A Touch of Night (26 page)

* * * *

A month later, after a wedding trip to the Lake Region, Mr. and Mrs. Darcy returned to Pemberley, where Darcy was surprised to find he had a visitor waiting.

"A visitor?" he asked Mrs. Reynolds. "But we're not... that is, we have not announced we're receiving visitors, yet. Even Georgiana won't arrive till next week!"

"I realize it is so, sir, and yet, Lord Wilding has been waiting for you these two hours, in some agitation of mind. He came earlier, you see, last week, and we told him you were expected today. I am sure I didn't mean to trespass, but he seemed so distraught that it was all we could..."

"No, no," Mr. Darcy said, waving away her concern as he looked down at Elizabeth on his arm. Elizabeth nodded. "I am sure you did what you must do. After all, you have untold experience with this family. We must trust you."

He thought that Lord Wilding was, after all, the master of the servant that Georgiana seemed to be corresponding with and hoped that he wasn't about to be visited with some scandal right after his wedding trip.

The man who came in seemed like anything but a harbinger of scandal. He was tall, dark haired and pale, with a definite distinction of gesture and movement. He wore the sort of clothes where a lot of money enhances an already good figure.

"Mr. Darcy," he said, bowing slightly. "I believe we've been in introduced at..."

"That is correct," Mr. Darcy said. "At Whites. By Pickens."

"Yes. I was afraid you wouldn't remember." Still looking agitated, he graced Darcy with a fugitive smile. "The situation is such that I feel I am already trespassing upon good manners and good taste approaching you like this, but... Were I not to, I beg you to believe I would be making a worse trespass."

Darcy's heart went cold. He was about to hear of Georgiana's transgressions. There might be nothing for it, but marrying her to a servant.

Lord Wilding commenced pacing back and forth across the room, clasping and unclasping his hands behind his back. Darcy, watching him, was half minded to ask Elizabeth if he, too, was this irritating when he couldn't find words.

The same thought must have been in Elizabeth's mind, because she cleared her throat and asked, with just a hint of amusement in her voice, "Lord Wilding? What is it you wish to communicate to us?"

Her voice arrested the man, mid-stride. He turned to Darcy, colouring deeply as he did so. "Georgiana... That is... Miss Darcy says... Oh, you're going to think I'm the worst of cads!"

He was the worst of cads. Not his servant. This must surely mean... Darcy was afraid to think. In either case he didn't want anyone to be a cad to his sister. Almost dizzy with worry, he said, "Certainly I will think so, should you not explain yourself."

"Oh, I will," Lord Wilding said. "Explain myself, that is. You see... Miss... Miss Darcy and I have common interests," he said, and foundered.

"You play the piano," Elizabeth asked. "Or perhaps paint water colors?"

Lord Wilding gave her a look as if she were out of her mind. "No. I... Mr. Darcy, you must know I was before this engaged to a Miss Winter."

"Miss Winter!" Darcy said, in a tone that seemed to say the name explained all. "She was the one who..." He stopped. "She was like my friend, Icarus Sevrin."

"Yes," Lord Wilding said, and went slightly pale. "And suffered the same fate."

"Oh," Elizabeth said, understanding. "My most earnest condolences. I--"

Lord Wilding bowed. "I thank you, Mrs. Darcy, but... you see... Georg... Miss Darcy and I started corresponding. We put in place a network to... to stop other people in similar circumstances from..."

"From suffering the like fate," Elizabeth said. "How brave of you."

"And how foolhardy. I'd not have my sister endanger herself that way."

"She wanted to," he said. "She's... she's so brave and honorable and... and compassionate. I... we started as a common cause, but..." He blushed deeply. "She told me that she was sure you'd found one of my letters, and truly, nothing more could be done than for me to come to you and speak..." He looked at his feet. "My feelings for Miss Darcy are steady and abiding and... and I have her permission to ask you for your permission in addressing her."

Darcy, relieved, dizzy and more than a little worried about his sister's adventure, but understanding the impulse that led her to it and the generosity of spirit in this man who obviously had not entered into the business to trifle with her and now apparently cared very deeply for her, said, "With all my heart. She... she will be coming home next week."

