cramped position. One day she might forget where she was, and bring down the house just by trying to stand.

Sorry to bother you so early, Lizzy, but how much time do you have?

More than I had when I came home from Netherfield, but not as much as I would like, she replied. The tight band around her chest as a human had eased, but the breathlessness had not completely gone away. She doubted it ever would.

That is not good, Papa said. I am afraid you may have to hide yourself in the days to come.

Why? she raised her head sharply and nearly struck the roof. She growled in frustration, scratching at the bare earth floor.

There is no reason to be alarmed, he chuckled. I have had a letter from my cousin, the heir to Longbourn. He wishes to come and make amends, as it were, for the split in our families. I know nothing of him save that he is a clergyman of some kind, and seems a fairly ridiculous sort of fellow from his letter. I think I may be well-entertained by him.

She laughed. Papa! You complain when I growl and misbehave, but you could do better than to poke fun of everyone you meet for your own amusement.

Even so, Lizzy. Would you spoil an old man’s delight?

Her heart clenched at hearing Papa calling himself old. Fathers were supposed to be stronger than their daughters, but she had been the stronger one for several years. It brought a new perspective to the term, “human frailty.”

You are not so old, she teased lightly. What do you think your cousin wants?

To count the china?

Papa!

In all seriousness, from his letter I think he seeks a bride from among you.

Lizzy’s muzzle wrinkled. On a human, it was an expression of distaste but on a dragon it looked quite fearsome. Whom would he pick? Jane is already fond of Mr. Bingley. He cannot have me, and if he is as ridiculous as you say, I think Mary would be miserable with him.

Lydia? Put the silly with the sillier?

Papa! Do not be so cruel.

Of course, how foolish of me. They would have such silly children, and I would fear for the future of England.

Papa!

Very well, it must be Kitty then, if any of you must be chosen. She is every bit as spoiled as Lydia, though she might be a bit less silly.

I think you are very cruel to judge us so, she said primly, though she knew he was only teasing. She paused, thinking of Kitty. I think Mama wishes to pair Kitty with Mr. Darcy, but I think Mary would be a better match for him.

He laughed. Now you sound like your mother, making matches for your sisters.

I do not! she snapped hotly. Her tail lashed the air, banging into the stone walls and causing dust to fall from the ceiling. Papa knew how she disliked being compared to the woman who gave birth to her.

Then my advice to you is to stop trying to find mates for your sisters and let them be. If you were not so determined to match them up, you might find a match of your own, did you ever think of that?

She sighed at the long-standing argument between them. Papa still fervently hoped that she could fall in love and break her curse, yet Lizzy maintained that no man could keep up with her. In any case, who could love a dragon? She would not consent to a courtship with a gentleman that did not truly know both sides of her and she did not know one that would not be frightened of her dragon form. The only exception was Mr. Darcy. She enjoyed his company, but the idea of being courted by him was as foreign as a dragon eating grass instead of sheep. Lizzy could not say why he returned so often to Longbourn, but it was not for her.

Is there anything else you want? she asked.

No, no. Go back to your resting. My cousin is to arrive tonight at four, and I have no idea how long he will be with us.

Then I shall stay in the dower house until just before he comes.

Of course, of course, he said, and broke their connection.

Lizzy attempted to shift again, bumping hard against one wall. It was nearly impossible to get comfortable, but she was used to the cramped confines of the house. She dozed until the afternoon, when Papa woke her again.

I expect my cousin to arrive within the hour, if he is punctual. Up you get, my girl.

I am awake, Papa, Lizzy yawned, showing a prodigious amount of sharp teeth. It was useless to try and stretch, so she concentrated on that certain flick of her mind that allowed her to go from dragon to human. Once she was in her smaller form, she finally allowed herself to stand on her toes, reach her arms over her head and arch her back. Her muscles cramped as they released from their tight coils.

It was not as satisfying as being able to stretch in her dragon form; there was still an ache inside, from the dragon muscles that remained stiff, but nothing could be done about them. She usually left a simple dress here so she would not be completely bare if someone came upon her unexpectedly. Lizzy slipped it on now and made her way to the main house.

Inside, she found her sisters involved in their own pursuits. Jane was mending a torn dress, while Mary worked on a small charcoal sketch and Kitty and Lydia trimmed bonnets. However, when Lizzy appeared briefly in the doorway of the drawing room, Jane and Mary set aside their respective work and chose to come upstairs to help her dress. In truth, it was more of an excuse to speculate about the coming of their cousin.

“What do you think Mr. Collins will be like?” Jane asked, selecting a dress while Lizzy pulled off her shift.

“Papa thinks him to be a ridiculous sort, based on his letter,” Lizzy said, stepping into the dress and turning around so Jane could lace it for her.

“Papa thinks everyone is ridiculous,” Mary pointed out, approaching Lizzy with a comb in hand.

“I can do my own hair, Mary, I would rather do yours,” Lizzy said. “Would you like a braid in your hair?”

“No, I am content with how I look, but I fear your head is rather wild.”

“Maybe our cousin will take one look at me and retreat back to Kent!” Lizzy grinned.

“I am sure he will be an amiable gentleman and a pleasant addition to our home,” Jane said firmly.

Mary and Lizzy exchanged a look. Lizzy took the comb from Mary and began combing out her hair. Mary sorted through their collective ribbons to find one that matched her dress.

“Believe what you will, Jane, but I am inclined to agree with Papa,” Lizzy replied, grimacing through a tough tangle.

“I wonder what his purpose is in coming,” Mary mused.

Lizzy was surprised that Mr. Bennet had not shared that part with her sisters. “Papa told me that it seems like Mr. Collins is coming to select a wife from among us.”

Now it was Mary and Jane that traded significant glances.

“It shows a familial sense of duty,” Jane pointed out.

Lizzy snorted. “You have nothing to fear, my dear Jane, for you are all but spoken for by Mr. Bingley. As for myself, I find it a disagreeable amount of conceit in a man who comes to select a wife without first seeing if they will suit and I am sure Mary agrees with me.” She turned confidently to her younger sister.

Mary was thoughtful. “Mr. Collins is the heir of Longbourn,” she said slowly. “Whoever marries him will be the next mistress of our home when Papa dies. It seems to me that would not at all be a bad position, especially if the mistress could watch out for Mama and any other sisters remaining at home.”

Lizzy stared in astonishment. “You are not serious, Mary! I thought you had more sense than to marry only for security. I thought you favored gentlemen in redcoats; you can be sure a clergyman will wear black instead.”

Mary jumped up, her face red. “Excuse me, I hear Mama calling,” she said quickly, though Lizzy, with her far better senses, had heard nothing. Mary fled the room.

Lizzy had half a mind to go after her younger sister and make her confess it was all a joke.

“Leave her be, Lizzy,” Jane instructed. “It would be a good match for her, if she is so inclined.”

“She does not even know Mr. Collins! He could be a troll!”

“Or he could be a perfectly cordial gentleman,” Jane added.

“But Jane! Do you not remember how as girls we swore never to marry but for the deepest of affection? What Mary is speaking of is—mercenary!”

“I remember the oath we took as children, but sometimes I wonder if you do, Lizzy.”

“Me? Did I not just remind you of it now?” Lizzy exclaimed in disbelief.

“Yes, but you do not live up to it. I admit that, should Mr. Bingley make an offer for me,” Jane paused and blushed. “I would be very pleased by his attentions,” she almost whispered. “However, you will not even consider any gentleman who approaches you.”

“I have not found one that suits me!” Lizzy protested.

“It is always possible to find fault when your aim is to be displeased,” Jane retorted, the closest she ever came to censoring another. “Do me the curtesy of telling the truth and admit the truth: you have given up all hope of making a match for yourself.”

Lizzy could not answer, for to speak the truth would break Jane’s heart. By extension, it would also break Mary’s, for the three sisters had vowed to never have secrets between them. Yet Lizzy already held many secrets. She had never told Mary and Jane the truth about Kitty and Lydia, that their youngest sisters shared a scent with the Lucas children. She had not revealed her plans to live as a dragon in the northern part of the country. Lizzy did not talk about how, after realizing no man would want a dragon for a wife, she had decided never to marry. She had not told them about pulling Mr. Darcy from the river, or the way his magic felt against her skin. When considering all of that, what was one more secret?

Jane sighed. “Promise me, Lizzy, that you will leave Mary alone, no matter her choice. If she wants to marry for security, that is her decision, not yours. You know she has not your confidence; maybe she would rather have her own house as a clergyman’s wife than wait for a gentleman to notice her.”

“I will not… interfere,” Lizzy said with difficulty, “If I think Mr. Collins to be a good sort of man. But I would not want to see her married to a man who would not treat her well.”

“Lizzy…” Jane warned.

“Do not ask me for more!” Lizzy growled. “It is hard enough for me to let her go, when I am sure she could do much better.”

“Remember, she could do much worse as well,” Jane added.

“I would not let her,” Lizzy declared, but her voice was uncertain. Really, what right did she have to dictate Mary’s future? Her love for her sisters and her dragon instinct to protect them made it difficult for her to not have her say. The idea of Jane leaving for Mr. Bingley did not bother her, because she trusted that Mr. Bingley was a good man. She would have been pleased in the same way for Mr. Darcy to show interest in Mary.

But the idea that Mary would choose Mr. Collins, not even knowing him, only out of obligation or security rather than fondness bothered Lizzy greatly. The most she could promise was to meet him before forming her opinion of him and his worthiness to have one of her sisters.

“Jane!” Mrs. Bennet shouted up the stairs. “Come down here at once, Mr. Collins will be arriving shortly!”

“I love you, Lizzy,” Jane pulled her sister into a hug. “Please be wise.”

“I love you too, Jane,” Lizzy replied, carefully squeezing the older girl. Never before had she felt how fragile her sisters were.

Mr. Collins was very punctual, walking in the door precisely at the stroke of four. He was a tall, gawky man, with a prominent nose and heavy jowls that did not seem to fit him. His eyes were dark and shrewd, his black hair lank with grease. He spoke in an obsequious manner, yet his gaze had a most unpleasant, calculating expression.

Lizzy hated him at once. It was not that Mr. Collins could be taking away one of her favorite sisters, or that he would inherit Longbourn upon her father’s death. No, her reaction to him was very much determined by her dragon. At the sight of him, she was suddenly brimming with rage. It was worse than meeting Mr. Darcy, worse even than the first time she had seen Mr. Wickham.

Both those men inspired her to flee first.

Collins—he did not feel like any sort of a gentleman to her—she wanted to rend limb from limb.

Her dragon roared silently, drowning out all other noise. She moved to place herself squarely between him and her sisters. Her sudden motion was jarring to the rest of the room, but her eyes were fixed solely on the intruder in their midst. Everything in her was screaming that he was a viper in the nest, a vicious serpent only pretending to act with grace, all the while secretly coiling around his prey.

He looked her over, his eyes lingering on her chest and hips longer than was appropriate for a clergyman. Her sisters received the same treatment, making Lizzy bristle. If she had not been raised as a gentleman’s daughter, she would have bodily thrown him from her home. She could feel some magic around him, but it was sporadic, setting her teeth on edge. She would not be able to tell what he did until he used magic in front of her.

Mary attempted to step forward to greet Collins, but Lizzy’s hand shot out and gripped her arm hard. Mary yelped in pain, for Lizzy lacked the control to temper her strength. Jane tried to get between them, prying at Lizzy’s grip, but she was no match for the dragon within her.

“Lizzy!” Mr. Bennet snapped, clicking his fingers together. His magic caused a small percussion in the air near Lizzy’s head. Because it affected the air around her rather than acting on her directly, her dragon ability to absorb magic was useless against it. With her heightened senses, it was a mildly painful jolt, like a flick on the nose. It shook her from the red fury that had taken her and she released Mary at last. Mary shied away from her, clutching her arm. Jane held the younger girl, soothing her.

“Mary, I am so sorry!” Lizzy gasped, deeply ashamed of her actions. She was usually so careful of her strength, but something about Collins had made her act with more instinct than sense. The only good thing was that at least she had drawn Collins’ attention to herself, rather than to Mary. It could not last forever, but Lizzy had won a small respite.

Mr. Bennet glared at her; she felt the sting of disapproval sharply.

Papa, please, she began silently. There is something wrong with Mr. Collins. I do not know what it is, but I beg you, send him away!

I am ashamed of you, my girl! Mr. Bennet replied. I taught you better than to give in to your every whim as a dragon.

It is not that! she protested. I cannot describe it, but he is worse than Mr. Wickham, I know it!

You have only just met Mr. Collins, you cannot possibly have anything against him other than your own feelings. I indulged you in that Wickham business, but you have gone too far. I am telling you that your reaction is only that of a dragon feeling its territory is threatened. You have allowed your imagination to run too wild, to color your judgement. I expected better from you!

Rarely had Mr. Bennet given her such a sound telling off and for so little reason. She could have controlled herself better and not hurt Mary, yes, but she was convinced she was right about Collins. He was dangerous. For the first time, she actually felt threatened by another human. She might be able to physically overcome him, but there was some miasma of sickness that clung to him. It tainted the air around him, as if contact with him would infect her very soul. Everything in her wanted to drive away the danger, yet Papa would not believe in her! Just like every other time she had mentioned feeling something off about a person, he dismissed her as if her dragon instincts had no more merit than womanly vapors.

Her eyes burned with tears; she had to bite her cheek to stop her chin from quivering. Lizzy would have liked to flee the room in the face of her father’s ire, but to do so would be to leave her family alone with Collins. She could not abandon them to his unknown hazard, so she forced herself to behave as usual. It was impossible to greet Collins with any hospitability, but she managed to be coldly civil to him. Mr. Bennet kept a stern eye on her and she knew he was not pleased by her behavior.

That night, Lizzy begged Mary and Jane to sleep in the same room. Her human time was growing short, evidenced by the increasing tightness in her chest, but she could not rest knowing Collins was in the same house as her sisters. Thankfully he appeared to have dismissed Kitty and Lydia as too young or too immature to interest him, but he had looked often at Jane, Lizzy and Mary.

Jane agreed to share her bed with Mary that night, but it was clear they were merely placating her. Lizzy was not satisfied until her sisters were in bed with the door locked and a chair under the knob. Even then she felt a vague sense of uneasiness, but there was nothing for it but to climb out the window, run to the dower house, and change to her dragon self. She would guard them as a dragon, for she knew she would get no rest while Collins was in the house.

For her family’s sake, Lizzy tried to give Collins a second chance. Maybe her reaction to him was, as Papa said, merely that of a dragon reacting to an intruder on its territory. Indeed, nothing would give her greater pleasure than to be thoroughly wrong about him. She could take the embarrassment and teasing that would follow, but at least she would know that he was no threat after all.

And yet, that night passed without incident, as did the next. Both Mr. Bennet and her sisters were quick to point this out, as yet more evidence that she had cried wolf when there was no danger to be had. Despite this, Lizzy could not relax. She watched Collins as often as she could and was always on alert for misbehavior on his part. Though he gave her plenty of reason to dislike him, he had not, as of yet, done something which would banish him from Longbourn.

His manners were a mixture of servility and self-importance. When invited to read for them, he declared that he never read novels, and selected Fordyce’s Sermons. None of them were particularly pleased by his choice, but Lydia was especially dismayed. Collins read with a very monotonous solemnity; Lizzy noticed heads were nodding throughout the room before he had read three pages. She might have thought that was his magic talent, to send people to sleep, except that she felt the same and she knew no magic was being worked on her.

Lydia roused herself from her stupor and began to talk over Collins.

He was greatly affronted. “I have often observed how little young ladies are interested by books of a serious stamp, though written solely for their benefit,” he declared, narrowing his eyes at Lydia.

Lizzy tensed, ready to leap to her youngest sister’s aid, but it was unnecessary.

Mrs. Bennet objected to her favorite being criticized. “You cannot expect young ladies to always be so serious, especially when they are of naturally high spirits,” she said, beaming at Lydia. “I am sure my Lydia has such a joyful disposition that she needs not worry about being serious.”

Lydia preened at the praise. Collins chose not to read more and instead played backgammon with Mr. Bennet.

Two days after his arrival, Collins finally began to broach the reason for his visit to Mrs. Bennet. Everyone was present in the drawing room save for Mr. Bennet. Papa still did not believe Lizzy’s concerns over Collins, though they had not abated in the slightest, but he could not stand his company for long periods of time either. On this particular morning, Lizzy and her sisters were at their usual activities while Mrs. Bennet and Collins spoke to each other.

They kept their voices low, but Lizzy was able to hear them regardless. She was not sure if Mrs. Bennet had forgotten Lizzy’s acute hearing, or simply did not care if they were overheard. Lizzy had a book of sheep husbandry open on her lap, but it was merely a ruse to keep from being bothered, as she had read it many times before.

“I should like to tell you, Mrs. Bennet,” Collins began, “That I came with the aim of making amends, if it were possible, for being your husband’s heir.”

“You speak of the entail,” Mrs. Bennet said warily.

It seemed to Lizzy that two feelings were warring inside Mrs. Bennet, resentment of this man who could turn them out of Longbourn, and the need to please him so that he would not remove them upon Mr. Bennet’s death.

“Indeed,” Collins seemed pleased. “It is a sad thing for a home to be entailed away from five daughters, but it pleases me to be able to heal the breach between our families, to extend an olive branch, even to join the families, as it were.”

Lizzy noted with cynicism that Mrs. Bennet straightened and nearly quivered as she began to understand what Collins was hinting at. Suddenly the matron’s hostility dissolved into delight.

“My esteemed patroness, Lady Catherine de Bourgh, advised me to marry, and to do it quickly,” Collins continued.

“Well, you can find no finer girls in the county than mine!” Mrs. Bennet boasted. “You can be sure there are not many that can be their equal in looks and accomplishments! I am sure one of my girls shall suit you very well. They shall not displease you, or they shall answer to me.”

Collins preened at the attention. He looked around the room. Lizzy ducked her head toward her book, hoping her sisters were too involved in their own work to catch his eye.

At last Collins ventured, “Cousin Jane is very beautiful.”

“Indeed she is,” Mrs. Bennet agreed. “However I feel I should inform you that another gentleman has been quite attentive to her, and though I should say nothing, I would not be surprised to hear a proposal any day.”

Collins’ mouth thinned in displeasure, but he turned his gaze to someone else. Unfortunately, that someone was Lizzy. She felt his gaze on her like pond scum dripping on her skin. She kept her eyes firmly on the illustration of a lamb on the page of her book. The only thing she could say was that if he was looking at her, at least he was not eyeing her sisters.

“Cousin Elizabeth does have a rather… intriguing appearance,” Collins allowed.

Lizzy darted the briefest of glances at Mrs. Bennet. One corner of the older woman’s mouth curled in a sneer.

“Oh no, you do not want her ,” Mrs. Bennet said scornfully. “I am afraid her father let her run very wild and now she is quite spoiled. Her manners are very poorly, not at all fit for a clergyman’s wife.” Mrs. Bennet dipped her voice, so that even Lizzy had to strain to hear her. “She is very wanting in behavior, even wanton , if you believe me.”

Lizzy felt a surge of hurt and anger. Was this what Mrs. Bennet thought of her? It was true that she had been raised differently from her sisters, but if anything, Papa had been more strict and harsh on her, instead of less. While she might act as a dragon at times, he had still raised her to be a gentleman’s daughter and to conduct herself as such. There was little love lost between mother and second daughter, but Mrs. Bennet’s insinuations were beyond the pale. Lizzy’s eyes stung and the book wavered as her hands shook. Part of her wondered if Mrs. Bennet was only saying such so that Lizzy would not become the next mistress of Longbourn, but it was still a heavy blow to take.

Even worse, Collins did not immediately dismiss her, as if Mrs. Bennet’s intimations made her more appealing instead of less. She felt his eyes on her. It made her feel sullied, though there was no truth in what had been said about her. Lizzy was disgusted, both by his attention and by Mrs. Bennet’s words, but she forced herself not to show it. If Collins thought her an appealing target because of Mrs. Bennet, then better herself than her sisters. At least Lizzy knew she could defend herself if need be.

She did not really think that Mr. Bennet would force her or one of her sisters to marry Collins against their will. Rather, she decided that so long as Collins was under this delusion that one of the Bennet girls would be made to accept him, it was better that he focus his attentions on Lizzy rather than her sisters. She would be strong, and bear his questionable company, so her sisters would not have to. Eventually Collins’ visit would come to an end and he would no longer be a threat to them.

By the time Papa left this world and Collins came to inherit, Lizzy would make sure Collins could not impose himself on her sisters. She prayed they would be safely married and far from Longbourn by then. If not, she would be fully dragon at that time, and would take whatever means necessary to make sure he knew Jane, Mary, Kitty and Lydia were off-limits to his pawing.

“No,” Collins slowly said, “It would not do to have such for a clergyman’s wife, or even the wife of a gentleman. It is a shame to see such a failure of character in one’s family, but it cannot be helped if one is born with sin in their hearts. It would not do to be taken in by such a temptress, for surely she must ruin any good man. You can be sure I would not tolerate that.”

Lizzy’s heart felt like it was being strangled. She hoped none of her sisters could hear Collins and Mrs. Bennet speaking. She could not remember feeling so much pain before. It made her wish to run away now, to begin her life as a dragon that very night. No, she must stay and protect her sisters, though it might be the last service she could do for them.

“You are too good to be taken in,” Mrs. Bennet praised. “Now Mary, I think she might be a good sort of wife. She will not be in anyone’s way, and with her plain face, you can be sure she will not attract the wrong sort of attention.”

Collins finally looked on from Lizzy. She nearly gasped in relief, but it was worse when he began to scrutinize Mary. Mary looked up from her sketching, caught his eye, and blushed.

“Yes,” Collins said, “I think she might suit very well.”

He moved toward Mary and stood rather too close to her. “It is good to see you are industrious, Cousin Mary,” he said pretentiously. “Idle hands are the Devil’s tools.”

Mary looked uncertain, but gave him a smile regardless. “I enjoy the w-work,” she said with a little stutter. Lizzy took it to mean that Mary’s head was determined to encourage Collins, but her heart was not yet resigned.

“Lady Catherine, as she was advising me to marry, for such is her condescension that she would impart her instructions on this most important matter, said I must choose a gentlewoman for her sake, and for mine to let her be an active, useful sort of person, able to make a small income go a good way…”

He trailed off as he leaned in closer and finally saw what Mary was sketching. “You are drawing a dragon!” he exclaimed. “A dragon is a sign of the Devil for it was St. John who said, ‘And he laid hold on the dragon, that old serpent, which is the Devil, and Satan, and bound him a thousand years.’ Surely a pastoral scene would be must better for your practice!”

Mary jumped and hastily covered her sketchbook. “I-I am sure it m-must,” she said. “I w-will certainly— Lizzy, no! ”

Lizzy froze in her place. Without realizing it, she had risen and stepped toward Collins, hating the way he stood over Mary, hating the way he pronounced judgement on her drawing. What she had intended to do with him she did not know, only that she was in a red rage from his cruel tone.

Collins looked at Lizzy with an expression that was barely short of a leer. Lizzy felt herself breathing hard and her dragon flexing within. She was so close to losing control. Collins would not be nearly so smug when pinned down by a dragon!

Mrs. Bennet made a nervous titter in the tense silence that followed. “You must forgive my girls, Mr. Collins,” she said. “They are young, you know, and prone to girlish flights. That is something which you can correct, if you will. Mary will listen to you, if you tell her. She is obedient that way.”

Lizzy hated the way that Mrs. Bennet described Mary, as if she was a dog or horse to obey its master.

Mary did not assert herself, saying instead, “I will put my b-book away, if it displeases you.”

“I will take it,” Collins said loftily. “It will not trouble me again.”

“ I will take it,” Lizzy corrected, moving quickly to snatch the sketchbook from Mary’s hands. She was certain that if Collins took hold of it, it would never be seen again. Mary did not deserve for her work to be destroyed like that.

Collins narrowed his eyes at Lizzy and for a moment she felt his magic building. She flexed her own power as a dragon, ready to counter act anything he might try. A small boon in her favor was that despite her dragon ability to absorb magic, she did not have a large magical aura for other mages to detect. If they realized she worked magic at all, they thought her talent small and insignificant. She gave off a larger feel of power as a dragon, but no one expected dragons to be able to manipulate magic as she did.

However, Collins backed down without trying to use his talent on her. He nodded curtly. “Take it away then. If you have any sense of propriety, you will burn it. Young women should not be tempted with pictures of the devil.” His tone suggested that he doubted Lizzy would listen, as she was already sinful in behavior.

She resisted the urge to stick her tongue out at him. If he believed dragons to be signs of the devil, it was a wonder that he came at all, considering the book published under Papa’s name. Maybe Collins was too illiterate to have read it, or did not realize that T. E. M. Bennet was in any way related to Mr. Bennet of Longbourn.

Lizzy was loath to leave the room, but reasoned that Collins would not do something extreme with everyone present. As quick as she could, she bounded up the stairs to hide the sketch book in her room. Before placing it under the bed she almost never slept in, Lizzy took a quick look at what Mary had been doing when Collins objected.

On the page were four young girls, Jane, Mary, Kitty and Lydia as children, playing together while Lizzy as a dragon curled around them watchfully. To Lizzy, it was a sign of sisterly affection. Collins was out of hand to suggest that Mary was drawing the Devil instead.

Lizzy hurried back to the drawing room. Collins was now sitting beside Mary, talking obnoxiously about his patroness, Lady Catherine de Bourgh. From what Lizzy could tell, Lady Catherine seemed to be rather overbearing herself, with an opinion on everything from the arrangement of closet shelves to the size of cuts of meat one should cook. Collins was enamored of Lady Catherine to the point of fanaticism. It was off-putting in a clergyman, to the point that Lizzy wondered if he worshipped God or Lady Catherine more.

Mary made as if she was listening intently, but Lizzy thought she could detect hurt and despair in her sister’s countenance. Surely Mary was still not intending to encourage him?

But it seemed she was, for when the suggestion was made to walk to Meryton with Collins, Mary made sure to position herself close to him. Lizzy tried to edge her out of the way, to place herself between her sister and this man. Unfortunately, while Mary could not speak to him without a stutter, she had no hesitation to elbow Lizzy out of the way. Lizzy could not come between them without using her dragon strength, which she was reluctant to reveal in front of Collins. She might need that element of surprise should he make an inappropriate move.

He was rather too entertained with the genteel dispute over which lady would take his arm. “I cannot bear discord between family,” he declared. “Let me solve this by standing between you, therefore you shall both have one of my arms, and I will be quite satisfied.”

The arrangement pleased Mary far more than it did Lizzy. Mary knew that Lizzy’s only aim would have been to separate her from Collins, therefore she had no reason to fear Lizzy’s attention to him. Inwardly Lizzy seethed, her skin crawling as she was forced to take Collins’ arm. If she had not been brought up gently, she would have been tempted to wrench it from its socket. Then see how well he liked to go courting!

Chapter 15

As the Bennet sisters and Collins walked to Meryton, Collins spoke nearly constantly.

“Your dedication to your sister is commendable, Cousin Elizabeth,” he said. “Perhaps we can come to an agreement whereby you would not have to leave your sister’s side, once she has accepted my suit. I am sure we can come to an understanding that is pleasing to all.” He looked at her, but in a location lower than her face. She realized that by standing close to him, it gave him a view of her décolletage. Thankfully the neck of her gown was high enough to hide too much from showing, but it still sickened her.

A moment later she realized exactly what he was suggesting and her stomach twisted. She had to swallow against the bile that threatened to rise in her throat. Given what he thought of her from Mrs. Bennet’s words, he was looking to install both wife and mistress in his home at once! Lizzy craned around him to give Mary an incredulous look. Mary must see that he was a scoundrel and not fit as a husband, even if he was their father’s heir?

Mary was glaring at her though, still trying to have Collins for herself. Lizzy realized that Mary had not heard the conversation between Collins and Mrs. Bennet, and therefore did not know what he was implying. She could not bring herself to repeat those disgusting words, so she would not even be able to warn her sister should she be able to get her away from Collins for a time.

Collins was oblivious to the revulsion Lizzy felt for him. He was still speaking, this time to Mary, describing his living at Hunsford to her. For the most part she did not listen, her thoughts occupied with how to separate Mary from Collins and how to convey an adequate warning on what sort of man Lizzy suspected he was. He certainly was not a man worthy of being a clergyman! It was only when the topic moved on to magic that Lizzy paid attention to him.

“…you need not fear, Cousin Mary, that I shall look down upon you for your lack of magic, for God does not give out all gifts evenly. Indeed, I might say that the lack of magic is a blessing, for it will be less distraction and temptation to stray from your duties—”

“What about your magic, Mr. Collins?” Lizzy deliberately interrupted him. “I trust that it does not interfere with your duties?”

“Of course not, for mine is a God-given talent—”

“What exactly is your magic?” she interrupted again.

An expression of annoyance crossed his face, but he said, “Your curiosity about myself commends you. I have the gift of teleportation.” The last was said with extreme smugness.

Lizzy regarded him with skepticism. Teleportation was an extremely rare and highly valued magical ability. If he truly could teleport, either his skill was very weak, or it could not be controlled. Otherwise teleporters tended to have high-ranking positions in the government or military.

“I am surprised that your teleportation has not led you to other things than a life in the church,” she said, her voice purposefully doubtful.

Collins’ face colored; he struggled to maintain composure. “The Good Lord must have intended me to do His work, for He placed limits upon my ability. I am able to teleport any living or inanimate object, but in order to remain in control it must be short distance, within my sight only.”

He pointed at a largish rock, one which Lizzy would have been able to pick up but her sisters would have needed to band together to move. Without warning the rock disappeared, dirt falling into the hole it had left in the ground. It came back almost instantly, this time on top of a small lean-to for the sheep. One of Longbourn’s pastures bordered the road to Meryton and there were several of Lizzy’s sheep grazing in the field.

The rock landed heavily on the simple, weathered wood structure. The weight was too much for it and the stone crashed through the roof, making the sheep within flee in panic. Lizzy gritted her teeth. It would be no problem to remove the rock tonight as a dragon, and carry supplies for workmen to repair the lean-to, but the wanton destruction of property—especially her property—infuriated her. How could Collins be so careless in showing off?

“However, I can also teleport items far away, but both the distance and direction are unknown,” he said uncaringly, this time pointing at a half-grown ram lamb running away. Mid-leap, the lamb was gone. It did not come back.

“What did you do?” Lizzy burst out angrily.

“I teleported it,” Collins announced pompously.

“Where to?” she demanded. That particular lamb had been large and healthy, the product of many generations of careful breeding. She had planned to leave him intact to replace one of her elderly rams.

“I do not know,” Collins shrugged. “As I said before, I cannot control the distance or direction when I teleport items out of my sight. It appears to be entirely random. The only thing I can say is that nothing I have teleported in such a way has ever been found again.” He was bragging, proud of his accomplishment.

Lizzy glared at him, seething inside. Even Mary looked aghast at his willful damage he had done. Lizzy longed to turn into a dragon, to take Collins away in an unknown direction and drop him with no warning and no resources.

“Maybe we s-should hurry on,” Mary urged, taking Collins’ arm and all but dragging him toward Meryton. It was just as well, for Lizzy could not vouch for her temper in that moment. She distanced herself from Collins, knowing if she stood too close to him she was likely to unleash her dragon at him. She walked with Jane, Kitty and Lydia, scowling fiercely at Collins’ back.

“Lizzy, are you well?” Jane asked quietly. “What happened?”

“Mr. Collins,” Lizzy spat his name, “Was showing off his magic. He is a teleporter, but he has little control over it. Not only did he damage one of my lean-tos, but he also lost my best ram lamb! Do you still think he is a good match for Mary?”

Jane winced, for everyone knew how well Lizzy guarded her flocks. “His actions were precipitous to be sure, but it must have been an accident. Perhaps he did not know that this is Longbourn’s land still?”

Lizzy turned incredulous eyes on her older sister. “And would his deeds have been better if they were perpetrated on our neighbors instead of us?”

Jane dropped her eyes. “No,” she admitted, “Though I still hold it must have been an accident.”

“You think too well of everyone,” Lizzy warned. “It could not have been an accident; he declared his intention beforehand to teleport an object to an unknown location. Mr. Collins was deliberately harmful to both property and living creatures. I cannot condone that behavior.”

They reached Meryton at last. Lizzy reluctantly approached Collins again, though she made sure that Mary was a buffer between them. She did not trust herself not to react toward Collins.

“I am sorry about your lamb,” Mary whispered under her breath, too quiet for any but a dragon to hear. Lizzy gave Mary a flat stare to express her displeasure. Mary could not meet her eyes and did not try to excuse what had happened.

Lizzy had hoped that once they reached Meryton, Collins might be distracted by the sights of the town to release Mary. There was no such luck, however, as Collins seemed to take care to walk slowly, head high and Mary held tightly to his side. Lizzy saw the other townspeople taking note of them and realized that Collins was already staking his claim on her sister. There would be talk of his behavior throughout town, which might make it difficult for Mary even if Lizzy could convince her to reject Collins.

To make matters worse, they had not been in Meryton for long before Wickham and another officer, Mr. Denny, emerged from a shop. Lizzy’s dragon snarled silently. Now she had two threats to her sisters to worry about. Lydia and Kitty joined the officers, flirting outrageously with them. Wickham picked up Lydia’s hand and kissed it.

Lizzy surged with fury, reaching out with her dragon ability to remove any magic Wickham had placed on her sister. To her consternation, there was none. Wickham looked up at her and smirked, causing her to flush as she turned away. He could not have felt the use of her magic, but he was shrewd enough to guess what she had tried to do. She could prevent him from using magic, but she could not counteract his natural charisma.

“Miss Elizabeth,” Wickham said smoothly, inclining his head toward her. “It has been too long since we have spoken. I quite enjoyed our last… tete-a-tete.”

“Mr. Wickham,” she returned coolly, feeling greasy just by being in his presence.

Collins happened to notice the exchange between Lizzy and Wickham, and frowned at her. “Understand, Cousin Elizabeth,” he said in a harsh tone, “That in the future I ask you to behave with decorum in public and confine your… actions.”

She was mortified. Her face was a dark red and she wanted to get away from this disgusting man. Shame made her fingers prickle; she felt unclean inside, though she knew she was innocent of what Collins believed of her. For the first time Mary began to realize that there was an undercurrent between Lizzy and Collins. Mary gave Lizzy a questioning look, but Lizzy could not meet her sister’s eyes.

“Mr. Bingley,” Jane suddenly exclaimed, her voice filled with joy.

Please, no, Lizzy begged silently, but her wishes were not to be answered. Already she could feel that keen edge of alarm anticipation trail up her spine, the awareness that always accompanied a certain gentleman’s presence. If she had been the heroine of a Greek tragedy, she would have said that the gods were not smiling upon her, for when she turned to greet Mr. Bingley, of course Mr. Darcy was with him. The pair seemed to be scarcely separate as of late.

Mr. Bingley came forward to greet Jane with enthusiasm, only belatedly remembering to acknowledge the others. Lizzy did not mind so much, for she thought it a sign of his devotion to Jane. Mr. Darcy was reticent as always in company, but he looked over the small gathering. He froze when his gaze landed on Wickham. The other man noticed Mr. Darcy at the same time, so Lizzy was able to see both their reactions. Mr. Darcy paled in anger, his magic churning the air around him. Wickham grew red from something like shame or worry. There was certainly something more between them than Lizzy knew about, but it was not as though she could ask the particulars from either man.

That was as much as she was able to observe, for the presence of all three people who excited her senses gave her a sharp headache. She was already short of breath from how much human time she had been spending since Collins’ arrival and now she felt herself dangerously close to fainting. Her head swam; there was an odd disconnect with her body as though she might take a step and float away. The only thing she could do was back away from the group.

A little distance helped clear her mind, as did the way that Wickham touched his hat and quickly absented himself. Lydia and Kitty went with Wickham and Mr. Denny. Lizzy wanted to protest, but at that moment what little strength she had was dedicated to not being sick. Mr. Darcy was the only one who noticed her distress. She was relieved it was him and not one of the others. His grey eyes fixed on her; he frowned and started to move toward her, only to be blocked by Collins.

“Mr. Darcy!” the clergyman cried, “Nephew to Lady Catherine de Bourgh of Rosings?”

Mr. Darcy stiffened and gave Collins a severe look. “The same,” he said curtly.

“This is a blessed day! Forgive me for not introducing myself earlier. I am your eminent aunt’s parson. My living, Hunsford, is separated from Rosings park by a single lane, and Lady Catherine often calls upon me to visit her—” Collins continued for some time in that vein, while Mr. Darcy failed to look impressed.

Lizzy took the opportunity to urge Mary away from Collins while he was distracted. Mary would have none of it though, and eventually said loudly, “You go on, if you wish, Lizzy. I am content here.”

All attention was directed at Lizzy, save for Collins who beamed at Mary. Lizzy was hurt that her sister still could not see Collins’ deficiencies; that statement was far more like Lydia than the usually demure Mary.

“It is a nice day, perhaps we can continue walking?” Jane suggested into the pause, ever the peacemaker.

The group naturally fell into couples as they strolled down the street. Jane and Mr. Bingley were in front, Lizzy and Mr. Darcy in the middle, with Mary and Mr. Collins at the rear. Lizzy walked beside Mr. Darcy in shamed silence. She felt her usual reaction to being close to him: flushed warmth through her body, and unaccountable nerves, but it was far preferable to being with Collins.

Lizzy felt she should apologize for Collins’ actions, but was too humiliated to say a word. She kept her eyes on the ground, certain that if she looked up everyone would be able to see her ignominy. Thankfully Mr. Darcy did not press her for conversation. Lizzy did not like to consider what he must think of her now, with the way Collins importuned him, and then Mary’s uncharacteristic behavior. Something inside her twisted at the idea that he would think less of her.

Collins was not yet done making Lizzy miserable. After several minutes of her walking next to Mr. Darcy, Collins was compelled to interrupt them.

“I say, Mr. Darcy,” he began.

Lizzy and Mr. Darcy paused to look at him. He was frowning at them.

“I feel I should warn you regarding—”

Lizzy suddenly knew he was going to repeat the things Mrs. Bennet had said about her. He was going to say them aloud, in public, and to Mr. Darcy of all people! Not only would her reputation be destroyed, but her sisters would suffer from the association with her. Mr. Bingley might withdraw his suit.

“Mr. Collins,” she said abruptly, “What do you think Lady Catherine would say about this bit of lace?” She pointed to a display in a shop window.

Collins was deeply pleased by all things Lady Catherine, so he bustled over and began expounding on the lady’s likely reaction to the lace. He commended Lizzy vociferously about her thoughtfulness toward Lady Catherine, alluding that it could only increase Lizzy’s future felicity. He stood rather too close as he spoke, the greasy heat of his body overwhelming her. The unwashed scent coming off of him seared at her nose, but if she tried to breathe through her mouth, she would taste it instead.

She knew Mr. Darcy was still watching her—no doubt curious about what Collins had been about to say and her desire to stop it. She felt the light touch of his mind and opened herself to the contact.

Is this man bothering you? he asked pointedly.

Lizzy felt a swell of frustration in her breast. Collins was bothering her, but there was nothing Mr. Darcy or anyone else could do about it.

He is my cousin, she replied diplomatically. One cannot choose their family. A sob threatened to escape her and she hurriedly cut the contact between them.

Mr. Bingley and Mr. Darcy departed shortly after that. Lizzy was sorry to see them go—both of them. Despite the strange awareness she had of him,, she would have rather been with Mr. Darcy than remain with Collins. At the same time, at least she did not have to worry about what Collins would say to Mr. Darcy, or have that gentleman witness more degradation on her part.

Lizzy was able to stay on the periphery of Collins’ attention for the rest of their stay in Meryton. Mary stayed close by his side and Lizzy did not even try to part them any more. Eventually everyone had had enough of Meryton. Lydia and Kitty were found and persuaded to return to Longbourn with the promise of tea.

However, tea was not the relaxing affair Lizzy had expected it to be. Collins treated his tea cup like his Sunday pulpit and proceeded to sermonize through the entire meal. Mr. Bennet escaped quickly, but the women of the household were less fortunate.

Collins spoke on vanity and false adornments, for some reason looking frequently at Mary as he lectured. Lizzy thought it only because he had selected Mary as his prospective wife, until Mary reached up and hesitantly removed the spectacles that corrected her vision. Collins smiled widely at her and his sermon shifted to praise of those who obeyed commandments.

Lizzy was disgusted by Collins. How dare he think that those spectacles were for vanity? Mary blinked rather dully, trying to adjust to her blurred sight. At that point, Lizzy had to leave the room. She complained of a headache as she left and it was not far from the truth. She was severely disillusioned by Mary’s behavior, not to mention what she had to suffer from both Collins and Mrs. Bennet.

Instead of going to her room as she had said, Lizzy went to the dower house and returned to her other self. Instantly she could breathe easier. For once she did not resent the small size of the cottage, but curled up as tightly as she could, neck and tail overlapping. It was comforting to hold herself as thus. She felt better as a dragon. For one, no human gossip could touch a dragon. For another, she felt her strength and freedom more fully in this form. It reminded her that she was not as helpless as she had been made to feel that day. She still did not know what to do about Collins, but she was not powerless.

Lizzy reached out her mind one more time to Mr. Bennet.

Yes, my dear? he answered her.

Will you not reconsider the matter with Mr. Collins? she asked wearily. I know you believe I am overreacting, but you have seen how he behaves. He made Mary take off her glasses because he thinks she wears them for vanity. She means to have him.

