He lowered his voice. “After my father’s death, her symptoms worsened. She and I worked together to invent methods to manage her… compulsions. I have wondered if these methods could aid you. If you wish, we can discuss them tomorrow after breakfast. Elizabeth will accompany us.”
Mr. Knightley said nothing, but he folded his arms as if frustrated. I did not understand why he disapproved.
“Very well,” I said after a moment. “I will try.”
Lizzy smiled at me. “I hope you find Lady Anne’s methods useful. But I forgot that I am engaged after breakfast. Someone can attend in my place. Harriet, perhaps?” Lizzy’s attendance was clearly mere propriety, the third party required when an unmarried lady spent extended time with a gentleman.
“Perhaps,” I said. It would be a way to engage Harriet at breakfast, at least. “If not her, I am sure Mrs. Reynolds or Lucy can attend.”
Covertly, I was watching Mr. Darcy’s bare hand below his sleeve. But dinner would be an easier time to manage a touch. I would be ungloved, and if I hesitated near him, he would offer to escort me to my seat.
Lizzy, abruptly pensive, threaded her arm through her husband’s and said to him, “Please ensure you meet. I hope that Fènnù can be freed of that cursed dagger and healed. Emma will need strength to try.”
Surprised, I said, “I?”
Her smile was tired. “Yuánchi was destined to be your dragon, and Fènnù mine. Instead, we are hopelessly tangled. There must be a purpose to that.”
Her cheeks were sunken and her eyes bloodshot behind slit lashes. I wondered if she was ill. But even if I could bear to touch her, I would sense only the blaze of Yuánchi, not the quiet insight, good or bad, I felt with Nessy.
Lizzy turned to where Lord Wellington was calling for order. “Lord Wellington has promised to explain the security he and Darcy have invented. I am very curious about their new patrols.”
While the crowd grudgingly quieted, I stole a glance at Mr. Knightley. The black coils of his hair were raked back, accentuating his expression—frustrated but decided, although on what I did not know.
35
FLIGHT
LIZZY
I sat shiveringon our bedroom floor, tendrils of hair stuck to my sweating temples, my shoulders nestled in the quilts hanging down the side of our bed. It was a foolish location to wait, but Darcy was snoring, and the mundanity was comforting.
When two pairs of feet passed in the hall outside—a pair of housemaids lighting morning fires—I felt my way to the dressing room, pulled on my stashed traveling dress, heavy robe, and riding boots, then eased through the door into the hallway, candlelit at one end.
At the stables, a lone, scrawny stableboy sat cross legged in a pool of lantern light, blowing into his cupped hands.
“Good morning,” I said.
He scrambled to his feet, tugging his forelock. “Mrs. Darcy.” He peered at the night sky and waning moon. “Here I thought they’d told me a joke!”
“Not at all. I enjoy night rides.” He looked at me as if I had sprouted an extra head, so I added, “That is why I ride so rarely during the day.” It would be fairer to say I never ride at all, but this would be a steep climb, and events had left me unwilling to gamble that I could maintain a fast pace on foot.
“Yes, ma’am,” he said, accepting his mistress’s nighttime madness. He scampered off and was back shortly leading a mare. “A gentle ride, ma’am, as you asked. I woke her a while back and gave her some warmed oats toliven her.”
I patted her, then recognized her from a frightening Beltane morning this spring. It seemed a world ago. I smiled. “You carried me when I saved my husband.” A good omen.
The stableboy placed a wooden step, and I climbed up astride. The dress and robe were awkward, but that would be solved later.
With a cluck and touch of the reins we set off at a walk. I brought no lamp, relying on the sketchy moon. Darcy, a superb horseman, enjoyed discussing riding with our guests, so I had heard of horses’ superior night vision. If that was insufficient, I could summon a draca to navigate. But our route was familiar for any Pemberley steed, and my mount plodded stolidly into the hills with hardly a nudge.
The lights of Pemberley vanished. Shadowy bare branches surrounded us. The unease of a lady alone in the night crept into my mind, then I smiled. What had I to fear? I, who could level armies. That thought rattled in my skull, feeling misplaced.
A chilly two miles later, a pair of lamps became visible through the trees. I passed a few modest, thatched-roof buildings—the homes preferred by the Britons who managed Pemberley’s hills—then entered a wide clearing for village gatherings.
As planned, Mr. Needham, the school’s harness instructor, was waiting with his two young apprentices. They were dragon harnessers, now.
Not as planned, Mary stood beside the girls, her arms crossed and jaw set.
“You are out early,” I said, pleased with my composure. I slid off, caught my robe on the saddle, and came within a tangled moment of landing on my head. I whacked the robe so it hung properly, then added mildly, “You shall not dissuade me.”
