“I recall a dragon…” said lord whoever, one greased eyebrow arched.
“Nothing stout English shooters could not end. Think of Agincourt.”
“Agincourt was four hundred years ago. And with bows. Surely, it would be cannon. Like shooting pheasant, but bigger.”
I curtsied, left them debating tactics against dragons, and went to a window. Pemberley’s front gardens were a grand landscape drawn in winter greens of olive, sage, and moss with damp browns from the bark and earth. The plantings swept down the hill in flowing shapes pierced by a boisterous, rain-swollen stream. Below, Pemberley lake was dark as wet slate.
Mary Bennet entered, surveyed the room, and strode to me. “Emma.”
I smiled, surprised she sought me out. “Good afternoon, Mary. Are you happy to be home?”
“Longbourn is my home—” she began curtly, then scowled. “Then again, Longbourn is properly Jane’s since she and Bingley bound, and presently overrun with children from the London school. Doubtless Jane is delighted, but I am unsure where home is.”
“That is an unpleasant feeling. I worry that my home will be occupied by French soldiers. I am sure they would ruin it.”
Tightly, Mary asked, “How is Nessy?”
“Happy to be out of coaches. Mrs. Reynolds found a toy rabbit for her. She was cuddled with it when I left.”
“Her medical condition, I meant.” Mary’s verbal delivery was peculiarly intense, even for her. “Have you seen change? Improvement?” When I hesitated, she tossed her head, her straight hair flying. “You know! You have… your insight. I have seen you do it. You lay a finger on her brow and then youknow.”
“It is hard for me to speak of it.” What did she want? An admission of despair? “You see she is not well.”
“Why can you not heal her?” Mary whispered tensely. “What is missing?”
“I do not know. I have never healed anyone. I do not think I can. Mary, why are you upset?”
Her lips pressed tight, then she flew in a new direction. “Do you require more energy, or whatever this mystical force is? What if you held Mr. Darcy’s hand while trying?”
That would be a shameful display, but I answered simply, “It is not like that. The strength from Yuánchi settles my sensitivities, but it does not grant powers. It does notchangeme.” Mary scowled, so I added, “Do you not think I would try if it could help?” She took a breath, then, reluctantly, nodded.
Lizzy and Mr. Darcy had arrived and were circulating through the court crowd. The Darcys’ dress suited the measured elegance of Pemberley, but the gathered silks and dangling scarves of the courtiers were unraveling the room’s balance. A dragging hem tugged my gaze across the polished wooden floor, miasma burbling in its wake.
I was yanking my gloves brutally snug by the time Lizzy arrived and greeted us. Surprising myself, I asked, “Do you know where Harriet is?” The words emerged wistfully.
“I needed an errand done at the Lambton school,” Lizzy said. “She kindly offered.”
“Whaterrand?” Mary said sharply.
“Anerrand,” Lizzy answered equally sharply. They glared at each other, Lizzy squinting oddly. It appeared I was not the only one in a sisterly standoff. Then Lizzy scooped up Mr. Darcy’s arm and pulled him toward Lord Wellington, who had just entered.
Mary tapped her toe, then turned to me. “Can you sense Yuánchi at a distance?”
“This is not the place for such questions,” I whispered. “Will you tell me what is wrong?”
“Please,” she implored. “Determine where he is.”
She was so sincere that I glanced around, then pressed my gloves together as if in prayer, filling my eyes with their design, and tried to feel the tug—the enthralling attraction—of Yuánchi.
He was near enough to sense, though not toward the lake or any of the windows. I turned slowly, head bowed, seeking, until the tug was directly forward. I straightened and found Mary had followed my turn to hover in front of me, looking apprehensive.
“He is directly behind you,” I said dryly, then added more nicely, “and distant. I cannot say how far, but into the hills. Near as far as I am able to sense him.”
Mary spun to look at the wall behind her, then studied each window in turn. “I know where.” She gave me an unwilling, “Thank you.”
Georgiana arrived next and came smilingly to Mary, speaking of plans for a music performance. Mary interrupted her with “I have an errand” and rushed from the room. Georgiana, disappointed, went to speak with Lizzy.
What were all these errands? Alone again, I stood for a while, then wondered if I should escape to some barren, calming corridor. Pemberley had an endless supply. But before I did, a bustle rose, silence fell, and the royal family entered: the prince’s daughter by his old marriage, Princess Caroline, sixteen but womanly in an emerald gown; the Prince Regent himself, slightly graying and unpretentious in gentlemen’s evening dress but with a sheaf of medals on his breast; Lady Hertford, affixed to the prince’s arm, a scandal that had long since lost its bite; and last, poor King George, his hair a mess, wearing little more than a thick nightgown. He was steered by two stern doctors while his head twisted blindly.