Papa chuckled. Our Mary is too sensible to fall for that. She might think to make a match with him, but she will grow tired of it on her own. She can think for herself, as well as you. I will not send Collins away. If nothing else, he can teach you girls what not to look for in a mate.

Lizzy did not bother to reply before she ended the contact with him. He would not believe her. She could not speak of how Collins and Mrs. Bennet thought of her. Not only was it debasing to repeat, but she doubted he would even listen to her now. Her sisters were threatened on every side and he refused to see it. Papa would not stir himself, believing nothing bad could truly happen to his girls.

She remained in the dower house, long after it had fallen dark, trying unsuccessfully to find a way to help her family. Dealing with Collins was bad enough, but apparently Lydia had formed an attachment to Wickham as well. Lizzy could not be in two places at once! Worse, neither of her sisters were listening to her. No doubt they thought her overbearing in her efforts to protect them. If only they could feel what she did while standing next to either man. She needed help, needed someone else to support her.

Thoughts of the two men who had caused such a reaction in her led to the third. Mr. Darcy. Now that she had seen the three of them together, she could definitely say that she preferred him above the others. He made her nervous, sometimes uncomfortable, but she never felt threatened, unlike with Collins and Wickham.

Of the three of them, Mr. Darcy was the only one that she considered a gentleman. She had never doubted his status as such, while she had scarcely met Collins and Wickham before realizing that they could never be gentlemen in her mind. If there was anyone she could trust, it was Mr. Darcy. Was it possible he might be able to help with both Collins and Wickham? She did not like the idea of including someone so wholly unconnected to them in her family’s personal trials, yet what choice did she have? Was it not better to swallow her pride and face possible ridicule than to dismiss what help he might provide?

Without giving herself time to reconsider, she reached across the miles to Netherfield. She found Mr. Darcy’s mind relaxed, but not yet at rest. Hesitantly she touched him, asking for contact.

Mr. Darcy?

Miss Elizabeth! What is wrong? Are you well? Your family?

She was overwhelmed by his concern. He could have been affronted that she dared such an inappropriate way of seeking him, but instead he sought her well-being.

I need help, she said simply.

You have it. What can I do?

His instant offer of aid undid her. He was the only person not to question her in the last few days. He did not make her doubt what she felt. She felt the urge to see him in person, wanting to be closer to him.

I know it is improper, but I would like to see you. I can come to Netherfield; I will be a dragon, of course.

Of course, he responded. I will say that I want some fresh air.

Thank you. She was strangely reluctant to end the connection. Something about Mr. Darcy made her feel more grounded than she had for days. She could not tell him that though, so she allowed their contact to fade as she squeezed out of the cottage. Lizzy stretched her wings, taking a moment to listen to the sounds of Longbourn. Collins was still droning on about something, the words too muffled for her to make out, but otherwise the house seemed to be at peace.

Lizzy launched herself into the night, reaching Netherfield in a short time. She circled the house once and upon not seeing Mr. Darcy yet landed in a natural low in the lawn. She flattened herself on the cool, damp grass. With her dark coloring, she would be taken for nothing more than a shadow.

A side door opened, spilling light across the grass, though it fell short of her. The light flickered as someone stepped across it, and then the door was shut. Her eyesight was excellent at night and she saw Mr. Darcy making his way across the lawn. Her heart gave a thrill to see him again, and for once she welcomed it. It was clear he was still night-blind; even if he could see, it was doubtful he would have noticed her hiding in the depression.

A little to your left, Mr. Darcy, she told him.

He altered his course, making it look natural. The smooth lawn gave his bad leg little trouble and soon he was only a few paces from her. That was when she stood, revealing herself. Mr. Darcy’s quiet gasp was the only sign that she had startled him.

Miss Elizabeth, he greeted her with a bow.

She spread her wings and dipped her front half in an approximation of a curtsy. Mr. Darcy, she returned pleasantly. His presence swept over her, the usual awareness, but now with an edge of relief.

What did you wish to speak about? he asked.

She hesitated, but she had come this far. She could not take it back now. It is my cousin, Mr. Collins, she began slowly.

Mr. Darcy’s eyes darkened. He has not tried to press himself upon you? he growled.

No, she said quickly, then paused. Collins had made it quite clear that he would not mind her supposed attentions, even after his marriage. It is better for him to focus on me than my sisters, she confessed silently.

He clenched his fists.

But he has not laid a hand on me, she added hastily. No, it is Mary I am concerned about.

Miss Mary?

Mr. Collins is the heir to my father; he will inherit Longbourn when Papa passes away. Mr. Collins came to seek a wife and Mary has decided to put herself forward.

I did notice an interest toward each other, he said politely. If she is set on him, I do not know what I can do.

Please, Mr. Darcy, hear me out, she begged.

I am listening.

From the first moment I made Mr. Collins’ acquaintance, his presence felt repulsive to me… She described the sickening way he made her feel, then reported on what Collins had done with her sheep and the way he handled Mary, from chastising her drawing of a dragon to lecturing her until she took off her glasses.

He has done something more, has he not? Mr. Darcy asked. I could see it in the way he treated you.

She shuddered and coiled into herself. Her entire body trembled as she struggled to explain the reason behind Collins’ behavior toward her.

I overheard Mama and Mr. Collins talking, she admitted. At first he was set upon Jane as a wife, but Mama told him about Mr. Bingley. Then he had settled upon me, but she convinced him that I was… inappropriate to be a wife… She said things, about me, about my behavior, that I was… fallen. Lizzy was filled with shame. She could not look at Mr. Darcy, but hunched down, trying to hide behind her wings.

Then she felt his gentle touch on her wing. Surprised, she raised her head to look at him.

Say no more, he said, I can guess the rest. He stroked the skin of her wing reassuringly. It was more liberty than he had ever taken with her; she could not deny that it felt very nice but at the same time she did not feel worthy of his touch. If her own mother could say those things about her, what must he think of her?

Lizzy pulled away reluctantly. Mr. Darcy paced in front of her, considering all she had told him. She respected that he did not immediately dismiss her fears, or offer empty platitudes. It gave her the courage to uncoil a little. Finally he stopped and looked at her.

Have you gone to your father with your concerns? he asked.

She laughed bitterly. I have. He thinks I am only reacting like a dragon whose territory has been threatened. He will not listen to me.

Have you told him about…?

Her stomach swooped and she felt like she was going to be sick. I cannot. No one knows what Mama and Mr. Collins discussed but me. It was hard for me to tell even you; I could not do it again.

Nor should you have to, he agreed. I could try to tell him, but I do not know if he would believe me.

I could… live with it, she said, her voice shaking, So long as I knew my sisters were safe from him. But there is something about him I do not trust at all. If he could banish my lamb so it will never be found, he could do the same to a person. I fear what would happen to Mary if she were to accept him. I am afraid she thinks it her responsibility to marry for the security of the family.

That is no kind of security anyone should accept, he said darkly. I understand your concerns, but I still do not see how I can help this situation. If that is truly Miss Mary’s choice, I do not think I can interfere with it.

She mulled it over a few seconds, then began shyly. Please, Mr. Darcy, I came to you because no one else will listen to me. I trust you. I know I cannot ask you to court Mary yourself, but if you would pay a little attention to her, make sure to include her when you visit, I do not think Mr. Collins can object too much. He is too much enamored of you for being Lady Catherine’s nephew.

That is a relation who has caused me nothing but trouble, he said dryly, startling a laugh out of Lizzy. Lady Catherine sounded rather formidable and overbearing, but Lizzy could not pass judgement on a woman she had never met. However, Mr. Darcy seemed to hold his aunt in the same light.

He smiled at her laughter and said, Bingley and I intended to call upon Longbourn tomorrow. I will observe Mr. Collins’ behavior for myself, and do as I can. I cannot promise that I can change anything, but you have my support.

Thank you, she said fervently, reaching out to nudge him in gratitude, forgetting what it might look like to someone who had not been raised with a dragon as a sister. She felt calmer around him than she ever had before. There was still a prickling along her scales, but it was more happy anticipation rather than uncomfortable nerves.

He withstood her gentle buffet well and rested his hand on her muzzle. She accepted his touch this time, feeling comfort spread throughout her body. She sagged in relief, letting go of the worries that had plagued her for days.

Reluctantly she lifted her head from his hand. You had better return inside now, before they start searching for you.

What will you do?

I will look for my lamb.

He smiled. You are a better shepherd for your flock than one who is supposed to be a shepherd of people. Good night, Miss Elizabeth.

Good night, Mr. Darcy. She rose in flight, circling the house until Mr. Darcy was inside.

Lizzy flew out to the pasture where Collins had worked his magic. She removed the rock from the lean-to—throwing it as far into the woods as she could—and inspected the damage. The roof would need to be replaced, but the walls at least seemed sound. That task done, she took off again, this time searching the country for her lost lamb. After more than two hours without a sign of it, she was forced to give up. Without a direction or knowing how far to look, it was impossible to find her lamb. For all she knew it could have landed in the middle of London, or be drowned in the ocean.

Lizzy returned to Longbourn, swooping low over Netherfield as she passed it. She resisted the urge to seek Mr. Darcy once more. He had already given her his assurance, surely he would not want her to bother him again. Still, she thought of him as she crawled into the dower cottage to sleep.

Her heart was more at ease than it had been for weeks.

---

Chapter 16

Darcy felt elated as he broke his fast with Bingley the next morning. Elizabeth had come to him. True, the circumstances were less than ideal, but she had come to him for help. She trusted him! Could it be much longer before he had her love as well?

“Sometimes I envy you and your Miss Elizabeth,” Bingley said, interrupting Darcy’s thoughts.

He gave his friend a surprised look. “How is that?” he asked.

“You and Miss Elizabeth are both mages. You can speak to each other in the intimacy of your minds, without being overheard and even across distances. That is something I can never have with my Jane.”

Darcy could not conceal his guilty start. Bingley’s eyes widened.

“You have been talking to her!” Bingley touched his forehead.

Darcy nodded stiffly.

Bingley started to grin, then gave Darcy a stern look. “I hope you have been more discreet in speaking with her than you have in meeting her,” he warned.

Darcy spluttered, “Of course I have, as much as it is possible!” He realized uncomfortably that the meeting last night would definitely not fall under Bingley’s approval. Worse, he still could not explain that Elizabeth was in no danger of being recognized, for she had been a dragon. Despite his assurances that Bingley was to be trusted, either Elizabeth or Miss Bennet had refrained from telling Bingley about Elizabeth’s altered state.

“Good,” Bingley nodded in satisfaction. He gave a sly grin. “Because it would be rather telling if both of you were to burst out laughing in the middle of Sunday services.”

“Bingley!” Darcy exclaimed. “Do not be sacrilegious!”

“What?” Bingley shrugged. “Are you telling me you have never been tempted to speak to another when the minister is boring?”

Darcy paused, then gave a mischievous grin. “As boys, Richard and I would make it a game to speak and not be caught. Then we would dare each other to use our magic around the chapel. I think the only reason we did not destroy the church is because our magic canceled each other out perfectly: fire and ice.”

Bingley laughed. “Richard! Your cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam?”

“One and the same,” Darcy chuckled.

“It has been more than a year since I saw him last. He is well?”

“As well as he can be, on the frontlines against old Boney. With his magic, he is in much demand for combat.”

“God keep him safe,” Bingley intoned.

“Amen,” Darcy agreed.

They finished breakfast and then entered the carriage for the journey to Longbourn. Even though he had taken the short three miles jaunt many times in the past, being in a moving carriage still had Darcy fighting back panic. He knew that he was pale; he could feel sweat standing out on his face. Bingley had to have noticed his reaction, but his friend chose as always to ignore it.

“When we arrive at Longbourn,” Darcy began, his voice breathless from trying to control himself, “There will be a new resident.”

Bingley looked at him with interest.

“Mr. Collins is a cousin of the family, and the heir to Mr. Bennet. He is also the parson of my Aunt, Land Catherine de Bourgh, and she could not have bestowed the living upon a more grateful subject.”

Although Bingley had never met Darcy’s aunt in person, he had heard enough to guess what that meant and gave a small laugh.

“Miss Elizabeth approached me; she has some concerns about her cousin—that he might not behave like a gentleman towards the ladies of the house.”

Bingley scowled. “And Mr. Bennet allows this cousin to stay with them?”

Darcy hesitated. “As of yet, there is no evidence of wrong doing. Nevertheless, Miss Elizabeth is uncomfortable with him. I know that you are generally oblivious to all else when Miss Bennet is present, but I would ask that you tear your eyes away from her and observe his behavior, especially to Miss Elizabeth and Miss Mary. Do not hesitate to tell me if anything seems amiss.”

“Of course,” Bingley instantly agreed. His face brightened. “Do you think it might become necessary to remove him from the property?” he asked, eager to try out his pugilist skills.

Darcy smiled to himself, for he thought that if Collins actually dared to touch one of the Bennet sisters, he would suddenly have a very large and very irate dragon to deal with. Elizabeth was fiercely in protective of her sisters. It was only when it came to herself that she turned timid.

“I rather think Elizabeth would enjoy doing the honors herself,” Darcy commented absent-mindedly, which earned him a confused look from Bingley.

“But I am sure she would appreciate the assistance,” Darcy hastily added.

Bingley continued to study Darcy with curiosity.

“What?” Darcy asked uncomfortably.

“That is the first time I heard you use her Christian name,” Bingley commented thoughtfully. “Have you reached an understanding with her?”

Darcy flushed. “Not yet,” he admitted, “But I hope it will not be long.”

“At least someone is close,” Bingley muttered, frustration evident in the way he shifted on the seat.

“You have not yet reached an understanding with Miss Bennet?” Darcy asked in astonishment. “With the way you speak of her, I thought…”

Bingley had a bleak expression on his face as he spoke. “I have tried speaking to her of it, but she will not agree to anything. She states that family matters hold her back, that she cannot in good conscience accept me before other things are settled.”

“And she has not told you what they are?”

Bingley shook his head, but Darcy could guess. Miss Bennet must be deeply concerned with Elizabeth’s curse and could not accept her own felicity until Elizabeth was saved. Yet another reason that Bingley should have been told about Elizabeth’s condition, for then he would at least understand Miss Bennet’s hesitation. Darcy had enough respect for Miss Bennet that he did not consider she was merely leading on his friend with no intention of accepting him.

Darcy clapped Bingley on the shoulder. “Have faith, my friend. Hopefully things will work out to your favor soon enough.”

Bingley squinted at him. “Has Miss Elizabeth spoken to you of family matters? Do you know what is behind this?”

Darcy could not meet his eyes. “I may have some idea,” he confessed.

“It is not…” Bingley took a deep breath. “It is not because of me, is it? That my roots are from trade?”

Darcy started. “No, I do not believe that is it at all. Miss Bennet lack the sort of pretention that would prevent her from making a connection to you. I am confident that she favors you, but there is another task she feels must be completed first.”

Bingley gave him a strange look. “You are being very mysterious, Darcy. It is clear you know more than you are telling, but I will not ask you to betray your confidences.”

“Thank you,” Darcy replied.

They had spent nearly the entire journey in conversation so they did not have to wait more than a few minutes before pulling up to Longbourn’s entrance. Darcy was the first out of the carriage, giving a sigh of relief once he was freed of the enclosed box.

They were welcomed to the house at once and shown to the drawing room where the family was encased. Darcy’s eyes went immediately to Elizabeth. He saw with alarm that she was pale and strained.

What is wrong? he asked at once.

It is nothing , she assured him.

It does not look like nothing.

I am only short of breath.

Shall I call for a healer?

She laughed gently. No, it means that I must change to a dragon soon. Then I will be able to breathe freely. Do not worry about me.

His own chest relaxed once he knew she was not in any danger. When we have been here a short time, I will suggest that Miss Mary continue her portrait of us in the garden. Will that help?

Darcy could practically feel the relief coming off of her.

Yes, thank you. I can wait that long.

Satisfied that his love was well, Darcy turned his attention to the rest of the room. Everyone was as he had last seen them, except for two. Collins was of course one new addition. The parson was just as idiotic and sycophantic as before, alternately fawning over Darcy for being related to Lady Catherine and all but gloating over his current position in the household. Darcy had known men that were brought up meanly, thus when they came into an inheritance knew not what to do and proceeded to squander it.

Though hopefully Collins’ inheritance was many years in coming, it was clear to Darcy that Collins would ruin Longbourn within a short period of time after taking it. He was thoroughly disgusted by that sort of man, for he had been brought up to know his responsibility and to care for those in his charge. Collins cared only for himself.

The second person that was noticeably changed was Miss Mary. Not only did she not have her glasses, which gave her face a pinched, narrow-eyed expression, but she also wore a shapeless gown of homespun. It did not flatter her in the least and was far more suited to a poor tenant farmer than to a gentleman’s daughter. She sat close to Collins, nodding in time to his comments. Occasionally the man would look at her and Darcy did not like his expression.

Collins was gloating over his acquisition of Miss Mary. Though the law gave husbands every legal right to treat their wives as they would, Darcy detested those who used the gentler sex only for their own needs. It was clear that Collins was one such; any pain or humiliation that Miss Mary felt now from his actions would only be magnified once she was wed to him. Darcy might not know the girl well—she had been too shy to talk overmuch to him—but he thought he could detect unhappiness in her posture.

He knew he had promised Elizabeth only to observe, but within a few minutes he was convinced that all of her concerns were highly warranted. Darcy could not stand by while this man was hurting his future family. He forced himself to look away from Miss Mary before his anger at her treatment became too evident. He caught Elizabeth’s violet gaze instead and made the slightest nod to her.

Darcy stood, drawing himself up to his full height. He called on every ounce of his proud bearing, even picturing how Aunt Catherine would hold herself to command a room. Every eye was at once upon him. He moved toward the center of the room, incidentally toward Miss Mary as well. She ducked her head and seemed to shrink from him until he called her name.

“Miss Mary,” he called, trying for a mix of imperious command without being too harsh. She looked up at him in astonishment.

“I believe the light outside is very good right now. I should like to have another sitting for my portrait.”

Miss Mary blushed and looked shyly at Collins.

“You are painting Mr. Darcy?” Collins asked in a rude tone. “Go to it, girl! You must not keep him waiting. I will go with you to be sure your painting is up to the proper standards.”

“You will not,” Darcy said sternly. “I commissioned the painting therefore I choose which standard to accept.”

Collins was temporarily set back. “Then I will go as a chaperone, for Cousin Mary is very dear to me.”

“I do not allow strangers to view my sittings,” Darcy announced, fixing Collins with a fierce glare.

The parson spluttered without saying a word.

“I shall chaperone Mary and Mr. Darcy,” Elizabeth said quickly, rising and deftly pulling Miss Mary to her side. The poor girl looked like she did not know who to obey.

“We will go as well,” Bingley asked, standing with Miss Bennet on his arm.

Together the four of them fairly surrounded Miss Mary and shepherded her into the foyer. She still had a bewildered expression on her face, blinking at each of them as if she could not see them clearly. And she probable could not, Darcy realized, without her glasses.

He touched her arm gently. “You will need your spectacles and your artwork to continue,” he said. “Get them and we well wait for you here.”

She nodded and hurried up the stairs to retrieve them. Darcy turned back to see Elizabeth and Miss Bennet in a heated discussion.

“Do you not see it, Jane?” Elizabeth hissed passionately. “He treats her like property and they are not even engaged! You cannot believe still that he would be a good match for her!”

“Mr. Collins is a bit rough,” Miss Bennet hedged, “But I believe Mary could be good for him. Maybe he only wants a little companionship to make him gentler.”

Darcy cleared his throat. “Apologies for interrupting,” he said, “But Miss Bennet, with all due respect, what you are suggesting is rather dangerous for Miss Mary. I have seen men like Collins before. They do not change, they do not become gentler. Their actions will only escalate, until the situation must end in tragedy. I do not mean to belittle you, but if you value your sister, you will convince her to avoid that man.”

Miss Bennet bit her lip. “I do not know what to think,” she confessed. “Surely the church would not allow one such as that to take orders?”

“The church is not infallible,” Darcy said darkly.

“Please, Jane,” Elizabeth begged. She hugged her older sister. “Please listen. It is not just me saying it, but Mr. Darcy as well. If you do not believe me, then trust in him.”

There was a soft cough from the stairwell. They looked up to see Miss Mary, wearing her spectacles, with her canvas and other supplies under her arm.

“Let us go outside before Mr. Collins thinks to interrupt us,” Elizabeth said quickly. She moved forward and put her arm around Miss Mary. Darcy instantly recognized it as a dragonish gesture of protection.

As they entered the park, Miss Bennet asked, “Will you be at the dower house, Lizzy?”

“Yes,” Elizabeth answered at once. “That is where Mary is painting us.”

“Come Mr. Bingley, there is a pretty little feature I should like to show you,” Miss Bennet led Bingley away from the direction of the dower house. Darcy realized it must be a code among the sisters to tell when Elizabeth took her other form. His love watched Bingley and Miss Bennet leave with a sigh and he had the sudden insight that it was not Elizabeth who objected to Bingley being told of her condition. An idea came to him. It might be interfering with Miss Bennet’s intentions, but his loyalty was given to Elizabeth, not Miss Bennet. If Elizabeth did not mind Bingley being aware…

Darcy, Elizabeth and Miss Mary made their way to the dower cottage. Halfway there, Elizabeth excused herself with a blush.

“Pardon me,” she said. “I would go ahead to change.”

“Of course, Lizzy, we will see you there,” Miss Mary said while Elizabeth skipped away from them.

Darcy was left alone with Miss Mary. He offered to carry the large canvas for her, softly taking it from her when she hesitated.

“I know you must think me foolish, Mr. Darcy,” Miss Mary whispered. “To encourage a man such as Mr. Collins. I heard what you said about it ending in tragedy. But all our stories are tragic, I think. Jane is afraid to accept Mr. Bingley for fear that Lizzy will slip away from us. Lizzy is less human every day and she does not realize it. Maybe Mr. Collins is not a good match, but he is Papa’s heir. If there is even a little chance that I can influence him to be kind to Mama and our sisters after Papa dies, then I must take that risk.”

Darcy could see that Miss Mary was not nearly so blind or misguided as he had thought. In a way, she was doing exactly what Elizabeth was doing: sacrificing herself for the sake of her sisters. The level of loyalty between the three oldest Bennet sisters was unshakable. His heart ached for them, even as he swore to help in any way he could.

He thought carefully before making his reply. “In my conversations with you, I have become convinced of your intelligence and good taste. I will not pass judgement on you, for it is not my place. I would only wish to advise you to secure your own happiness, in whatever form it takes. However, I will say that if your only aim in encouraging Collins is the future security of you and your sisters, know that I will always open my home in Derbyshire, Pemberley, to them. You need not fear they will starve or suffer after your father is gone. I am sure Bingley would act in the same way, without hesitation.”

Miss Mary looked startled by his offer. They had reached the dower house now, though Elizabeth had not yet emerged. Miss Mary stared at Darcy; he had the feeling she was weighing his words, judging his motivation. He willed himself not to react with defensiveness. He might have overstated his hand before he had even declared his intentions toward Elizabeth, but he would not retract his offer.

Slowly, she began to smile at him, not shy as usual, but rather sly, like one who has learned a secret. “Thank you, Mr. Darcy,” she said, regaining a little of her composure. “Your offer is most generous.”

It was generous, Elizabeth agreed, finally making her way out of the cottage. I could not help but to overhear. I do not know whether it will make a difference, but at least she knows there is another option. She nuzzled her sister fondly, taking care not to knock the girl down.

Miss Mary laughed and patted Elizabeth’s neck before ordering her away. “Go lay down in front of the house, Lizzy. And you, Mr. Darcy, when she is settled lean on her as before. No, Lizzy, tuck your right paw under. Move further forward Mr. Darcy, you are not in the correct position.”

She is not so shy when she is directing us for painting, Darcy observed to Elizabeth.

No, all of us have something for which we are passionate and forget to be afraid.

For Miss Mary, it is her paints, Darcy mused. For you, it is your sheep. What of Miss Bennet?

The still room, Elizabeth answered at once. Jane keeps an extensive garden on the other side of the house. There are several plants which are grown nowhere else in the county, for when we traveled we would often bring home cuttings for Jane to plant here. She delights in making perfumes and potions from them. Even Mr. Jones, the apothecary, says her medicines have merit.

Darcy was pleased with the new insight to his future sister.

Miss Mary fell silent once she was satisfied with their placement and began to draw them once more. Darcy found himself looking at Elizabeth’s dragon face, as he had when this scene was originally captured.

Mr. Darcy, she began hesitantly. I really must thank you for your offer to take in my family. I know we are not of the same circles, but you have relieved a great weight from my mind.

Know that you will always be welcome in any of my homes, he replied, leaving caution behind.

Her eyes sparkled with mischief. And are the halls of your homes big enough for a dragon? she poked fun at him.

There is a little-used stable at Pemberley, which is too far from the house to be convenient. With some mild modifications, I imagine it would be quite comfortable for a dragon. It cannot be smaller than the cottage. He glanced at the dower house that was a struggle for her to fit inside. She was giving him a puzzled look, as if she did not understand his purpose. He could not resist embellishing further.

Then of course, I will invest heavily in sheep, and turn over the management of my flocks to you.

Mr. Darcy! she exclaimed. Surely you must have shepherds that you pay to watch your sheep. I cannot think that I am any better than they.

There are shepherds, it is true, he said thoughtfully. But I do not think they have eaten as many fresh sheep as you, therefore I would trust you to know how to produce the best-tasting meat. He said it in a tone of absolute seriousness and it was too much for her.

She burst into laughter. He loved the sound of it, both in his mind and the throaty chuckle of a laughing dragon. Darcy allowed himself to smile, basking in having relieved her worry even a little.

You win, she said. I believe you must be the most generous man in the world.

His throat tightened. She had no idea how much her words meant to him. I was not always so generous. If you think me so now, it is only because I have had the best example to follow.

She ducked her head and he had the impression that she would have blushed if it were possible for her dragon form. Yes, he thought to himself. It would not be long before he could call her his.

Miss Mary held them in place for half an hour as she worked.

Normally she is much faster, Elizabeth said dryly. She seemed to be more open to him now; he took it as a good sign.

I do not mind the company, he replied, deliberately running his hand over the soft leather of her wing. She made a quiet crooning noise of pleasure deep in her chest.

And anything which keeps her away from Mr. Collins is for the best, she added.

Darcy was still in casual conversation with both ladies as Miss Mary cleaned up her art supplies. He was unaware of the passage of time until Bingley contacted him.

Darcy, are you still in the garden? It looks like it will rain. Jane and I are going in.

Darcy looked at the sky in surprise. Low grey clouds had formed overhead and the wind was heavy with moisture. He sighed with regret, for they would have to go inside and likely end his visit. He hoped he had given Miss Mary enough incentive to rethink her actions. Elizabeth knew of his offer as well, and despite their joking tone earlier, he had been serious about giving her a home and purpose as a dragon at Pemberley. He had high hopes that he might break her curse, but just in case, he was prepared to keep her any way he could.

We are outside, he began, when a thought came to him. One moment. He ended the contact with Bingley and addressed Elizabeth instead.

Am I right in supposing that Miss Bennet has chosen not to tell Bingley of your current form?

She sighed gustily. Yes. I have told her she should allow him to know, for you trust him, but she believes she is protecting me. She gave a scoff at the idea that she needed protection. He felt her powerful muscles flexing under him. Darcy smiled to himself and thought about pointing out that those around her—her sisters, Darcy himself—protected her not because she needed it but because they loved her. However, he decided it was rather imprudent to disagree with the large dragon.

Instead he asked, Then you do not mind if I show Bingley?

Her eyes glittered with amusement. Not at all.

He reached out to Bingley again. Before you go in, come find us. We are in the northwest corner of the park.

Jane has never taken me to that section before, Bingley confirmed what Darcy had suspected.

A little devil whispered in Darcy’s ear, and he added, Tell Miss Bennet we are at the dower house, she will know where it is. He turned back to Elizabeth. They are coming.

She raised her head and looked outward. The tip of her tail began to flick back and forth like a cat’s. I can hear Jane protesting. Oh, she is not happy, but Mr. Bingley is determined. Laughter bubbled in her voice. Tell Mary that we are expecting company.

“Miss Mary,” Darcy said, “Miss Bennet and Bingley will be joining us shortly.”

The girl looked between Elizabeth and Darcy, then smiled. “I cannot imagine Jane is pleased about it, but I am glad you have settled it between yourselves.”

He chuckled. Elizabeth swiftly turned her head and nudged his side in what he recognized as excitement. He patted her head and she went back to waiting for Miss Bennet and Bingley to arrive. Her muscles were tense under him, practically quivering in anticipation. He hoped she did not forget he was leaning on her and rise suddenly, leaving him off-balance. Despite the risk, Darcy did not straighten. He was looking forward to Bingley’s reaction when he saw Darcy’s position.

Now Darcy could hear the approach of the couple.

“Please, Mr. Bingley, there is nothing here, let us go back,” Miss Bennet begged desperately.

Darcy felt a twinge of remorse for causing her distress. Elizabeth and Miss Mary exchanged guilty looks as well.

“Darcy said they were here,” Bingley coaxed her. “We will meet them and then walk back to the house together.”

Elizabeth snickered quietly, for it was quite obvious that she would not be going inside in her present state.

With that Bingley came around the corner. The hedges and shrubbery in this section of the park had been designed to give the utmost privacy, so it was that Bingley did not see them until he was in the immediate area. Not only that, but he was looking behind himself at Miss Bennet, who was tugging ineffectually at his hand in a bid to make him stop, so he advanced several steps without seeing them.

Miss Bennet, upon noticing Darcy, Elizabeth and Miss Mary so arranged, stopped and put her hands over her pale face. Bingley frowned, and finally turned around.

His eyes widened comically. He yelped and jumped quite high in the air, staring in utter shock and fright at Elizabeth.

“Good Lord, that is a huge dragon!” Bingley exclaimed loudly. Then he caught sight of Darcy leaning on Elizabeth’s back. “Darcy! Why are you leaning on that massive dragon? Do you not know it can eat you?”

Darcy watched as it occurred to Bingley that Elizabeth could potentially eat him and Miss Bennet as well. Bingley swung toward Miss Bennet, standing protectively in front of her and raising his hand ineffectively before him, a hint of a spell at his fingers.

“The dragon is a she, not an it,” Darcy called out dryly. “And perhaps you will believe me now when I say she pulled me from the river and saved my life.”

He heard twin gasps from Miss Bennet and Miss Mary; had they not known that was his first meeting with Elizabeth?

Bingley gaped at Darcy. Slowly he took in the other three people, noting their utter lack of alarm in the presence of the dragon. Elizabeth lowered her head to human height.

Bingley jumped again, though not so high as the first time. “It speaks!” He paused. “I beg your pardon, Miss Elizabeth, I meant no offense!”

Elizabeth had taken it upon herself to address Bingley. The younger man still looked wild around the edges but was endeavoring to compose himself. He kept looking from Elizabeth to Darcy, to Miss Mary and Miss Bennet, and then back at Elizabeth again as if afraid to keep his eyes off of the dragon for too long. Slowly, realization began to form on his face, and his gaze focused more and more on Miss Bennet. The woman was still pale, her expression frightened as she waited for Bingley’s reaction.

Bingley began laughing. Miss Bennet flinched, but his laughter was a sound of relief rather than bitterness. He turned to Miss Bennet and held his hands out to her, which she hesitantly took.

“This is it, isn’t it?” he asked, his eyes shining. “The family business you wanted to see settled before you answered me? That your sister is a dragon?” He cast a wondering glance at Elizabeth before looking back to Miss Bennet.

She nodded fearfully.

“My dear,” Bingley raised her hands to his mouth and kissed each of them. Darcy felt uneasy witnessing such intimacy.

“My lovely Jane,” Bingley murmured, “Were you afraid that I might not love you if I knew there was a dragon in the family? I assure you, my feelings are not changed. If anything, I admire you more for caring so much for your family no matter what form they take.”

Miss Mary sighed happily, while Elizabeth radiated smugness. It was clear that the ladies were quite satisfied with the outcome. Darcy himself was hopeful for the felicity of both himself and his friend. One more barrier had been removed. If Miss Bennet accepted Bingley, thereby easing Elizabeth’s worries, perhaps his own love would be more open to his advances.

Bingley became aware of their audience and released one of Miss Bennet’s hands, though he kept hold of the other. She looked cautiously optimistic, watching Bingley with adoration clearly shining in her eyes.

Meanwhile, Bingley glanced at Elizabeth and her two companions before breaking into a chuckle as he said, “A dragon! A dragon for a sister!” His reaction to the sudden shock seemed to include taking a temporary leave of his senses.

Mr. Darcy, Mr. Bingley, Elizabeth said, Mr. Collins is of the opinion that dragons are a symbol of the devil, so I would appreciate it if neither of you mentioned my connection to them, or Mary’s artwork.

Darcy and Bingley gave each other identical, astonished looks. Multi-projection, the ability to speak to more than one person at a time in mental speech, was so rare that it was considered a magical talent of its own, rather than a side-effect of having magic as normal mental speech was. Darcy had had no idea Elizabeth was capable of such a thing. It made her even more special in his eyes.

“Well, really, I say!” Bingley spluttered in amazement.

Elizabeth looked rather embarrassed. It is not me. It is a dragon trait. Wild dragons communicate with each other through telepathic bonds. Not words as such, just thoughts and feelings. I could hear them, but Papa could not. He thought it was too radical to put in the book, so we left it out.

Bingley began to laugh again. “You wrote that book!”

Elizabeth twitched, giving Darcy enough time to find his own feet before she sat up and spread her wings to encompass both of her sisters.

We wrote the book, she announced proudly.

Unable to hear a significant part of the exchange, Miss Bennet and Miss Mary were puzzled as to why Elizabeth was singling them out.

Miss Mary looked to Darcy. “What did she say?”

Darcy smiled. “She was speaking of the way dragons communicate.”

Her eyes lit up. “That was my favorite part of our travels, listening to Lizzy translate what the dragons were saying. She said they gossip worse than the housewives of Meryton.”

“Dragon gossip,” Bingley said. “Now I have heard of everything!”

The group laughed whole-heartedly.

Miss Bennet, Bingley and Miss Mary decided to return to Longbourn before the rain started. Darcy knew the time for his visit had ended, but he lingered beside Elizabeth.

Will you go inside? he asked, gesturing toward the dower house. He decided that Bingley was right: there was something about the intimacy of touching her mind to speak that he adored.

No, I believe I will fly, once the rain is strong enough.

You enjoy flying in the rain?

The water is soothing and usually there are not as many people to see me, she explained. It is one of the few times I can fly in the day time without fear of being seen.

That he understood. Enjoy your flight, Miss Elizabeth, he said quietly, reaching up to stroke her neck.

She sighed gustily, smelling of cinders and potent magic. Then she nudged him playfully to go inside.

***


While Darcy was speaking to Miss Elizabeth, Bingley took the opportunity to have a private conversation with Miss Bennet. Jane, to his heart and mind, but in public he must always maintain decorum.

Bingley touched Jane on the arm to make her pause in the foyer while Miss Mary went upstairs to hide away her artwork. Jane faced him and he took her hand.

“Miss Bennet,” he began, “I understand now, why you were hesitant to trust me with something of this scale. But let me assure you, I still feel the same about you. Might I beg you to reconsider your answer?”

Jane hesitated and Bingley’s heart fell.

“Mr. Bingley,” she began slowly. He could not meet her eyes and looked down. She reached out and ghosted her fingers along his jaw. He met her eyes in shock. In her gaze he saw the love he felt for her reflected back at him, but as always it was colored by fear.

“You may think you know our family’s secret now, but there is more to it than that Lizzy is a dragon.”

“Then tell me,” he begged. “Let me share this burden with you. Let me prove myself worthy of you.”

She did not answer for a long moment and he pressed her gently.

“I already know that Miss Elizabeth can become a dragon. What more can there be that would shock me greater than that?”

She seemed to realize the truth of his statement and nodded. “Forgive me, Mr. Bingley. It is not often spoken of within our family, and never to a stranger. It is difficult for me to tell when I have long sworn secrecy.”

“I hope I am more to you than a stranger, Miss Bennet,” he said in a low voice.

This time she rested her hand on his cheek for several seconds. “You are,” she whispered, tears in her eyes.

“Tell me,” he repeated softly.

“What Lizzy is—it is a curse.”

Bingley stiffened. She flinched and he deliberately made himself relax. “Forgive me, my dear. I was only surprised that someone would curse your sister. She delights to tease, but I have never felt any harm from her.” He paused and chuckled. “Except perhaps this afternoon before I realized who she was. I have never seen a dragon of that size before, especially from so close.”

Jane gave a weak laugh. “Yes, Lizzy is very protective of us, but she has never hurt anyone. The curse was originally put on my father, with the design that it would affect his children. He protected me from the womb, and thought the curse had failed.”

“Then Miss Elizabeth was born,” Bingley guessed. “Was she a dragon even then?”

“I was too young to remember, but she has always been a dragon in my earliest memories. There must have been something to show how the curse affected her. But the curse is not only that she can become a dragon. As children, she was only a dragon one or two days a month. The older she gets, the more she is forced into dragon form. The curse is advancing; she spends far more time as a dragon than as a human now.”

“No wonder Darcy was always going to the dower house when Miss Elizabeth was not present for our visits. She stays there, does she not?”

“Yes. I do not know how, but Mr. Darcy found out somehow that Lizzy was a dragon.”

Bingley laughed again. “Darcy was in a carriage accident when he first arrived. It was touch and go for a while, but when he was coherent again, he had this wild tale of being saved by a dragon. I thought he must have been dreaming.” He decided not to tell Jane that he had dreamed of her that night as well, before he had met her. Knowing what he did now, Miss Elizabeth must have somehow projected Jane’s image into his dream in order to summon him to Darcy’s aid.

“Forgive me, I know this must be a delicate subject,” Bingley began carefully. “But Mr. Bennet, has he tried to break the curse?”

Jane nodded. “Yes, many times. He investigated any rumor of a curse breaker, but it all came to naught. The only hope which remains is that Lizzy might find someone to accept her as she is.”

“True love,” Bingley nodded in understanding. He paused, wondering if he would be breaking some brotherly code if he revealed Darcy’s intentions toward Miss Elizabeth. Hang it! Jane was the woman he had chosen as his wife: he must learn to share his confidences with her over anyone else.

“Darcy is courting Miss Elizabeth,” he said cautiously. “I know he would not do that without honorable intentions, and I do not think he would enter marriage without at least a hope of love.”

Jane smiled fondly. “Yes, I had come to the conclusion myself some time ago now, though I fear that Lizzy may not realize it.”

“I know from my own family that sisters share much with each other, and guard their secrets closely. Do you know, without betraying her trust, if Miss Elizabeth is at all amenable to Darcy?”

Jane frowned. “I think she would be, if she allowed herself. The problem is that she spends so much time as a dragon that she thinks like one. At times I do not think she considers herself human at all. In her mind, what human would court a dragon? But I fear for her. She has so little time left…”

“And that is why you wish to wait,” Bingley realized. “For Miss Elizabeth. For her curse to be broken or…” It seemed rude to mention that the curse would completely take her over.

“Yes,” Jane answered simply. “I am sorry, Mr. Bingley, if you think I have been leading you on. That was not my intention. I… I care for you, above anyone else. But I do not think I can commit while Lizzy’s fate is still undecided. I would… understand if you decided not to wait—”

“No,” Bingley interrupted. “I understand your need to see to your family first. I love you, and I would wait as long as I had to in order to call you my own darling Jane.”

She gasped, her eyes growing moist. Unable to stand being apart from her, he gathered her in his arms. Bingley knew it was not proper, but they were alone and he sensed that both of them needed the reassurance. She returned his embrace and the feel of her arms around him enflamed his senses.

For everyone’s sake, he hoped that things between Miss Elizabeth and Darcy were settled quickly.

Chapter 17

Snowman…

Something intruded on the edges of Darcy’s consciousness, threatening to wake him from slumber.

Snowman.

It was a noise, not in his ears but within his mind, like someone calling him from far away.

SNOWMAN!

Darcy jolted awake, his body jerking under the covers, his heart pounding in sudden alarm.

About time you woke up, Snowman, said the persistent voice in his mind.

Darcy groaned, rolling onto his back and scrubbing at his face. It was dark in his room, well before dawn.

Do you not think we are too old to use those sobriquets, Ashes? he said sleepily.

Hah! Speak for yourself, Snowman. Be grateful I stopped calling you Snowboy.

You only stopped when I grew taller than you, Darcy retorted.

That is the only way in which you manage to trounce me.

Darcy snorted. What do you want, Richard?

His cousin, Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam, fire mage and close companion of his youth, replied, I am glad to see you are awake at this hour, with his usual cheer.

Darcy groaned again and pressed his pillow over his face. I was not awake, before you disturbed me.

My word, you do like to sleep late! I have already been awake for a couple of hours.

Darcy gritted his teeth against a sharp reply. He was used to rising shortly before the dawn, but his cousin took the term ‘early riser’ to a whole new level.

Is there something you need?

Actually, I have leave coming up. I was wondering if I could spend it with you. There was a note of unease in Richard’s voice.

Did you argue with Henry again? Darcy asked wisely.

Always, Richard said bitterly. He cannot comprehend that I might not want to do this for the rest of my life.