"I know," Lord Wilding said. "Do I have your permission... that is... would I be allowed to escort her from London?"

"Your escort would be much appreciated," Darcy said. He felt as if he should be protecting his sister, but at the same time, he had learned with Elizabeth that brave women should be allowed to be adults and take their risks if they must.

* * * *

In the evening, Darcy and Elizabeth were nestled in each other's arms, the French windows of their chamber open to a wide balcony. Honeysuckle festooned a trellis covering the outer wall, the fragrance drifting into the room upon the late summer breeze.

"This is Pemberley! It is more beautiful than I had ever imagined." said Elizabeth with a contented smile. "I am so happy to finally be here."

"And I am happier still to have you here in our home. If it was wonderful to me before, it is more so now. You complete it." He stroked her hair and rested his head against hers, looking out as the sun drifted slowly down into the distant oaks, painting them with brilliant fire.

"Could you take me on a tour of the grounds right now?" Elizabeth asked eagerly. "My Aunt Gardiner always spoke of a pony and cart, but I can think of no better way to explore this enchanting estate but on dragon back." She turned in her husband's arms and reached up to untie his neck cloth.

Darcy felt his muscles ripple with the urge to change. He had not done so since accosting Wickham on that dreadful day. He had thought it best to keep his affliction under good regulation while staying at Netherfield, so as not to draw undue attention to the neighbourhood. Lydia's talk of dragons had been difficult to contain. So had his inner dragon. With every full moon it had longed for release, and now, though the moon was still not waxed complete, he felt such stirrings that he knew would be impossible to resist. And the idea of his wife Elizabeth riding upon his back made the prospect all the more irresistible.

"You shall see all of Pemberley as you have never seen a place before," he promised as he assisted Elizabeth's unpracticed hands with his buttons.

She reached a hand in, under the folds of brocade and linen, and stroked it along the smooth, firm skin of his chest, as he completed the task on his own and pulled waistcoat and shirt off. "That this skin can become golden scales is something I still find overwhelming," she breathed. "But is it entirely safe for you? The sun has not quite set."

"I am ever safe at Pemberley," said Darcy, taking her hand in his and kissing it before removing the rest of his clothing. "And sunset gilds the land with such beauty -- there is no better sight, I promise you."

They shared a kiss, and then he led her through the open windows. With every step he took, his body rippled and changed, and then the dragon was before Elizabeth, head curved down towards her on its long, sinuous neck. She reached out and gently ran her hand over his muzzle and down the length of his neck to where his shoulder muscles flexed with anticipation.

"Surprising that scales can be so smooth," she whispered, as he crouched down in an invitation for her to climb aboard. Swiftly she mounted him and circled her arms around his neck, resting her head against the glowing gold. Her knees gripped his ribs. She could feel the pounding of his heart run through her. "I am ready!"

His wings unfurled and with a few, sure beats, he swiftly rose up from the balcony into the evening sky. The breeze took Elizabeth's unbound hair and sent it streaming behind her as the dragon swooped across the pleasure gardens and then spiraled up towards the crimson sky, gold scales burnished copper by the brilliant rays of the setting sun.

The End

A Flaw In Her Magic

Sarah A. Hoyt

Preview of a novel based on
Mansfield Park
by Jane Austen

I.

About thirty years ago, Miss Maria Ward, of Huntington, with only seven thousand pounds and meager magic to her lot - her being no more than a half blood - astounded her acquaintances by capturing Sir Thomas Bertram, of Mansfield Park, in Northampton. The baronet, despite his family's ancient magic, one of the purest magical lines in the country, was so captivated by Miss Maria's beauty that no one else would do for him.

All Huntingdon exclaimed at the greatness of the match and predicted that her two sisters - not mean looking themselves - would surely benefit from her elevation. In fact, it was widely expected that Miss Frances and Miss Ward , quite as handsome as their sister, should marry to equal advantage.