Darcy was the only one who was aware of Richard’s growing disgust with burning men to death. Henry, Richard's older brother and heir to the earl of Matlock, did not understand how Richard could shirk his duty by not wishing to fight. Unfortunately, Ashes had no means to support himself should he decide to sell his commission and leave the army. His talents as a fire mage meant that the army strongly discouraged his leaving.

You are welcome at my townhouse or Pemberley at any time, Darcy said promptly, as he had told Richard many times before.

But you are not there at the moment, are you? Richard asked shrewdly. Where are you? You feel further than London, but not so far as Pemberley. Are you traveling?

No, I am in Hertfordshire.

Hertfordshire? What on earth could draw you there?

Darcy smirked as he thought of a very powerful reason for him to be drawn to the county. I am staying with a friend. He explained the situation with Bingley and Netherfield.

Bingley! Richard exclaimed happily. A delightful chap to be sure. Can I get him drunk?

No! Darcy said quickly. His cousin found a drunken Bingley to be oddly sagacious and hilarious, but tended to goad him on like a favored pet. He sighed. But I will ask Bingley if you could stay with us. I am sure he would not mind.

So who is Bingley’s interest at the moment?

You gossip worse than the ton.

Then does he not have anyone? That does not sound like him.

Darcy pinched the bridge of his nose. Bingley has expressed an interest in one of the local ladies. He felt guilty for revealing such, but he was hoping that talking about Miss Bennet would give him a way to lead into Elizabeth.

Excellent! And how long do you suppose this one will last?

Richard! Darcy admonished. Do not be so petty.

There was a pause. I am sorry, Darcy, I did not mean to be. You have never approved of his many belles before. What makes this one different?

Darcy squeezed his eyes shut. Recalling his arguments with Bingley was still painful. I think I have done much wrong by Bingley. I do believe he is serious this time, and as the lady in question cares for him as well, it is not my place to interfere.

You are acting differently, Richard said suspiciously. Are you dying?

Being away from Elizabeth, denying his attraction to her, had felt like dying, never mind his very real brush with death before she had pulled him from the river.

I am well. I suppose I have had reason to rethink parts of my life. Actually, I would be very happy if Bingley consents to your presence. Darcy took a deep breath to brace himself. There is someone here I would like you to meet.

Is there? Richard teased slyly, Is she very pretty?

Darcy’s mouth felt dry when he answered, Yes.

Good God, you are serious! What is it with the Hertfordshire air that both you and Bingley have found matches? And do they have sisters?

Darcy chuckled, even though his face felt hot. They are sisters. And there are three more as yet unattached, though I must caution you against trifling with them.

Yes, I know, you and Bingley will act as their protective older brothers and try to thrash me, as well as their own brothers.

They have no brothers, Darcy corrected, and while Bingley and I will be quick to defend them, it is more Elizabeth that you would have to fear. He smiled as he remembered Elizabeth’s protective instincts.

That would be your Elizabeth, then? Richard asked astutely.

Darcy cursed himself inwardly, but admitted it freely. Yes, if she will have me.

Richard laughed. As if there is any doubt.

Darcy did not answer, and Richard’s amusement abruptly cut off.

Darcy? Is there a problem? What reason could your lady have to reject you? Is she… unsuitable for some reason?

No! Darcy exclaimed. There is nothing unsuitable about her or her family. The younger sisters are… excitable. But they are the daughters of a gentleman. Their fortune is not large, but you know Bingley and I have no need of money. The only flaw I can find is that their father’s property is entailed away from the female line, and as their father has no male heirs, their property shall go to a distant cousin upon his demise.

Darcy, you astound me! I thought for sure you were holding out for a title you could tolerate.

Darcy was immediately uncomfortable. Do you think me so mercenary?

A pause. No, but you have always been so highly selective about your prospective attachments that I was sure you were waiting for something specific.

I was, Darcy whispered. I was waiting for love.

Are you so certain, then?

I am. His reply was firm, but he was compelled to add, But there is a complication.

You are worrying me. I have never known you to be so secretive about anything this important.

Darcy suppressed a surge of anger. Partly, it is not my story to tell. But also, there is magic involved, and a curse.

Have you been cursed?

No, not I.

Then it is the lady who suffers. Darcy… are you certain that your feelings for her are real and you are not caught up in the tragic romance of it?

No. You think I see myself as a hero in a Shakespearian drama but that cannot be further from the truth. If you come here, you would see differently.

Very well, I shall reserve my judgement then. When will you be able to speak with Bingley?

When he rises at a more reasonable hour.

Then not until nearly tea time .

Richard, be kind, Darcy admonished.

If you insist, Richard said breezily.

The more Darcy thought about his cousin in Hertfordshire, the more it appealed to him. If for whatever reason Bingley would prefer you not to be at Netherfield, I will put you up myself in the local inn. I want you here.

Sounds serious, Darcy.

It is. There is something I could use your help with. He explained Wickham’s presence in Meryton.

That blackguard! I should like to run him through if you will not let me set him on fire.

Darcy chuckled, thinking that Elizabeth would be just as likely to breathe fire on the scoundrel if he threatened her sisters.

You may have to get in line behind Elizabeth. Wickham tried to work his magic on her and her sisters, and she was not pleased by it, to say the least. She is formidable when defending her family.

She sounds like quite the dragon, Richard teased.

Darcy choked on his breath. How had his cousin guessed? He had mentioned the curse but not what form it took. Though he trusted Richard with his life, he had not meant to reveal Elizabeth’s condition without consulting her first.

Darcy? Richard asked in alarm. She is not such a dragon, is she?

If you mean, is she a harridan, then no, she is not. Darcy replied cautiously.

Richard sighed with relief. You had me worried, Snowman! For a moment I thought you had chosen a conspecific of Aunt Catherine!

Heaven forbid! Darcy shuddered. There is another matter, besides Wickham, that I should like your assistance on. I mentioned before that Elizabeth’s family estate is entitled on a cousin?

Yes, I remember.

The cousin is visiting for a time. I have met him and believe him to be the same if not worse than Wickham, though with none of the latter’s charm. He is puffed up with his own importance and acts as little more than a bully to the ladies of the family. He has set his sights particularly on the middle sister, Miss Mary.

And she does not wish to accept him?

Darcy hesitated. I think she feels obligated to accept him for the sake of her family. I am attempting to show her that she is not confined in her options.

And what do you want me to do with her? Seduce her away from the cousin?

If you do, Elizabeth will eat you alive, Darcy said with utter seriousness.

Richard laughed.

Darcy did not bother to correct him. No, I was hoping you could provide another layer of protection for Elizabeth’s sisters. I cannot keep track of both Wickham and Collins, the cousin, by myself, but with you there I shall feel they are safer.

I am at your service, Snowman. I look forward to meeting these paragons of women, able to take two such illustrious gentlemen off the market.

Get off, Ashes!

Farewell Darcy. I will let you know when my leave arrives.

Be safe, Darcy said, and broke the connection. He lay in his bed for a while longer, thinking over his conversation with his cousin. He was eager for Richard to arrive, and not only for the assistance he could provide. Darcy wanted to introduce Elizabeth to his family; Richard would be the easiest to start with. He just hoped they got along with each other.

Bingley, when he finally came down for breakfast several hours after Darcy had been so rudely awoken, was pleased to have news from Richard and immediately extended the invitation to him.

“Please, the more the merrier!” Bingley exclaimed. “Tell him at once, would you?” He touched his forehead.

“I will,” Darcy said, pleased. He contacted Richard again briefly, then reported, “He will be here the day after tomorrow.”

Bingley was startled. “That is fast.”

“Richard is pulling strings to get the services of a teleporter. The perks of being in the service, he says,” Darcy said dryly, but privately he was worried about his cousin. It was not like Richard to retreat so quickly from his post. He must be far more tired of the war than he let on. Darcy wondered if there was some way he could lean on his cousin to encourage him to give up his commission during his stay at Netherfield. He was willing to grease a few palms himself to make it easier.

Though speaking of Richard’s presence at Netherfield… “Err, Bingley?” Darcy began.

“Yes?” Bingley answered guilelessly.

“Do you not think it rather… prudent, to lock up the strong drink while Richard is in residence?”

The tips of Bingley’s ears turned pink. “Uh, yes, excellent suggestion, Darcy. I shall have Mrs. Nicholls do that presently.”

Richard arrived promptly two days later. The empty ballroom at Netherfield was chosen as Richard’s landing place, using Darcy as an anchor for the teleporter to locate. It was a very odd sensation of having a strange mage—introduced by Richard—lean on his mind. Right before the teleportation it felt like he was suddenly underwater with the pressure placed on his sinuses. Then with a whumph! of displaced air, the pressure ceased and Richard, his luggage, and the teleporter appeared in the ballroom. There was an impressed gasp from the onlookers: Bingley, Darcy and several of the household staff appointed to take the luggage.

Richard looked particularly sharp in his uniform, standing at strict attention. The teleporter looked around, thanked Darcy for his use, and then disappeared with a quieter pop! Richard’s decorum did not last a second longer.

“Darcy!” he roared, raising his hand and sending a jet of flame toward his cousin. There were several screams as the staff ducked in alarm. Even Bingley flinched back.

Darcy, having anticipated this greeting, had arranged for a bucket of water to be placed at his feet. His magic seized the water and he flung out his own hand, ice meeting Richard’s fire in a collusion of hissing steam. The steam cloud rose and dissipated harmlessly. Richard came striding through it and gave Darcy a hard hug before heartily shaking Bingley’s hand. Darcy heard Bingley’s teeth click with the force of the greeting.

“It is good to be here!” Richard declared, grinning broadly. “So when do I get to meet these amazing sisters?”

“We have an appointment to dine with them tonight,” Darcy reported.

“Excellent!” Richard draped his arms over both Darcy and Bingley’s shoulders and grinned. “So… Fancy a drink?”

After narrowly managing to extract Bingley from Richard’s grip, Darcy took the opportunity to bring his cousin to Darcy’s room. Richard sat on the bed while Darcy took a chair.

“How is the war?” Darcy began.

“You know I cannot talk of it,” Richard waved his hand dismissively, though Darcy suspected it was more like Richard wanted to avoid the topic now that he was away from it.

“And how are you?”

“As well as can be,” Richard seemed tense and Darcy found himself wishing he could offer his cousin a drink to loosen him up.

“Did you have any trouble arranging your leave so quickly?” he asked instead.

“Not so much. I have been due for a long time. They were reluctant to let me go, but really they had no choice.”

“I am glad to see you here, Ashes.”

“Ashes!” Richard suddenly snarled, raking his fingers through his hair. “Yes, ashes! That is all they think of me, ashes! Ashes are all that are left when I am done! Ashes of homes, of villages burnt down. Ashes of boys stuck on my clothes, on my face, in my hair! I can never be free of them! It is not as much fun as when we were children. Ashes, Ashes, we all fall down!” Richard threw himself backwards on Darcy’s bed, his legs still hanging over the sides.

“Calm down, Richard,” Darcy said in alarm. “If you want to be free of the war, you can.”

“Can I?” Richard asked, his voice pleading. “On my hands, so many ashes. I can feel them. Can you see them? They are stained, grey and black forever. What else do these hands know to do, but make ashes?” He held up his hands; they looked clean to Darcy, but he knew some stains ran deeper than skin.

He rose and made his way to his cousin’s side. For very short journeys, no more than the length of a small room, he no longer had to use his cane, though it pronounced his limp to not have it to lean on. Flaring his magic, Darcy reached out and placed a cool hand on Richard’s forehead. The soldier flinched and tried to swat him away, but Darcy persisted.

“You are overwrought, Ash—”

Richard tensed.

“Richard,” Darcy finished instead. “Rest for a bit. Aunt Eleanor is right, all this heat goes to your head sometimes.”

“You know nothing of it,” Richard grumbled, but his eyes were already closed. Then, “Thank you, Snowman.”

“Think nothing of it,” Darcy replied, his heart heavy. He had suspected his cousin had wearied of the war, but he had not guessed it was as bad as this. He kept watch while Richard slept.

By the time the dinner appointment approached, Richard was in much restored spirits. Whether it was from several hours of rest or if he was simply hiding his true state of mind, Darcy could not say. He was even more determined that his cousin should not go back to war. He was willing to physically restrain Richard if necessary; perhaps Elizabeth would be willing to drain the fire magic from him temporarily? She only had to hold him long enough for Darcy to buy a forgery of the proper paperwork and then his cousin could be free of both the war and restraints.

Richard was somewhat surprised that the journey to Longbourn was made in a carriage rather than by horseback. He eyed Darcy’s barely restrained panic about being in the carriage, as well as studied Darcy’s limp and cane when he emerged from the contraption. Darcy knew he would have to explain things to his cousin when they returned to Netherfield, though he was uncertain how to do that without mentioning a certain dragon. Richard was too well bred to bring it up in front of others, so Darcy had time to plan what he would say.

His cousin was his usual charming self while at Longbourn. Darcy took particular pleasure in introducing Richard to the Bennet sisters, particularly Elizabeth. Richard greeted each person as exuberantly as the last, all smiles and open flirtation, even to Mrs. Bennet. The matron blushed and stammered; it was clear Richard had made another conquest. There was something in Richard’s manner that put everyone at ease. He was a flirt without singling out anyone in particular, never stepping over the bounds of propriety. Elizabeth looked cautious at first introduction, but within minutes she was laughing with everyone else at one of Richard’s stories.

That was something Darcy had always envied about his cousin. Unlike Darcy, Richard had no problem inserting himself into any conversation, able to speak without giving offence or struggling to find the words. Though Richard confined himself mostly to the ladies, even Mr. Bennet looked amused at his antics. The only person who was thoroughly displeased with the arrangement was Mr. Collins.

Richard’s personality was brighter, more commanding than his own, and Collins was reduced to sitting on the edges of the group without a word to say. It was not that Richard deliberately excluded the other gentleman; rather Richard’s style of conversation was too quick for the parson, who could not keep up or give reasonable responses that did not make him look foolish. Darcy also had little to say, but that was out of inclination. For now it contented him to sit back and watch his cousin win over his future relations.

Elizabeth certainly seemed taken by Richard. It helped that once the colonel had identified Miss Mary, he pointedly included her in every discussion. Miss Mary’s shyness made her stammer and shrink back at first, but Richard was gently persistent until she began to emerge from her self-imposed isolation.

In a way Darcy felt almost sorry for Miss Mary. He was also quiet and retiring by nature, yet Richard had brought him into the open many a time. He understood how it felt to be the focus of Richard’s forceful personality. It was never meanly done—at least to the people Richard liked—but it usually felt overwhelming at first. It helped that Miss Mary was in her own home surrounded by family. Truly there was only one person who was disgruntled by the attention that Miss Mary received, and that was her would-be suitor.

Within minutes of singling out Miss Mary, Richard started in on her. Like Darcy, the colonel was the kind of man that could not bear to see women mistreated. The obvious disparity between Miss Mary and her sisters irked Richard, who began to tease Miss Mary about it.

“I say,” he exclaimed upon seeing her squint, “Do you require glasses to see?”

“Y-yes,” she stammered nervously.

“Then by thunder why are you not wearing them?”

She gaped at him. Darcy noticed Elizabeth tensing and hid a smile behind his hand. If Richard was not careful, his usual blustering manner could gain him the ire of a dragon.

Collins, at this point dared to speak. “The wearing of spectacles and other adornments is a symptom of vanity—”

“Vanity?” Richard’s voice turned loud and the room warmed by a few degrees before he gained control of his magic again. Darcy warily prepared his own magic in case intervention was needed, casting a glance at Elizabeth. She was also on alert, but seemed more curious than worried.

Collins nodded in his pompous way.

Richard almost roared with laughter. “Of course it is vanity!” he declared. “It is my vanity, for how can I expect a woman to fully admire me if she cannot see me clearly?”

Collins stuttered incoherently at this piece of outrageous conceit, while Darcy tried not to laugh. He knew his cousin was not nearly that arrogant about his looks, but it was the perfect way to deflect the attention to himself rather than let Miss Mary take the brunt of it. Amused glances shot around the room, but no one quite dared to speak.

Mr. Bennet, his eyes crinkled with humor, took a pair of glasses from his pocket and pushed the lens out of the frames. He held them in his hand, muttered under his breath, then passed them around the room in a circuitous manner so as to send the frames to Mary without them coming in contact with Elizabeth. Richard watched this happening with a keen gaze and Darcy knew he would have yet one more thing to explain later.

“If Lizzy can contain herself for the evening,” Mr. Bennet said, “Those should just about last the night.”

Miss Mary pushed the magicked frames onto her face and blinked as her vision instantly cleared.

“Much better!” Richard exclaimed. “Or rather, I should say, am I looking much better now?” He struck an elaborate pose, watching her expectantly.

Miss Mary let out a nervous giggle and nodded. The entire room seemed to relax and conversation flowed again. Darcy thought he heard Collins grinding his teeth from where he sulked in a corner, nearly forgotten.

Richard allowed matters to rest for a little time, but when he glanced at Darcy with a twinkle in his eye, Darcy knew Richard was about to start again.

“Women,” Richard began a new topic, “Are beautiful creatures. Yes, all women are beautiful, especially present company.”

He looked around the room pointedly. The reaction varied from titters and preening from Mrs. Bennet and her youngest daughters, to blushing from Miss Mary and Miss Bennet, to amused looks from both Elizabeth and Mr. Bennet. They knew Richard was up to something. Bingley merely watched events with interest, for it was not often he met someone more garrulous than himself. Collins scowled. Darcy suspected this beginning had something to do with Miss Mary, though Richard had not singled her out yet.

“Women are so beautiful that they deserve the kind of attire to match them. I would say it is a privilege of men to be able to provide such clothing for them,” Richard went on. He did not look directly at Miss Mary, but it was becoming clear what he was speaking of. Her clothing was ugly compared to her sisters. Miss Mary looked down, fiddling with a rough fold in her gown.

“Let each man dress the women in his care in the best he can afford. There is no shame in rags, if that is all he can buy, for a woman is so beautiful that she will improve whatever she wears. On the other hand, if a man can afford much better and give her only rags, then shame on him, for he knows not how to value a woman.”

His eyes fixed on Collins, narrowing pointedly at the parson as he delivered the final blow.

“Every woman,” he declared, “Deserves to feel as beautiful as she is.”

Collins squirmed uncomfortably, but before he could defend himself, Miss Mary let out a quiet sob and fled the room.

Miss Bennet and Elizabeth both rose to go after her, but Miss Bennet pressed Elizabeth back to her seat. “Stay here, Lizzy, I will talk to her.”

Elizabeth sat, watching Richard speculatively. Richard, his gaze still focused on Collins, acted as if he had not noticed anything else in the room. Finally the colonel looked away with an abrupt jerk of his head, dismissing Collins as not worthy of the attention. Darcy felt uneasy with this turn of events. He had wanted Richard to be a barrier between Collins and Miss Mary, but not to the point where the poor girl fled the room in tears. Surely Elizabeth would have something to say about that?

Darcy felt that his cousin had taken things too far. As he was seated across the room from Elizabeth and did not wish to draw attention to himself by crossing it to speak with her, he resorted to mental contact.

Miss Elizabeth, he began.

She jumped and looked at him. She gave a small nod for him to continue.

My cousin meant well; I had told him beforehand to be cautious of Collins, but I did not think he would be so determined.

It is well, Mr. Darcy, she smiled. I can hear Jane and Mary upstairs; they will both be coming back shortly.

Darcy was relieved that she was not upset at Richard’s actions. As Elizabeth had said, Miss Bennet and Miss Mary came downstairs shortly—and Miss Mary had changed into a dress more appropriate for her station. Collins gave a rather wet snort, which went ignored in the room. Miss Mary seemed shy and uncertain about her reception.

Richard, I think you should leave Miss Mary alone now, she has had enough, Darcy cautioned his cousin.

Be quiet, Snowman, Richard shot back. You know nothing of women. Leaving her alone is the worst thing I could do to her right now.

The gentlemen had risen when the ladies came back into the room, and now Richard moved forward to greet them. Or, more specifically, to greet Miss Mary.

Miss Bennet stepped aside, returning to Bingley, as Richard bowed to Miss Mary.

“It is a pleasure to meet you,” he said, as if they had only then been introduced. “You are truly a charm.”

She blushed as Richard extended his arm to her. Very hesitantly, she slid her hand onto his arm.

“Thank you, Colonel Fitzwilliam,” she replied softly as she smiled up at him.

Uncharacteristically, Richard stumbled. There was an expression on his face that Darcy had never seen before.

Richard? Darcy asked in alarm.

Richard ended the connection with a snap that felt like a flick to his cheek. Darcy was concerned for his cousin, but dinner was announced just then. Richard appeared to have recovered his equilibrium and was once more all smiles and agile conversation over the course of the dinner.

There was no separation of the sexes after the meal, allowing the party to flow freely from the dining room to the sitting room. This time Darcy found Miss Mary seated close to him. She watched the proceedings with interest, but did not attempt to put herself forward. Richard made no attempt to single her out, which seemed to suit her.

Darcy felt obligated to say something on the behalf of his cousin. “I should like to apologize, Miss Mary,” he began awkwardly, “If my cousin has given offence, or if he has been too harsh tonight.”

She gave him a surprised look. “No, Mr. Darcy, there is no need for an apology. Colonel Fitzwilliam is… energetic, but there is no malice in him. I am not hurt.”

Upon closer inspection, Miss Mary appeared more relaxed and happy than he had seen her for a while. Collins had retired almost directly after the meal and the entire atmosphere was lightened in his absence. Perhaps Richard did know how far he could push without causing pain. He had done more for Miss Mary in the course of an evening than Elizabeth had managed since Collins had arrived for his visit.

For now, Elizabeth was the one that Richard spoke most to.

“You are a fire mage?” asked Elizabeth, her face lighting with recognition. “No wonder your magic felt familiar. I also have an affinity with fire.”

“Do you?” Richard asked. “Let us see it, then.”

Miss Kitty and Miss Lydia both giggled, while Miss Bennet, Miss Mary and Mr. Bennet all gave Elizabeth nearly identical looks of warning. Bingley glanced at Darcy with his eyebrows raised; Darcy shook his head very slightly. He realized that Elizabeth could only work with fire in her dragon form, which was not something to reveal lightly. Elizabeth peered around and blushed.

“My apologies, Colonel Fitzwilliam,” she said in a subdued voice. “What I meant when I spoke was that I like to see the fire burn; I cannot work magic to control it.”

Richard took in the various expressions around the room. Darcy knew his cousin could tell they were hiding something and prayed that Richard would leave it alone.

“Well, then, let me show you a treat,” the colonel said. “Give me your hand.”

He extended his hand toward Elizabeth. She did not hesitate to put hers in his grip. Darcy felt slightly envious of the way that Richard was so easy around other people, especially women. He would have loved to be able to hold Elizabeth’s hand like that, but all he could offer her was ice.

Richard turned Elizabeth’s hand palm upward, his hand supporting hers underneath. In his other hand, Richard summoned enough flame to fill a teakettle. There was an impressed murmur around the room, but Darcy was less certain about Richard’s actions. What was his cousin planning?

The fire mage brought the flames close to where Elizabeth’s hand was resting on his. Darcy tensed, realizing what Richard was intending and not at all sure it would work with Elizabeth’s dragon magic. Darcy prepared his own magic, ready to intervene if necessary.

“Be careful,” Mr. Bennet warned seriously. He too realized where this was going and was uncertain of its success.

“Relax,” Richard said calmingly. “Do you trust me?”

Elizabeth glanced at her father, and then took a deep breath. A furrow appeared between her brows as she set her shoulders. Darcy imagined she was concentrating on containing her own magic.

“I am ready,” she said boldly.

Richard brought the flames near and then very cautiously tipped them into her hand. With his hand under hers, Richard was able to control the fire so that it did not burn her, giving the appearance that she was holding the flames.

“Bravo, Miss Elizabeth,” Richard said with a grin, brandishing the hand that no longer held the fire.

Elizabeth did not respond, staring into the flames with a rapt expression. Darcy wondered what she was thinking, if she was able to feel the fire at all or if all her attention was on containing her magic. The rest of the room was similarly tense. Richard frowned as he looked around, used to a much more positive reaction to this particular trick. He tried to catch Darcy’s eye, but Darcy never looked away from Elizabeth.

He saw the moment she stopped fighting her magic. Her body relaxed a tiny bit, while it appeared that her eyes flashed. Richard’s flames suddenly faltered like a candle about to gutter out. The colonel quickly brought his spare hand under his other, trying to bolster the dying flames. They steadied after a moment, but Darcy saw beads of sweat stand out on his cousin’s forehead. It was clear that Richard had just encountered the dragon’s peculiar taste for magic and it was unlike anything he had faced before.

Elizabeth deftly slipped her hand out of Richard’s grip. “Thank you, Colonel Fitzwilliam,” she said brightly. “It was most entertaining.”

Darcy released his own tension through pursed lips. Richard still looked puzzled, but allowed the moment to pass. He began to regale them with stories of his magic instead. Darcy worried that Richard might speak too much of the war for the ladies present, but the colonel confined himself to amusing anecdotes, such as the time he was showing off and accidentally set fire to the tree directly above the general’s tent.

“Do you know, Miss Elizabeth,” he said teasingly, “They call me the Dragon in my unit?”

Darcy stiffened. How had Richard guessed? Darcy had never shared the details of Elizabeth’s curse, not even given a hint as to how it manifested. Was the little Richard had seen of Elizabeth enough for him to make such a leap? The rest of the family had become very still, watching Elizabeth closely. If Richard had not known before, surely it was confirmed now!

The only one not to share the alarm was Elizabeth. She gave Richard a sardonic grin.

“Do they now?” she asked archly, no hint of doubt in her voice. Darcy admired her sure poise. “And why is that?”

Richard nodded, taking a sip of the brandy that had been offered him. Too late Darcy realized what his cousin was going to do.

“No, Richard!” he began, to no avail.

Richard squeezed out a thin stream of brandy from between his lips, simultaneously igniting it so that it appeared he was breathing fire. The fire shot halfway across the room, making most people duck. Everyone was shocked by the display, even Bingley and Darcy, who had seen this trick before. The only ones not in complete awe over the fire breathing were Mr. and Mrs. Bennet and Elizabeth.

Mr. Bennet covered his face with his hand, his shoulders shaking with laughter.

Elizabeth eyed Richard, then looked to Darcy with an amused smirk. He knew at once that she was thinking of her own rather more impressive fire breathing as a dragon.

Finally, Mrs. Bennet, once she recovered from the surprise, grumbled, “Another fire breather! As if one was not enough!” She shot Elizabeth a venomous look.

Elizabeth’s expression turned stoic. Darcy had little respect for Mrs. Bennet, especially after the way she handled Collins and Elizabeth. It was not that Darcy wanted Collins fawning over his Elizabeth, but the manner in which Mrs. Bennet did it was both despicable and damaging. To criticize her daughter in front of company could only lower her more in his estimation.

Richard’s head swung back and forth like a dog searching for a scent. Darcy hastily intervened.

Leave this one alone, Richard. I mean it, you do not know all the particulars.

My teeth ache with all the mysteries around here, Richard replied, but did not pursue the matter.

“Have you ever seen a live dragon, Colonel Fitzwilliam?” Elizabeth asked.

“I have,” Richard answered. “We traveled over some rather remote terrain in the army and I had the privilege of seeing several live dragons, always from a distance, of course. One big fellow was nearly the size of a mastiff; very impressive, I thought him. Some of the men wanted to hunt the dragons for the bounty, but I would not let them. For the most part, they fled quickly and did not bother us. I understand that larger dragons have become extinct, though I would have loved to have seen one.”

“Nearly all extinct,” Elizabeth returned teasingly. “Perhaps one day you will see a large dragon.”

“I can only hope,” he said, then easily changed the subject.

Eventually, it came time for the Netherfield gentlemen to leave Longbourn. Overall, Darcy considered Richard’s first introduction to the Bennets to be a success.

Chapter 18

Darcy was not surprised when Richard followed him into his room.

“What is she?” Richard asked as soon as the door shut behind him. “She is not a magic-eater, for there is still some aura of power around her. But I swear she did something to my magic; it was harder to work around her.” Richard squinted at Darcy. “I think you are stronger too, than you were before, most likely from being in contact with her.”

So it seemed that Richard had not guessed Elizabeth’s secret life as a dragon, despite their conversation on the subject.

“I assume you mean Miss Elizabeth?” Darcy replied, trying to gain more time in which to think of an answer. “She is certainly not a magic-eater.”

Richard gave him a withering look. “Do not be daft, you know I am speaking of her, and I have already established that she is not a magic-eater.”

“Elizabeth has a… unique relationship with magic,” Darcy hedged.

“Does it have to do with her curse?” Richard asked shrewdly.

Darcy remained silent.

“Come on, Snowman! You already said she was cursed. I experienced her effect on magic personally, and I could not tread in that house without stumbling on a secret. I am neither blind nor deaf. Tell me something.”

“If I hesitate,” Darcy retorted, “It is because the secrets are not mine to share. I do not feel comfortable giving up confidences before I have had a chance to speak with Elizabeth, Ash—”

Richard flinched.

“Cinder,” Darcy finished.

Richard eyed him cautiously. “Cinder…” he mused aloud. “From cinders, new fires are born. Yes, I think that is acceptable, Snowman. So if you will not or cannot tell me about your love, tell me about yourself instead. You are not the same Darcy I knew before.” Richard gestured to Darcy’s leg and cane, detailing the most visible changes.

Darcy had known this was coming, but he still felt reluctant to begin. Partly he did not like to recall the traumatic experiences, and partly his rescue was because that had been the first time he had met the woman he loved. He may not have known it at the time, but now those moments were precious to him: he met her and she had saved his life. Of course, Darcy would not be giving those exact details.

He told the story to Richard, minimizing the seriousness of the accident and avoiding all mention of dragons.

“If you were trapped under the carriage, how did you get out?” Richard pointed out.

Darcy stifled a groan. He should have known better than to keep details from his keen-minded cousin. He did not answer and Richard huffed in frustration.

“Well then! Keep your secrets if you must, but know that I am seriously displeased with you!” Richard said in a passable imitation of Aunt Catherine.

Darcy laughed. “I am sorry, Cinder. If it was only me, I would not hesitate to tell you all. But this is a story that involves others. I should rather consult them before I give away their secrets.”

Richard studied him for a long moment. “Then it involves your Miss Elizabeth again?”

Darcy choked.

Richard held up his hand. “No need to pretend innocence, Snowman. Your expression says as much. I shall not press, but my curiosity is very great now. I think I should like to speak with Miss Elizabeth and see if I can discover some answers myself.”

“If she tells you, I have no objection,” Darcy replied.

“We will see,” Richard concluded, rising and moved toward the door. “Good night, Darcy.”

“Good night, Cinder,” Darcy responded softly as his cousin left the room. He was deeply glad to have Richard present in Hertfordshire. Not only did he have someone to count on when it came to protecting Elizabeth and her sisters, but it was a relief to have one of his family near. Richard had got on splendidly with Elizabeth; they were sure to be fast friends.

Being away from the war would be just as good for Richard as well. His cousin seemed to have lost his way in the trenches; a single evening in genteel company, and Richard was already inquisitive and showing off again. Now if only there was a way to keep his cousin a civilian.


Darcy was woken the next morning by someone knocking loudly on his door. It sounded more like cannon fire to his sleep-addling mind. Without further warning, Richard burst into the room.

“Good morning, Snowman!” he cried, far too aggressively cheerful for this time of the morning.

Darcy muttered something unflattering under his breath.

“Still in bed at this hour? Get up, Darcy. I want to go riding.”

Darcy reluctantly sat up in bed. The windows showed the grey pre-dawn light, but by his appearance, Richard was already up, bathed and dressed for the day. He was even armed with both pistol and saber.

“I cannot ride,” Darcy grumbled. “My leg will not let me.”

“But you can walk, yes? So we will go walking, and who better to show me the grounds than you?”

Knowing it would be impossible to convince Richard to let him sleep longer, Darcy scrubbed his hands over his face and nodded. Richard did not move.

“Do you mind waiting outside while I dress?” Darcy asked sharply.

“It does not bother me; on the front line when opportunities for a wash are few, the lads do not scruple when it comes to getting clean. I have seen it all before.”

“I am neither on the front lines nor one of your ‘lads’,” Darcy snapped. “I am not accustomed to dressing in front of my cousin.”

“I want to see your leg,” Richard suddenly dropped his jovial manner.

“What?” Darcy was even less pleased by this pronouncement. He felt a chill at the thought of someone seeing the mangled scars of his leg. It was both ugly and humiliating; he hated the idea of showing someone else, even his cousin, the evidence of being a cripple.

“In all seriousness,” Richard said in a stern manner, “I want to see your leg.”

“You think you know better than a healer?” Darcy scoffed. Part of him knew he was acting petulantly, but in truth the idea of revealing his leg to view made his heart pound in panic. It was a symbol of failure. He was alive, yes, but he would never be the man he had been before.

“No offence to either yourself or the healer’s guild, but a healer comes and leaves. I have lived with the men who have those wounds. I have seen what happens when the wounds heal—and when they do not. I should like to see for myself how extensive the damage is.”

Darcy grumbled, but pulled back the bed covers and revealed his leg. He kept his eyes on Richard’s face, not wanting to see those scars again. His cousin’s expression remained impassive, revealing nothing. At last Richard nodded. Darcy rose and silently dressed himself, not saying anything until he was fully clothed.

“Well?” he asked abruptly, steeling himself for his cousin’s assessment.

“I have seen worse,” Richard replied neutrally. “Clearly the damage was very deep, but the muscle seems fairly sound under it. You say you cannot ride, but I think you could do more than you believe. You must strengthen the leg, but it seems to me there is no reason that you could not regain the full use of it.”

Tears burned unexpectedly in Darcy’s eyes. It was true that before his cousin had arrived, he had stopped pushing himself, thinking that he had recovered as much as he was able. To hear that Richard—soldier of the front lines who had surely seen debilitating injuries before—believed he could still improve was an unexpected joy. Hope blossomed in his chest and he coughed to cover the sudden relief he felt.

Richard clapped Darcy’s shoulder without being overly sentimental. “Come, Snowman. Let us get a hearty breakfast, and then you and I shall take a walk. How far is this Meryton you told me about? If it is any less than two miles, we should walk there today. That will be a start for you.”

Darcy knew without being told that continuing his recovery would be hard and painful, so he made no complaint when Richard set a punishing pace on the road to Meryton. It was barely short of a run; slow for the soldier used to running miles with his men every morning, but rather faster than Darcy would have set for himself. Richard would not let him slow down, making it clear he would leave Darcy behind if he could not keep up. Pride forced Darcy to go on, determined not to show weakness. His leg burned and trembled with the effort, threatening to give out, and Darcy’s hand began to develop blisters where he clutched his cane for support.

However, just as Richard had predicted, Darcy’s leg did not give out. After several minutes the muscles seemed to stretch and relax. He was not sure if that was a sign of improvement, or if his flesh was merely growing numb from the abuse. A short distance outside of Meryton, Richard finally slowed down so that Darcy would not arrive florid and sweating. Richard, of course, showed no strain at all from the quick pace.

Darcy managed to catch his breath by the time they reached Meryton proper. His leg felt warmed and loose, far different from his usual pained stiffness. They strolled through the town leisurely. Darcy had already been here many times, but it was Richard’s first foray. Darcy hoped the small, rather rustic town would remind Richard of life away from the army, of what it could be like without constant struggle, flame and death.

“I say, is that not Miss Lydia standing next to that kindling?” Richard asked.

Darcy looked up; his blood ran cold at the sight of Miss Lydia conversing with Wickham. Magic prickled at Darcy’s fingertips, and he wished to freeze off one of Wickham’s most valued bits.

“Kindling?” Darcy asked as they made their way toward the pair.

“I could make him burn so easily,” Richard intoned.

Darcy cast a sharp look at him. Richard’s eyes were narrowed in hate, his face reddened from his own magic. Darcy put a calming hand on his cousin’s arm.

“While I agree with the sentiment, you have been on the front line too long. It is frowned upon to set fire to someone here.”

“I will not set fire to him,” Richard grumbled. “Much.”

Darcy did not have time to reason with him again, for they had reached Wickham and Miss Lydia. Wickham started when he saw them and shifted to place himself behind Miss Lydia. Darcy scoffed at this piece of cowardice and his cousin shook his head.

“Miss Lydia, Wickham,” Richard greeted them. “Imagine meeting like this.”

“Why not?” Miss Lydia asked with a toss of her head. “We have just as much right to be here as you.”

“That remains to be seen,” Richard said pleasantly, his jaw clenched as he glared at Wickham.

“I do not wish to speak with you,” Miss Lydia declared. “You are the reason the shopkeepers around here will not take dear Mr. Wickham’s money, even though it is more honest than yours. He earned his, while you took away what he should have had in life!”

She was growing passionate, while Darcy felt colder. When he exhaled, his breath was a stream of fog.

Richard bared his teeth in a parody of a grin. “What he should have had in life is my sword through his gut.”

Darcy felt it better to redirect the conversation before Richard gave in to his temper.

“Does your family know you are here?” he asked quickly.

“Of course!” she laughed. “I told Mama that Kitty and I wanted to visit Aunt Phillips this morning, then on the way I ran into my dear Mr. Wickham. He is so much more handsome than Aunt Phillips!”

“I do not think your family would be pleased if they knew you were here instead of your aunt’s home,” Darcy said sternly. “Either continue to her house or return to Longbourn. I care not which, but I insist you quit company with this man.”

Miss Lydia flushed angrily. “I do not answer to you! Neither of us does and you cannot send me away like I am a child!”

Wickham placed a hand on her arm, no doubt trying to use his persuasive talents on her. “Come, my dear, perhaps we should leave.”

Darcy felt a spurt of panic. He knew he must not allow Miss Lydia to leave with Wickham, for there was no telling what he might convince her to do. Her ruination was the least that could happen.

At that point, Richard decided to take matters into his own hands.

“Enough of this!” he growled and threw his hand toward Wickham. A spout of flame roared toward Wickham; the man ducked, but not before the scent of singed hair filled the air. Even though the fire had been aimed at Wickham, Miss Lydia was close enough to him that she cried out with pain at the sudden heat.

Wickham fled without a backwards glance. Miss Lydia watched him go with a confused, lost expression in her eyes. Darcy’s heart twisted: he had seen the same expression only a few months ago, when his sister Georgiana had been shocked out of Wickham’s magic. However, that was where the similarities ended. Instead of turning to doubt and self-recrimination, Miss Lydia’s expression became angry.

“I will tell Lizzy about this, and then you will be sorry!” She stamped her foot then turned and huffed away.

Darcy watched her go with a thread of worry working its way through him. While he was glad Miss Lydia was not as devastated as Georgiana had been, he did wonder what Elizabeth would do to them when she found out the methods used.

“Do you think that was a little harsh?” he ventured to ask Richard.

His cousin snorted. “I barely touched him. The most he will have is some burnt eyebrows. He ran too fast for me to really set him alight.”

“I do not mean to Wickham—I was referring to Miss Lydia.”

“I did not truly damage her, just caused a little pain. You know as well as I that is the best way to free someone from Wickham’s influence. She will not go back to him so trustingly.”

Darcy made a non-committal sound in the back of his throat. “I do not think Elizabeth will like it.”

Suddenly Richard laughed. “Is that what bothers you? I am a colonel of the royal army, one of the best fire mages in England, and have top combat experience. I am not afraid of a country maiden half my weight.”

Darcy wisely remained silent. Richard would have to discover for himself the dangers of frightening Elizabeth’s sisters. It was up to her whether or not she wished to reveal her other form to Richard.

They decided to return to Netherfield shortly after that. Darcy’s leg had stiffened from the unaccustomed exertion, so the pace back was slower than on the journey out. They were halfway to Netherfield, on an empty stretch of road, when Darcy heard a familiar sound: sailcloth—or dragon wings—snapping in the breeze. It was not that he had been listening for it, but he was more attuned to the noise, which is how he caught it and Richard did not.

Darcy looked up, searching for Elizabeth. It was a bright cloudless day; he was surprised she had chosen to go flying, as the possibility of being seen was very strong. Then again, he did not immediately see her, so she was still somehow hidden. It was not until he noticed a flicker of the light that he realized she was approaching them from the angle of the sun, effectively blinding them to her presence.

She was descending rapidly towards them. Before Darcy could decide whether to warn Richard, she let out the shrill cry of a hunting eagle that quickly gained bass rumbles until it was a full-fledged roar. Richard looked around in alarm but Elizabeth’s stoop was so perfect that he did not see her until too late.

Elizabeth descended upon them, full of fury and sounding of thunder. Darcy, who knew perfectly well who it was, felt a primal terror of this perfect hunter coming for them. Even as his body screamed at him to run from certain death, one corner of his mind was swept up in the beauty of her, wings spread, colors brilliant in the sun, claws and fangs reaching for the kill. He was mesmerized almost as the rabbit before the fox, too amazed by her grace and power to think about survival. Then again, he knew she was neither going to kill him, or even strictly aiming at him. No, her wrath was directed at his cousin.

Richard did not take her appearance nearly so well. He jumped when he saw her, reaching for his pistol. Darcy grabbed his arm to prevent him from drawing it. Richard cast up his hand instead, futilely throwing fire in an attempt to ward her off. Darcy winced as the flames washed over her, but they did not affect her. A second later, Richard’s magic suddenly ceased as if it had never been, the result of Elizabeth absorbing his magic with her own dragon ability. Then she breathed fire at them, bigger and hotter than Richard could produce. Though she had aimed above their heads, Richard ducked and scrambled back from her, tripping and accidentally dragging Darcy down with him.

That was when she deigned to speak with them. Darcy could not tell if she was projecting to both of them, or if she simply shouted so loud at Richard that Darcy, still clinging to his cousin’s arm, caught the overflow of it.

If you ever throw fire at my sisters again, I will burn you!

Instantly Darcy had a pounding headache. Tears sprang to his eyes at the pain of it. Never had his mind felt so blasted by mental speech before; it was as potent as a weapon in its own right. His ears rang, from both her roar and the blast of her words.

Richard did not fare any better. The fire mage gaped at Elizabeth. She had landed and now towered over them, bristling and growling. Her wings were spread menacingly, while her tail lashed the air. He tried to push himself away from her, his limbs stiff and uncoordinated. He continued to jerk at the arm Darcy held in order to free his pistol, perhaps not realizing that he was restrained. Richard’s mouth opened and closed repeatedly.

“What… who… dragon… speaking… sister… dragon…” Richard gasped, unable to form a coherent sentence.

Elizabeth kept a smoldering glower on him.

He swallowed hard, but stopped talking and took several deep breaths.

“Miss Elizabeth!” Darcy cried, speaking too loudly as one who had been deafened by an explosion. “I think you should know that Miss Lydia was in the company of Mr. Wickham when we came upon her, and my cousin had aimed only at him.”

Not for nothing was Richard a frontline soldier. He controlled his initial panic quickly and after a moment ventured, “Miss Elizabeth?”

For a heartbeat, Darcy thought she would not answer.

Then she replied simply, Yes.

Even though her voice was much softer this time, Darcy still felt an ache behind his eyes, like pressing on a bruise. His upper lip was wet and when he touched it, his fingers were stained with blood. Looking at Richard confirmed that his cousin was the same, though in both cases the bleeding had already stopped.

Lydia did not mention Mr. Wickham, Elizabeth seemed embarrassed.

Richard glanced at Darcy, both fear and wonder in his eyes. The fire mage released the handle of his pistol and Darcy no longer felt the need to hold his cousin back. Richard climbed cautiously to his feet, offering a hand to Darcy. He took it, grimacing slightly at the pain in his leg. Thankfully he had not fallen on it, but it protested regardless.

“I do apologize,” Richard spoke cautiously. “For my treatment of your sister. I admit my temper got the better of me concerning Wickham, but I meant her no harm.”

She took no injury, Elizabeth said. But I thought to give you a warning. I hope I was not too harsh?

Now Darcy knew she was speaking to both of them, though he was not certain if Richard knew of it.

His cousin laughed nervously. “A warning, was it? I have had attempts on my life that were less nerve-wracking than that.”

Then you will take me seriously, she responded with a playful toss of her head. She folded her wings neatly along her back, her posture no longer threatening.

Richard straightened, quickly regaining his composure. He moved carefully around Elizabeth, staying a prudent distance from her. She watched him, moving only her head to keep him in sight.

“This is your curse, then?” he asked when he had completed a full circuit. “Forgive me, but it does not seem like much of a curse. You—you are magnificent! You are stronger, able to fly, breathe fire. The curse hardly seems like punishment at all.”

Elizabeth cast Darcy a quick glance when Richard mentioned her curse and Darcy wished he could have told his cousin to shut up. Obviously she meant to show Richard her dragon form, but he wished he had had the opportunity to tell her that he had already spoken to Richard.

I happen to agree with your assessment, she said lightly. However, the nature of my curse is that I must spend a majority of my time as a dragon. Eventually I shall not be able to return to my human body at all.

Richard paused in his blatant admiration of her. “That is a shame,” he said quietly.

She shrugged, a fluid motion that rippled down her supple body. She continued to watch Richard; the fire mage’s appreciation of her did not diminish, but grew as he ventured near. She seemed to enjoy the attention and Darcy felt an unwelcome seed of jealousy in his chest. Richard knew Darcy was courting Elizabeth. His cousin would not come between them, though traditionally Richard was better at gaining feminine approbation.

“And that bit with my magic? You took it from me, I swear,” Richard asked.

I did, she admitted. It is a dragon trait, the ability to manipulate magic that way. I did not take much; you should be fully restored within a few days. Also, I am sorry if I caused you discomfort. She eyed both of them. I did not mean to shout so loud, or to make you fall over. I hope you have not sustained damage.

Richard scoffed, wiping the few drops of blood from his lip. “This? Darcy and I have done worse to each other when we were scrapping as boys.”

Elizabeth turned to him. Mr. Darcy? Your leg—

Her concern warmed his heart. “I am quite well, thank you. Your entrance was rather dramatic; I would have rather seen that than remained standing.”

Richard burst into laughter. “Dramatic? A diva on the stage is dramatic! This was smashing! Utterly brilliant! How I wish I could capture that moment forever!”

Elizabeth seemed rather embarrassed by her actions.

“Miss Mary paints quite good portraits,” Darcy added. “Including ones of Miss Elizabeth as she is now. Perhaps you can ask one from her.”

A strange expression crossed Richard’s face. “Perhaps I will,” he murmured almost to himself. Another thought occurred to him and he spun on Darcy.

“And you! You knew she was a dragon the entire night! You let me act the fool, pretending that I knew what it was to breathe fire!”

Darcy raised his eyebrows. “You were enjoying yourself. Far be it from me to interrupt your pleasure.”

Richard groaned and faced Elizabeth. “Forgive me, dear lady dragon, my attempts at fire must have seemed very poor to you. My cousin is a lout for allowing me to make a fool of myself.”

I was pleased by your performance, she laughed. As for Mr. Darcy not warning you, that is something you must take up with him. Forgive me, but I must leave now. I dare not remain in the open for fear of being seen.

Richard bowed with an elaborate flourish. “I would not detain so beautiful a lady as yourself,” he said, making her chuckle again.

Good bye, Colonel Dragon. Mr. Darcy. She launched into the air, powerful muscles easily carrying her away from them. Darcy felt the pang of her loss, as well as the breath-taking sight of her effortless flight.

Richard let out a low whistle. “So that is your Miss Elizabeth. That is one fine woman, Snowman. She is not hesitant to speak her mind and not one to be intimidated. I do not mind saying that when she came upon us, I thought I was going down her gullet for sure.”

“Being a dragon has taught her to fear little,” Darcy said dryly.

“Brave,” Richard said warmly. “Beautiful, and intelligent. I do not see how you got lucky enough to find her! Was there ever a more stunning woman?”

Darcy was a little uncomfortable with the way Richard spoke so freely of Elizabeth. Surely his cousin was simply admitting her charms without being drawn to her himself?

“She saved my life,” Darcy replied simply.

Richard paused, then began to grin. “I knew there were holes in your story, but I never imagined the holes were shaped like a dragon! Did you see the way she moved? So light and quick? My god, she must be a fantastic dancer! You are a lucky man.” Richard clapped his shoulder once, then reconsidered and punched Darcy hard in the arm.

“What was that for?” Darcy growled.

“You told me she was not a dragon!” Richard accused.

“I said she was not a harridan,” Darcy corrected with a sniff. “I never mentioned the dragon bit one way or another.”

“No, you let me expose myself to her! She must think me a very great braggart.”

“You are,” Darcy shot back.

“But I like to know that my boasts are not idle! Come, let us continue walking. You still have much to explain to me.”

Chapter 19


The gentlemen from Netherfield went to visit Longbourn two days later. Miss Lydia sniffed and turned away from them when they entered. In short order, she convinced Miss Kitty to leave the room with her. Clearly, she had not forgiven Richard for his actions toward her and her beau. Of Elizabeth, there was no sign. Richard gave Darcy a curious glance, but Darcy was not worried. He guessed she was once again in her dragon form.

Darcy was dismayed to see that Miss Mary was back to wearing the ugly dress and lacking her glasses. However, when the gentlemen were announced, she smiled vaguely in their direction before quietly and quickly excusing herself. She came back a short time later, having changed into genteel clothes and able to see properly. Collins scowled, but a sharp look from Richard prevented him from saying anything.

Richard beamed at Miss Mary as she entered the room again. “I am charmed to see you again, Miss Mary. Rare is it to find such an exquisite lady who can match my own considerable appeal.” He struck a ridiculous pose more suited to a fop of the ton rather than a hardened battle mage.

Darcy could only shake his head at Richard’s antics. The man was continuously mercurial in mood, leading many to underestimate him. Darcy was glad that he was one of the few around whom Richard would drop his guard and relax.

Miss Mary blushed and laughed at Richard, earning another brilliant smile from him. He offered her his arm and she took it shyly. Darcy was amazed that Miss Mary was so at ease with his cousin; it had taken days before she had been willing to speak more than two words to Darcy. Only when she had begun painting his portrait had she really relaxed in his presence. Then again, that was a talent of Richard’s, to put other people at ease.

“There was a matter that I wanted to speak with you about,” Richard began, looking down at Miss Mary. “I understand that you have remarkable skill as a painter?”

“I paint, though I would not call myself remarkable,” she admitted.

“It is not seemly for a gentlewoman to take work as a painter,” Collins began.

Richard shot him a narrow-eyed look. “Hush,” he said, his voice deceptively mild. “This conversation does not include you.”

Collins swelled with indignation, but Richard continued speaking as if the parson had never interrupted.

“Darcy said you were very talented and he does not give praise lightly,” Richard insisted. “I was wondering if I could impose on you for a painting? Perhaps a portrait, or maybe a wilderness scene. I have not yet decided.”

“I would be pleased to show you what I have done before; if you like what I can do, I am willing to paint for you,” Miss Mary said.

“Excellent!” Richard declared. “By the by, I see that Miss Elizabeth is not present. I hope she is not indisposed?”

“She is well, it is only that she is in the dower house in the garden.” Miss Mary glanced at Darcy. He nodded his understanding.

“Capital! I should like to see her. Perhaps you can lead me to her, and bring some of your paintings as well? The light outside must be better for viewing them.”

She hesitated, casting a worried look at Darcy.

“I do not think Miss Elizabeth would mind,” Darcy assured her. “She spoke to us about the dower house the day before yesterday.”

Miss Mary blinked in surprise. “I am astonished! Lizzy is not usually so quick to show… the dower house to a new acquaintance.” Her eyes darted anxiously to Collins, who was attending the conversation but showed no sign of comprehension. Richard too must have been puzzled about their choice of words, but the soldier was canny enough to hold his tongue in front of others.

“Since you are already familiar with Lizzy, I would not mind taking you to the park,” Miss Mary said eagerly. “The light is better out there. If Mr. Darcy agrees, I could show you one or two drawings that I am working on currently. He is the subject of both.”

“Darcy agreed to having his portrait taken?” Richard asked. “Now I am astonished, for I did not think he enjoyed the sittings.”

Darcy felt a spark of irritation with his cousin. “After viewing her work, I thought it so delightful, I found myself willing to sit for her. I do not mind if you show him. I will accompany you to the dower house as well.”

“I daresay the company while I am painting also makes it more bearable,” Miss Mary said blandly.

Darcy could not hide a guilty start, which Richard gleefully caught. He suppressed a groan; Richard would tease him mercilessly once they were alone.

“You have made me eager to begin,” Richard declared with a grin. “Shall we?”

Darcy, Richard and Miss Mary started for the door. Collins stood.

“I shall come with you,” he announced.

Darcy caught a savage expression on Richard’s face before he quickly smoothed it out. The fire mage swung around to face Collins, incidentally placing his body squarely between Miss Mary and Collins. His posture was alert and ready; Darcy imagined this was how his cousin looked just before the start of a battle.

“No, you will not,” Richard said firmly.

“Yes I will,” Collins insisted. “As her cousin and one of her closest relations, it is my prerogative to provide escort and chaperonage, especially with my particular interest in her wellbeing.”

“As we will be going to the park to join Miss Elizabeth,” Richard said in a steely tone, “your services as a chaperone are not needed.”

“We will also be going,” Bingley announced, standing with Miss Bennet’s arm through his. They moved toward the party, so that the entire room stood against Collins.

Darcy was amused as the parson’s face flushed an ugly red. Collins might be thick-witted, but it was obvious he knew he had been out-maneuvered. Unfortunately for him, he did not take defeat well.

“I had thought better of you, the son of an Earl, and you, Mr. Darcy, the nephew of Lady Catherine, than to keep such fallen company as Miss Elizabeth. A woman of her reputation can only mean the downfall of gentlemen everywhere, for she would tempt—”

In retrospect, Darcy should not have been surprised by Richard’s reaction. At the time, however, he had no rational thought. His body flushed cold with anger; he raised his hand, frost on his fingertips. What he would have done was a mystery even to him; perhaps form an ice gag to halt those foul words? Freeze the man’s tongue off? But Richard, with the speed of someone whose survival depended on his reflexes, whipped out his sword and held it at Collins’ throat. Fire rippled down the blade, nearly touching Collins’ face. The parson tried to lean away, but Richard applied a little pressure with his sword, the tip dimpling the soft flesh under Collins’ chin.

“I am the son of an Earl,” Richard agreed with a smile that looked more like baring his teeth in threat. “Therefore I recommend you to remember your place, for you are but a parson of mean understanding, who cannot pretend to aspire to the rank of a gentleman until your better has passed on. There is not one among us who is not better than you. I do not want to hear such slanderous words again. If any of the ladies have cause to complain against you, I will run you through. I can cauterize the wounds as I make them. There will not even be a drop of blood to clean up. Do I make myself clear?”

Unable to nod for fear of being impaled, Collins let out an unhealthy sort of whimper. Richard took that as agreement and lowered his sword. With a flick of his wrist, the flames went out and he sheathed it at his side. Without another word, Richard offered his arm to Miss Mary. She took it and they led the way outside. Bingley and Miss Bennet followed, while Darcy brought up the rearguard. It was not that he expected Collins to do something so much as he would have the great pleasure of pummeling the parson if he did.

In the park, it was not long until Miss Bennet and Bingley split off from the main group. Darcy watched them go fondly. There was no longer a need to hide Elizabeth from Bingley, but his friend was caught up in his own courting. Darcy drew nearer to Richard and Miss Mary, staying a little behind them. He did not mean to overhear their conversation, but he could not help but to catch their words.

Miss Mary looked up at Richard. “I appreciate what you did for me,” she said softly. “No one has defended me like that before.”

Richard’s eyebrows rose. “With Miss Elizabeth as a sister, I highly doubt that.”

She smiled. “Lizzy can be… overzealous when it comes to us,” she admitted.

“I did not notice,” Richard said dryly.

She gave him a curious look.

He shook his head. “Never mind, go on,” he said.

“Lizzy is quick to leap to our aid when she thinks we have been slighted,” Miss Mary continued. “But you… I hardly know you. You have no reason to come to my aid.”

Richard was silent for a long time. “I should like to think a gentleman does not need a reason to defend a lady such as yourself against that toad.” He paused, turning his head to look at Miss Mary.

Darcy saw his cousin’s troubled expression and felt concern for him. When Richard spoke again, it was so low Darcy struggled to hear.

“But I should like to know you better,” he murmured.

Miss Mary bowed her head. Darcy felt acute embarrassment at overhearing this intimate confession. Was Richard truly planning to court Miss Mary? He knew his cousin, knew that Richard’s usual approach to women was to be openly flirtatious, making sure that neither party expected the union to last beyond a handful of days. This quiet conversation was not at all how Darcy had seen his cousin speak to women before. He allowed himself to drop back several steps, so there was no risk of him overhearing more. He would not like it if someone overheard him speaking to Elizabeth in a private moment and he imagined Richard would feel the same.

When they reached the dower house, Darcy deemed it was safe to draw near. Elizabeth was not in sight and he looked to the little cottage in expectation. Richard glanced around, confusion clear on his face.

“I thought we were to meet Miss Elizabeth?” he asked. “Is she arriving soon?” He searched the skies as if she might be dropping down on them again.

Miss Mary walked into the dower house. Darcy had seen how crowded it was with Elizabeth in there and wondered if he and Richard were supposed to join the ladies.

“Darcy?” Richard asked.

“I believe Miss Elizabeth is already present,” he replied. “Wait.”

Miss Mary emerged from the building, carrying two familiar half-done paintings and several other art supplies. Richard stepped forward to help her.

“I have been keeping them in here as of late,” she explained. “Lizzy keeps it from getting too damp in there and, well, it is easier for the time being.” She glanced briefly at the main house, a fleeting expression of fear on her face. Darcy did not like it at all. From the way Richard stiffened, neither did he.

Miss Mary began setting up her easel. She looked at the dower house.

“You may as well come out, they are not here to see me,” she said.

If you would be so kind, Mr. Darcy, Elizabeth spoke to him. Tell my sister that if she keeps bringing gentlemen to see me, I shall feel like an exhibit in a menagerie. If my vanity had a turn for being stared at, she would have been invaluable. But now I am hardly inclined to show myself at all.

Darcy jumped a little when she addressed him, but smiled at her wry tone. I should be most disappointed if you did not emerge, and I dare say so will my cousin.

Colonel Dragon, she laughed. Very well then, I shall not keep you waiting.

Darcy cleared his throat. “Miss Elizabeth says she is coming out.”

She laughed in his head, causing his smile to broaden. You are a miser with your words. You spoiled my fun in telling Mary what I said.

I may have only one sister, but even so I know better than to get between two women who are related.

She snickered.

Richard was watching him peculiarly; Darcy realized that Elizabeth had chosen to speak only to him and it warmed his heart. He loved the way she had teased him; he basked in her good humor.

Elizabeth began to emerge from the cottage. As always, it seemed like a difficult, even painful process. Darcy winced in sympathy as her wings scraped the sides of the entrance and she had to wiggle to get herself free. Richard made an expression of distaste at Darcy; his cousin liked it as much as he did. Once she had fully pulled herself from the building, she stretched her wings and shook them before settling them neatly along her back. The resulting breeze teased Darcy’s hair, but it was his heart that skipped a beat. She was so beautiful ; each time he saw her it was as if he had forgotten how much she affected him.

Richard had a stunned look on his face. He approached her, stopping when he was a few feet away. “Such magnificence cannot be contained in that dull building,” he said fervently.

Lizzy looked at Richard; their eyes locked. Darcy felt oddly like an outsider as he watched Elizabeth and his cousin. There was tension between them, not the simmering anger of enemies, but a kind of recognition and heightened focus on each other. It was intimate, so that Darcy struggled with a sense of voyeurism.

He could not tell if they were speaking to each other; their connection was so intense it was as if there was no need for words. It made him uneasy. Darcy liked to think that he had a good rapport with Elizabeth, but seeing his cousin with her now made him doubt everything. Was Richard smitten with Elizabeth? Worse, was she enamored of him? Was Richard not courting Miss Mary after all?

Suddenly Richard darted forward, as if to get past Elizabeth. She shifted, blocking him. Without missing a step, Richard pivoted and ran in the other direction. Before he got more than a dozen paces, Elizabeth leapt over their heads, pouncing before him. Something that large should not be able to move so fast and land so lightly, but she did. Richard barely skidding to a halt before he would have run into her. He began backing away and Elizabeth stalked forward, following him.

Her behavior was unlike anything Darcy had seen before. Richard too seemed to be out of character; he thought they had resolved their differences, so why was she crouched like she was about to leap on Richard?

At a complete loss, Darcy looked to Miss Mary for some kind of guidance. She was watching the two of them with a fond smile. She glanced at him and correctly read his confusion.

“They are playing, Mr. Darcy,” Miss Mary confided in him. “Lizzy used to do this with the neighborhood boys when they were younger. Of course, she was a might bit smaller back then.” She giggled.

Playing? Darcy did not know whether to be appalled or jealous of the way his cousin cavorted with Elizabeth. Now he could see it, how she prowled around Richard like a cat with a mouse, only far more gentle for her size and strength. He had known that Richard was prone to boyish starts at times; a little levity to break from grim warfare. But this was beyond was Darcy had supposed possible. At the same time, he could not help a pulse of suspicion under his skin. He had spoken for hours with Elizabeth. She had confided in him, asked for his help. Never once had she ever played with him. How was Richard, with an acquaintance of less than a week, able to bring this out in her?

Elizabeth reared up as if to come down on Richard. The colonel ducked and made to run under her belly to escape. Suddenly she flinched and landed hard on all four limbs. She huddled in on herself, her wings half-shielding her from view. Beside Darcy, Miss Mary winced. Once again he looked to her.

“Papa probably saw her from his study,” Miss Mary whispered. “He does not like it when she acts too much like a dragon.”

Richard paused, leaning over with his hands on his knees as he panted. He watched her with concern. “My apologies, Miss Dragon, that I caused trouble with your father. You should tell him that it was my fault.”

Mutely, Elizabeth shook her head. Holding herself low to the ground, she made her way to the dower house. Without thinking about it, Darcy stepped forward to block her path. She looked up at him, her dragon face showing her doubt and even hurt. At that moment, Darcy was strongly resented Mr. Bennet. He could understand that the other gentleman wished his daughter was not a dragon from a curse that was his fault, but the truth of the matter was that she had been enjoying herself without causing harm to anyone. She should not have been censored for that.

“No, Miss Elizabeth,” he said firmly. “I would not see you in that appalling little house while I am here.”

“Nor would I,” Richard said, straightening. He moved to stand by Miss Mary, placing a hand on her back. The young woman looked torn between her father’s edict and Darcy and his cousin. Elizabeth never looked away from Darcy. Her head tilted to the side in a bird-like manner and she rose from her shamed slink. Darcy thought that he had triumphed until she merely walked around him toward the house. He clenched his fist and gathered his magic. He would fill the door with ice. She could burn through it easily enough, but not before he had a chance to speak with her.

However, he discovered that she was not going to the house. She turned behind Darcy, half-circling him. For a moment he was nearly surrounded by her and his heart skipped a beat. She was the epitome of grace and power, poise and might and splendor so fine it made his soul sing. Then she lay down, close enough to Darcy that he could lean on her without having to reach. Suddenly, he realized that was her aim all along.

The doubt that she might prefer his cousin dissipated and he released a laugh. She had played with Richard, but she was laying by Darcy. That counted for something. He ran a hand down her wing, spreading ice across her velvety skin before her magic swallowed his. She gave a pleased croon and nuzzled his hand.

Thank you, Mr. Darcy, she said. I am glad to have you here.

There was a shyness to her voice that touched his heart. I would go anywhere you needed, he replied. He met her eyes and he thought he could drown in a violet sea.

Richard cleared his throat loudly. Darcy looked up and searched his cousin for any signs of jealousy, but there were none. Richard grinned broadly, and Darcy noted with interest that his hand was still on Miss Mary’s back. Perhaps Richard had decided on Miss Mary and not Elizabeth at all? Neither was she trying to put space between them, as though the attraction between them was mutual.

“Well then, as we have settled, perhaps I could take a look at your paintings, Miss Mary?” Richard asked.

She nodded. “Of course, Colonel Fitzwilliam. As you see.” She gestured to where she had set up her easel, one painting on display and one leaning against it.

Richard silently perused them for a very long time. Darcy felt rather uncomfortable that he was the subject of both paintings. He had seen the half-finished portrait and thought it was accurate, but Miss Mary had persuaded Elizabeth and Darcy to not look at their joint painting until it was done. Elizabeth, more used to her sister’s whims, was not perturbed. Now, however, Darcy felt an uncomfortable tightness in his chest. What was it about the second painting, with Elizabeth and him together, that Miss Mary had chosen to hide from them? And why was Richard allowed to see it now?

He shifted, automatically reached back to lean on Elizabeth more for reassurance than for support. She made a quiet rumble. He looked at her in surprise, but she was watching him with concern. Not a growl then, but something closer to a cat’s purr, intended for comfort. She curled a little tighter around him.

Does your cousin make you uncomfortable? she asked privately.

Not as such, he responded. Richard is like a brother to me in many ways, and as close as one, rather than cousins. But he is a soldier: he has a knack of seeing things that are hidden—and speaking bluntly of them.

You worry he will see something in our portrait? she wondered.

Darcy paused before answering. It was not as though Miss Mary would have painted him without clothes or in some compromising position. No, what would be revealed more in the image was how he felt for Elizabeth, having been caught staring at her. Richard already knew he loved Elizabeth. He had nothing to hide there. A sense of relief washed over him.

No, he said slowly, I do not think I am worried at all. He smiled at her. She gave a fearsome grin in return, tempering it with an exaggerated wink. He chuckled happily. She might not play with him as she did with Richard, but she teased him. That was play of the minds and good enough for him.

Richard finally looked up, studying Darcy and Elizabeth for a time. Darcy refused to become nervous under the scrutiny. He hated it when society matrons summed up his worth for their daughters, but he was safe among his family here. If he could not relax and feel secure with them, then he would never feel at ease anywhere.

“Yes, I think that is an excellent likeness of my cousin,” Richard said. “I think you really captured his likeness, a sort of—” Richard gestured to his own face and made an embellished frown.

Miss Mary laughed and Darcy sighed in long suffering. His cousin was always accusing him of looking too stern. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Elizabeth’s tail slowly curling around, until the tip was just touching her front elbow. It was a natural movement, like a cat tucking its tail against its side, but Darcy could not help but to realize he stood within the circle of her body. She had placed a barrier between him and the others. It was largely symbolic, and he had seen her with her sisters enough to realize she was protecting him. Suddenly he felt like beaming.

“I do enjoy your work very much,” Richard complimented Miss Mary. “I should like to have you do a painting of me. And Miss Dragon, if she is inclined?” he bowed toward Elizabeth.

She gave an elegant incline of her head in his direction.

Miss Mary placed a fresh canvas on her easel. “Do you wish for a simple portrait or to enact a scene?” she asked.

“Hmm,” Richard cupped his chin with his hand and strolled forward, studying Elizabeth. Darcy saw his cousin’s eyes widen slightly when he took in their position, but Richard was quick to mask his surprise.

“Definitely a scene, I think,” he said. “I do not suppose you would agree to let me play the part of Saint George?”

Elizabeth growled.

“No? What of a knight errant, come to defeat the beast and claim the princess?” He waggled his eyebrows.

Darcy put his hand over his face.

Elizabeth hissed, a much more frightening sound on a dragon than a cat.

Richard batted around a few more suggestions, including Miss Mary in the discussion. Eventually, they were able to agree to a hunting scene. Richard would be overlooking a few deer in a clearing, with Elizabeth poised to fly at his command. While Darcy still resented the implication that she was under Richard’s control, it was better than the notion of painting Richard as a dragon slayer. Though he knew it had been in jest, it still seemed rather rude.

Elizabeth twitched her hide, giving Darcy enough warning before she rose. She stretched like a cat, front limbs reached out and spine curved in an impossible angle. Miss Mary began to position both Richard and Elizabeth to how she wished them and took a quick sketch. They had far more active poses than how Darcy and Elizabeth were portrayed. For a moment, Darcy felt a prickle of regret, thinking that their portrait must be very sedate compared to Richard’s. He shoved it aside, acknowledging that he was a more sedate person compared to his cousin, thus it would suit him better. Still, Elizabeth seemed to be enjoying the sitting. Somehow she looked even more vibrant when she appeared ready to leap into flight.

The visit did not last much longer than that. Darcy left for Netherfield feeling quite pleased by the time spent with Richard, Elizabeth and Miss Mary.

Chapter 20

Lizzy had often been a subject of Mary’s sketches before, so she did not mind posing for her sister. Perhaps it was a vain turn of Lizzy’s nature which made her willing to sit and be studied in order for Mary to capture her form. While Lizzy did not spend an inordinate amount of time preening at her reflection, she could admit that her dragon form—which was rarely before a looking glass—was beautiful. Maybe that was why Lizzy did not protest when Mary often made her the subject of her drawing. However, Lizzy had rarely had such good fun being painted as she was now.

She knew it was entirely due to the company she was keeping. Lizzy had never felt about someone the way she did with Col. Dragon. She had been apprehensive upon meeting the Colonel for the first time, given her reaction to new acquaintances as of late. However, there had been nothing to fear. From the first introduction, she had felt that she knew him. There was an instant connection, a sudden bloom of recognition that he was like her. It had not made sense, until his display of fire magic. Then she understood. She had met fire mages before and never felt that same sense of belonging, but then she had never met one with Col. Fitzwilliam’s caliber.

It was more than his magic. His very personality appealed to her. He reveled in his ability with fire, not for the destruction it could cause, but for the heat and light, the dancing flames that were as inviting as any music. Col. Fitzwilliam understood her, and she him. He was willing to defend her family as his own, just as she would protect his. She felt in him the sincerity of his actions, his bravery and loyalty. He seemed very much like a dragon to her, with a sword for claws, and breathing fire nearly as well as her. He lacked only wings; Lizzy wondered if he would like to fly with her.

Though she had known him only a few days, the kinship she felt with Col. Dragon was strong: he filled a void in her life she had not realized existed. He had lodged in her heart and under her wing, as securely as any of her sisters.

Col. Fitzwilliam was very much like the brother she had never had.

Lizzy had very briefly considered whether this might be the romantic connection she never expected to feel, but instantly she cringed away from the idea. They were too similar in nature, had too many of the same reactions. It was a little too similar to looking in a mirror and seeing a slightly different version of herself.

She wondered how might life have been different, if Col. Fitzwilliam had been born in her family? She did not want to think of being a part of his family, the daughter of an earl, for she would not trade her sisters for anything. However, had Col. Dragon been her brother in blood, Papa would have had twice the trouble with two fire-makers on his hands! It would have been lovely to grow up with someone who understood what it was to be half-wild, for fire was never fully tamed. And if Lizzy had him as a brother, maybe Mrs. Bennet wouldn’t harbor the bitter resentment she had toward her… Certainly there would be no reason for Mrs. Bennet to be pushing Mary toward Collins, for the inheritance of Longbourn would have been secure.

She knew this was only wishful thinking, but she felt the familial bond with Col. Fitzwilliam was just as strong as if it had been lifelong.

Then again, if he had been born to the Bennets, he could not court Mary as he was doing now. . If she had felt that instant fraternal connection with Col. Fitzwilliam, in nearly the same moment she had recognized the attraction between him and Mary. There was a certain expression in his eye when he looked at Mary that Lizzy did not see anywhere else. He was polite and jovial with everyone—Collins being the only exception—but with Mary he was more. Col. Fitzwilliam focused more on Mary, spent more time watching her than anyone else. When he was with her, his frame unbent from military stiffness and inclined toward her, at once relaxed and protective. He was very different with Mary than he was with Lizzy, kinder, speaking softer, quick to give compliments.

Lizzy was not jealous. She did not care for the Colonel in that way, and she was far too happy for Mary to finally have a suitor. She could not have found a better match for her sister if she had tried. He was a soldier, as Mary wished, and he had Lizzy’s approval, which Mary’s other suitor did not. He had a sharp wit, and was not afraid to use it in much the same way Lizzy would use her teeth to dive upon prey. In this case, Col. Dragon had used it to simultaneously keep Collins at bay and unequivocally tell Mary that he saw her as a woman in her own right, not merely as someone’s sister or daughter.

By close observation of her sister, Lizzy realized that Mary was not averse to the attention. Mary had been at first rather flustered to be singled out by Col. Fitzwilliam. His attentions were even more pointed than Collins’. The difference was that while Collins often made Mary cringe and look despairing, the Colonel brought out Mary’s best side. He did it by calling attention to himself rather than confronting Mary’s shyness, shielding her and lifting her up at the same time.

Lizzy thought the pink on Mary’s cheeks was due to admiration rather than embarrassment, and her quiet sister held her head a little higher when Col. Dragon was around. Lizzy had never seen Mary’s eyes shine so bright as when she looked at him. When the sisters were alone, Mary was prone to blush and even giggle when Col. Fitzwilliam was mentioned, something which both Lizzy and Jane were quick to encourage.

At the risk of sounding like Mrs. Bennet, Lizzy would very much like to see those two form a union. If spending time as a model for Mary was a way to give her sister more time with the man, Lizzy would gladly sit still for hours.

Of course, Col. Fitzwilliam always brought company with him during his visits. Mr. Bingley was much in evidence, and often secreted away with Jane. That was a couple that needed no encouragement, thought Lizzy. She was a little surprised that they had not already sealed their courtship with an official engagement. Mr. Bingley seemed sincere in his affections, and Jane was please by his attentions. What could be holding them back?

Mr. Darcy was the third gentleman often in attendance at Longbourn. Though she had originally hoped to match him with Mary, she knew now how foolish she had been. Both Mary and Col. Fitzwilliam were far more suited to each other than Mr. Darcy would have been. With Mr. Bingley occupied with Jane, and Col. Dragon with Mary, Mr. Darcy was often at loose ends when they came to visit. It naturally fell to Lizzy to entertain him, but to say that she did so out of obligation was a gross lie.

If Col. Dragon was like her brother, then Mr. Darcy was her confidante. She trusted him above all others. What she felt for Mr. Darcy was powerful, even more than what she felt for Col. Fitzwilliam. Unlike with the Colonel, her connection to Mr. Darcy was not fraternal. She could not define what it was, but it was a palpable thing within her. Any insecurity she once felt around him was gone, washed away by the knowledge of his honesty. He was the first she turned to in a crisis; no other person would she prefer at her side. Mr. Darcy was her staunch ally against Collins and Wickham. The apprehension she used to feel in his presence was gone, replaced with a giddy awareness of him. Happiness bloomed in her breast when he was near.

Though sitting for Mary's painting was ostensibly to allow Mary and Col. Fitzwilliam time together, Lizzy did not at all mind that it gave her time with Mr. Darcy as well.

***


Darcy wished he could say he no longer felt jealousy toward Richard and Elizabeth, but unfortunately that was not so. It seemed that his cousin and the woman he loved could not be in the same room without naturally gravitating toward each other. Darcy wanted to trust his cousin, but the way Richard looked at Elizabeth made him uncomfortable. What was worse was the way she looked at Richard. If she had been merely polite and friendly, as she was with everyone else, Darcy would not have worried. But it was impossible to miss the way her face lit up every time she saw Richard, or the way they spoke with heads close to each other, words tripping over themselves in excitement.

It hurt Darcy in a way he had not known to be possible. There had been no other woman who had captured his interest before. The fairer sex had been eager to pursue him, to the point where he was forced to put them off by any means he had. This was the first time that he had seriously sought a woman’s attention and to have her apparently choose his cousin over him was a soul-deep ache that haunted him.

If he had loved either her or Richard less, he could have been bitter or resentful. Instead, he watched them together, bright and lively, and contrasted it with how Elizabeth was with him. He was quieter than his cousin and as a result he and Elizabeth were quiet together. He began to wonder if she did prefer a more social partner, one who could match her confidence in company, rather than one who stood perpetually against the wall, longing to escape the gathering.

At the same time, he was not ready to give her up. He was not a meek dog to roll over at the first sign of trouble. Until Elizabeth gave him clear indication that she would not choose him, he would not withdraw his suit. He had to believe that he still had a chance with her. He had known her for longer, had discovered first about her curse and dragon form. Of course, it had been Mr. Bennet who gave him the details of her condition, while she had chosen to reveal herself to Richard directly and after having only met him once. Then again, would she have trusted Richard so quickly if Darcy had not vouched for him? He liked to believe that Elizabeth’s confidence in his cousin was the direct result of his own interference.

Another person who Darcy feared was affected by Richard and Elizabeth’s companionship was Miss Mary. Richard paid attention to her; he was always careful to acknowledge her in public and was quick to quell Collins with a ferocious glance if needed. However, the nature of Richard’s interaction with Miss Mary was as different from his interaction with Elizabeth as Elizabeth’s reaction to Richard was different from her reaction to Darcy.

Where Elizabeth and Richard were energetic and nimble, with Miss Mary, Richard was unobtrusive and composed. Darcy had a hard time defining the difference in his cousin. He could not say which was closer to his true character, or which one he enjoyed better. Darcy did not believe his cousin was such a cad as to court both women at once—often in view of each other—but he was at a loss to say which, if either, Richard was truly pursuing. Richard never acted with impropriety, yet there were several instances in which Darcy inwardly cringed. He would have hated the kind of attention that Richard drew to himself, but the soldier seemed to thrive on it. Darcy wondered often if he should take his cousin in hand, or at least provide a pacifying influence, where the two women were concerned. Yet neither sister objected or showed the least bit of jealousy towards the other. If they did not protest, how could Darcy?

While Richard was entertaining Elizabeth, Darcy found himself keeping Miss Mary company. They were both too taciturn to provide each other with much conversation, but she was comfortable in his presence, which was an improvement from his first meeting with her. He also realized that she was using him as a protector—Collins would not dare approach while she was apparently occupied with Darcy.

Even though he would have rather spent more time with Elizabeth, the grateful look she cast him made his heart speed up. He was doing as a gentleman ought: protecting the fairer sex. He took pride in fulfilling that duty, hoping that Elizabeth would take his actions into consideration if she sought to compare him to his cousin.

During a large house party hosted by the Lucas family, several of the guests were encouraged to share their musical talents. A few younger members of the party soon cleared a corner for dancing. Darcy was unsurprised that Miss Lydia was among the first dancers. He could not fault her enthusiasm when Richard showed equal interest in the activity, though he expressed his with more decorum than Miss Lydia. Darcy could only watch without joining in. His leg, though improved since Richard started encouraging him—to the point where his brace no longer fit properly due to the increase of his muscles—was not yet well enough to allow him to dance.

Richard stood up with Miss Mary first, leaving a sullen Collins off to the side, while Elizabeth also had a partner, a local lad Darcy was not acquainted with. He watched her with a fierce longing in his chest. Despite having known Elizabeth for weeks, he had yet to share a single dance with her.

The set came to a conclusion and a second started nearly at once. This time Miss Mary took a seat near Darcy, while Elizabeth and Richard danced together. Darcy looked away from the image of the two of them, equally bright and engaging. He doubted his worth to Elizabeth. If she was one to be turned by material advantage, there was no question that he was a better match than his cousin. But dragons, Darcy realized, did not set the same value on wealth and security as other people did. When it came to personality, Darcy was afraid Richard came out far ahead.

Darcy noticed that Miss Mary was rather flushed from her set with Richard, still breathing quicker than usual.

“I hope my cousin did not tire you out exceedingly,” Darcy expressed in concern.

Miss Mary smiled. “He is animated in his dancing,” she admitted. “I cannot fault him, but I am glad of your quiet presence at the moment, Mr. Darcy.”

In other words, he was not engaging when compared to his cousin. He had always known that, but it still stung to hear a lady voice it aloud.

“Lizzy is better able to stay with Colonel Fitzwilliam,” Miss Mary continued. “Or rather, he is perhaps the only one who is able to keep up with her. I think she relishes that she does not have to be so careful with him.”

Darcy observed Richard and Elizabeth dancing and immediately saw what Miss Mary meant. Richard always gave his whole being into his current activity. When dancing with Miss Mary, she had struggled to meet his exuberance. Now, dancing with Elizabeth, it was Richard who was outmatched. Despite that, it seemed both Richard and Elizabeth took it as a challenge. She pressed enough to make him work to keep up with her, while he strove to make his motions as effortless as hers. They seemed almost inhuman as they moved together, a little too fast and too strong to match the other dancers.

Darcy felt another stab in his heart. Even without the impediment of his injured leg, he could not hope to match the physicality of the trained soldier. He was very slow and boring compared to Richard; what hope did Darcy have to entice a woman like Elizabeth? He had pledged to care for her sisters and her—dragon or human—in the event of Mr. Bennet’s unlikely demise, but it seemed not to weigh much next to the companionship Richard could offer.

He struggled with his temper. Not against Elizabeth: she was free to choose for herself whom she preferred, but against Richard. His cousin had known before he had even met Elizabeth that Darcy loved her. Yet that mattered little to Richard, for almost from the first moment Richard had seen Elizabeth, he had sought to impress her. They even had pet names for each other. How could Elizabeth not wish to choose his charming cousin over Darcy’s crippled self? He ground his teeth together out of equal parts of anger and pain. For once, it was not his leg which ached, but his heart. He was not ready to give up Elizabeth, but he did not see how he could be a true rival for Richard.

Darcy was so caught up in his irritation that he did not notice when the woman at his side was replaced by another.

“I hope your leg is not unduly bothering you?” Elizabeth asked in concern.

He started in surprise and looked at her. “No, it is fine,” he said hastily. He glanced around and saw that Richard was dancing with Miss Mary for the second time. Darcy frowned; what was his cousin doing? Surely Richard knew the implications of dancing twice with the same lady? Not only would Richard be raising the expectations of Miss Mary, the company—and most prominently, Mrs. Bennet—but what of Elizabeth? Was she disappointed that her possible favorite was accompanying someone else?

He turned back to Elizabeth, only to see that she was still watching him. The look in her eyes was intense, stilling him. He was lost in a violet storm, yet anchored by her gaze.

“There is such a frown on your face,” she said, her voice pitched low as if she were speaking to herself, “I thought you must be in pain.”

Her hand rose and hovered in the air by his head, then a single finger descended and landed between his eyes. The heat of that single touch burned through him like powerful whiskey. Almost by magic he felt his frown smooth out; all other concerns lessened in the wake of her presence.

Darcy felt dizzy and sucked in a breath, realizing he had forgotten to breathe since the moment he had met her eyes. It was like a spell had broken over them; she dropped her hand and Darcy pulled his thoughts together again. He was acting like a love-sick, besotted fool because of Elizabeth! Then again, he could not think of a more apt term for himself. He could give Bingley a run for the title at the moment.