Alas, they were wrong. There weren't enough men of large fortune and clean magic to marry every girl beautiful enough to attract them. At the end of half a dozen years, Miss Ward found herself obliged to accept the proposal of the reverend Norris, a friend of her brother-in-law. Though he had hardly any private fortune, he had received from Sir Thomas the living of Mansfield, which made him the possessor of a thousand a year.

Miss Frances, however, made a runaway marriage. Before her family or either of her sisters had any idea of her intention, she vanished from her room in the dark of night. Despite all searches, no trace of a rope ladder was found and the pursuit that attempted to stop the couple before reaching Gretna Green found themselves, inexplicably, three days behind and the couple married and lodging together at an inn for more than a night.

Thus, Miss Frances became Mrs. Price.

Not only the manner of her marriage, but her refusal to divulge anything about how it had taken place, drove a wedge between herself and her family, which subsisted for eleven years, when the mysteries attaching to the connection were all solved.

Because the connection between the families had been nearly cut, it is perhaps not surprising that these news were brought not by common acquaintances or friendly messengers, but by the London Post, which Sir Bertram had discarded upon the breakfast table, after reading the financial news necessary to manage his financial empire of carpetships, magical manufactories and various other interests around the world.

Mrs. Norris, having come to the great house to inform her sister of what charity was needed in the village - a duty she maintained was hers as the reverend's wife - picked up the discarded paper and read through it.

Her exclamation, highly improper for a clergyman's wife, made Lady Bertram look up from her embroidery. "What has happened, my dear?" the good, if indolent, lady roused herself to ask. "Is anything amiss?"

Mrs. Norris, who had gone the color of the paper in her hands, dropped nervelessly onto a dining room chair and commenced fanning herself with the printed leaves.

Though Nurse was sent for the smelling salts, it was some time before Mrs. Norris could speak, and she would only consent to do so when Nurse had left the room and no other servant was visible. "I don't think we can keep it quiet much longer," she said, still fanning herself. "For I daresay it is one of those secrets that will out."

"What secret?" Lady Bertram asked almost fully awake to the possibility something very wrong was toward. "What can you be speaking of, my dear?"

"Well!" Mrs. Norris said. "If it isn't just like our sister Fanny, always so headstrong as she was, and given to distempered freaks."

"Fanny? Our sister Fanny?" Lady Bertram asked, now fully alive to impending disaster. "What can our sister Fanny have done that is talked about in the paper?"

"Not Fanny," Mrs. Norris answered in a thread of voice. "But rather that luckless husband of hers." She tried to extend the paper in her sister's direction and failing - because Lady Bertram made no move to receive it - exclaimed. "He has been apprehended for being a were-dragon and forthwith executed in the public square."

This revelation being of more than anticipated horror made Lady Bertram stare in speechless shock at her sister. At long last she managed no more than ,"But... But the children. I am sure that she has children... And she... herself."

"She," Mrs. Norris said, in something that might have been spite. "Escaped persecution because both she and Mr. Price maintained that she knew nothing of the matter. While you know that can't possibly be true."

"How can I know that isn't true?" Lady Bertram asked, in some wonder. Having been a celebrated beauty in her day, the lady had never found much reason to employ her mind.

"The dragon. The flight to Gretna Green," Mrs. Norris said, snorting. "Flight indeed. No wonder the pursuers were three days behind."

"Oh," Lady Bertram said. "Oh, but we shouldn't-"

"No, of course we shouldn't denounce our own sister," Mrs. Norris said. "What can you be thinking of, my dear? Not only would it be excessively cruel, but think of what it would mean for us to be tainted with having an executed aider and abetter of weres in our family. For you know very well that death is dictated for the offense for those who hide weres as well for those who shift form. And if our sister were executed, depend upon it that soon the rumor would go out that she herself was a were. And then... Well, think what people might assume of the blood of your two sons and your lovely daughters, all of whom will have to find spouses and make their way in the world. And poor Mr. Norris, as a clergyman surely can't afford such a blot upon our name!"

"I wasn't thinking of denouncing her," Lady Bertram said, as she absentmindedly petted the little pug dog by her side. "Only what is to become of her children? For I seem to recall not that long ago getting word that she had been brought to bed with her eighth child. Or was it the ninth?"