He cleared his throat. “I was surprised to see you sitting rather than dancing,” he said delicately, trying to find a way to broach the subject of his cousin.

She lifted one shoulder in a delicate half-shrug. “Dancing is not like flying, and if I must be earth-bound, I would far rather spend it sitting quietly than pretending I am something I am not.”

“You would?” Darcy blurted out too loudly.

She gave him an arch glance and he quickly modulated his tone.

“Forgive me, but I cannot believe that anyone who has seen you dance would think you were not enjoying it. You cut a very fine figure in your movements.”

“I move as a dragon,” she responded dryly. “But I am a dragon. It is not very enjoyable when I must always be so careful, to walk lightly and hardly dare touch any of the spun glass sculptures around me.”

Darcy blinked, for the first time realizing that her dragon strength could be a hindrance as well as an asset. “Is that truly how you feel?” he asked, wondering how that would place Richard and him in her affections.

She let out a soft sigh. “I exaggerate. People are not truly as fragile as that, but I still must be careful at all times. It is why I would prefer to watch, rather than dance.”

Perhaps his case was not as hopeless as he had feared, if dancing was not one of her main pursuits. “Knowing now that dancing is a chore, I am honored that I was able to see you stand up. I hope your partners were not lacking.”

She laughed, a light sound that went straight to Darcy’s heart. “Bless Colonel Dragon!” she exclaimed, her words piercing his chest in a different manner.

“He does try, poor man,” she chuckled, “But I rather think your cousin is relieved to have a more sedate partner now.”

Her expression was gentle and without jealousy as she looked at the dancers. Darcy followed her gaze and saw that Richard and Miss Mary both seemed pleased with their current partner. Try as Darcy might, he could detect no pining in either Elizabeth or Richard. Were they not attached after all? He was giving himself a headache trying to decipher their connection.

The set ended. Almost at once Collins approached Richard and Miss Mary, trying to cut between them and obviously asking for the young woman’s hand in the next set. Elizabeth hissed quietly, even as Darcy tensed. Richard glowered and placed himself between Collins and his intended victim. Miss Mary shrank behind the Colonel

Not even Darcy could fault the proprietary way Richard put his arm around Miss Mary and led her away from Collins. The thick parson stared dumbfounded after them, standing in the way of another set that was forming. Richard was still glaring as he brought Miss Mary toward Darcy and Elizabeth. Darcy met his eyes briefly and could almost taste his cousin’s frustration.

Miss Mary took a seat beside Elizabeth, with Richard on her other side. Elizabeth spoke softly to her sister, to which Miss Mary nodded and cast a grateful glance at Richard. Darcy thought he saw tendresse as well as wonder in her face. He steeled himself against Elizabeth looking at Richard in the same way and was stunned when she smiled at him instead. Suddenly he realized that with their positions, he and Richard had been cast into the role of protectors for the two sisters. Elizabeth, the person with the least to fear from anyone in the room, was turning to him for shelter.

In that moment, Darcy’s heart was swollen with joy.

It was the next day that Bingley began to talk of throwing a ball.

“A ball?” Miss Bingley asked, her face twisted in distaste. “I would advise you, before you determine on it, to consult the wishes of the present party; I am much mistaken if there are not some among us to whom a ball would be rather a punishment than a pleasure.”

Darcy was unpleasantly pulled from his contemplation of another evening spent in Elizabeth’s company, now that he was assured she would not rather be on the dance floor than with him. It took him a moment to gather his thoughts; for an instant he wondered how Miss Bingley had discerned Elizabeth’s tastes in dancing and why she would care for someone she thought below her.

Richard saved him from making an immediate answer. “Nonsense! I love nothing more than a dance, and if these country lasses are not so refined as can be found in town, they are a good sight better than my fellow soldiers!” he laughed heartily.

Miss Bingley gave Richard a disdainful look while Darcy hid a smile. When Richard had first arrived, Miss Bingley had briefly turned her attentions to him. Though merely a second son, Richard’s connection to a peer was still rich enough for her tastes. However, Richard was too clever to be caught by one of her ilk. He had exaggerated some of the less refined behaviors he had learned while in the company of soldiers and Miss Bingley had given up in disgust.

If Darcy was more inclined to sympathy, he might have felt pity for her; by her standards, this was a singularly unproductive trip. Not only had Darcy, the primary recipient of her interest, made himself unappealing by his injury, but there were no other worthy gentlemen to advance her status. However, given that Miss Bingley had repeatedly forced her unwanted attentions on him, he was not in the least sympathetic toward her.

It was clear Miss Bingley was growing desperate as she turned to Darcy. “But surely,” she began, “You, Mr. Darcy, would not want to spend more time with these quaint, backwards people? How far they are from the finest cream in London!”

“On the contrary,” he answered coolly, “I find the company here to be excellent. Though I cannot participate in a dance, I have recently come to an enjoyment in watching the dances. Some of them are very fine indeed.”

A cross expression flitted on Miss Bingley’s face before she controlled herself.

Darcy hurriedly excused himself. Though he was looking forward to the ball as a chance to be with Elizabeth—maybe to finally gather the courage to express his intentions toward her—he was glad not to have any part in the planning. Miss Bingley had been reluctant to agree to the ball, but now that she had, she was determined to prove herself a better hostess than anyone in the neighborhood. She often found false pretenses on which to consult Darcy. He barely held his temper in these exchanges and did his best to avoid giving any answer at all.

He was still participating in his morning exercise with Richard. Darcy used his cane at all times, even within the house, but he had begun to rely on it less. Richard accused him of being too dependent on the prop, until Darcy demonstrated his ability to cross a room without it. He still had a painful limp, but it was improving. That was when Darcy revealed the true reason he still carried his cane: Miss Bingley never failed to sneer at the sight of it. Exaggerating his injury caused her to flee from him, which was all Darcy could hope for. After a good laugh, Richard stopped chiding Darcy on the use of his cane.

The one thing that Darcy was able to do without was his leg brace. It chafed at his scars from the improper fit; even wrapping soft cloths around his leg did not improve it. He began to practice moving around his bed chamber without the brace on. The strength of his leg was not diminished, but he did feel an increased unsteadiness without the device supporting his muscles. Nevertheless he pressed on and his balance improved within days, making him confident in discarding the brace altogether.

As Darcy’s leg recuperated, Richard pushed him to go farther and faster. His first walk with his cousin would now seem easy by comparison, yet he still could not keep up with the energetic fire mage. Morning strolls were not enough for Richard; Darcy was aware that his cousin had taken to riding well before the cockcrow. He would return in time to chase Darcy out of bed for their habitual early walks. It was not that Darcy was not an early riser, but his cousin seemed to run on no sleep at all.

It was an unusual morning that Darcy was allowed to wake on his own. By now, he had adjusted to the schedule and therefore rose within a few moments of the regular time. He thought little of it; only that Richard’s ride had gone on longer than was customary. He prepared himself for walking, then went downstairs to wait for his cousin. When several more minutes passed with no sign of Richard, Darcy began to grow worried.

He was about to reach for the colonel with his mind when he felt the brush of another awareness against his. He opened the connection without hesitation.

Richard?

There was a distinct pause, long enough for Darcy to realize this mind felt nothing like his cousin.

No, Mr. Darcy, Elizabeth replied apologetically. But I am glad you are awake at this hour. I am afraid there was an accident with Colonel Dragon this morning. I believe he will be well, but he is quite sensible just yet.

Darcy’s heart clenched in an odd mixture of fear and jealousy. Of course he was concerned for his cousin, but how long had Richard been meeting Elizabeth in the mornings?

Mr. Darcy? Elizabeth prompted.

Of course I will stay with him. Where is he? What happened?

I have brought him to Netherfield; I am on the lawn now.

Darcy blinked in surprise, then hurriedly opened the door and stepped out. Elizabeth crouched as a dragon on the dew-covered grass, Richard leaning drunkenly against her shoulder.

It was a riding accident, she explained. He did not realize I was there. I tried to warn him, but the wind shifted and his horse bolted. He fell and hit his head; you might need to send for the apothecary. She turned her head and gently nudged Richard, sending another knife of jealousy through Darcy’s guts.

He suppressed those feelings quickly as he made his way toward them. At that moment, Richard faced Darcy and shock instantly erased any unworthy sensation of jealousy. Half of Richard’s face was sheeted red with blood, spilling liberally down his neck and staining his riding clothes.

“Darcy!” Richard cried jovially, reaching for him. He half-fell onto Darcy, who staggered in turn. They might have both fallen but for the firm push Darcy felt on his back: Elizabeth, using her head to steady him. He set his feet more securely and held his cousin at arm’s length.

“Good God, Cinders, what happened to you? You look about to bleed out!” Darcy exclaimed.

“This?” Richard shrugged, swaying erratically. “This is nothing. Head wound. Always worse than it bleeds.” He paused. “Strike that. Reverse it.”

See what I mean? Elizabeth said. I am not sure he is in his right mind.

“I will take care of him, thank you for bringing him here,” Darcy said, trying to hold onto Richard. His cousin seemed to have an inability to hold still. “Steady on, man, do you not have a handkerchief?”

“Of course,” Richard snorted indignantly. “I do not see the point of it; it will only be dirtied if I get it out now.”

“That is precisely the point,” Darcy muttered, fishing in Richard’s pockets for the square of cloth. He did not see any obvious wounds on his cousin’s face, so he folded the material and pressed it to the top of Richard’s head.

“Ow,” the soldier frowned.

“Just hold that,” Darcy said in exasperation. Richard did so reluctantly.

Mr. Darcy, Elizabeth broke in urgently. It is past dawn. I must go before I am seen.

“Of course, thank you for bringing him, Miss Elizabeth.”

Please let me know how he is doing. I feel quite guilty for his predicament; his horse would not have bolted if it had not smelled me.

“I will,” Darcy promised.

Elizabeth departed quickly, the wind of her wings buffeting the gentlemen.

“Snowman,” Richard propped himself up on Darcy’s shoulder, “That is a real dragon. Did you know that? Yep, a true dragon, in every sense of the word.”

“You are not making sense. Your wits are addled,” Darcy retorted.

Richard straightened indignantly, winced, then collapsed with a giggle against Darcy.

“My addled are not wits!” he declared solemnly, though the effect was spoiled by another unseemly giggle.

“Strike that, reverse it,” Darcy said to himself, his concern for his cousin growing.

“Do you know she brought me here?”

“Yes, she told me. Let us get you inside, you need tending.”

“Pshaw!” Richard scoffed. “Let it bleed, flushes the wound out.” He raised the cloth from his head, causing a fresh gush of blood to fall down his brow.

“Keep that pressed down tight!” Darcy barked.

Richard blinked owlishly. “Yessir,” he slurred and obeyed.

“She brought me here,” he repeated as Darcy steered them toward the house. “She carried me.” There was unmistakable wonder in his voice.

“When I say she carried me, I mean she bore me up. She let me ride on her back. My God, Darcy, I have never had a leg over a more exquisite creature! I have ridden horses I swear could out run a cannonball, but she could outfly the wind itself! Such power, such speed, I ne’er could hold on, but to place strap on her would be sacrilege in truth!”

Darcy realized that Elizabeth must have flown Richard here and felt a pang of longing. What must that have been like?

“She’s gorgeous, just gorgeous,” Richard continued. “And I had her! She let me mount her back, and I felt her moving under me. I had a dragon! Between my legs, Snowman!”

“If you do not shut up,” Darcy growled through gritted teeth, “You will have my fist between your teeth.” The way Richard was describing his encounter was starting to sound… too intimate. Darcy trusted that they had not engaged in a tryst while Richard was so injured, but the question remained of why they had met that morning. Was it a regular thing between them? For all Darcy knew, flying was a kind of dragonish gesture, and it was every bit as meaningful as Richard had intimated. He knew she preferred flying to any other activity. Darcy tried not to be petty, but it burned that she had shared it with Richard first. Was this proof that she had chosen Richard over Darcy? Or was he being trivial in a time of crisis? Darcy pushed the thoughts aside to care for his cousin.

Richard gave Darcy a hurt look, but remained silent. Once they were inside the house, Darcy directed his cousin to sit in a chair, and then called for a servant to wake Bingley. There was quite a stir as word of Richard’s status spread. Miss Bingley somehow bestirred herself, only to scream and faint when she caught sight of the blood. Though she had aimed herself at Darcy, he had his hands busy trying to keep Richard seated and she fell to the floor instead. Bingley barely glanced at his sister and brusquely ordered for someone to move her. She was placed against the wall and covered with a dust cloth.

The apothecary was called and arrived within half an hour. Darcy hovered over Richard, partly out of concern, and partly to make sure he did not speak of his encounter with Elizabeth in those reprehensible terms again. Richard fidgeted in irritation during the examination, but every time he opened his mouth, Darcy shot him a fierce glare and Richard meekly subsided. By the end of the visit, Richard’s head was wrapped—Darcy could not believe such a thin cut at Richard’s hairline had caused so much blood—and headache powders were given out.

Richard and Darcy were able to retreat to their respective rooms before Miss Bingley was revived. Now that he knew Richard’s life was not in danger, Darcy gave himself leave to straighten out his feelings. A throbbing anger filled his breast, mingled with hurt and uncertainty. Had Richard intended to meet Elizabeth this morning, or was it an accidental encounter? She had shared flying with his cousin; was it only necessity to get him to Netherfield, or had they reveled in a greater bond than Darcy could ever hope for?

Unable to sit still any longer, he decided to take the walk he had missed this morning. Darcy escaped the house without being seen and set off at a punishing pace. He wished he could beat out these doubts with the same vigor as his feet striking the ground.

Halfway through his walk, his thoughts still unresolved but his body protesting the pace, he felt Elizabeth’s mind lightly touch his. He opened the connection.

Yes? He spoke more abruptly than necessary. Some of the hurt he felt was due to her reaction as well. She had to know his feelings for her; he had been courting her for weeks. Yet instead of making it clear whom she preferred, she had strung both of them along like dolts. Richard was not fussed by it—was he more secure in Elizabeth’s affections? Had she told him something while Darcy was left hanging?—but Darcy was unaccustomed to having his heart played with.

Mr. Darcy? Elizabeth asked meekly. Is this a bad time?

He forced himself to take a deep breath. No, I am sorry, he responded. How may I help you? He allowed his pace to slow, knowing it would do no good to exhaust himself.

How is Colonel Dragon?

A thousand questions went through Darcy’s mind, starting with, “Why?” and continuing through, “What did the flight mean to you? Is Richard simply better than I am? What did I do wrong? Do you ever mean to make your preference clear?”

Instead he made himself sound calm and impartial. He is resting. It was no worse than a small bump on the head that bled profusely. He will be well shortly.

I am pleased with that news , she responded happily. I will convey it to Mary.

Darcy was surprised by her reaction. That she was relieved was to be expected, but not that she would share it with her sister. How was he supposed to interpret her intentions now? Her next question caught him similarly off-guard.

And you, Mr. Darcy? How are you doing?

Him? He was torn, confused. Her concern for him seemed at odds with her interest in Richard. I am well, he said evenly, unable to articulate more.

It must have been a shock for you, to see your cousin like that. I know you are close to him.

It was, he agreed. I am glad the injury was not worse. He felt guilty for entertaining his jealousy when his cousin, almost his nearest relation, had been injured.

I am glad you were awake, Elizabeth went on. I do not know what I would have done if you had not been there. When the accident happened, all I could think was to get Colonel Dragon to you. You would know what to do, I was sure.

Warmth suffused Darcy’s being. Was he reading too much into this morning? Maybe it had been a chance encounter that meant nothing. Maybe she had only allowed Richard to fly because it was faster than walking. Maybe Elizabeth did admire Darcy over his cousin. She still trusted and relied on him, that much was clear. He wished dearly he could have seen her face at that moment, dragon or not.

I do not mind confessing, she began, I was very scared. It was my fault, and if he had been grievously injured, I should have never forgiven myself.

But he was not, and he would not wish you to carry the blame, Darcy said diplomatically.

I daresay you are right. Thank you again, Mr. Darcy. Mary is anxiously awaiting news. The sense of her faded in his mind.

Darcy felt bereft, and yet their conversation had given him much to think on. He started back toward Netherfield at a far more sedate pace than he had left it.

Chapter 21


Mary was used to being the plain sister. Jane and Lizzy were the older and more confident ones. Kitty and Lydia had always been Mama’s favorites. Mary was the studious, quiet, and overlooked sister. The responsible one. She had always imagined that while her sisters would marry for love, she would marry for security. It was not that she did not long for love—for she did secretly long for it—but she was more practical than that. When Mr. Collins arrived, Mary had seen it as a chance to finally stand up for her sisters. None of them wanted the parson, and neither did Mary if she was honest, but she could save her family. If she was married to Papa’s heir, then Mr. Collins would not throw them out when Papa passed. It would be his Christian duty to aid them and a parson could not ignore that.

Mr. Darcy’s offer to put them up had been very kind, but she feared trespassing on his goodwill. No man wished to support the mother and unmarried sisters of his wife—that outcome was clear to Mary, if not to anyone else—indefinitely. No, she had been resigned to becoming Mrs. Collins, to protect her sisters by being the sacrificial lamb to Mr. Collins’ wolf. She did not imagine life with him or her wifely duties would be pleasant, but she was determined to do it, no matter what Lizzy said.

Until Colonel Fitzwilliam had arrived.

Mary, who had never captured anyone’s attentions before, now had two men turning their heads toward her whenever she was near. It was all a bit overwhelming. Mr. Collins and Colonel Fitzwilliam’s attentions were as different as they could be.

The former was petty and cruel. His barbs hurt when they hit her, but she endured it with the consolation that if he was targeting her, then at least her sisters were free. It was to be her lot in life.

Yet within a few minutes of meeting Colonel Fitzwilliam, Mary’s entire perspective changed. His wit was as sharp as Mr. Collins’ words and wielded a great deal more aptly. He gave her back a sense of worth, reminded her that she was neither a mouse nor a beaten wife. Her place in life was not yet determined. Marrying Mr. Collins still seemed like the most natural course, but she did not have to go into it meekly accepting.

She would have thought that once Colonel Fitzwilliam had made his point against Mr. Collins, he would let her be. Instead, he had been just as constant a visitor as Mr. Bingley and Mr. Darcy. Mary did not mind for she greatly enjoyed his company. He was an excellent dancer as well, and had partnered her several times at the assemblies. Colonel Fitzwilliam had a way of putting off Mr. Collins that protected all of them while not directly giving offence, although she suspected Mr. Collins would eventually retaliate worse.

For a while Mary had felt like a bone between dogs, what with Mr. Collins on one side and Lizzy, Mr. Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam on the other. However, three were stronger than one and so she was nearly constantly guarded. She was grateful for the interference while it lasted, but she did not expect more until she began to paint Colonel Fitzwilliam’s portrait with Lizzy.

Mary had always known that Colonel Fitzwilliam was a handsome man, but now she was given leave to study him with an artist’s eye. He had tiger’s eye hair, sienna with ochre highlights and the dark tones of burnt umber. His eyes were peridot, with a hint of sapphire around the pupil and radiating spiels of topaz, as if the fire of his magic was coming out in his irises. She saw the wind-roughened rouge of his cheeks, and the sun-cracked lines baked into his skin around his mouth and eyes. His hands were blunt and strong, speaking of power and forth-rightness. He was not a conventional gentleman, refined and delicate, but a soldier built of hard lines and uncompromising spirit.

She captured him on canvas as she saw him, hoping he would be pleased by her efforts. After going through several different ideas, the Colonel and Lizzy had finally settled on one they could both accept. In the painting, Col. Fitzwilliam and Lizzy were poised on a rocky mountainside. They were facing each other in opposition, fire gathered in his hand and smoke trailing from her mouth. The rocks around them were scorched, showing that they had already exchanged several volleys of flame. He was leaning forward, balanced on his feet and ready to spring or dodge. Lizzy had her back arched like a cat, wings high overhead. One of her paws was on a large agate, uncut and roughly oval in shape. It was clear in the picture that Col. Fitzwilliam was attempting to steal the agate from Lizzy.

Mary thought it fit them both. It had a playful air; Col. Fitzwilliam was grinning madly and Lizzy’s posture was reminiscent of a kitten rather than one of true anger. It was a dynamic pose, both of them ready to leap into action at any moment. Mary liked the composition and privately thought it was one of her best. She had a lifetime of practice in drawing her sister, and did not at all mind having to pay extra attention to Col. Fitzwilliam to get his figure just right. Most of what she did tended to be still portraits, so having a completely different subject was invigorating.

Unfortunately, Col. Fitzwilliam did not seem to have the same level of satisfaction in her work as she did. The first time he saw the portrait, she had completed the preliminary sketches and added a few blocks of color. Mary did not invite him over as she was uncomfortable with people watching her through the painting process, and preferred to present her art once it was completed.

However, since Colonel Fitzwilliam was the kind of man that could not remain still for long periods of time, he began to wander around after a few minutes. After observing him, she could say it was not a nervous habit, but rather the result of a lifetime of constant movement. The soldier who was not quick on their feet was dead, and Colonel Fitzwilliam was very much robustly alive.

He circled the area in front of the cottage restlessly. Also in attendance were Lizzy and Mr. Darcy. Though Lizzy had playfully feinted at Colonel Fitzwilliam at the beginning of the visit, she was now in her usual position, half-curled around Mr. Darcy. Mary’s fingers itched to continue her painting of them, but she had thought to do the one of Colonel Fitzwilliam first.

“I say, that is quite good,” said a deep voice from just over her shoulder.

Mary jumped and turned to look. Col. Fitzwilliam stood so close that she had to crane her neck back to see him. The heat of his body surrounded her and she wondered how she had not noticed his proximity before. Her cheeks grew flushed; it was not often that a handsome man—one who had taken it upon himself to be her protector—paid much attention to her artwork.

“You have a keen eye for details,” he continued to survey the painting. “Only, do you not think you have drawn my nose a little long?”

She concealed a surprised twitch of her hand. Mary did not mind criticism, especially if it helped her improve her art, but in comparing the drawing to the subject, she found them to be perfectly identical. Perhaps Colonel Fitzwilliam was one of those people who preferred their portraits to be idealized versions of themselves, regardless of accuracy. She reached up with her charcoal to change the sketch.

Colonel Fitzwilliam caught her hand. His skin was hot and toughened with calluses. Her breath caught in her throat as she met his gaze again. He stared into her, his green eyes intent as though he were trying to communicate with her. She had the nagging feeling that if she had been born with magic, he would have simply spoken in her mind. Instead she was left to guess his message, forced to wonder what it was that he did not wish to say out loud. If she knew him better, would she have been able to read his expression as clearly as the mental speech?

Lizzy stretched, loudly scratching her claws on a stone. The spell was broken between Mary and Colonel Fitzwilliam. She started and pulled her hand back, feeling a rush of heat in her face. She knew Lizzy had done it on purpose, reminding both of them that the dragon was more than willing to come to her rescue. The problem was that she did not feel she needed rescuing from Colonel Fitzwilliam.

It was a few days later, when the four of them in the garden again, that Colonel Fitzwilliam made another comment on his portrait. Just last night he had danced with her, twice, at a house party. She was aware of the very great compliment he had paid her. He had also kept Mr. Collins away when her cousin had tried to request a dance. Her refusal had meant she had had to sit out the rest of the night, but Colonel Fitzwilliam had remained beside her. She had sat between Lizzy and Colonel Fitzwilliam, with Mr. Darcy on Lizzy’s other side. It made Mary feel safe. She had that same feeling of protection now and she realized she was beginning to care for him as more than a friend or guardian. She only hoped to earn his regard in a small way.

The morning was much cooler than before, however Colonel Fitzwilliam, Mr. Darcy, and Lizzy all showed a lack of reaction to the temperature. Mary already knew that Lizzy preferred colder climes; it seemed that magic provided the gentlemen-mages greater protection against the elements as well. Mary was feeling distinctly human and rather disadvantaged at the moment. Her usual defense against the cold was to lean against her sister and let the dragon’s warmth shield her. However, that position was currently occupied by Mr. Darcy.

Even with her shawl around her shoulders, Mary was close to shivering. The only thing that made her hide her discomfort was that as soon as Lizzy noticed her shivering, the dragon would force her to go inside. The gentlemen would follow her out of courtesy, leaving Lizzy alone. Besides, other than the cold, Mary was enjoying her time outside. Or rather, she was enjoying the company. Enduring the cold seemed a small price to pay.

“You have gotten much further along than I expected,” Colonel Fitzwilliam said from behind her. Mary gasped and fumbled with her pallet, almost dropping it. She glanced at him and wished she had not; he was too close to see properly, but it was clear he was frowning at her work. Was he displeased by her progress? His arm brushed against her back so that she felt the heat radiating from him. She could not have said if it was his magic or his usual body temperature, but she craved the warmth too much to pull away. She hoped Lizzy and Mr. Darcy could not see how close Colonel Fitzwilliam stood to her, but was too shy to look up at them.

“Do you not like it?” she asked quietly, expecting condemnation. Despite it, she had no desire to move away from him. No matter what he said, even if he did not like the painting, she felt safe. It was a far different feeling from when Mr. Collins was haranguing her. It had nothing to do with the large dragon in proximity, and everything with the man behind her.

“It is good,” Colonel Fitzwilliam allowed with a dissatisfied air, “but you are faster than I would like.”

Mary blinked in confusion, uncertain as to his meaning. Usually patrons praised her quick skills, rather than complained. She studied the painting for a time, searching for the reason for his discontent. She had shortened the nose on her portrayal of his face, though privately she thought it looked better the way it had been before. Mary had wished to please him and perhaps win a little approbation; it seemed she had failed in that.

“You know,” he said at last, his voice somewhat lighter. “I have always wanted a cleft in my chin. Think you could add that in?” He reached out and thumbed the damp oil paint of the portrait, smearing it.

“Colonel Fitzwilliam!” Mary hissed sharply. The smudge was not irreparable, but it was a mar on her work.

“I apologize,” he said, but sounded too innocent to really mean it. “I think perhaps I should like to see some facial hair as well, would that be too difficult?” His hand started for the painting again. Mary caught his fingers before he could do more damage. His wrist turned and suddenly her hand was engulfed in his. She was aware again of the roughened texture of his skin, of his heat against her chilled fingers. She felt surrounded by him, one arm pressed casually to her back, her hand held by him. It was as though they were in their own tiny world, where nothing else mattered.

He tugged gently on her, bringing her attention back to him. She tipped her head back, meeting his green eyes. They were just as penetrating as before, trying to pass on a message she was deaf to. She felt she was almost there, close to understanding what he really meant.

“Can you do that?” he repeated.

For a moment her mouth was too dry to answer. She swallowed with difficulty.

“Yes,” she finally spoke breathlessly.

He squeezed her hand, holding it for another moment before finally releasing her. She immediately felt colder without him.

The next time Colonel Fitzwilliam commented on the painting was a week later. The day was the coldest yet; she clutched her shawl to her, but even that was not enough to stop the occasional shudder. Thankfully Lizzy was too involved in conversation with Colonel Fitzwilliam and Mr. Darcy to notice. Despite being cold, the day was beautifully bright and Mary did not want to lose the good lighting for her artwork.

This time, she kept an eye on Colonel Fitzwilliam. He had a white bandage around his head, mostly hidden by his hat. Yesterday morning, Lizzy had woken her up. Mary knew it had to be something serious, for her sister had been pale and tear-streaked.

“I am so sorry, Mary,” Lizzy took Mary’s hands in her own. Her skin was hot, but her fingers were trembling. “Col. Fitzwilliam had an accident this morning, and it was my fault.”

“What?” Mary gasped. She pulled one hand free to fumble for her glasses in order to see better. At the time, she had been too concerned for Col. Fitzwilliam to wonder why Lizzy was telling her specifically.

“What happened? Is he well?” she asked urgently.

“He was riding his horse through the woods this morning. He did not know I was there. I tried to warn him, but his horse sensed me first and bolted. He was thrown and hit his head. I do not think it was very bad, for he did not lose consciousness. There was a lot of blood though, and he seemed rather confused. I brought him to Mr. Darcy, who promised to call the apothecary. I am so sorry, Mary! I did not mean for it to happen!” Lizzy ended on a sob.

“No, it was no fault of your own,” Mary said, still reeling from the news. “You could not have guessed that he would ride near to you, or that he would be thrown.” She hesitated, wanting to ask a favor but unsure if it was appropriate. Her worry for Col. Fitzwilliam outweighed her thoughts was propriety. “If you should hear from Mr. Darcy today, about Col. Fitzwilliam,” she began slowly.

“I will tell you at once,” Lizzy had vowed without asking.

Indeed, later that afternoon, a relieved Lizzy reported that Col. Fitzwilliam’s injury was not serious, and that he was resting. Only then had Mary been able to breathe easy.

Obviously the injury was not bothering Col. Fitzwilliam now, the day after sustaining it. Other than the bandage, he appeared to be as he ever was, sharp of wit and sound of body. Mary still felt the urge to fuss over him, though she was sure a soldier like him would not appreciate the gesture.

She saw when he began to wander and was not surprised when he came behind her. The knuckles of one hand rubbed faintly against her back. When she did not protest, he shifted closer still, his palm splayed against her back, his side touching her shoulder with every breath. Mary allowed herself a very small movement toward him, so that they could have been embracing. Part of it was his heat which she needed, and part of it was the fluttery feeling he caused inside her. His injury seemed very far as she felt the solidness of his body.

Mary was pleased with how far along she was with the portrait, and hoped he was too. Even with the changes he had requested, she was close to being done. Her hopes were dashed with his next words.

“You look almost finished,” he murmured. “I cannot have that.”

She gritted her teeth with frustration. Was nothing she did good enough for him? She looked up at Lizzy, hoping for a little sisterly intervention, but Lizzy and Darcy were locked in silent conversation.

“I think I would prefer it if I were holding a musket,” Colonel Fitzwilliam mused. “Yes, I think that would do. That would be no problem for you, would it?”

Mary gaped in anger. With the portrait in its final stages, making such a large change in posture would be very difficult. She would have to scrape off layers of paint and hope the original image did not bleed through the correction. It was almost easier to toss this canvas and start a new one altogether. Why was he so set on her not being finished? Did he have no concept of the time she would have to spend to make the changes? Not that she was opposed to spending her time like this, with him practically holding her.

A thought came to mind that halted the cross retort on her tongue. What if time was the reason he kept delaying her? Time to… what? To allow Mr. Darcy to court Lizzy? Surely those two were well able to gain time of their own. She was not so shallow as to think Colonel Fitzwilliam was making these demands simply to be with her. Or was he? He was staring at her again, that fervent look that willed her to understand.

She tested the idea. “That would require a lot of time,” she said slowly, and had the pleasure of seeing his peridot eyes light with pleasure. One side of his mouth pulled up in a crooked smile that made her insides quiver.

“Time with you,” he said quietly. “I would not be averse to that.” He ran one hot finger down her face, his hold on her shifting enough to become a real embrace. Her heart raced in her chest, nervous and joyful at the same time.

“No?” she asked, hardly able to believe he really was choosing her.

“Not at all,” he confirmed, reaching for her hand without any pretense this time. She sighed in bliss as he intertwined their fingers. There were many reasons she could delay the painting. They might have to spend a lot of time together before it was done.

“In that case,” she asserted herself firmly, “Do forgive me if I undo the changes you have requested to your form. I can extend our time easily enough, but my work should not be made to suffer for it. My originals were much more accurate, and I like them better.”

“Do you?” Col. Fitzwilliam asked with amusement.

“Yes, certainly,” she replied, turning to him. “A musket is a waste when your talent is all you need, and your face is extremely pleasing without modification.”

She reached up without thinking, her artist-hands tracing his face as if to study a sculpture. She used the excuse to very gently trace his bandage, careful not to cause him pain. He raised his eyebrows, and only then did she realize what she had admitted.

“In that case, I would like to say that I find your face extremely pleasing as well,” he said in a low voice. Her mouth ran dry. Here she was, touching this beautiful man’s face, and he claimed to find her pretty as well, glasses, mousy hair and all?

“Richard!” Mr. Darcy called sternly. “Are you changing it again? Have you not done enough?”

Lizzy growled a warning, the muscles along her back rippling like she was going to pounce.

Colonel Fitzwilliam looked down at Mary with a boyish grin that made her melt. “Am I bothering you?” he asked teasingly.

She gave a giddy laugh. “I am well, Lizzy,” she called. “Do not fret over me.”

Lizzy settled, watching them speculatively. Mary blushed, but she was not willing to leave Colonel Fitzwilliam’s arms. Mr. Darcy still frowned at his cousin, until Lizzy nudged him with her wing.

Mary gave up any pretense of working on the portrait of Colonel Fitzwilliam in the following two weeks. Sometimes she added to Mr. Darcy’s portrait, or the one of Lizzy and Mr. Darcy together, but most often she was simply glad to be in Colonel Fitzwilliam’s presence. She was seldom cold now, for he gave off such a radiant heat that it more than protected her from the weather so long as he was close to her. He was not always at her side, of course, but he was rarely away long enough for her to become thoroughly chilled.

Of course, it was not merely the Colonel she spent time with, but Lizzy and Mr. Darcy as well. It was clear that Lizzy and Colonel Fitzwilliam had a very strong bond. Mary might have found herself worried about it had the fire mage not made his preference for herself so obvious. She guessed that there were certain

things that Lizzy and Colonel Fitzwilliam shared which made it easy for them to relate to each other, such as a predilection for fire, among other things.

Mary had never seen Lizzy act as playful as she did with Colonel Fitzwilliam. The dragon was always careful of her strength, whether in dragon form or human, but there was often a friendly competition between them, usually over the most inane topics. Mary sometimes felt left out when Lizzy was a dragon, because she was the only one who could not hear her sister speak.

The gentlemen started the visit speaking out loud, with Mr. Darcy most often translating Lizzy so Mary could understand, but the verbal replies gradually died out until she heard nothing. Just because she was without magic did not mean she did not realize they were still speaking to each other. They still moved and gestured like they were talking, only the conversation was silent. Colonel Fitzwilliam tended to notice she was left out first, and so broke away from the other two to speak with her. Mary was flustered with his attentions at first, but gradually grew comfortable in his presence. He loved to tease—much like Lizzy—but she most often felt that he used her company to be able to relax. She was privileged that he let his guard down around her.

As for Lizzy and Mr. Darcy, those two were so besotted with each other, it was a wonder that they were not yet engaged. Mr. Darcy must have been waiting for something, but Mary could not guess what it was. She might not know the ice mage very well, but she knew her sister. When Lizzy walked into a room, Mr. Darcy was the first one she looked for. He was the only person who Lizzy, the most independent of the sisters, regularly turned to for support.

Even the way they stood together made their feelings obvious. The dark-haired gentleman leaned against Lizzy’s dragon form easily, his posture as relaxed as Mary ever saw it. Lizzy was almost always to be found curled around him. Probably no one else present realized what she was doing, but Mary had grown up with a dragon for a sister. Lizzy was very nearly cuddling with Mr. Darcy. Not for protection—Lizzy was many things, but subtle when she was feeling protective was not one of them—but because she enjoyed his presence.

Indeed, they seemed to connect better when Lizzy was a dragon than when she was human. Most of Mary’s attention was taken with Colonel Fitzwilliam, but even still she saw how there was a distance between Lizzy and Mr. Darcy when her sister was human that was absent when she was a dragon. Mary was at a loss to explain it.

She was still trying to understand how the Colonel, this battle-scarred soldier, had chosen her to court. It was more than keeping Mr. Collins away, for otherwise he need never approach her when the parson was out of sight. But he never hesitated to touch her hand, to offer his arm and his warmth to her. She enjoyed the way he bent his head to listen to her, as though she had the full of his focus at all times. Mary was rapidly coming to feel for Colonel Fitzwilliam what Lizzy must feel for Mr. Darcy, or Jane for Mr. Bingley.

Maybe it left Mr. Collins thwarted and frustrated, but for the first time since his arrival, her future was brimming with hope instead of dread. And it was all because of Colonel Fitzwilliam.

Chapter 22

Darcy was glad that his cousin was apparently courting Miss Mary, especially as the time for Bingley’s ball drew near. Unfortunately, he would be much gladder if Richard were not apparently courting Elizabeth as well.

Richard and Darcy went with Bingley to personally deliver the invitation for the ball. Darcy had the foresight to inform Elizabeth of the visit ahead of time, so that she was in human form and in attendance for the presentation. Even if she did not look forward to dancing as much as her sisters, Darcy still wanted to see her face when it was announced.

There was a minor explosion of sound when Bingley gave the invitation to Mrs. Bennet.

Good God, Richard told Darcy silently, It is as bad as a cannon blast at close range.

Across the room, Elizabeth caught Darcy’s eye and her teasing voice entered his mind. Your friend has paid us a great compliment, but it would have been a quieter affair for you at least had he simply put it in the post.

I suspect the noise would have been just as great here regardless of the delivery method, and I daresay Bingley counts it as a small price to pay to see Miss Bennet’s reaction first-hand, he replied.

Indeed, Bingley was already making his way to Miss Bennet. His friend was beaming, while Miss Bennet had a delicate blush on her face.

It was a small price for me as well, Darcy added deliberately, holding Elizabeth’s gaze.

Her eyebrows rose. I had no idea you were so keen on Jane’s response, she laughed. Does Mr. Bingley know you are a rival for her affections?

Darcy coughed to hide his own laugh, though it would not have been heard in the room. Mrs. Bennet was shrieking about the ball, alternately complaining about her nerves and exulting in the personal invitation which she appeared to regard as a great victory. Miss Lydia and Miss Kitty competed for volume, demanding new dresses and frippery for the occasion. Bingley and Richard both took the opportunity to approach their respective inamoratas, no doubt to reserve the first set with each of them. Elizabeth viewed her closest sisters with fondness, while Darcy watched her. With all of his hearts, he wished he could ask her to dance. Yet his leg would not allow it; even had he been sound of body, the knowledge that she was indifferent to the activity would have held him back.

The noise level in the room dropped slightly as Mrs. Bennet realized that two of her daughters were being singled out by eligible gentlemen. She scrutinized Richard and Bingley, then cast a shrewd eye over Darcy himself. He was careful not to meet her gaze: he was uncomfortable in her presence, not only for her vulgarity, but because she was the one that had made those foul insinuations about Elizabeth. Just thinking about it made ice gather on his fingertips, and his next breath came out in a visible cloud.

Richard clearly noticed Darcy’s reaction and created an effective distraction by loudly declaring he would dance with every Bennet sister at the ball. Much excitement greeted this announcement. Bingley was inspired, and repeated the offer. Darcy had the sudden fear that Elizabeth’s dance card would be filled before the day of the ball.

Leave her alone, he wanted to tell them. She does not even care to dance. Leave her some time, so I can sit with her for a while. It sounded petulant even in his own mind, so he refused to give voice to it.

At that point, the last person in the room, who had been ignored by one and all up until then, decided to speak. Collins stood, taking the center of the room with a loud and rather phlegmy clearing of his throat.

“I also would not be satisfied until I have danced with all my fair cousins,” he stated pretentiously.

Everyone eyed him with some measure of dismay, then all the talking broke out at once.

“I would not dance with him for anything!” Miss Lydia scoffed loudly, Miss Kitty nodding in fervent agreement.

“I wonder,” Darcy spoke up, trying to discourage the parson from his goal, “that a man of the church, who must always be a model of decorum and propriety, would accept the invitation to such a frivolous night, and that you even intend to dance so often. Do you not fear a rebuke from Lady Catherine, or even the Archbishop for such idle actions?” He cast a stern eye on Collins, silently willing him to back down.

Instead Collins drew himself up and glared spitefully at Darcy. “I am by no means of the opinion, I assure you, that a ball of this kind, given by a young man of character, to respectable people, can have an evil tendency.”

With that Collins preyed on Miss Mary. “I had hoped to engage you, my cousin, for the first set, but as those are taken, I shall have your supper set. Try to wear attire appropriate for your station.”

It was not a question, giving Miss Mary no chance to refuse. She shrank back from his violent insistence, while the temperature around Richard became dangerously warm. Collins immediately turned on Elizabeth, who greeted him with a stubborn lift of her chin.

“I shall have you for the first set,” he ordered, giving her a look of disguised lust that sickened Darcy to see it. Elizabeth paled, but refused to give in.

“I am already engaged for the first set,” she replied smoothly. “But I shall dance the supper set with you.”

Icy rage coalesced inside Darcy’s chest. His heartbeat pounded in his ears, drowning out all other sounds. He wanted to roar in fury, wanted to freeze Collins where the greasy rat stood. His Elizabeth, confined to that foul man not only for the supper set but for the duration of the meal afterwards? There was an expression of dimwitted hunger on Collins’ face which meant he expected more than a meal out of her company. It was not to be borne!

Elizabeth’s voice suddenly rang in his head. He cannot hurt me, gentlemen, she said, and Darcy realized she was also speaking to Richard, perhaps Bingley as well. Not like he could my sisters.

Please, Elizabeth, Darcy begged. Do not let him… He could not articulate the evils men could perpetuate on women.

I will not let him, she replied stoutly, but Darcy could sense her courage was shaken.

Swear to me you will call me, or change to a dragon before you allow it!

She took a deep breath and visibly steadied. I swear it. I shall not forget that I am a dragon. I would sooner set him on fire than let him take liberties with my person. If he makes an attempt, you are the first I will call.

Darcy was only partly reassured, but it gave him enough courage to ask. You said your first set was already taken?

She paused, then a light blush spread up her cheeks. I had hoped it was, even if I did little dancing during it. I fear I may have spoken precipitously.

His heart soared. You did not, he assured her. May I have the honor of your first dance of the evening, even if I cannot dance?

It is gladly given, she whispered, I would enjoy not dancing with you.

It was almost enough to make Darcy chuckle, but he could not forget that Collins had designs on his Elizabeth. He realized that she had not corrected the use of her Christian name; their silent conversation became more precious to him.

The gentlemen from Netherfield reluctantly parted from the ladies of Longbourn a short time later. Darcy spent the nerve-racking carriage ride back to Netherfield fretting about the problem of Collins. It was increasingly clear to him that the parson was a threat to Miss Mary, Elizabeth, and probably the other sisters as well. Mr. Bennet was too blind or too indolent to notice the danger in his house, which left Darcy to act as their guardian. Considering that Bingley and Richard also had a stake in the ladies of house, he sought their opinion on the matter.

“I do not trust that Collins fellow,” he said almost as soon as the carriage pulled away. “I fear he might do something untoward if he is not removed from the house.”

“I agree with you,” Richard said, “Though your lady has the least to fear from him.”

Bingley chuckled in agreement, but Darcy shook his head.

“If Miss Mary or Miss Bennet were the ones cursed into dragon form, would you worry less for them?” he asked sharply.

Both gentlemen frowned and shook their heads.

“Though if all three of them were dragons…” Bingley mused.

“Then I would fear most of all for us!” Richard laughed.

“Gentleman, Collins if you please,” Darcy brought them back to the subject.

“I could perhaps cast a spell to make him sicken,” Bingley suggested. “It might at least keep him in bed and away from our ladies.”

“I second that,” Richard said quickly. “Snowman?”

Darcy considered it. As lovely as it would be to give the repulsive parson some illness, there was too high a chance of the plan failing.

Reluctantly he shook his head. “Mr. Bennet is too good of a spell mage, certainly stronger than you, Bingley, no offence meant.”

“None taken,” Bingley assured him.

“Mr. Bennet could easily trace the spell back to you. Elizabeth could probably do the same, or at least she would detect your magic easy enough. In any case, her mere presence will make any spell weaken. No, I would prefer to do something less obvious, that cannot be traced back to us,” Darcy said.

“I am out then,” Richard said sourly. “I was going to suggest something with a lot of flames. I would even allow Miss Elizabeth to help.”

Darcy smiled at the image of his love breathing fire while Collins ran from her in terror.

“As charming as that image is, it is not exactly subtle,” Darcy agreed.

They fell silent. The carriage rocked over a bump in the road, causing Darcy’s heart to jump to his throat and the temperature in the carriage to plummet.

“Steady, Snowman,” Richard murmured, using his own magic to bring the temperature back to comfortable warmth.

Bingley shook his head. “Honestly, the two of you. Between fire and ice, I do not know which is worse. When it is summer I am glad of Darcy’s company, but when it is winter I prefer yours, Richard! You must have driven your families mad chasing each other around.”

Darcy took a deep breath and tried to slow his heart rate. “Indeed. Uncle Fitzwilliam, Richard’s father…” he trailed off as a thought came to him.

“I believe we drove him spare at times!” Richard crowed, to Bingley’s laughter.

“Your father, Cinder,” Darcy spoke. “Do you suppose he has enough contacts within the church to have Collins removed, or at least brought back to his living?”

Richard turned thoughtful, while Bingley looked on keenly.

“It is possible,” Richard said. “I cannot say for sure, as I have spent more time on the front line than at home these last years. You would have to speak with Mother.” He tapped his forehead. The earl of Matlock did not have magic of his own, but his wife had an unusual talent for healing mental and emotional pain when she hummed. Darcy had been more than glad of her services when Georgiana had been heart-broken after Ramsgate.

“Would it be better if you asked her?” Darcy repeated the gesture of touching his temple.

“No!” Richard scowled. “Every time I speak with her, she only wants to know when I will retire from the war and when I will marry and give her grandchildren.”

Darcy smiled, having received a similar question from his aunt several times. “Then I will t-talk to her,” he stuttered as the carriage bounced again. “Blast! After I am out of this infernal thing. If I speak with her now, she will think you have dragged me into the war with you.”

“If I brought you into the war,” Richard retorted, “It would only be to throw you at the enemy! Most of the time we are too cold as it is, we do not need more.”

“God protect our men,” Bingley said quietly, and Darcy and Richard solemnly agreed.

Several days later, Darcy had spoken to his aunt, explaining the situation, and worked with the earl to device a solution. However, it would take time to implement and it would be a couple weeks before results were seen. In the meanwhile, the gentlemen continued their frequent visits to Longbourn to hold Collins at bay.

Darcy at least had the ability to check in with Elizabeth even when he was not physically present to ensure her safety. Richard and Bingley, their respective ladies not having magic, did not have that consolation. He made sure to enquire about both Miss Mary and Miss Bennet in order to assure his friend and cousin. Darcy did not know if Elizabeth suspected the real reason behind his increased vigil, but she seemed to welcome his conversation.

A mere four days before the ball found Darcy outside, walking the lawn of Netherfield in the hopes that movement might clear his thoughts. It was a grey, drizzling sort of day. Darcy did not mind the moisture; he extended his magic around him so the water turned to snow, which prevented him from getting too wet. The weather reminded him of Elizabeth. She would love the cooler temperature, and there was enough cloud cover that she could fly during the day time. He was tempted to reach out and see if she was currently flying, but his mind was too occupied with other things.

Darcy looked up to see Richard emerging from the forest bordering the park. Like Darcy, Richard was using his magic to keep the rain away from him. In his case, there was a small bubble of steam around him from the water boiling away. Richard waved vigorously and bounded toward him. He felt amused; his cousin had a huge grin on his face and Darcy prepared himself for good news.

“Congratulate me, Snowman,” Richard called as soon as he was close enough. “I plan to be an engaged man within the next couple days, as soon as I speak with Mr. Bennet.”

Darcy felt a surge of pleasure for his cousin. “Congratulations, Cinder—” he began.

“I just finished talking to Lizzy in the forest,” Richard went on. He kept speaking, but Darcy heard none of it, his mind frozen on the first part.

Richard had called her Lizzy. Not Lady Dragon, not Miss Elizabeth. He had used the name with great familiarity, as if they were intimate. Richard expected to become engaged shortly. He had spoken to Elizabeth about marriage. It was not Miss Mary he was courting after all, but Elizabeth, all along!

“How could you do this to me?” Darcy cried out. This was the opposite of pleasure. It was a knife in his heart, twisting viciously.

Richard froze, his happy smile fading. “Snowman?”

“You know I love her!” Darcy snarled, rage and pain churning in his gut.

Richard’s eyes widened. “I thought you were courting her sister!” he exclaimed.

“Of course not!”

“I never meant to hurt you, Darcy, but I love her too much to give her up. I believe she loves me as well, and I swear I will make her happy.”

“What about me? I was happy with her, before you came along!”

“If you love her so much, why did you never say anything?” Richard demanded.

“How could I? Every time I saw her, you were there! You were always flirting with her, encouraging her. I asked you to help her, not to steal her away from me!”

“In all the times I saw you together, you hardly spoke a word to her! I could have sworn you felt nothing for her. When you saw me get close to her, you should have said something.”

“Would that have helped? What woman would ever see me when you were around?” Darcy was bitter and agonized.

“Maybe if you had actually spoken, instead of being a bloody coward, you would have known! Instead you hide away behind that stiff Darcy pride, locked away where no one can find you! I will not be sorry for you, for if that is the way you act in love, then she is better off with me! At least I can tell her how I feel without fear of being shown up by another. If I am not enough for her, so be it, but it will be her choice, not mine!”

Darcy’s fury came to a peak. With a wordless cry of pain, his magic lashed out at Richard. Hailstones the size of his fist solidified from the drizzle around them and threw themselves at Richard. The soldier ducked the first group, then brought up his fire and boiled away the second. Darcy launched more ice at his cousin, trying to make him feel even a fraction of the ache in Darcy’s heart.

“Betrayer!” he shouted.

“Coward!” Richard returned, jetting flames at Darcy.

The dark-haired man brought up a shield of ice to deflect the fire. They continued to fight, magic and steam thickening the air. As boys, they had been evenly matched. Once Richard had joined the army, rigorous training and extensive use of his magic had made him the stronger. But Darcy had spent weeks using magic around Elizabeth, the equivalent of pushing a boulder up a hill, magically speaking. Between that and the growing moisture in the air, it helped to close the gap between their respective talents.

Darcy froze the ground under Richard’s feet and the fire mage fell. Richard burned away Darcy’s cane and set fire to his sleeves before the ice mage managed to quell the flames. Darcy felt no pain of burns, just the need to defeat his opponent. There could be no true win in the battle: no matter which one was victorious, their previous close relationship was being torn apart.

Richard boiled the puddle of water around Darcy. The ice mage jumped out of the way but stumbled without his cane, falling when his bad leg faltered. Richard bore down on him, face livid and streaming with sweat, hands raised with flames leaping down at Darcy. He curled himself into a tight ball and raised a dome of ice over himself for protection. He felt the pressure on the dome, felt his ice melting away faster than he could replace it. There was a roaring in his head, a roaring in his ears.

Darcy gathered his magic, knowing his ice was going to break, knowing he would only have one chance to stand again. The heat against his ice abruptly stopped. Darcy shoved his magic outward with all his strength, lunging to his feet. He faced Richard with a snarl and froze in shock. Richard was lying on the ground, Elizabeth as a dragon crouched protectively over him. She glared at Darcy, her wings still spread from flight.

Darcy’s heart shattered. She had made her choice. Richard was the one she protected, the one she loved. Darcy would never be with her, never have a chance to express his love. All the time he had spent with her, wasted because Richard was right: he was a coward. He should have spoken up, should have said something. Because he had allowed doubt to hold him back, he had lost the woman he loved.

Darcy spun on his heels and began walking back to the house. He made a cane made of ice for himself, Richard having burned up his original.

Mr. Darcy? Elizabeth called, sounding distressed.

He ignored her, his soul aching, his pride in tatters.

Mr. Darcy, please! Are you alright?

He kept walking.

Richard let out a groan, then spoke in Darcy’s mind. Tell her you are alright so she will let me up!

Darcy cut the connection to his cousin harshly, but paused in his wounded flight. As little as he wanted to see his Elizabeth—no, never his—fawning over Richard, he turned slowly. Elizabeth still stood over Richard, but she was staring at Darcy. Her neck was stretched out toward him, palpable yearning in every line of her body. One of her hands was resting on Richard’s chest. Darcy might have thought she was sending her magic to him, but the ice mage could see that Richard was being pressed into the mud. She was holding him down?

Elizabeth was still frantically calling for him, and he reluctantly answered her.

“I am not hurt, Miss Elizabeth,” he answered her.

Instantly she leapt toward him, landing just inches away. She surveyed him at close range; he could see that she was trembling.

Please, may I touch you? she whispered.

Darcy did not understand, but he nodded. She engulfed him, coiling tightly around his body. Her wings held him tight to her side as she nuzzled him, apparently checking for injury. She hissed at some minor blisters on his wrists and whimpered in relief when she found nothing more serious. She smelled of smoke and flame, her heat threatening to melt the icy pain in Darcy’s chest.

When I saw you go down under the fire , she said shakily, my heart stopped. I thought I had lost you.

Darcy’s heart thudded hard. He was confused and lost. Had she not just accepted Richard’s suit? Then why was she curled around Darcy? He slowly raised a hand and rested it on her face. She pushed into him, holding him as close as possible. Abruptly she jerked her head away and let out a deafening roar. Richard, who had been climbing to his feet, fell back from the sheer force of sound.

“Elizabeth,” Darcy could not hear his own voice after that roar, but she immediately turned back to him, pressing her head to his chest. His entire body vibrated when she growled, and Darcy guessed Richard had tried to move again.

Speak with her, Darcy, Richard told him. I dare not stir when she is so riled up.

The last thing Darcy wanted to do was help his cousin, but he was too muddled over Elizabeth’s reaction.

“Elizabeth,” he said again, and a shudder ran through her form. “I thought—you had talked to Richard about marriage?” It hurt too much to use his mind to speak with her.

She relaxed slightly. I did, she replied.

“Then why are you here?” Why was she not with Richard, the man she would marry?

Her coils started to loosen from around him. Already he missed her tight grip.

I thought… he had hurt you, she said doubtfully.

“Yet you still said yes to him,” Darcy bitterly.

She flinched. Are you not happy for Richard and Mary?

The use of his cousin’s familiar name was not lost on Darcy, but he hesitated at her sister’s name.

“Richard and… Miss Mary?” he asked, bewildered.

He asked for my blessing to marry her , she explained. I thought it odd, but I was happy to give it.

Abruptly Darcy turned to his cousin, who was still sitting on the muddy ground with a dazed expression on his face.

You asked Elizabeth’s permission to marry her sister? Miss Mary? he demanded.

It is unorthodox, Richard said dryly, But I thought with a dragon for a sister-in-law, it would not hurt to have her approval. If I did not have it, she could eat me.

Darcy felt weak with relief and pained from his foolishness. It was a mistake. A misunderstanding. He had allowed his jealousy from Richard and Elizabeth’s closeness to override his good sense, which laid the ground for misconstruing Richard’s words. The use of their familiar names—it was from a new-found sense of family, not from a romantic connection. Still, Darcy could not help but to seek assurance. He looked to Elizabeth again.

You are not… disappointed? he asked carefully.

Why would I be? I think he and Mary will be good for each other.

But you did not have any expectations for yourself?

She gave him a blank look, not comprehending.

You are not romantically inclined toward Richard?

She reared back, her face screwed up in distaste. She looked like a cat about to cast up a hairball.

Absolutely not! she declared hotly. I care for him, would even call it love, but the sort of love I feel for my sisters. I feel as though he is my brother, raised apart from me for many years, but instantly recognizable. Did you believe I would choose him as a husband?

I… I had thought… he stammered, uncomfortable with revealing the extent of his misunderstanding.

I could never be with Richard in that way, she said firmly. How could I choose him over you?

A jolt went through him. Was this the declaration he had longed for?

Elizabeth seemed to realize what she had said, and quickly clarified, I mean, you are my very good friend, Mr. Darcy. I would not see you hurt for anything. You have my trust and respect, surely you knew that?

Her words appeared to be a step back from her earlier statement, but the way she nuzzled at him, still curled protectively around him, belied her remark. She had often been playful with Richard, but she had never held him the way she held Darcy now. Was this it, he wondered? Was the closeness between Richard and Elizabeth nothing more than a sibling bond? He reached out for his cousin again.

You love Miss Mary?

With all my heart, Richard said fervently.

You did not harbor a tendresse for Elizabeth?

Good God, no! Richard shook his head vigorously. I could no more marry Lizzy than you could marry Georgiana.

Darcy wrinkled his nose at the notion.

Is that what you thought, that I would propose to your Elizabeth behind your back? You are thick, Darcy! Richard exclaimed.

Darcy looked back and forth between Elizabeth and Richard. He was coming to realize that they only had platonic love for each other, but he did not understand how it could be so deep.

I cannot explain it, Richard shrugged when Darcy asked. I only know from the first moment I met her, I felt I had known her all my life.

He feels like another dragon to me, Elizabeth responded when Darcy put the question to her. Like an egg-mate that was born the same time as me. I think it is his fire magic; it is similar to the fire I breathe, so it feels as though we are related.

“My god, I have been an idiot,” Darcy covered his face in shame. So much misery and jealousy wasted because he would not ask about the nature of the bond between Elizabeth and Richard. Elizabeth whined in worry, edging close to him again. Her muzzle brushed his hands and her wing carefully extended over him, providing shelter and protection. Richard chuckled.

“I will not disagree with you there, but do you suppose I can get up now? I am quite wet through with this mud.”

He started to rise. Elizabeth narrowed her eyes and growled in warning. She gently shouldered Darcy out of the way, firmly placing her body between them. It was so obvious now. Elizabeth had come down on his behalf, not Richard’s. He placed his hand on her side, stroking her smooth scales.

“Let him up,” he murmured softly. She turned her head and he ran his fingers over her face.

Richard climbed stiffly to his feet, wincing slightly. Darcy ducked out from behind Elizabeth and approached his cousin. Elizabeth followed until Darcy waved her back. She stopped, but continued to watch him keenly.

Darcy faced Richard. He could still feel the hurt and the betrayal from when he thought Richard had proposed to Elizabeth, but it was also tempered by the knowledge of his mistake and the guilt of allowing such to sunder them apart.

“I am sorry, Richard,” Darcy said sadly. “I was wrong, and I said hot words because of it. Can you forgive me?” He extended his hand.

Richard eyed him with resentment. I would hit you for being so stupid, but I think your lady-love would disembowel me.

Darcy bowed his head in grief. Had he irreparably damaged his relationship with the man who was like a brother to him?

Then Richard seized his hand and pulled him into a bone-crushing hug.

I cannot hold it against you when you thought I had taken Lizzy from you. I was not so rational when I thought you preferred my Mary, Richard allowed. I owe you an apology as well, this fight is as much my fault as yours. Forgive me?

Darcy felt a wellspring of love and gratitude for his cousin. Of course.

“Make sure you tell this one how you feel,” Richard whispered in Darcy’s ear, then released him.

Darcy’s face grew warm as he backed toward Elizabeth. She rested her head on his shoulder, gently nudging his cheek. He could not have asked for a better indication of how she felt.

Chapter 23

Lizzy had only a vague idea of what the fight had been about. Neither gentleman was willing to speak on it, though at least Mr. Darcy and Richard appeared to have made up. All she knew was the all-consuming panic she had felt when she had seen Mr. Darcy disappear under the flames. She did not know what she would have done if he had been seriously injured.

The closest she could glean about the fight was that an issue of jealousy had risen between the cousins. Mr. Darcy had asked some rather odd questions after the fight. She supposed, from an outsider’s perspective, the familiarity with her soon-to-be-brother Richard might seem to indicate an attachment between them. But Mr. Darcy was not an outsider! He should have known that she would never regard Richard in that way.

Lizzy had never been the kind of lady that sighed about suitors competing over her, unlike Lydia, who thought it a grand romantic gesture. Indeed, she considered it the height of arrogance to assume that the fight had been entirely about her. However, the way they had acted, especially Mr. Darcy, led her to believe she may have had some part in the affair. It was ridiculous to think Richard was challenging Mr. Darcy for her attentions, especially right after he had sought her approval to ask for Mary’s hand. But the idea that Mr. Darcy may have reacted in jealousy at the thought of Richard courting Lizzy caused a warm quiver to run through her. She could not tell if it was a dragonish reaction, or simply the feelings of a woman to know she was… wanted? Did she dare believe that Mr. Darcy desired her?

It was nearly impossible to imagine that any gentleman would wish for her attentions, but if there was one whose preference would make her happy, it was Mr. Darcy. It made her heart thrill when she thought he may have been jealous over her. In her rush to assure him that she felt nothing of the sort for Richard, she had inadvertently made clear her partiality for Mr. Darcy. He meant so much to her, more than trust, more than respect, an entirely different connection to him than she had ever felt before. She realized now that her heart was involved with him; which made her misstep the more embarrassing.

She dared not to presume on Mr. Darcy’s feelings for her, so in her panic she had called him friend. Guilt followed her embarrassment. It took her a while to realize the guilt was because she had misled Mr. Darcy. It certainly was not on purpose, but it was only when she named him as a friend did she realize he was more to her than that. She was friends with Richard and Charlotte Lucas, and neither of them caused the reaction that Mr. Darcy did in her.

There was a new sensation in her chest, one she tried hard to quell, but only grew with each meeting with Mr. Darcy, each touch of his mind to hers. It was a wordless yearning she could neither define nor control. All she knew was that the more time she spent with Mr. Darcy, the more her embarrassment and guilt over her faux pas faded and this new feeling began to grow. He increased her confidence, even as she became more aware of him as a man, one who she was… drawn to. Not as a dragon, for the first time in her life, but as a woman.

She also felt a thread of discontent when she was with Mr. Darcy. It was nothing to do with his presence, which was all that was pleasing to her, but rather a new perspective on her life as a dragon. Lizzy found it—wanting. For all she relished her advantages of a dragon, she was beginning to realize that life would be lacking compared to her actuality. She knew that if Mr. Darcy were to leave, he would take her heart with him.

Lizzy’s thoughts may have been consumed by Mr. Darcy and the implications of the fight, but even so she was not surprised when, the day before the ball, Richard asked for a private audience with Mary. The two of them went to a different part of the garden, while Lizzy remained with Mr. Darcy in front of the dower house. His ice cane had melted in her presence a while ago, but she knew he would summon a new one when he wanted to stand. Whenever she saw the cane, the combination of ice and his magic made her want to bite into it like candy. Thus far she had restrained herself, but it was a near thing.

Mr. Darcy was sitting on a stool, using her as a back rest. Her tail was deliberately draped over his feet. She still felt protective of him, not against Richard—she felt secure using his name as he was to be her future brother-in-law—but in general. Having gone through the pain of thinking him injured or worse, she never wanted to feel that again.

Mr. Darcy was brushing his hand down her back, his magic a pleasant sensation. The weather was now cool enough that heat no longer plagued her, but she would never have enough of the clean, icy feel of Mr. Darcy’s magic. Lizzy tried not to eavesdrop on a private moment between Richard and Mary, but she could not help but to hear her sister’s joyful exclamation.

Lizzy made a rumbling purr, and Mr. Darcy paused for a moment.

I do not think I have heard you make that sound before, he commented.

I am very happy, she said. I believe that my sister just became engaged.

Then congratulations are in order , he said with a wry chuckle.

She gave him a puzzled look, but he chose not to explain. Lizzy suspected it might have to do with the fight she had witnessed and did not pry. Instead she thought on Mary’s joy. That Mary, the sister she worried most about, was the first to become engaged, and to a gentleman of whom Lizzy thoroughly approved, was a great relief to her. She felt much lighter now than she had mere minutes ago. Perhaps now that Mary and Richard had settled, Mr. Bingley and Jane might follow their example. What a happy day that would be!

I would feel so much freer if both my sisters became engaged, she mused. Free to let the curse swallow her without guilt. Free to live as a dragon, knowing her sisters would be taken care of.

Mr. Darcy shifted and she realized she had unintentionally spoken to him.

“Are your sisters the only factors holding you back?” he asked.

Lizzy missed the intimacy of his mental voice. She looked at this handsome man. When she had first pulled him from the river those months ago, she could have never guessed how much he would come to mean to her.

No, she admitted shyly. They are not the only ones.

He smiled, his rich grey eyes lighting up. Her heart twisted. She would miss him very much, when she was fully dragon. It was quite possible that Mr. Darcy would be the only person she kept in contact with, after the curse took control of her life. It would be painful to never see or speak to her family again, but to lose Mr. Darcy as well was unendurable. She tucked him a little closer against her side.

Miss Elizabeth. He said her name and nothing more.

Lizzy remembered the familiar way he had used her name just two days ago. She had not realized it at the time, being too caught up in worry for him, but the next time he called her formally it had been jarringly obvious. It was a very different feeling when Mr. Darcy used her name from when Richard said it. She wished she could be so bold as to use his Christian name, once, to see how it felt. It seemed too much like tempting fate, and Lizzy resisted.

Mr. Darcy drew in a breath as if he would speak again, but at that moment Richard and Mary walked into view.

“Lizzy!” Mary called in excitement, and ran to throw her arms around the dragon’s neck. “He asked me to marry him, we’re engaged!”

Lizzy crooned happily, nuzzling her sister’s hair. She felt Mr. Darcy rising from her side and going to stand near Richard. Lizzy wished she could speak to Mary, tell her how excited she was for her. Abruptly Mary began to sob, clinging to Lizzy as her body sagged.

Lizzy whined, gently enfolding Mary in a hug. Richard came forward, putting his hand on Mary’s shoulder.

“I am alright,” Mary said damply. “I am just so happy, everything is overwhelming.” She released Lizzy and turned to Richard. He pulled her against his chest, rubbing her back. Lizzy watched them, seeing how blissful they looked together. She missed that, wished she had someone to care for her as much as Richard did for Mary. Mr. Darcy moved close to her and placed his hand on her neck. She leaned into him, silently wondering what it would feel like to be in his arms.

Richard cupped Mary’s face with his palm. It was such a tender gesture that Lizzy felt uncomfortable watching it, as if this was a privileged moment that belonged only to them. At the same time, she could not look away. This was what two people in love looked like. It was sweet and aching; Lizzy longed to have someone like that for herself, but who would hold a dragon with such affection?

What kind of chaperones do you think we should be? Mr. Darcy asked slyly, his mouth compressed with mirth.

I do not know about you, but I can be a veritable dragon as a chaperone, she laughed.

He smothered a chuckle, stroking her neck. She could not help but to preen under his touch. Lizzy studied Mary and Richard. They were not doing anything inappropriate, simply holding each other, but she knew it would have been too much in a public setting. She sighed wistfully.

Then again, both of them know me so well, I doubt either would be very impressed by me. No, far better for you to do it, Mr. Darcy. You can freeze them out.

Alas, I fear that as soon as I raised my magic, Richard would simply use his own to melt mine, he shook his head gravely.

She snorted, sending out a few sparks that quickly died in the air. I do not think we are very good chaperones at all.

“We have to go for a little while,” Richard said reluctantly. “But we have been invited back for supper. Do you want to announce our engagement then?”

Mary nodded. “I should like that.”

“Then promise me something, love. Stay with Lizzy. I do not trust that Collins fellow, and I know she will protect you.”

Richard looked up at Lizzy. She growled and scratched her claws along the ground in agreement.

“I promise,” Mary said.

“Darcy has a plan that should get the rat out of here sooner rather than later, but it will still take a little while.”

Mary and Lizzy both looked at Mr. Darcy. He looked startled and not at all pleased by what Richard had said.

Mr. Darcy? she asked, is it true?

As she watched, the tips of his ears turned pink. I did not want to say something in case it did not work, but I have come to believe that leaving Collins here is not safe. I hope you do not think me too officious.

Officious? For doing what she had been all but begging her father to do for weeks? If dragons could cry, she would have burst into tears at that moment. As it was, she gave a mournful whine in the back of her throat before pressing her head to his chest.

Thank you, she whispered as he held her and stroked her face. Thank you.

It was nothing, he assured her. I believe I thought only of you.

“Darcy, Richard, are you ready to go?” Mr. Bingley asked, coming into the garden with Miss Bennet on his arm.

Lizzy did not want to pull away from Mr. Darcy’s touch, but she made herself raise her head and speak to Mr. Bingley.

Mr. Darcy said he intends to get rid of Mr. Collins. I will watch over Jane until he is gone.

“Thank you, Miss Elizabeth,” Mr. Bingley said, then extracted a similar promise from Jane as Richard had asked from Mary. Jane was not as convinced that Collins could do them harm, but she made the promise. Lizzy drew her sisters close to her, sheltering one under each wing. She exchanged one last look with Mr. Darcy before he left and kept her eyes on his back until he passed out of sight. Her heart was full, all because of a gentleman from Derbyshire.

Though the weather was perfect for her dragon form, it was too cold for her sisters to remain outside without protection. Lizzy piled firewood just inside the door of the dower house, then set it alight. Jane and Mary sat in front of the fire, while Lizzy curled against their backs to form a wind break. Between her natural heat and the warmth of the fire, her sisters were well-sheltered from the cold.

Mary spoke enthusiastically of her engagement, but it was not long before they noticed a sorrowful expression on Jane’s face. Lizzy carefully nudged Jane’s arm, urging her to open up.

“I do not mean to be sad on your happy day, Mary,” Jane demurred.

“No, tell us,” Mary insisted, while Lizzy nodded.

Jane sighed. “It is only that… Mr. Bingley. He asked me to marry him.”

Mary gasped, while Lizzy felt the same astonishment.

“Jane! You never said!”

Jane’s face fell. Lizzy gave a soft whine, wishing she could speak with her sisters.

“You did not, refuse him? Do you not love him?” Mary asked.

“I do love him, very much,” Jane admitted in a whisper, looking down at her hands. “I did not refuse him, but I told him I was not comfortable accepting him when our family situation was so unsettled.”

Mary and Lizzy exchanged a confused look. Lizzy understood first. With a loud growl, she flapped her wings once, sending a jet of cold air at her sisters.

They shrieked her name in unison, but she easily growled over them.

“Yes, we heard you, Lizzy,” Jane said with asperity.

Lizzy still grumbled, but reluctantly settled. How could Jane have passed up on her own happiness? She understood that Jane was worried about her, the same as she worried about them, but if Jane was certain in her feelings for Mr. Bingley, she should not have hesitated. Just the fact of having both sisters engaged to good men would have made the family more settled.

“Do you regret telling him no?” Mary asked.

Jane hesitated, biting her lip. She glanced at Lizzy, then raised her chin. “My reasons are still valid, but I must admit, seeing how happy you are…”

Lizzy poked Jane’s ribs with her muzzle. Jane pushed her away.

“I think you should not wait any more,” Mary said firmly and Lizzy nodded vigorously.

“I am afraid,” Jane whispered, “I fear it would be tempting fate to be so happy. I have made him wait so long, I do not know if he still feels the same for me.”

Lizzy snorted and Mary cried, “Jane! Does Mr. Bingley not come nearly every day for you? You must be blind to not see how he feels for you.”

Jane blushed. “If I am blind, I am not the only one who cannot see.” She gave Lizzy a pointed look.

Lizzy jerked her head back in surprise.

“I agree,” Mary said emphatically.

Lizzy shook her head. Were they speaking of Mr. Darcy? Before the fight she had witnessed between the cousins, she would have said that he was her friend and nothing more. Now she had no idea how to respond to her sisters. She was simultaneously grateful of two things: first, as a dragon, she could not speak to her non-magical sisters. Second, dragons could not blush.

“I think, Jane, if you really love Mr. Bingley,” Mary said, bringing the subject back on topic, to Lizzy’s relief, “Then you should encourage him, let him know you are ready.”

“But—”

“Jane, becoming engaged to Richard has made me happier than I have ever been before. I love him, I know he loves me. I know you feel frightened, or think you have a responsibility to us, but I wish you could be as happy as I am now. When Richard asked me to marry him, I realized I could not put my life on hold because I am worried about what would happen. I need him, I can be good for him. If you need Mr. Bingley in the same way, do not let doubt hold you back.”

Lizzy crooned and laid her head on Mary’s shoulder, both of them looking at Jane. Jane still looked uncertain, but slowly she nodded.

“Maybe you are right,” she admitted. Her face lit up and she giggled. “Tell me again, Mary, what it felt like when Colonel Fitzwilliam proposed to you.”

Mary blushed but said, “You may as well call him Richard, he will be your brother soon.”

“But not soon enough for your liking?” Jane asked slyly.

“Jane!” Mary gasped, and Lizzy chortled.

The girls stayed together, talking and laughing until it was time for them to go in and dress for supper.

Mary and Jane waited for Lizzy while she put out the fire, then squeezed inside the dower house to change to human. Her sisters helped her into the dress she had stored there. It smelled of smoke, but then so did Jane, Mary and most of the countryside at this time of year.

No sooner had the three of them gone inside, then Collins took Mary aside. Mrs. Bennet ushered Jane and Lizzy from the room; Lizzy could not have prevented it without physically pushing the older woman aside, which she was unwilling to do. The most Lizzy could get away with was to give Mary a reassuring look and plant herself outside the door. If Collins attempted anything, she could be inside the room in an instant. Lizzy could hear everything in the room, down to the rustle of cloth as Collins paced.

“What was it you wished to say, Mr. Collins?” Mary asked. Her voice was remarkably steady, Lizzy thought. Perhaps it was the new engagement that gave Mary this new-found confidence.

“You can hardly doubt the purport of my discourse,” he began in a particularly nasal tone. The rustle of cloth had stopped and Lizzy imagined him staring down his nose at Mary. She willed strength to her sister.

“My attentions have been too marked to be mistaken,” Collins said. “Almost as soon as I entered the house, I singled you out as the companion of my future life.”

Lizzy clenched her fists. It was as she had feared. Colonel Fitzwilliam should have gone back to the house with them in order to announce the engagement; then Mary would have been safe from Collins.

“…that she said, ‘Mr. Collins, you must marry. A clergyman like you must marry. Choose properly, choose a gentlewoman for my sake; and for your own, let her be an active, useful sort of person, not brought up high, but able to make a small income go a good way. This is my advice…’” Collins continued to speak, hardly pausing for breath.

“Of course as my wife you must give up these airs you have put on; you have had your flirtation, but that is at an end now. Lady Catherine does not approve of the lower class dressing above themselves, and I will have you in better regimen than to have your head turned on false praises…”

Lizzy’s breath hissed between her teeth. How dare Collins speak so to Mary, when she had not accepted his offer or even been allowed to speak.

“You are too hasty, sir,” Mary finally broke in, to Lizzy’s immense relief. “You forget that I have made no answer. Accept my thanks for the compliment you are paying me—” the sarcasm was rich in her voice, “—I am aware of the sensibility of your proposal, but it is impossible for me to do other than to decline it.”

Mary’s tone was calm and firm, like she was speaking to a rowdy child who needed to be taken in hand. Lizzy silently praised her sister’s courage, even as she tensed in case Collins did not take her refusal well. Thank goodness for the timing of Colonel Fitzwilliam’s proposal; Mary had something solid to back up her statement. Not even Collins could refute a prior engagement.

However, Lizzy soon learned that it was not a matter of Collins not taking the refusal well: he barely acknowledged it.

“Your natural delicacy may lead you to dissemble,” he said dismissively. “Your modesty, far from doing you any disservice, adds to your suitability. Though it is late in appearing, you would have been less agreeable if you had not refused me. I have been made aware that it is usual for young ladies to reject the addresses of the man whom they secretly mean to accept. The refusal may be repeated two or three times; it matters not, for I have your respected mother’s permission for this address. I am by no means discouraged by what you have just said, and shall hope to lead you to the altar before long.”

“No, sir,” Mary declared strongly. “You are mistaken. I did not refuse you in the hope of you renewing your proposal, neither did I do it out of some whim. I cannot accept your proposal, for I am already engaged to another.”

Dead silence fell within the room. Lizzy strained to hear anything, her heartbeat sounding loud in her ears.

“You are what ?” Collins asked in a dangerous whisper. “Am I to understand that you gave yourself to another, against the expressed wishes of your respected mother, when you were promised to me?”

His voice began to rise and Lizzy decided it was time to act. With dragon swiftness, she darted past her mother into the room. Collins stood stiffly, staring at Mary. His face was almost purple with rage, his features twisted.

“I have never been promised to you, nor anyone else before my fiancé,” Mary said bravely. “As for my mother, she may have desired this match, but it is up to me to choose whom I may, and I chose for my future felicity.”

“Who is it? Who has dared touch what is mine?” Collins demanded.

“Again, I am not yours in any sense of the word. I assure you, this is not a hasty union brought on by an anticipation of vows. You have done little to warrant the information you requested, but I will give it to you anyway, for I am not ashamed of my choice. Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam requested my hand, and I was glad to accept him.”

Collins’ fists clenched at his sides, shaking with fury. Lizzy came forward and put her arm around Mary’s waist to make it clear her sister was not alone. Collins’ glare turned to her.

“You!” he snarled. “You and your slatternly ways are responsible for the deception! You have seduced her in the way of sin and led her astray, encouraged this infidelity!”

Lizzy felt his magic rise and she readied her own to prevent him from banishing either herself or Mary. Beside her, Mary gasped. Lizzy had grown used to the things Collins said of her, but this was the first time Mary heard it so blatantly. Lizzy squeezed Mary in warning. Collins stared at them for a long time, a vein pulsing in his darkened forehead. Lizzy watched him narrowly, prepared to defend if necessary.

Abruptly Collins turned from them. Without another word he stomped out of the room, slamming the door behind him. Immediately Mary started shaking.

“I was so frightened of him!” she confessed.

“You did not show it at all,” Lizzy complimented. She had a feeling that Collins was not done causing trouble for them.

“Thank you for being there for me. But Lizzy, what he said of you…”

Lizzy shrugged it off, though her stomach twisted with shame. “It is common enough from him, I am only sorry you had to hear it. We know it is not true, and with any luck now he will be gone soon.”

Mrs. Bennet came into the room, clearly confused. When she saw Lizzy and Mary comforting each other, her ire fell on her least favorite daughter.

“What did you say to Mr. Collins, you stupid girl?” Mrs. Bennet demanded. “I knew your father was being too lenient toward you, always letting you speak your mind, and now look at what you have done! You have offended Mr. Collins at the least, and we should all be lucky if he does not cast us all out into the hedgerows before Mr. Bennet is even cold in the grave. How could you be so ungrateful, when we have raised you all this time, to threaten our very security! I always knew you were treacherous at heart, and see now what you have done! And worse, you have been filling Mary’s head with your nonsense, I do not doubt it is entirely your fault for Mary to refuse Mr. Collins! I am most displeased with you—see if you ever receive a pennyworth more from me! I would throw you out this instant if Mr. Bennet would not stop me!”

“Mother!” Mary protested, while Lizzy bore the accusations stoically. The sharp barbs thrown by Mrs. Bennet struck deep, but Lizzy had long ago learned to expect them.

“And you!” Mrs. Bennet rounded on Mary. “I have half a mind to switch you, I do! What were you thinking, to refuse him? I trusted you to have our best interests at heart, and instead you have betrayed everything I have done for you! You must go upstairs right now and make up to Mr. Collins, if he shall even have you any longer.”

“But Mama,” Mary whispered, her face stricken. “I am engaged to Colonel Fitzwilliam.”

Mrs. Bennet paused mid-tirade, torn between the loss of one son-in-law and the gain of another. Her shrewd eyes shifted back and forth, clearly doing mental calculations on the worth of each man.

Finally she wailed, “But who will marry Mr. Collins? You useless child! You should have let Lydia or Kitty have Colonel Fitzwilliam! You knew Mr. Collins was set on you! What good are you to me now?”

The tirade continued, Mary trembling under the onslaught. At that point Lizzy had had enough and reached out for the one person who could have a hope of curbing Mrs. Bennet’s tongue.

Papa! she cried out.

What is it now? Mr. Bennet asked with tired amusement.

Mary has refused Mr. Collins— she began.

Did she? Then all your nattering on to me about Mr. Collins was for nothing. I knew she had more sense than to go with him.

Papa, just listen to me. Mother is very upset with her; she is yelling at Mary and will not stop.

“Mama, please,” Mary begged in a weak voice.

And you want me to intervene? Mr. Bennet sounded mildly put out. Do you not think Mary can deal with this on her own? Mrs. Bennet is excitable, but it rarely lasts long. Mary ought to know that by now.

If there was ever a time to stir yourself, this is it, Lizzy declared grimly.

Very well, because you asked it, I will see what is happening.

Lizzy felt relief mixed with resentment. Finally he was going to take action, but it should not have taken such extreme circumstances to get him to move. She wished more than ever that she could speak silently to her sister and reassure her that help was coming.

Mrs. Bennet was pacing and wringing her hands, shooting scathing remarks to both her daughters. Mary was silently crying, but Lizzy was seething with anger. The tears in her eyes were ones of frustration and rage, though Mrs. Bennet could not see it.

“Stop your sniveling!” she ordered. “You have both failed me—I have never thought much of you, Lizzy, but Mary! I had expected more from you than—”

“What is this?” Mr. Bennet demanded from the doorway.

Mrs. Bennet jumped guiltily and turned to face him. Lizzy took the opportunity to propel Mary, half-carrying her, toward their father. Mr. Bennet held his arms out for them and Mary collapsed in sobs against him. Lizzy could not so easily forgive his reluctance to help them and stood a little apart. She saw the flash of hurt on his face, but her own heart was aching too much to accept his succor.

“No, I will not allow this,” Mrs. Bennet screeched. “You always give your daughters too much freedom—”

“Just as you treat your daughters in the manner you chose; leave mine to me,” Mr. Bennet stated sharply.

Lizzy held her breath. She had never heard her parents so close to acknowledging the divide in their family. Did Mary understand the secrets humming through the air?

Mrs. Bennet burst into bitter tears, making Mr. Bennet sigh heavily. He patted Mary’s hair.

“There now, my girl, dry your face. You have done me proud to refuse Mr. Collins, never fear that. Go upstairs with Lizzy and I will deal with this.”

Mary nodded and allowed Lizzy to take possession of her again. Mr. Bennet gave Lizzy a sad look, but she was still too angry and hurt to absolve him. The sisters went upstairs to the sanctuary of Mary’s room.

Chapter 24

Lizzy helped Mary wash her face, and then they sat on the bed.

“Would you like me to call Richard for you?” Lizzy asked, bringing her fingers to her forehead briefly. “I am sure he would come if you asked him to. I could even fetch him, so he would be here quickly.”

Mary’s lips twitched in a half-hearted smile, but it faded quickly. “I just wish Mama could have been happy for me.”

“I am sorry you had to see that,” Lizzy said, rubbing Mary’s back.

“Is that…” Mary paused then forced herself to complete the sentence. “Is that how it is for you all the time? I knew Mama did not get along with you, but I never thought she said such things.”

Lizzy gave an uncomfortable shrug. “She is not always so harsh,” she said diplomatically, trying not to think of the things Mrs. Bennet had told Collins about her.

“I am more worried about what Mr. Collins will try to do,” she changed the subject. “I do not think he has given up so easily. I will stay here with you tonight.”

“No, Lizzy, you cannot!” Mary exclaimed. “If you use all your time tonight, you will not be able to go to the ball tomorrow. Please do not miss it for my sake.”

Lizzy felt a wave of disappointment at the idea of not being able to spend time with Mr. Darcy at the ball. She hoped he would understand the reason she could not come.

“There will be other balls,” Lizzy said too heartily. “But I would never forgive myself if something happened to you.”

“You do not really think Mr. Collins is so bad, do you?”

“I think I would not like to take the chance,” Lizzy hedged.

“What if Jane were to spend the night with me? Then surely I would be safe?”

Lizzy hesitated. It was a tempting prospect; even now she felt the urge to barricade all her sisters in one room so she could protect them. But would Jane be able to fight off Collins if he were to attempt an attack? Lizzy knew she was the only one that could safely counter his magic. She shook her head.

“No, let Jane be. If he tries to use magic on the two of you, you would be no better off with her than by yourself. It must be me, Mary.”

“Then promise me, if half the night is gone and he still has not moved, you will go to the dower house? Save a little time for yourself?”

Lizzy paused. “If I feel it is safe, I will go to the dower house,” she conceded. “But I do not think I can rest easy until I know he is out of the house.” She thought about Mr. Darcy’s plan to have Collins recalled and smiled. If only it had come to fruition already!

“Lizzy,” Mary complained gently.

“Let us get ready for dinner,” Lizzy interrupted.

The evening meal was unusually sober. Neither Mrs. Bennet nor Collins joined them. The engagement of Mary and Richard was celebrated, but no one could mistake the pall that hung over the air. Mr. Darcy sent a questioning tendril toward Lizzy.

Is everything well here? he asked in concern.

Yes, she answered slowly.

He gave her an expectant look, waiting patiently. Her face warmed; their silent conversations had never been so open before. Lizzy’s desire to hide her family’s secrets warred with the urge to place her trust in Mr. Darcy. He had already helped her so many times before; what was one more?

Mr. Collins attempted to propose to Mary today, she admitted. Her refusal was not taken well by everyone.

His eyes flickered around the table, clearly noticing the absences but choosing not to comment.

I am sorry that he caused you any pain. I wish I could have got him removed sooner.

No, she replied. You tried, and that is… Thank you. She met his warm grey eyes, feeling her connection to him deepen. Her heart thrummed with awareness. She could almost feel him, as though his soul was reaching out to touch hers.

Richard chose that moment to clear his throat loudly. Mr. Darcy jerked his gaze away and scowled at his cousin. Lizzy hid a smile, guessing that Richard was teasing Mr. Darcy. In the next moment it was her turn, for Mr. Bennet made contact with her mind.

Have a thought you would like to share? he asked in amusement.

No, she responded with distinct coolness.

The smile faded from his face. Lizzy, he sighed. I am sorry for what happened earlier. Perhaps I have let too many things slide where your mother is concerned. If Mr. Collins truly distresses you so much, I will inform him that his invitation to stay has expired.

The offer was too late to take back Mrs. Bennet’s cruel words or Collins’ lecherous stares, but at least Mr. Bennet was making an effort.

Thank you, Papa, she said, and gave him a wan smile. She would still be standing guard tonight, but it was a relief to know that one way or another, Collins would be gone soon.

The gentlemen from Netherfield did not stay after dinner, but chose to leave in deference to their hostess’ indisposition. They lingered in the entry hall with the three eldest Bennet sisters, quietly taking their leave. Lizzy watched her sisters with satisfaction, standing a little apart from them. Richard and Mary were nearly touching, holding hands as they bowed their heads to whisper endearments to each other. Jane and Mr. Bingley were almost as close, and something about Mr. Bingley’s broad smile and Jane’s pleased blush brought hope to Lizzy that they might be progressing in their own courtship soon.

She sensed a presence near her shoulder and shifted to lean against Mr. Darcy. It felt good to rest against his bulk, warm body contrasting nicely with his cold magic.

“Miss Elizabeth?” he asked uncertainly, his hand hovering over her side.

Belatedly she realized that while it was common to have contact with him when she was a dragon, she did not usually lean on him so as a human. Lizzy immediately straightened.

“I beg your pardon, Mr. Darcy,” she said, feeling her cheeks heat in embarrassment.

“I did not mind,” he responded. He hesitated, then reached out and gently touched her chin, raising her face to his.

“I hope you know you can lean on me any time. I will always be there for you,” he said in a low tone.

Lizzy’s heart thumped hard in her chest and her mouth felt dry. She had no doubt that he meant it. In the time she had known him, she had become convinced that he was the very best of gentlemen.

“Thank you,” she whispered, unable to speak louder.

“I look forward to seeing you at the ball tomorrow,” he said, his grey eyes seeming to convey some message beyond mere words.

She felt a sudden longing for the ball, for the time they would spend together. “Yes, I look forward to not-dancing with you,” she smiled impishly, pleased at the way his lips turned up in return.

“It will be my privilege,” he vowed with mock-solemnity. Then the teasing faded from his face. “I hope I am not too forward, but there is a matter I should like to speak with you about.”

She felt immediate concern for him, and pressed her hand to his sleeve. “Anything, Mr. Darcy.”

He caught her hand and brought it to his mouth, placing a light kiss on her fingers. Her stomach swooped and her knees trembled.

“Until then, Miss Elizabeth,” he promised huskily, and then was gone.

It took Lizzy almost a full minute to recover her wits. Her mind was spinning, wondering what subject he wished to broach at the ball, and why he would think it forward. It was impossible to think of turning him away; he had never been repulsed by her forwardness, the least she could do was listen to his. She kept returning to his kiss on her fingers, the feel of his lips, the hint of cold magic under soft flesh, the warmth of his breath.

Lizzy respected Mr. Darcy greatly. She considered him one of her dearest friends. But what if…? Here she was lost for words, for nothing in her life as a dragon had prepared her for the feelings he stirred in her chest. He made her feel like more than a dragon, like there was more to human life that she was still missing, but that he might introduce her to.

“Lizzy,” Mary nudged her, startling Lizzy into movement again.

“Yes, what is it?” she asked, flustered that she had been caught in a moment of inattention.

“Please reconsider, you must be at that ball tomorrow.”

It was a dose of bitter medicine to remember that she may not be able to attend the ball.

Still, there was no hesitation as she shook her head and said, “No, Mary, I need to stay with you tonight.”

“But Mr. Darcy—”

“If I cannot go, I will speak with him,” she tapped her temple. “I am sure he would understand.” But she felt an ache at the back of her throat at the thought of missing Mr. Darcy.

Lizzy was restless that night as she prepared for bed. It had been a long time since she had slept as a human instead of in her dragon form. She was not used to being inside the house, closed in by warm air, instead of outside in the cold and freedom. The night called to her, urging her to spread her wings and fly. She longed to go to Netherfield and ask what Mr. Darcy wanted of her.

Lizzy kept prodding at the band around her ribs, like worrying at a sore tooth, trying to guess how many hours she had as a human and if she would be able to go to the ball tomorrow. And yet her dragon heart burned hot with the feel of danger to her sister. Even in Mary’s room, with the door locked and the armoire moved in front of the door, she still felt the threat lurking around them.

“Stop moving!” Mary hissed and pinched her arm as they lay in bed.

Lizzy huffed, but turned onto her side and forced herself not to move. She could not help but to wonder if Mr. Darcy was sleeping well tonight, or if he also lay awake and unable to settle. She tried to think of what he might ask of her at the ball, but every suggestion that came to her seemed just as unlikely as the last. Eventually her imposed idleness gave way to sleep.

The first thing that Lizzy became aware of was a heaviness to the room. She struggled groggily to come to her senses, disorientated at first. This was not her dower house, but some place hot and airless. What had woken her?

Her instincts shrieked a warning just as something heavy fell on top of her. Fetid breath made her gag as hands scrabbled for her throat. Lizzy fought against the weight holding her down, even as she recognized Collins.

“Sinful whore,” he snarled, “I should have guessed you would be lying in corruption with your own sister. I will have you both now, claim what is mine and purge the wickedness from you!”

Fully awake now, Lizzy bucked under him, unable to gain leverage even with her strength. She could not draw breath to scream; her dragon roared silently within her. Fear, disgust and anger pounded at her chest, threatening to erupt if only she could get some air. He continued to choke her with one hand, the other tearing at the blankets and trying to expose her. Their struggles woke Mary, who screamed and threw herself at Collins. To Lizzy’s astonishment, Mary bit hard at Collins’ arm, drawing blood.

Collins yelled and struck Mary hard enough that she fell off the bed. That distraction was all Lizzy needed; she brought her legs up under Collins and kicked for all she was worth. The merely mortal man flew across the room and crumbled to the floor. Lizzy rose from the bed, stalking toward her attacker with red rage nearly blinding her. Some noise was coming from her damaged throat, something inhuman and dragonish.

Collins rose unsteadily to his feet as there was pounding on the door.

“Mary! Lizzy!” Mr. Bennet shouted from outside the room.

“Papa!” Mary called out weakly.

The armoire was abruptly pushed out of the way with magic as the door was flung open. Mr. Bennet and the rest of household crowded into the room.

“It was him!” Mary pointed at Collins.

The disgraced parson looked around, and Lizzy felt his erratic magic rise. Without giving him time to use it, she reached out and savagely tore his magic away, not holding back. His eyes rolled up in his head and he collapsed to the floor, rendered unconscious by the sudden loss of his magic.

“What happened?” Mr. Bennet demanded, looking between his daughters and the fallen man.

Mary rose and staggered into her father’s arms, but Lizzy was struggling with her dragon nature. It was not enough to take Collins’ magic. She longed to rend him limb from limb, to sink her teeth into his chest and shake him for all she was worth. She wanted to burn him to ashes until he could not be recognized as something once alive. This foul madman had attacked her, attacked Mary, tried to violate them. He deserved all of her dragon fury vented at him.

She did not realize she was still growling until Mr. Bennet called her name repeatedly and gently touched her shoulder. She flinched from him, then realized who it was and joined Mary in a fierce hug.

“My girls, oh my poor girls,” Mr. Bennet sobbed, holding them both. “Your throat Lizzy, and Mary’s face. I am so sorry I did not listen to you.”

Lizzy shook hard in reaction, feeling dirty and pained. “I will be well,” she rasped, her rough voice belying her words. “Mary?”

“H-he did not hit m-me too hard,” Mary stammered, even though her cheek was clearly reddened by the mark of Collins’ fist.

Collins let out a groan. Mary shuddered and Lizzy turned toward him viciously, ready to release her dragon revenge on him.

“Allow me,” Mr. Bennet said grimly, passing Lizzy and Mary into Jane’s arms as he approached the downed figure. With a few deft spells, Mr. Bennet made sure Collins was bound tightly and would sleep until morning.

“Take him into the cellar and stand guard over him,” he ordered the house servants. “In the morning, I will see about his removal.”

Lydia, having realized what Collins had tried, marched over to the parson and delivered a sharp kick to his shins. Even though the unconscious man did not feel it, Lizzy still felt a vindictive pleasure.

“That is for trying to hurt my sisters!” Lydia declared.

Kitty started to follow suit, but Jane stopped her. “Have respect,” Jane warned her. “He has done a terrible thing, but you should not stoop to his level.”

The words did not help Lizzy’s thirst for retribution, and she only clung tighter to her sisters.

“Kitty, Lydia,” she called for them, needing to touch her family and assure herself that they were well. The girls came and Lizzy enfolded them all, her arms stretched as far as they would go.

It still was not enough until Kitty suggested, “We should go to the dower house.”

“It will be cold,” Mrs. Bennet protested faintly. She seemed bewildered, confused that the man she had championed had tried something so heinous and uncertain as to what would happen now with the inheritance.

“We will bring blankets,” Lydia suggested, “and Lizzy will keep us warm enough. Come Mary, I will carry yours and mine.”

“If you go ahead, Lizzy, I will cast a spell to ensure they do not get chilled before reaching the house,” Mr. Bennet offered.

Lizzy felt overwhelmed for a moment, moved beyond words for what her sisters were doing for her. She needed to have them close, and they were doing so in a way that would assuage her dragon nature. With a last squeeze, she released her sisters and ran down the stairs. It was probably better to keep some distance between her and Collins as well.

Outside, the cold air went a long way to soothing both her throat and her temper. It was even better when she was able to slip her human flesh for dragon scales. She blew fire into the dower house, warming the ground and then letting the flames die out. Her sisters came out in a little knot, surrounded by Papa’s familiar magic. She recognized that the spell was another sort of apology, meant to bolster her strength. Lizzy was already full of magic from stealing Collins’, but she accepted the spell none the less, Papa’s magic smelling like worn leather books, warm fire and brandy.

Once her sisters were in the cottage, Lizzy slipped inside and barricaded the door with her own body. She lay down and her sisters all piled against her sides, Jane, Lydia and Kitty silently agreeing to put Mary in the middle. They covered themselves with their quilts, and then Lizzy gently laid her wing across all of them. They had not slept like this, wrapped together like a pile of puppies, since they were much younger, but this night they all needed the comfort of harkening back to happier times.

Lizzy curled her neck and tail around her sisters, forming the best protection she could for them. Between their blankets and Lizzy’s body heat, they had more than warmth to keep the girls from getting cold. Lizzy listened to her sisters’ breathing, feeling them relax and fall asleep against her. It helped to calm her, but her mind remained anxious. What if she had not decided to guard Mary that night? Or what if she had agreed to let Jane and Mary sleep together? Collins could have hurt them worse, could have forced a compromise that would have torn the family apart. What he had done was bad enough, but it had caused no lasting damage.

She was never more grateful for her curse than when it had allowed her to defend herself!

Lizzy should have listened to her instincts more when it came to Collins. They had never led her wrong, from Mr. Darcy to Wickham, Collins and Richard. She should have forced Papa to listen to her instead of dismissing her. If Collins had been forced to leave before the disastrous proposal, it would have saved the heartache she felt now.

Her limbs trembled, only now giving in to the fear reaction of the attack. She longed for reassurance, and there was only one person that came to mind. Without hesitation she stretched her mind toward Netherfield, seeking out a familiar presence.

Mr. Darcy was asleep, but he stirred as she brushed against his mind.

Elizabeth? he asked tiredly, then sharpened. What is wrong?

She could only answer with a whimper, swallowing a soft keen in her throat.

Elizabeth! Where are you? I will come for you. Should I bring Richard and Bingley?

No, Mr. Darcy, she finally said, Please do not disturb them. I am sorry for waking you, I should not have done so.

She tried to cut the connection, but no sooner had she done so than Mr. Darcy was reaching out to her.

Please, Elizabeth, tell me what has happened? I cannot rest until I know you are well.

I am well, she said shakily, but it was not the truth. I will be well. She was sorry to have alarmed him, but already she could feel his voice having a steadying effect on her.

Tell me, he pleaded.

So she did, only speaking in the broadest terms to avoid reliving it herself.

I will freeze him to solid ice, Mr. Darcy promised darkly.

Please, do not trouble yourself over him, she implored.

You cannot ask me to do nothing when he has attacked you! he cried passionately. His wild voice sent a lance of warmth to her heart, and she was able to release her tension for the first time since the incident.

No, you mistake me, she explained. Just knowing you are concerned, that is enough for me. I want nothing more to do with him. He is not worth your trouble.

Elizabeth, I will always be concerned for you. Never doubt that.

She sighed, feeling her muscles relax. Thank you. I do not doubt it. Just… thank you. She was loath to end the contact, but she felt guilty about keeping him awake.

Would you like me to read to you? he asked.

You would do that? Her wings fluttered in excitement before she stilled them, mindful of her sleeping sisters.

Mr. Darcy chuckled in answer. There is little that I would not do for you, if you must know. In this case, I fear it is a rather selfish move on my part. I am not willing to let you go yet.

She felt breathless at his declaration. I would like that, very much.

I received a letter from my sister just yesterday. I know you have never met her, but I am sure she would not mind if I read parts of it to you. I should like you to meet her someday.

I would love to meet any relation of yours, she admitted shyly.

Maybe not all of them, he laughed dryly. I have the letter here, let me begin reading: ‘The pups grow ever larger. They got into the kitchen garden and Mrs. Reynolds had to talk to Cook for an hour to calm her down. Cook threatened to cut them up for soup! Mrs. Annesley says I should not laugh at Cook’s misfortune, but I saw her hiding a smile behind her fan when she thought I was not looking. I have been working on the music piece you sent me. The fingering is tricky, but I hope to be much improved when I see you again…’

Mr. Darcy’s calming voice, reading the cheerful words of his sister, soon lulled Lizzy into a peaceful sleep.

Chapter 25

The next morning, Lizzy was woken by her father’s voice.

Lizzy, I am escorting the miscreant back to Kent. Expect me to be gone for a few days. I will try not to involve you girls if I can help it.

Yes, Papa , she said drowsily.

Please believe me, I never wanted something like this to happen to you or Mary.

I know. Take him away and come home soon. He does not deserve a moment more of our consideration.

You are right, my girl. Farewell.

Safe travels, she wished him, and waited for the sound of the carriage leaving. Only once she was sure there was no risk of seeing Collins again did she stir and nudge her sisters awake.

The rest of the day passed in a blur. There was a lot of laughter and happy talking as they readied for the ball that night. Thanks to her sisters’ night in the dower house, Lizzy had enough time as a human to attend the ball. She would have to remain a dragon for several days after, but it was worth it to be able to go.

Lizzy felt an excited quiver every time she pictured Mr. Darcy at the ball. The way he had comforted and read to her the night before had drawn them closer. He was important to her in a way she had never felt for someone outside her family. It took all of her control not to fly as a dragon to Netherfield early. She knew he would not mind her presence, but for once it was the human side of her that held her back. Perhaps it was a silly whim, but she wanted to look nice for him.

She allowed her sisters to primp her hair and pick out ribbons that matched her eyes. They did so with a minimum of fuss, for which Lizzy was grateful. If they had chosen to tease her about taking care with her appearance when she never had before, she might have lost her courage. Instead, she helped her sisters in return, reveling in this purely human activity. For once, she did not feel like a dragon. Thankfully the marks left on Mary and Lizzy from the attack were slight, and easily masked with a bit of powder and a few ribbons.



***



“You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you,” Darcy muttered, staring into the mirror. He paused. No, that did not sound right. One did not make demands on a dragon. Especially not when he was asking her the biggest question of his life. He was not afraid of the commitment, but he was very conscious of the weight of it. From now on, he would be responsible for caring and providing for Elizabeth. To have and to hold her, for better or worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health… The only thing he was not concerned about was loving her. That came naturally to him.

No, it was not doubt in the strength of his feelings that brought nerves to his stomach. Elizabeth was everything he wished for in a wife, intelligent and caring, brave, strong, so beautiful she took his breath away. She was no fainting flower of the tonne, and he blessed God above for that moment when his carriage had tipped into the river. Without it, he may never have noticed how truly remarkable she was.

If there was one thing about the ball tonight that bothered him, and the very pertinent question he was going to ask her, it was her response. He loved her with his whole being, but did he really know how she felt for him? Darcy held tight to the memory of last night, when she had woken him in a moment of distress. He had been the one to calm her, to read to her until he felt her fall asleep again. Many times previously she had turned to him for support. She had even come down on his side in that misunderstanding with Richard. He knew he had her trust, but what if that was all he had?

Darcy desired more than trust and respect in a marriage. He wanted her love, equal to his own. Only love would break her curse, though he had long since ceased to think of it as a plague on her. For all she came to him, never once had she spoken words of love to him. He was afraid, not of Elizabeth, never her, but rather of exposing himself so completely. All his life he had been taught to avoid unseemly displays of emotion. How could he ask this question, most important to his future happiness, without behaving like a callow boy facing a woman for the first time?

If it was only his own fate at stake, he would be no less nervous, but not as weighed down. What if he was not enough? The usual things which made him an ideal catch as a husband, his property, his wealth, his passing good looks, meant nothing to Elizabeth as a woman, and less than nothing to her as a dragon. Even though he hoped to free her from the curse, as of the moment she was still dragon, more dragon that human if he told the truth. What sort of appeal did he hold to a dragon?

She did not need his protection. She did not need his home, his wealth or his name. All he had to offer her was his own person. If her feelings were not equal to his, he feared he would lose her as a dragon forever. It was his worst nightmare, the sort of thing that woke him at night as he saw how little time she had as a human.

What would be more unfair, if she did not love him and said so plainly, rejecting his suit, or for her to accept him out of convenience only? Either way would destroy his heart, but the latter would be slow torture as he watched her slip away from him moment by moment. Would she have any human time left by the time their wedding arrived? Was his love enough to shatter the curse, or must it be reciprocal? So little was known about curing detrimental magic by the power of love.

Darcy’s stomach lurched and he swallowed hard to avoid casting up his accounts. Was this how Cinder felt on the eve of battle? He imagined it was the same sort of uncertainty, knowing that what was to come would alter him irrevocably. A soldier could sharpen his weapons, practice his skills, strengthen his magic. The only left for Darcy was to pray that he found the right words.



***



As Mr. Bennet had taken the horse and carriage to remove Collins, Mr. Bingley had kindly send a carriage to pick them up. Mrs. Bennet was beside herself at the honor. Lizzy felt an excess of nerves now that the time had arrived. She fidgeted with her dress until Jane and Mary each took one of her hands to keep her from crushing the cloth.

When they got out of the carriage on the steps to Netherfield, Lizzy could hardly breathe. She barely noticed going through the receiving line. She must have greeted Mr. Bingley, Miss Bingley, the Hursts and Richard, but she did not notice. A strange fear had gripped her, making her feel as though she might be ill. And yet, when she saw Mr. Darcy at the end of line, all her worry faded away as though it had never been.

He looked particularly well that night, dressed in a fine grey coat that brought out the color of his eyes. He smiled at her, bowing while she curtsied. When they rose together, she noticed at once what was missing.

“Mr. Darcy, your cane?” she asked in wonder.

His smiled deepened, showing dimples as he offered his arm to her. She rested her hand in the crook of his elbow, taking a place at his side as though she belonged there.

“I discovered that I no longer need it,” he explained. “Richard did away with my usual one, but I found that I was not even relying on ice to help me walk.”

“That is marvelous,” she said happily.

“I still cannot dance,” he warned.

“And you know I care not for that,” she replied warmly. “I would still choose you as my first partner of the night.”

“That is well,” he murmured, “For I have no intention of releasing you.”

He tugged at her hand and they began to move and mingle through the crowd. Lizzy noticed that he still had a limp, but it was much less pronounced than before. She imagined it would not be long before he could dance with ease. The thought made a pleased warmth in her chest, like a wish coming true. Mr. Darcy was the one gentleman with whom she had never danced, but she would take great delight in being his partner if she had the chance. For now she felt every bit of privilege in sitting out with him in place of dancing.

They passed Richard, who wore a dark green civilian jacket instead of his red uniform. There was no fault in the cut of the material, but he did not look easy in it.

“Colonel Dragon has traded in his uniform?” Lizzy asked her companion softly.

“Now that my cousin has decided to embark upon married life, he has decided not to risk leaving his wife a widow. He resigned from his commission in the army. It may take him some time to get used to being out of the red, but I daresay he has strong incentive,” Darcy said with quiet satisfaction.

Mary approached Richard, and he visibly relaxed in her presence. Lizzy knew her sister would not have minded being a soldier’s wife, but it was just as well that Richard was choosing to make Mary his priority.

The bars of the first set sounded, and couples paired off in anticipation. Mr. Bingley and Jane, and Mary and Richard, were among the first to get into position. Mr. Darcy led Lizzy to the side where they would not be in the way. She did not notice if any gentleman had thought to ask for her first set; the way she held to Mr. Darcy’s arm was statement enough that she was claimed.

Time seemed to pass far too quickly that evening. After the first set, she danced with Richard, and the third with Mr. Bingley. She almost felt sorry for the gentlemen, who were fulfilling their promise to dance with each Bennet sister. They would be very busy to the end of the ball, especially if they wished to avoid offending any non-Bennet ladies present. For the supper set, Mr. Darcy was quick to appear at her side again.

His fingers trembled slightly as he took her elbow. She gave him a look in concern; he smiled at her, but she could see that he was ill at ease. Abruptly Lizzy recalled that he had wanted to speak with her this night. It seemed that the time had come for that conversation. She put her hand on his arm and squeezed gently, trying to convey her support. He steadied as he led her aside.

The ballroom was hot and crowded, not conducive to a private conversation, so she did not mind when he pulled her from the gathering. In the hall, the noise level dropped appreciatively, but Mr. Darcy’s tension rose.

“Eliz—Miss Elizabeth, I was wondering—if you would, that is, hoping—Blast!” He was uncharacteristically nervous as he stammered.

“Mr. Darcy,” she said soothingly, drawing closer to him. “It is only me. There is no cause for you to be worried over what I will say.”

He drew in a deep breath, settling his shoulders. “Forgive me, Miss Elizabeth, you are right.” He started to reach for her, but a servant walked by and they instinctively parted.

Once they were alone again, Mr. Darcy offered his arm to her again. “Would you care to accompany me to the library?”

“Yes, please,” she responded, sliding her arm through his.

They walked toward the library, the way familiar to both of them. Mr. Darcy was still not his usual self. He seemed alternately jubilant, his grey eyes shining with an internal light when he smiled at her, and oddly anxious, fumbling with his steps and words. She was at a loss to guess what could make this normally calm man lose his reserve.

Once in the library, his apprehension increased. Lizzy took a seat in one of the chairs, gesturing for him to join her in the hope of calming him. He sat on the edge of another chair for a few seconds, but almost immediately jumped to his feet again. He paced in short, agitated strides in front of her before suddenly facing her.

Without warning he kneeled before her, with only a slight hitch from his injured leg. Lizzy’s heart leapt to her throat as he took her hand. Was he…? Nothing could have prepared her for this.

“Elizabeth,” he intoned fervently, looking deep into her eyes. “You must know by now how I feel about you.”

Her heart was pounding so hard she could hardly breathe. Her dragon was completely silent inside her.

“In the first moment I saw you, you saved my life. I would have died in the river had you not pulled me free, and later I should have frozen but for your warmth. When a healer tended me, he said your magic was what allowed me to keep my leg. From that time on, I felt an obligation to find you. I could not have said what it was, but I knew you needed my help. When I saw your face the first time, I was drawn to you. I could not explain my feeling, but even before I knew you in both forms, it was as though I could hear you calling for me. Once I understood your condition, I knew at last what it was. This was my obligation, my responsibility to you, my return for you saving my life.

“Yet you did more than save my life. When Wickham came to discredit me, it was you who believed me instead of him. Since then I have felt the pressure to take action, to make it known how I was to help you, to fulfill my great debt to you. I have tried to help you in offering you and your sisters a refuge if you could not continue at Longbourn. I brought my cousin to help defend against the pressure placed on your family, though I could not have foreseen his attachment to Miss Mary.

“It was never enough. I failed you; only last night you suffered an attack I should have been able to prevent. There is only one way I can offer my protection now, one way in which I might serve you and clear my conscience over what happened. I had intended to ask you before, but the attack made it abundantly clear that I am forced to act now. You must allow me to express my gratitude for what you have done for me. I know now that I can help you, that I can break your curse.

“In short, Elizabeth, would you do me the great honor of allowing me to fulfill my commitment to you, and become my wife?”

Mr. Darcy stared at her intently, pressing her hand between his. Lizzy could only give him a vague look in return, confusion and hurt swirling inside her. When he had first knelt in front of her and she realized at last that he meant to propose to her, she had felt as though she might faint with excitement. She had eagerly clutched his hands, feeling in her heart that she would not hesitate to accept him.

And yet, as he continued to speak, of obligation, responsibility, debt and protection, hope had given way to bewilderment, and joy had turned to heartache. She still felt that Mr. Darcy was the best of gentlemen, but she knew now that his feelings were unequal to hers. How could she trap this premier gentleman in a marriage of convenience?

“Elizabeth?” he asked, awaiting her answer.

She could not meet his eyes. A sob lodged in her chest, but she forced it back. Her fingers were cold in his as she took her hand back.

“In such cases as this,” she began shakily, her eyes burning with unshed tears, “I believe it is the established mode to express gratitude for the sentiments avowed, so I should like to thank you. But I never wished to cause you to be obligated to me. I assure you, it was most unconsciously done, and I now wish to release you from any debt you feel towards me. Consider it discharged in full, and let us have no more tally between us.”

His expression underwent a dramatic change, from hopeful expectation to fallen disillusionment. He rose from his knees, standing before her.

“And this is all the reply which I am to have the honor of expecting?” he asked in frustration.

“I am sorry, Mr. Darcy, but there is no other which I can give,” she said, her head bowed and hands held together in her lap to stop them from shaking.

“Then I apologize for taking so much of your time. I shall not bother you any further.” He strode from the room, not bothering to shut the door behind him.

Lizzy let out a gasping breath, pressing her fingers to her mouth. Her stomach twisted sickeningly. Suddenly, she could not breathe. She needed to get out of the house. She ran from the room, not caring who should see her in a state of distress. Lizzy had scarcely left the view of Netherfield before she was tearing at the ribbons and decorations, unable to bear their touch a moment longer. To think a few hours ago she had wanted to look nice for him! Now she knew that it was a wasted effort on her part, for he had never cared for her as she had for him.

She called on her dragon form, trusting in the darkness to hide her. For a moment she thought about leaving the detritus of her human life behind, but she was overwhelmed by the desire to cover all evidence of her ever being there. With rough dragon claws, she bundled her ripped dress and accoutrements together and carried them away into the air.

The instinct to run, to fly and never look back was pounding in her head so that she barely made it to the landing in Longbourn’s park. She threw her dress at the kitchen door where she knew it would be found. She took off again, flying nearly vertical. At the very top of her arch, Lizzy released a dragon scream of pain, then turned and let herself fall. It seemed like years ago that she had once warned herself against falling, but she had forgotten her own advice. Now she had fallen, and it hurt so much, more than she could bear.

She caught herself before hitting the ground, almost not caring if she should damage herself in the process. The hard landing jarred the breath out of her, and she whined with the discomfort. She needed her family, but Papa was gone and none of her sisters could speak with her at the moment.

Lizzy reached toward Netherfield, not to the gentleman who had been her solace, but to another friend in attendance.

Charlotte?

Lizzy? Charlotte’s voice was very faint. She was not a strong mage, and even with Lizzy’s power to bolster the connection, the distance between them was almost too great for communication.

I left the ball without saying goodbye. Could you tell Jane that I was taken ill and could not stay?

That is not very like you, Lizzy.

Please, Charlotte.

I will.

Thank you. Lizzy broke the connection. Shivers ran down her spine, not from cold, but from the urge for movement. She should not be here, so close to the scene of her disappointment. She needed to be away, needed to forget everything Mr. Darcy had made her feel. How could she have ever expected him to return her sentiments? A dragon who felt their nest was catastrophically threatened would not stay in the damaged area. She had forgotten the most important thing: she was a dragon, and ever would be. Not for her were the happy endings and joyful unions which her sisters would experience. They were human, with human lives and partners, which Lizzy could never have.

A sharp keen broke from her throat and she was in the air and flying before she knew it. She was over Meryton before she recalled herself and forced her wings to turn back to Longbourn. Lizzy forced herself into the dower house, not caring that her back and sides got scraped. It felt like the small space was the only thing keeping her tethered at the moment. The dower house smelled like her sisters, and it was a small comfort as she curled in on herself. No matter how much she longed to leave, she could not do that without saying goodbye.

Less than half an hour passed before Lizzy heard the sound of a carriage. She was so far gone in her stupor she barely paid attention to it, but she did stir when she heard Jane calling her name. Even though it felt wrong, Lizzy changed back to her human skin. She felt itchy and compressed, as though her dragon was reluctant to give way to the vulnerable human.

“Here, Jane,” Lizzy called.

Jane hurried through the park toward the dower house. She tried to offer Lizzy her shawl when she saw Lizzy’s bare form leaning against the doorway, but Lizzy shook her head. Her sister would need the warmth, and Lizzy would not linger long.

“What is wrong, Lizzy?” Jane asked urgently. “I saw you leave with Mr. Darcy, and then Charlotte told me you had taken ill and left.”

“You should not have come, Jane,” Lizzy said dully, though she was grateful to see her sister.

Jane came forward and gave her a tight hug. “I told Charles I needed to be with you, and he understood. He allowed me to borrow his carriage.”

“Charles?” Lizzy asked, forcing hope into her voice even though she had none for herself. The darkness could not hide the blush on Jane’s cheeks.

“I spoke with him tonight,” she admitted. “I think when Papa returns, Charles will request an interview with him.

“That is very good, Jane,” Lizzy tried a smile, but it came out more of a grimace.

“What about you, Lizzy? What did Mr. Darcy say to you that made you leave without a word to me?”

“I told Charlotte to tell you,” she mumbled, feeling more numb by the moment.

“You are avoiding,” Jane chided gently.

“Mr. Darcy proposed.” The words tumbled out of her lips without her meaning to say them.

Jane gasped, “Lizzy!” Then she seemed to catch herself. “But you did not want him to? You do not… care for him?”

“He does not care for me,” Lizzy corrected without heat.

“When a man proposes, it is not because he does not care,” Jane prodded.

Lizzy shook her head. “He spoke of obligation… that because I saved him once, he was in debt to me.”

“Then you refused him?”

“I had to,” Lizzy whispered, silent tears dripping down her face. “I could not force him into a marriage only because he was trying to repay a debt.”

Jane gave her a keen look. “Lizzy, do you love Mr. Darcy?”

Lizzy began to cry in earnest. Jane held her for a time, but Lizzy only allowed herself to grieve for a moment before pushing back from her sister.

“I need to go, Jane,” Lizzy said huskily.

Fear flashed across Jane’s face.

“No! Lizzy! Do not go!” Jane tried to grab Lizzy’s arm, but the younger girl slipped away.

“I have to,” she said simply, standing out in the moonlight. Her bare skin was pale for a few seconds, before turning the black of dragon scales.

“Lizzy!” Jane cried, running after the dragon.

Lizzy used her wing to gently press her sister away, and then she took to the air.

At last, she could fly and not look back.

Chapter 26 Jane was deeply worried about Lizzy. It had been two days since the ball, and there had been no word from her. While it was not uncommon for Lizzy to fly away for a week or two at a time, she had never left in such turmoil before. Jane could only pray for her return, hoping that she had not seen her sister for the last time. The only person with the ability to reach Lizzy when she was gone like this was Papa, and he had not returned yet from taking Mr. Collins away.

Jane was horrified at the thought of what Mr. Collins had tried to do, and was immensely grateful that Lizzy had been there to stop him. She knew that Papa, Mary and Lizzy all thought that she was too kind-hearted. It was not that Jane did not see the bad in people, it was that she preferred to believe the best of them. Who was she to judge another, when she knew she was far from perfect? It was far better to forgive others, in the hope of being forgiven herself. But what Mr. Collins had done was beyond forgivable and she was glad to see the last of him.

Now if only Lizzy would return!

Jane had spoken briefly to Charles about Lizzy and Mr. Darcy. Charles had been unable to say what had passed between the two of them, but Mr. Darcy was in a foul mood and had talked about leaving the county. Jane could not pretend to understand. When she had seen Lizzy and Mr. Darcy together, she had been sure there were no two people more in love with each other, unless it was her and Charles, or Mary and Colonel Fitzwilliam. Lizzy had all but admitted to love Mr. Darcy on the night she had left. How could a proposal between them have gone so wrong?

When Jane heard a carriage turning into their lane, she went outside to greet Papa and inform him of Lizzy’s absence. Mary had also noticed the carriage, and being equally concerned over their missing sister, followed Jane. The girls exchanged puzzled looks when they saw that it was a hired carriage instead of their own conveyance.

And when the carriage door opened, it was not Mr. Bennet who stepped out.

It was Mr. Collins.

“My dear cousins,” Mr. Collins called to them, his eyes narrowed shrewdly. “There was an unfortunate accident on the road. I am afraid that the late Mr. Bennet was killed by brigands, his body taken to hide the evidence of their deeds. I was very lucky to have survived the attack myself. As the sole heir to the property, I have come to claim my rightful inheritance.”

Mr. Collins was still speaking, but Jane did not hear the words. Her stomach swooped and Mary gripped her arm hard. Her mind reeled with Mr. Collins’ words. Papa, dead? But she had seen him a few days ago, alive and well! How was it possible that their father, their warm, caring, absent-minded Papa, was now gone? What about his magic? Why had he not been able to defend himself? Why was Lizzy missing at a time when they needed her now, for if she had been present she surely could have reached Papa with her magic and known the truth of what happened?

Beside Jane, Mary was trembling, but she did not seem to be as frozen as Jane. She stepped forward, slightly in front of Jane, and then gave Jane’s arm a hard pinch. Jane jumped and stared at her sister. Mary met her eyes, face turned away from Mr. Collins, and clearly mouthed, “Run!”

Jane shook off her stupor and realized what Mr. Collins had said: as the new guardian of Longbourn and its inhabitants, he was dissolving any previous engagements and taking himself a bride from among them. He wanted Mary, and Mary was now moving toward him in an effort to buy Jane freedom.

Jane could not claim to be like Lizzy, with a dragon’s strength and quickness, but when it came to protecting her sister, never let it be said that she hesitated.

She darted forward, grabbed Mary’s hand and pulled her away from Mr. Collins.

“Run, Mary!” she shouted.

Mary stumbled before finding her feet and keeping up with Jane. They ran, holding hands and clutching each other tightly. Neither was willing to leave the other behind; if one fell, they would both face Mr. Collins together. Jane heard him shouting behind them, and she pressed Mary to go faster. She prayed that he would not use his magic on them, that she would not suddenly find herself wrenched away from Mary and banished to some unknown location. Papa and Lizzy were always so careful with their magic in an otherwise non-magical family that Jane had never before realized how vulnerable they were to a malevolent power.

Jane and Mary were not used to running for any length of time, and it seemed they had only gone a short distance before they were obliged to slow down.

Mary was gasping for breath, sobbing on each exhale, and there was a fierce ache in Jane’s side.

“You should have let him take me,” Mary whimpered. “You would have been safe. You could have gotten Mama and Kitty and Lydia out.”

“N-no,” Jane said between pants. “I could not do that. Come Mary, we must get to Netherfield. I am certain that Charles will let us in, and Colonel Fitzwilliam will be there for you. Both of them and Mr. Darcy are mages as well, they will be able to give us some protection against Mr. Collins.”

“Do not call him that!” Mary spat angrily. “He is no gentleman, and I will not use that title on him!”

“Of course not,” Jane soothed, “But let us walk faster. I do not think he followed us, but we do not want to be in the open if he does come for us.”

The girls walked as fast as they could, breaking out into short, startled runs at every unexpected noise. By the time they reached Netherfield, they were exhausted and soaked with perspiration. Neither of them were fit to be seen, but when they were shown to a room and the Netherfield gentlemen entered with alacrity, Jane did not hesitate to fly to Charles’ arms.

Only then did she allow herself to feel the grief and pain of losing Papa, of having to flee for her sister’s safety. She was too distraught to find her words, and

so it was Mary who babbled out the story.

“Where is Elizabeth?” Mr. Darcy asked the first question when the tale was concluded.

Jane was feeling a little better composed now, though she did not step away from Charles. Mary was similar encased by Colonel Fitzwilliam, and Mr. Darcy seemed rather frantic that Lizzy was not with them. The sisters exchanged a look, and Jane wondered again how Lizzy had thought Mr. Darcy did not love her. There must have been a mistake somehow.

“She flew away the night of the ball,” Jane explained, her voice hoarse from exertion. “We have not heard from her since. Usually Papa is the one that can reach her long distance.” She touched her forehead, though without magic herself she had no experience of using the mental speech.

Mr. Darcy’s eyes went distant. There was a silent moment, and then he shook his head. “I cannot reach her, or she is not answering. Cinder?”

Jane was confused as to who he was speaking to, but Colonel Fitzwilliam shook his head a few seconds later.

“No, I cannot speak to her either.”

“Bingley?” It was painful to watch Mr. Darcy’s growing concern for Lizzy with no way of reassuring him. Lizzy could be deliberately hiding from them, or she could genuinely be out of reach. It was impossible to know, but Jane refused to think something might have happened to her sister as well as her father.

There had already been enough tragedy in the family, there was no need to borrow more.

“I have not had the contact with her that you both have had, but I will try,” Charles answered. “No, nothing,” he concluded.

“Blast!” Mr. Darcy turned away in agitation, shoving his fingers through his hair. “Is there anywhere she is known to go?”

“Papa was the one who knows… knew where Lizzy likes to go. But she can fly a great deal faster than a horse, and is probably much further away than we could guess,” Mary said, ending with a choked sob. She turned her face into Colonel Fitzwilliam’s chest, and he spoke quietly to her.

Mr. Darcy paced the room, his fists clenched at his side and a wild look in his eyes.

“Snowman, we will find her,” Colonel Fitzwilliam called to his cousin.

Mr. Darcy stopped. “You are right,” he said reluctantly. “In the meanwhile, what of the rest of the family?”

He looked first to Jane, then to Mary. His grey eyes were frighteningly intense, and Jane thought she would not like to attract his ire.

“Collins never expressed an interest in Kitty or Lydia,” Jane began.

“But I would not trust a dog to his care!” Mary finished.

The gentlemen exchanged looks. Jane could not tell if they were speaking silently, or if they simply knew each other and so did not need words.

“A frustrated man will often turn on those around him, even if they are not involved,” Colonel Fitzwilliam growled. “We should bring the others here for their safety.”

“Richard, you will stay here and Bingley and I will go,” Darcy declared.

“I will not stay behind because you think I will burn him!” Colonel Fitzwilliam shouted, then immediately apologized when Mary flinched.

Mr. Darcy fixed his cousin with a hard stare. “No, you will stay behind because you have the best offensive magic of all of us, and because it is your Miss Mary that Collins wants most.”

A dangerous look came over Colonel Fitzwilliam’s face, and Jane belatedly realized that he must have killed men with his magic while in the army. He said nothing more, but nodded his agreement.

Mr. Darcy left the room without waiting to see if anyone would follow him. Jane rather thought no one was likely to disagree with him while he was in this mood. Lizzy needed to come home soon, if only to see how Mr. Darcy was without her, if nothing else.

Charles hugged Jane. “Will you be all right, my sweet?” he asked her tenderly.

She allowed herself to lean on his strength for a moment before letting him go. “I will because I know you will come back soon,” she said.

“I will,” he promised. “And I will bring your sisters and mother safely here.” His expression saddened. “I know, with the passing of your father, that this is not the time to say it, but I love you, Jane. My desire to marry you has not changed. I will wait for you, for however long I must.”

Tears threatened her eyes. “I love you too, Charles, and I do not want to wait any longer. I should like to marry you as soon as… after…” It was too painful to speak of the mourning period for her father, but Charles knew what she meant. He hugged her.

“What will you do while I am gone?”

She took a deep breath and gathered her wits. “I will write to Uncle Gardiner, in London. I know he can do nothing about the inheritance, but he is the executor of Papa’s will, and should be notified.”

“I think I should like his direction as well, if your father placed such high respect in him. Be safe, my sweet. Stay with Richard and your sister. I know he will protect you.”

Charles hugged her again, and then left to follow Mr. Darcy.
***

---

Darcy’s heart burned in his chest, as it had for the last two days. If only he could have frozen it to feel nothing, but instead it ached as a constant reminder of his failure. Elizabeth had rejected him. The woman he loved did not love him back. It would have been hard enough to accept this if she was some ordinary woman, but Elizabeth was so much more than that. Extraordinary in magic and mind, unique in a world where all women were of the same mould. All the prancing beauties in London tried so hard to out-vie each other in fashion and accomplishments that they ended up being so very similar to each other. Elizabeth was a bonfire to their candles.

And she was cursed.

Darcy had learned to love Elizabeth regardless of the curse. He loved her as both dragon and woman, and never thought that one detracted from the other. He offered himself in marriage because he wished to be tied to her for eternity, not because she needed him. Now Darcy had failed her. He was increasingly aware of a pressure in his chest when he thought of her curse. It would not have mattered to him whether Elizabeth kept her dragon form in the breaking of the curse, or if she would have been turned fully human. But he had failed to break her curse. She would lose her human self in the dragon. How long did she have? A year, or months? Weeks?

He had failed her.

He failed, and now her father was dead, her family in danger. It was that knowledge which propelled him into the carriage for Longbourn with only a little trepidation. Any discomfort he felt was well-deserved for what he had done to Elizabeth. He had to protect her family at all costs. It was a small repayment for what he had made her lose, but it was all he had to offer.

The carriage was colder than it should have been in the weather. Darcy made little effort to curb his magic, knowing it would be needed shortly. Bingley kept glancing at Darcy and away again. Finally he spoke.

“We will get them back, you know,” he said confidently.

Darcy did not reply.

“Miss Elizabeth will be found,” Bingley said confidently.

Darcy could not hide his wince at Elizabeth’s name.

“She is very strong, as you well know,” Bingley prattled on. “Jane said she likes to go flying about sometimes. I am sure she will return shortly. Miss Elizabeth does not seem the type to just leave her family.”

Again Darcy winced.

“I say,” Bingley began awkwardly, “Did something happen between you and Miss Elizabeth?”

“It is none of your business,” Darcy growled.

Bingley paused. “Maybe not, but Richard said—”

Darcy suddenly realized who had put Bingley up to speaking about Elizabeth.

Cinder! He roared toward his cousin.

Turn down the volume, Snowman, Richard replied. I thought we were under attack. Unless you are being attacked?

No, you dunce and you know it. Stop making Bingley your patsy. Darcy warned. Richard had been trying to get him to talk since the ball. Darcy had refused, nursing his broken heart and despair alone in his room. I have no more desire to speak with him than I do with you.

I only thought it might help you to open up, since you will not do it for me, Richard said with a little hurt.

No.

See, I wish I could accept that, but you have been even more of a bear than usual in the last two days. Something had to have happened—

And I wish you could respect that I have no desire to speak about it! He cut contact harshly. He eyed Bingley with suspicion.

Bingley raised his hands in surrender. “Let us get the Bennets safe before all else,” he said.

“Agreed.”

At Longbourn, Darcy barely waited after knocking on the door before entering in. He cared not for the social norms while the family of his beloved was at risk.

He followed the sound of voices into the parlor. Collins stood in the center of the room, poorly attempting to control it. Of all people, it was Miss Lydia who stood before him in a pose so reminiscent of Elizabeth that Darcy’s throat tightened. Behind her, Mrs. Bennet had apparently fallen into a faint on the couch, with a very pale Miss Kitty trying to chafe her mother’s hands.

Bingley, get Mrs. Bennet and the girls out. I will cover us, Darcy sent silently.

Collins spun to face them. “I have not sent for you,” he said severely. “I cannot think how it is that you are aware of my presence, unless it is that you have something of mine.” His eyes narrowed shrewdly.

Something woke in Darcy’s heart. Something dangerous… and dragonish. Here was the man who had assaulted his love three nights past. Here was the one who had bruised Miss Mary’s face, had caused Elizabeth’s voice to rasp. The temperature in the room fell rapidly as Darcy released control of his magic.

Everyone’s breaths turned to mist. Condensation built on the walls then turned to sharp patterns of frost.

“Understand,” Darcy said in a low voice that did not need to be loud to carry, “that people do not belong to you.”

“I am the head of this family!” Collins’ shrieked, shivering uncontrollably.

Bingley edged toward the Bennets. Miss Lydia darted to her mother’s side and assisted Miss Kitty in trying to raise her.

“You may be the inheritor to the estate,” Darcy corrected harshly, “But you have proven unable to manage yourself, let alone care for another living being. I will not leave them here in your care.”

Bingley ushered the two girls ahead of him while pulled Mrs. Bennet to her feet. His lips were moving as he cast quiet spells to help support her. She seemed dazed and insensible. Collins finally noticed and turned toward them.

“I did not give you leave to go!”

Darcy raised his hand and a sheet of opaque ice formed between Collins and the others. The clergyman jumped and scowled at Darcy.

“You are interfering in what is none of your business,” Collins snarled, spittle flying from his blue lips. Darcy thought it a rather appealing color on the man and deliberately concentrated the cold around Collins.

“Be grateful my cousin is not here,” Darcy spat. “He works in the medium of fire, as you know, but unlike me, he has killed before.”

Collins shuddered, his ugly look turning a little numb from the temperature.

“Do not test me. I have come to collect what is most precious to the one I love. Just because I have never yet taken a life does not mean I am not willing to do so to protect what I hold dear.”

“Y-you sp-speak of m-murder..” Collins stammered, unable to form clear words from the cold.

“Would it be murder, or justice?” Darcy wondered idly.

Interestingly, Collins’ eyes widened, and he rocked back a step. Now that was a reaction to ponder at a different time.

D-Darcy, we are out. Y-you may wish to lessen the c-cold. I feel it a-and the ladies are not so well pr-protected as m-me. Bingley said.

Darcy could not bring up the temperature of the room, but he stopped putting active magic in the air. The ambient air began to turn to something like normal again. He met Collins’ gaze in direct challenge, and it was the other man who stilled like a deer before a dragon. Perhaps Darcy had spent too much time with Elizabeth, but for the first time he understood just how very simple a dragon’s perspective could be.

He backed from the room and met Bingley at the carriage. Together they got Mrs. Bennet in, and then Miss Lydia and Miss Kitty. Darcy did his best to control his temper and not freeze his companions in the carriage.

“Th-thank you for coming for us,” Miss Lydia said, sitting stiffly beside her nearly comatose mother. “It was a very Lizzy thing to do.”

Darcy’s heart clenched.

“Please, gentlemen,” Miss Kitty ventured timidly, “Is it true, what he said? Is Papa really… gone?”

Bingley looked to Darcy, who could not speak. It was the younger man who answered gently, “It appears to be that way.”

Miss Kitty turned and began crying softly into Mrs. Bennet’s shoulder. Miss Lydia sat stoically, her pain etched in every tense line of her body. It was a very long carriage ride back to Netherfield.

The Bennets were shortly installed in rooms at Netherfield. Miss Bingley was not pleased at first to be hosting nearly the whole family, but once she learned what had befallen then, she paled and efficiently arranged matters. Even now, she was paler than Darcy had ever seen her.

The room Richard was pacing in was almost swelteringly hot. Darcy released some of his tension by bringing down the temperature of the room. Richard shot him a look, but seemed to realize that Darcy was as dissatisfied at doing nothing as he. Bingley looked between them cautiously, then at the various furnishings which were all too susceptible to fire or frost. At another time, Darcy would have felt ashamed for making his friend concerned for his home, but not at this time, with Elizabeth missing, with Collins only a few miles away, with the Bennets in upheaval. He owed Bingley a large case of fine brandy for his trouble, though perhaps he would gift it to him out of sight of Richard.

Of the three of them, Richard was especially unsuited to inaction. When it became known that one Mr. Gardiner of London was the executor of Mr. Bennet’s will, and also the defacto guardian of the Bennet sisters, Richard jumped at the chance to meet the man himself. Bingley, as the Bennets’ host, felt it his duty to go as well to inform the man of his family’s circumstances.

Darcy hated being the voice of reason in the group. It left a foul taste in his mouth as he said, “We cannot all go. It would leave those behind vulnerable to Collins.”

Richard turned his smoldering gaze on Bingley. “I may not be a spell mage such as yourself, but I worked with the army spell-crafters enough to teach you some of their tricks. Come with me, and we will shortly have this place warded to the nines.”

Bingley, who have never practiced offensive magic in his life, swallowed hard and nodded. Darcy followed the two of them in the vague hope of protecting Bingley from too much of Richard’s exposure. Thankfully, Richard settled down once he had a plan, and was not unduly sharp with Bingley. He instructed Bingley how to set wards, traps and alarms, frequently donating his magic to the cause in order to give those protections more teeth. Darcy helped as well, so there was ice as well as fire woven into the make-up of Netherfield’s defenses.

When they had circled the house’s perimeter, Richard paused and frowned. “If you were more familiar with this magic, I would have you create keys to allow certain people to pass through unharmed. I fear I am not entirely certain of the process though, and you have already worked quite hard.”

Bingley looked like a horse that had been ridden close to foundering. His body was soaked in sweat, his limbs trembling and eyes fever-bright.

“I can try,” he said hoarsely.

“No,” Darcy and Richard spoke at the same time. Darcy deferred to his cousin.

“If you mess this up, it will have catastrophic results for the bearer of the key. Far better to simply warn all others to keep away. We built in a passageway near the servant’s entrance that can be opened on command. That will have to do for now,” Richard said.

Bingley nodded, swaying on his feet.

“You should rest, Charles, before we travel to London,” Darcy said reluctantly.
Bingley looked at him with an astute gaze. “If it were my Jane who was missing, I would not rest a second in my efforts to find her. I will not ask you to either,” he said resolutely. “Let me freshen up, and I will be ready to go.”

Darcy’s throat tightened at Bingley’s support, and he nodded. Richard watched him closely, a guarded expression on his face.

By the time Richard finished explaining to Miss Bingley, the Hursts, Miss Bennet and Miss Mary how to operate the guarded passageway—and the consequences of ignoring his instructions—Bingley was ready to travel.

Darcy entered the carriage again, feeling rather like he was going into battle. His shoulders ached with tension, as did his jaw. Was this how Richard felt during conflicts? At least Darcy was only facing a few hours in a carriage ride to London and back, and not in danger of his life. No, he was only in danger of his heart. Or perhaps it was more accurate to say that his heart had already been consumed by a dragon.

At first, it seemed as though the entire ride might pass in silence. Bingley slumped against the side, still looking wan and exhausted. Richard tucked his chin to his chest in an approximation of sleep, but the little flickers of flame playing around his fingers belied his supposed rest. Darcy remained stiff, his fear of the carriage warring with the self-hatred of his failure.

“What sort of fellow do you suppose this Mr. Gardiner will be?” Bingley was the first to speak. “Jane seemed to speak well of him, so he cannot be too bad.”

Darcy and Richard exchanged a very cynical look.

“Given how the last relative turned out to be, I do not hold out high hopes,” Richard said darkly, now openly pouring fire from palm to palm.

“Must you do that?” Bingley asked in annoyance. “It is likely to get warm enough in here.”

Darcy absently flexed his magic, helping to negate Richard’s presence.

“Think, Bingley, would you risk turning Miss Bennet over to another like Collins?” Richard insisted grimly. “I have seen the damage men can inflict upon the defenseless every time I am in battle. I would not wish it on the lowest pest, let alone the woman I love. The Bennets are in a rather delicate situation here. Mr. Gardiner will be in for quite a shock upon suddenly inheriting five unmarried daughters and their widowed mother. We cannot imagine how he would react, and they will be entirely within his power. If he has his own family, he is likely to resent the Bennets for draining his own resources. He may lock them all in a cellar with only a crust of bread to eat, or see them married off to the highest bidder, simply to be rid of them.”

Bingley shuddered. “What do you think, Darcy?” he asked.

“I think his address is in Cheapside,” Darcy responded with as much evenness as he was capable of. “Even if he were the perfect relation, he cannot possibly afford to keep the Bennets in the manner of which they were used to. They are already under enough duress of the moment. They will only be a burden on Mr. Gardiner and he could make things very uncomfortable for them.”

“Then they shall stay with me,” Bingley waved his hand as if it were no concern. “I can take on Netherfield as a more permanent lease, or seek a place elsewhere if they wish it. It is of no concern to me.”

“I would provide for them as well,” Richard said. “I may not be as well set up as you, Bingley, but I have enough savings to purchase a home. I do not trust anyone outside this carriage to care for them.”

“No,” Darcy said softly. “It will be me. It must be me. Both of you know I can afford it the best. Pemberley alone can support them, and I have other estates which they may choose from. I cannot allow a stranger, even a relation of their, to take them from me. This has to be my duty to fulfill.”

Bingley gave him an odd look.

Richard asked quietly, “Is that proper, Snowman?”

Darcy glared at his cousin. “What are you saying?” he asked sharply.

“I am saying that you were downright giddy in preparation for the ball, and been an absolute grump since.” He ticked off one of his fingers. “I know you requested an audience alone with Lizzy the night of the ball.” Another tick of his fingers. “She, who has been nigh inseparable from you, is conspicuously absent from that very night onward—”

“What do you want me to say?” Darcy snarled. “That I am the reason she is gone? If you think I have done something to her, speak plainly!”

Bingley leaned away from him, but Richard was unimpressed. “I know you care too much for her to have done something foolish. But I wish you would speak plainly. Have you suffered a lover’s spat with her?”

“No,” Darcy laughed bitterly. “We would have needed an agreement between us for that to occur. She refused me. I asked for her hand, and she denied it. I left her alive and well at Netherfield and that is the last I have seen or heard from her.” He clenched his fists against his forehead, trying to force back the memories of her refusal.

Silence greeted him. He felt wickedly jealous that each of his companions had reached some accord with the ones they loved, and yet he had been cast aside.

“I did not think it as bad as that,” Richard whispered. I am sorry, Snowman.

“Now you know, why I must take them on,” Darcy said hoarsely, refusing to acknowledge his cousin’s silent voice. “They are all I have of her. It is the least I can do for her, if I am never to win her regard.”

“I say, Darcy,” Bingley began cautiously. “Even I know, in my limited social graces, that it is not a done thing for yourself to be involved with the family if she has refused you.”

Darcy said nothing, but the air grew colder around him.

“Bingley is right, Snowman,” Richard agreed.

“And so you would take even this from me?” Darcy growled, feeling his chest tighten painfully. His failures kept mounting. First to Elizabeth, then to her family.

Surprisingly, Bingley came to his aid.

“Let us not argue,” he said with a slashing motion of his hand. “We have a crisis serious enough at the moment, without turning on each other. Let us visit Gardiner first to secure the future of the Bennets. Then we may settle amongst ourselves where they will stay. I know better than to try to move Darcy when he is set, and I will not try. This is when we need most to be together, gentlemen, not apart. The needs of the Bennets must come before all else.”

Richard sat back and nodded. After a moment Darcy did the same. The rest of the journey passed in silence.

Chapter 27

Edward Gardiner was not having a good day. It started with an express that was delivered over breakfast. His chest clenched hard when he saw the black wax seal, heralding the announcement of a death. When he saw the direction, from Longbourn, he felt a further sinking. He showed the note to his wife, Madeline, and the children were quickly dismissed to their lessons.

Madeline followed him to his study and read over his shoulder as he broke the seal. Both of them were expecting the bad news, but it was worse than they could have guessed. They loved the Bennet girls as much as their own children. The families often visited each other, and Thomas Bennet would be greatly missed. The Gardiners had long known that Longbourn was entailed away from the Bennet daughters, but to find that they had been evicted from their home without a chance to gather their belongings? Jane Bennet, gentle girl that she was, did not say as much, yet Edward and his wife could read between the lines.

Who was this neighbor leasing Netherfield that they were staying with? Did it seem that Jane spoke of this Bingley fellow with more warmth than was necessary? Edward was deeply worried about the situation. His greatest fear was that the neighbor was taking advantage of the girls. As the oldest, Jane would have felt it her duty to be… accommodating in order to secure lodgings for her family.

And Lizzy, with her unique condition, missing at this critical time? When Thomas Bennet had made Edward the executor of his will, Thomas had put in a specific clause that Edward and Madeline Gardiner would be given guardianship of any unmarried daughters remaining at home, regardless of age. The Gardiners already had 4 small children, and suddenly they found themselves gaining five more daughters, most of them already grown. There was only one thing to do.

"I need to go there and sort the mess out," Edward said quickly. "I fear what Jane is not telling us. I do not like the sound of this Collins chap. Who would remove their own family from the only home they have ever known, especially as recently grieved as they are? No, the girls and Fanny need to be with their real family, with us."

"I agree," Madeline nodded. "This is no time to be staying with neighbors. I just hope they have not been imposed upon already. If Lizzy was there, she would have defended her sisters; I do not like that she has left at this critical time. Do you suppose that her disappearance is connected?"

"I pray not. Losing Thomas is bad enough, but Lizzy too? It would have taken something very powerful to overcome her. If that is the case, the rest will be in greater danger than we can imagine. I would have to involve the magic section of the Bow Street Runners."

Madeline shuddered. "God protect them. I will stay here with the children and get rooms ready for the girls. It will be a tight fit, but we will manage. I love you, Edward, be careful on your journey."

"I will, Madeline. I love you too." Edward took his wife in a hard hug, grateful for her support. Just as he started to release her to pack, there was a knock on their door. They exchanged grimaces.

"Do what you must," Madeline reassured him. "I will take care of whoever it is and tell them now is not a good time. They must wait until this is all sorted."

She went downstairs to open the door. Madeline was familiar with most of her husband's business contacts, but she did not recognize the three gentlemen standing at the door.

"Is this the residence of Edward Gardiner?" asked the tallest one, a man of dark hair, grey eyes and grim expression.

Madeline imagined she felt a chill coming from the man, but put it to nothing more than a stray breeze.

"Yes, but I must apologize, this is not a good time for a visit. We have only just heard of a death in the family, and he is expected to leave at once to deal with it," she explained politely.

"That is why we are here," said the second man, with green eyes, tawny hair and the rigid air of someone in the service. Unlike the first, this one seemed to radiate heat. In fact, there seemed to be a faint shimmer in the air between the first two gentlemen, as though there was something inherently contrasting about the two of them.

"We have information about the Bennet sisters and their mother," the third man said, both the shortest and friendliest, with blue eyes and blond hair. "We were given to understand that Mr. Gardiner has become their guardian, and we have business with him that directly concerns his nieces."

Madeline felt rather overwhelmed by the situation. She had only learned a few minutes ago that her brother by law had died, her niece was missing, and now these gentlemen were at her door with information about the rest of the family.

"You had better come in," she said when she found her voice. "I will inform Edward that you are waiting for him."

She rushed upstairs to tell her husband about the gentlemen in the parlor. His reaction was as incredulous as hers had been.

"Seems rather precipitous for three of them to be on my doorstep at this hour," he said worriedly.

"That is what I thought, but if they have information about the girls and the situation, especially where Lizzy is concerned, then it could be worth the delay to listen to them."

"And at least if they are here, we know they are not doing anything to the girls," he added grimly. "Though it makes me wonder how they are faring now."

"Go and find out," Madeline said definitively. "I will keep packing while you speak with them."

"Thank you, my love, what would I do without you?" He kissed his wife briefly and went downstairs to greet his visitors.

When Edward entered the parlor, all three men met him with rather intense stares. He felt rather like a deer surrounded by hounds, before he shook himself back to his senses.

"I am Edward Gardiner, brother to Mrs. Bennet and uncle to the Bennet daughters. I understand you gentlemen have information pertaining to the situation of my nieces?"

One of the men stepped forward. "Charles Bingley, at your service," he said, offering his hand. Edward took it and found Bingley to have a firm grip but soft palms. So this was the neighbor Jane had spoken about. He tried not to let his suspicion show, but he was deeply worried about what this gentleman might have done to Jane and the others.

"This is my good friend, Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy, and his cousin, Col. Richard Fitzwilliam," Bingley continued, oblivious to Edward's scrutiny.

Edward spared a glance at the indicated gentlemen. The Colonel was frankly appraising, as if he had any right to do so. It made Edward want to bristle. However, it was Mr. Darcy that gave him the most pause. That man looked up at the sound of his name, briefly catching Edward's eye. For a moment he could not breathe. He was struck by such an expression of raw pain in the man's face that it was as if the hurt was his own. And then the man smoothed his countenance into something unfathomable, leaving Edward to wonder what he had really seen.

Badly shaken, Edward tried to take control of the situation again. "I trust that my nieces are not in such trouble that the military has been called in to take custody of them?" he directed toward Col. Fitzwilliam.

The tawny man offered a slight grin, which quickly turned into a grimace. "I am recently retired," he corrected.

Very recently, Edward judged. The man had not yet lost the hard edge of someone who was regularly in danger of his life.

"And no, my presence does not indicate a military problem with the Misses Bennet. I was on leave and visiting my cousin and his friend who are staying at Netherfield, a neighboring estate to Longbourn."

Edward nodded his understanding, turning his gaze back to Mr. Bingley. He seemed far more at ease than Colonel Fitzwilliam. There was a softness to his face that made him seem more open and leisurely than his companions. He seemed more interested in looking around with wide eyes than in trying to judge Edward.

"That would be the estate you are leasing?" Edward asked pointedly.

"Yes," Mr. Bingley confirmed. "The Bennets are in my custody."

Edward narrowed his eyes at the choice of words. Col. Fitzwilliam coughed loudly.

"No, sorry, that was probably the wrong thing to say," Mr. Bingley smiled guilelessly. "I meant to say, I am currently leasing Netherfield. Jane and Miss Mary came to me over… difficulties with their cousin. They and the rest of family are now my guests, and you may be assured of their safety at Netherfield."

Edward was still not reassured by Mr. Bingley's careless manner. His reliability was questionable at best. How was it that Jane had turned to this man for support? Was there more to Mr. Bingley than appeared, or were their straits truly that bad? It was more imperative than ever that he retrieve the Bennets and bring them home where they were safe.

"Jane?" Edward said frostily. What exactly gave this man leave to refer to the eldest sister by her Christian name?

Mr. Bingley appeared to realize he had misspoke. "Miss Bennet, I mean. Well, I suppose it is not a secret now. I love Jane, Mr. Gardiner, and I have asked her to be my wife. She has agreed, but unfortunately I could not seek Mr. Bennet's approval before he died, therefore I seek yours."

There was stark lack of surprise from the other two gentlemen in the room, but Edward was blindsided. "You do realize, of course, that a period of mourning must be observed before I can grant my approval?" And it would give him time to ascertain if Jane was really attached to Mr. Bingley, or had only turned to him in desperation. He only prayed that news of the engagement had not spread too far if she did not want Mr. Bingley once she knew the Gardiners would give her a home.

"Oh yes, I am aware, but I am willing to wait. I have already spoken to Jane about waiting, and she knows that I will not abandon her."

"Your… enthusiasm is commendable," Edward said delicately. "I should like to take the mourning period to get to know you, as this is quite news to me."

"Of course," Mr. Bingley agreed easily. "I look forward to many family engagements with you." He beamed with excitement that was not entirely appropriate given the situation.

Edward rubbed at his forehead, feeling a headache forming. At least this explained why the Bennets had fled to Netherfield for succor.

"And are you three gentlemen the only residents of Netherfield?"

"No, of course not," Mr. Bingley said quickly. "My sister, Miss Bingley is also with us, as well as my other sister, Mrs. Hurst, and her husband, Mr. Hurst."

That was a small relief that at least his unmarried nieces were not staying with equally unmarried gentlemen without a chaperone. Especially as Jane seemed to be engaged to the host. At least he was charming, Edward had to admit, and appeared to be as relaxed of temperament as Jane herself. No doubt Thomas would quip that with each of them so complying, nothing would ever be resolved on; so easy, that every servant will cheat them and so generous, that they would always exceed their income. Then he felt a spasm in his chest as he remembered that Thomas would never be making any quip again.

"As much as I appreciate you coming in person to tell me the location of my nieces," Edward began, "If there you have no other business with me, I should like to finish packing so I might visit them myself."

It was not his imagination; all three gentlemen sharpened their attention on him. He braced himself for the real purpose behind their visit. It stood to reason that all of them need not have come if they simply wished to tell him where the Bennets were.

"Ah, thank you for reminding me," Mr. Bingley continued to hold the lead. "I should like to add that Jane and her family may stay as long as they should need. Indeed, they are welcome to remain throughout the mourning period, and even after we have been married. Oh yes, and if you wish to see them now, you can stay with us at Netherfield as well." He said it quite firmly, without any hesitation.

While the idea that a suitor would also take on any unmarried sisters and Mr. Bennet's widow was not unprecedented, Edward did have to wonder what prompted Bingley to state it so explicitly. Was it to do with Collins, or with Mr. Bingley himself? He looked around at the other gentlemen. Clearly they were waiting on his word. He suddenly wished he could have conducted this part of the interview in his private study with only Mr. Bingley present. He rather feared he was about to bring up a sensitive topic.

"Forgive me for being so crass," he began, "but what means do you have to support my nieces and their mother? Do you have an estate of your own?"
Mr. Bingley did not take offense at the question.

"I have no estate of my own, but my father left me an inheritance for which to purchase one. If Jane is pleased by Netherfield, I would purchase it outright. Perhaps she would feel comforted by being near familiar environs."

It was a generous offer. "And if Jane does not wish to live in Netherfield, so close to the family home she lost?"

Mr. Bingley shrugged in unconcern. "Then we can look for another estate which does please her. It matters not to me, only that she would be happy in our home."

Edward decided he liked this Mr. Bingley—an affable and open gentleman. He was starting to feel reassured that Mr. Bingley truly loved Jane and wished the best for her and her family. So long as Jane loved him in return, he would have no problem giving his consent.

"Thank you for your offer," he said, "But be assured that I fully intend to take care of my sister and her daughters."

"It is grand to hear that. I look forward to seeing much of you in the future." Mr. Bingley stepped back and immediately Col. Fitzwilliam stepped forward.
He offered his hand to Edward. His palm was calloused, and his skin was hot to the touch. As the man displayed none of the other characteristics of a fever, Edward guessed the Colonel had magic related to heat or fire. It made him wonder what, if any, magic the other two gentlemen possessed. Col. Fitzwilliam was clearly sizing Edward up, as if the man had any right to judge him in his own home.

"You have become the guardian of the Bennet ladies, and as such, I felt it my responsibility to inform you that I am in love with Miss Mary Bennet," Col. Fitzwilliam said with frank challenge. "We have, only days ago, become engaged. Before Mr. Bennet unexpectedly passed, he had given his consent for the union. I know there must be a mourning period before I can wed her, but I wanted to personally give you my assurance as to the steadfastness of my feelings for her."

Edward should have been less surprised, given Mr. Bingley's confession, but he was once again taken off guard. Who would have guessed that Mary would become engaged first of all? He was torn between equal parts of pride in his middle niece and worry that her choice had been precipitated by events in Hertfordshire. At least Thomas had given consent for this union, so perhaps it boded well for the Colonel. Even still, he greatly disliked the way the man spoke, as if daring Edward to object.

"Also, if there is any difficulty in providing for the remaining Bennet sisters and their mother, I will take upon their care myself, as their future brother and son-in-law," Col. Fitzwilliam added defiantly.

Curiouser and curiouser. Yet another offer of shelter and protection for Mrs. Bennet and her daughters. What had been happening in Hertfordshire? Edward's incredulity was in full force. Even if Mary approved of her outspoken fiancé, what gave him leave to step into a stranger's house and make such a bold declaration? Mr. Bingley had literally just made the same offer, in full hearing of everyone. As long as Jane was happy with Mr. Bingley, the Bennets' future was already secured. Why did Col. Fitzwilliam feel the need to repeat the same thing?

"I shall ask you the same question I asked the last gentleman who made such an offer: do you have an estate, where my nieces might live, to allow you to provide for them?" he asked to cover his shock. He hoped that by meeting challenge with challenge, he might learn what sort of man he was facing.

Colonel Fitzwilliam's face took on a little color. "I am the second son of the Earl of Matlock, but no such place was given to me. I have no inheritance until my parents should pass on, which I do not expect for many years as both are in excellent health. What I do have is a modest savings from my wages in the army. It would be enough to purchase a small house. I may not be able to provide for the family in the manner to which they are accustomed, but I will always do my best to support them."

It seemed even stranger that Col. Fitzwilliam had offered to shelter the Bennets when his own situation was unsettled. At least Mr. Bingley's offer was more realistic. Was the Colonel truly so impulsive, or had the Collins situation made him fear that the Bennets had no home to turn to? How bad was it, exactly? What sort of trouble had Mr. Bingley alluded to?

"Thank you for your honesty, and your offer," Edward said cautiously, "I see no reason to protest your union with Mary at an appropriate time, providing that we may use the mourning period as a time to better know your character. As for your offer, it is generous, but be assured that my wife and I will not allow my sister and her daughters to starve in the streets."

"Thank you for speaking with me," Col. Fitzwilliam was obviously relieved, though Edward had no doubt that at the first sign of faltering he would be quick to renew his offer to support Mary and the others. Edward found himself softening toward the brash man. Life in the army was harsher than he could imagine, but it seemed like the Colonel's heart was in the right place where Mary was concerned.

Madeline entered during this pause and served tea. Edward was grateful for the reprieve, though he suspected it would be temporary. She looked to him with raised eyebrows. All he could offer her was a slight smile in reassurance that he had not learned further bad news. Colonel Fitzwilliam accepted a cup of tea, took a sip, and complimented the beverage. At least he had very pretty manners. Mr. Bingley also made an appreciative noise. The third gentleman, though, seemed lost in the contemplation of his tea cup.

Madeline made to leave, but Edward impulsively grabbed her hand, lacing their fingers. She stood by him, his love and support. He needed her more than ever now. All eyes turned to the last gentleman of the group. The dark-haired man rose and came toward Edward. There was the slightest hitch in his gait, but he seemed perfectly steady on his feet.

Edward felt a sudden apprehension about what the third visitor would have to say.

"I wish I could have made your acquaintance under better circumstances," Mr. Darcy said plainly, extending his hand, "but such is not to be."

When Edward shook his hand, there was a distinct aura of chill around him before reaching warm flesh. If Colonel Fitzwilliam had magic relating to heat, then this man's magic worked in the medium of cold. It made Edward wonder what magic, if any, Mr. Bingley had possessed.

Mr. Darcy did not look around as Mr. Bingley had, nor was he appraising Edward as Colonel Fitzwilliam had. He stared above Edward's head as if struggling to gather his thoughts. He again had the impression of pain radiating from this gentleman as much as the cold did. Edward did not have magic himself, but as an astute business man, he was excellent at reading people.

"Well," he began, when the silence grew to be too much for him. "Are you here to tell me the same thing your companions did?"

Mr. Darcy's gaze sharpened on him, and Edward almost wished he had not spoken. Mr. Darcy seemed a very great gentleman, as well as one used to control. As well as being the tallest, Edward judged the cut of his suit to be the most expensive of the three, and therefore Edward felt the most reason to be cautious of him.

"It is somewhat similar, though some of the particulars differ," Mr. Darcy said succinctly. He seemed to be a man of few words, and Edward had to prompt him onward.

"And which of my nieces are you in love with?" he asked.

"Miss Elizabeth."

The missing one. Now Edward's interest was increased, trying to find any hint of why Lizzy had left at this time.

"And did you propose to her as well?"

"I did. Three nights previous."

"And did my late brother also give his—"

"She refused me," Mr. Darcy said flatly.

Edward was starting to see the reason behind Mr. Darcy's stark manner. The woman he loved had disappeared shortly after refusing his proposal of marriage. Unless he was the cause of her disappearance? The timing, according to Jane's letter, was correct and Edward could not help but to feel suspicious.

"And does that have anything to do with the reason Lizzy cannot be found at the moment?" he asked tersely.

"I could not say," Mr. Darcy retorted, then caught himself. His face softened for an instant; Edward caught a glimpse of a man deeply in love.

"She was alive and well when I last saw her," Mr. Darcy said quietly. "If you know your niece, you know there are few things which could beset her when she is prepared for it."

Edward's eyebrows rose toward his hair. Mr. Darcy knew of Lizzy's curse? He knew of it, and still fell in love with her, enough to take her in marriage? Was it a lack of feeling on Lizzy's part that caused her to reject him?

"I know of the dower house that Thomas built for Lizzy," Edward said calmly.

A look of mutual understanding passed between them. Edward did not think Mr. Darcy was directly responsible for Lizzy's absence, but he could not help but to test the gentleman.

"It is brave of you to come forward like this, when you are one of the last people to have seen my niece."

"I abhor disguise of every sort," Mr. Darcy said stiffly. "I will not hide that I saw and spoke to her that night."

"I value your honesty," Edward admitted.

"Then I hope you continue to value it when you hear what I have to say. My cousin and friend made a similar offer as I will now, but know that between the four of us, yourself included, I am the best situated to offer a home to the remaining Bennets."

Edward stiffened at the blatant dismissal of his familial duty. While it was not entirely unexpected from Mr. Bingley and Col. Fitzwilliam given their engagements, it was incredulous that Mr. Darcy should offer the same when Lizzy had already refused him. What could be his possible aim? Was he hoping to coerce Lizzy into accepting him out of gratitude or duty? If so, he did not know her nearly so well. And while Mr. Darcy was possibly quite correct in his assessment, Edward was hardly likely to allow his grieving family to be taken away by this stranger with no connection to them. It was the highest sort of arrogance that Mr. Darcy seemed to expect Edward to simply hand the Bennets to him.

Before he could correct Mr. Darcy, the gentleman began to provide the answer to the question he had asked the other two suitors.

"I own more than one estate in which the Bennets may choose to live. My family home, Pemberley—"

"Pemberley?" Madeline asked abruptly. "In Derbyshire?"

"The same," Mr. Darcy acknowledged with an incline of his head.

"I hail from Lambton," she explained. "I am familiar with Pemberley and your family. I have the greatest of respect for them."

"I am pleased to hear that," the faintest smile touched his lips, gentling the harsh lines of his face. For the first time Edward saw a young man who might have been worthy of Lizzy. But if she had cast him aside, how could Edward take his side?

"You will know, then, that I speak the truth when I say that they could easily stay at Pemberley," Mr. Darcy spoke directly to Madeline, appealing to her. "I can support the Bennet sisters and provide them with far more opportunity than even their own father had."

"And Mrs. Bennet?" Edward asked, having noticed the omission.

Mr. Darcy hesitated. "I will admit that I have a strong difference of opinion with the woman, but be assured that I will not allow her to suffer any deprivation."

Edward knew his sister did not always treat Lizzy well, which could easily account for the reason Mr. Darcy did not agree with Mrs. Bennet, if he was truly in love with Lizzy.

"Your offer is generosity in itself," Edward said, "But I will tell you the same thing I told the others: Lizzy and her family are mine to take care of."

Mr. Darcy was not deterred. "With all due respect, but you are a business man with four small children to provide for. The Bennets have been accustomed to living as a family of means. I am the one that can allow them to continue their lifestyle in the manner they already know. If you allow me to take them on, it will allow you to set up funds for your own children's future."

Edward felt as though the other man was trying to buy him. "Mr. Darcy," he barked, "Let me assure you, it is not a matter of money. I may not have as much as you, but you cannot bribe me into allowing my family to fall into the hands of a stranger."

"I have not been a stranger to them for many months; I consider them to be my family as much as my own sister," Mr. Darcy said sharply.

Edward gritted his teeth and forced himself to speak rationally. Nothing would be solved by shouting. "But they are not your family. You are not even engaged to Lizzy; she refused you. What possible gain have you by taking on the burden of a widow and five unmarried daughters? Unless that is your aim: to make Lizzy indebted to you, or for me to encourage her to accept your suit?" He aired his suspicions openly to gauge the man's reaction to them.

Mr. Darcy dropped his eyes, his posture slumping. "No, I do not seek a renewal of my addresses to her, nor do I expect you to pressure her in that direction. I know better than to think Elizabeth would change her mind when she has decided against me. Believe me when I say my only aim in this is to see the family of the woman I love taken care of. Her refusal did nothing to lessen my own feelings toward her. I would not wish a single moment of pain or fear on her."

Edward noted the informal use of Lizzy's name and felt he was starting to see the truth behind Mr. Darcy's words. He was prideful, yes, but his heart seemed genuine. Edward could not help but to wonder what flaws Lizzy had seen in him to cause her to refuse him.

"If you were in my place, Mr. Darcy," Edward said kindly, "Would you allow another to care for your family?" His empathy for the lovelorn gentleman was winning over his suspicion.

Mr. Darcy shook his head. "Yet I hope you will have compassion for me, and allow me this undertaking."

"I can see that we will not resolve the issue this moment," Edward conceded. "In the meanwhile, I feel the need to travel to Hertfordshire and check on the state of my nieces and sister."

"I understand, though I still hope to convince you on the matter."

"You are welcome to ride with us in the carriage," Mr. Bingley offered. "There is room, and we are to Netherfield forthwith."

"You did not ride?" Edward was surprised.

Mr. Darcy grimaced. "I have an injury that as yet prevents the full use of my leg. In deference to my own disability, Richard and Bingley decided to ride with me in the carriage."

Edward knew it cost this proud man to admit his weakness, but all he said was, "I should be grateful to join you."

"Papa, does this mean you will be leaving?" asked his oldest son, peering surreptitiously into the parlor. The other three were directly behind him, clearly waiting for Edward's answer.

"Children!" Madeline scolded. "What have I told you about listening at doorways?"

"Please let them come in," Mr. Bingley said quickly. "Jane has told me much about them, I should be delighted to meet them."

Madeline hesitated, looking at Edward. He nodded to her. While he did not believe that the children should be rewarded for their eavesdropping, he was curious to see how the gentlemen—at least two of whom would be joining the family— interacted with them. To his delight, it went very well. In short order, his youngest son, who was late in learning to speak, was seated on Mr. Bingley's lap. Mr. Bingley watched his son intently, nodding on occasion. Col. Fitzwilliam entertained his middle two children with fire which he had conjured to his hands. Even the stiffly proper Mr. Darcy bent—literally leaning down to hear his shy eldest daughter's voice as she solicitously offered him more tea. Any lingering doubts Edward might have had about the gentlemen melted away as he watched their kindness with his family.

"I say," Mr. Bingley suddenly looked up at Edward and Madeline. "Did you know at least two of your children have magic? This fine lad here, and your little lady there." He nodded to the girl next to Mr. Darcy, who looked startled at being singled out.

Edward and Madeline exchanged a look. They had begun to suspect their oldest girl might have a talent, but that their young son did as well was a surprise.

"It is not entirely unexpected," Madeline explained. "My father was a mage, and I have a small talent myself. But young Eddie has not even begun speaking."

"Oh no, he has been speaking me almost from the first moment he came in here," Mr. Bingley tapped his forehead. "He is quite articulate for a young sprout."

"You have magic?" Mr. Darcy asked abruptly, staring at Madeline. "Can you reach Elizabeth?"

She shook her head sadly. "I tried when I first learned she was missing. Like I said, my talent is only a small one, useful for growing herbs. I cannot even speak with Lizzy or Mr. Bennet from Hertfordshire."

Mr. Darcy nodded, unable to hide his disappointment.

"Madeline, I am going with these gentlemen to see to our nieces and Fanny."

"I will stay here and sort out Eddie and Grace. Please convey my condolences to the family, and tell them they are welcome in our home."

Edward looked around at the three gentlemen who had made nearly identical offers. All of them watched him expectantly.

"I do not think there will be any difficulty in finding a home for them," he said with a bland smile.