His chest filled hugely, but all that came out was, “Did you retrieve the dagger?”
“No,” she said simply, “but we saved lives and slowed our enemies. And I have information about… whatever all this means. What happened to Fènnù. I must go to the library.” She began taking books from the saddlebag, then squinted at the clearing. Looking very windswept and, missing her spectacles, strangely young, she frowned at Darcy. “You rode all this way and did not think to bring a carriage?”
We rode back,although once Darcy got a good look at me, he declared me exhausted and insisted I ride with him. So again, I rode tandem, pressed against my husband with his arm around my waist while Mary rode after us on the gentle mount I had brought—a good choice as Mary’s spare spectacles were at the house, where the horse was eager to return. We trotted down the narrow trail, and it felt more dangerously steep and bumpy than flying with Yuánchi.
Darcy was working up to something. Finally, he burst out, “What was it like tofly?”
I smiled at that. “It was glorious. And interesting. The control is all subtle changes to the angles of the wings. I cannot believe I did not notice before, but flapping is less to rise, and more to maintain speed, like paddling a boat. I am certain a winged device could fly…”
I drifted with the sway of the horse, thinking about it. Yuánchi was certainly heavy, so it was not about weight. But he was immensely powerful. Could a horse fly if its feet were harnessed to power the wings? Equine reluctance aside, I doubted it. Was a steam engine more powerful per pound than a horse? I had never compared them.
“You are plotting,” Darcy said. He sounded unaccountably cheery.
“I am considering how to weigh the school’s steam engine.”
He chuckled, then became serious. “What happened in London?”
The thought of the cruel shackles and vile stench prickled the hair on my scalp. “The men who have allied with the French are consummate evil. Why is it that collaborators are worse than the enemy with whom we war? It was the same with Lydia and Wickham. The French officer had more honor.”
“A soldier of any flag may have honor. A traitor has none.” We were emerging from the trees, and Pemberley House became visible. The horse picked up to a canter, jingling the harness. “You did not say what happened.”
The open sky had driven a pair of needles into the backs of my eyes. Phantasmic reds and yellows covered my vision, then drained away like an emptying hourglass. I tried closing my eyes, and the pain crawled into my skull.
“I am more tired than I thought,” I said. “Would you mind asking Mary? She was astonishingly brave.” Let her decide whether to speak of her aura as a great wyfe. “She is doing something special at the performance this evening. Promise me that we will attend.”
“Of course.” I had expected him to question that, but he sounded earnest and unsurprised.
With that secure, I put my hand on his and guided the reins, taking us from the main path toward a secluded garden. I waved Mary on toward the house, but she reined in where we had left the path, watching until we were out of sight.
When we were surrounded by the stark and spare beauty of winter, I said, “Let us rest here. I have something to tell you.”
41
BOX HALL
EMMA
Lucy had deliveredthese invitations after breakfast:
A Musical Entertainment
Mr. and Mrs. Darcy invite you to an afternoon of music and improvised amusement.
The Box Hall, top floor North, at 3 o’clock.
Pemberley’s staff were efficient, so I expected a housemaid that afternoon, but at two o’clock, it was Lucy who appeared at my door asking if I wished help dressing.
“Do you not need to assist Mrs. Darcy?” I said.
“She is off with Mr. Darcy,” Lucy said, swinging her hands dramatically. “She and Miss Bennet did something brave this morning, but nobody knows what! Then Mr. Darcy scooped her onto his horse without even stopping his gallop, and they rode into the hills! That’s all I have heard.” Her excited face swung, then became curious. “Is Miss Smith not with you?”
“She will meet me at the afternoon entertainment.” Lizzy was not the only one on mysterious errands. After my morning meeting with Mr. Darcy—and the peculiarly ubiquitous Mr. Knightley—Harriet had taken Pemberley’s dailycoach to Lambton. I was certain it had to do with the school, but she offered only a tight-lipped smile when I asked.
“I hope she dresses warmly. Miss Darcy is sure the guests will leave all the terrace doors open, and the tunings will be ruined by the cold.” Earnestly, Lucy added, “Miss Darcy will play! You must hear her. She is so much more exciting than those kings.”
“They are a king and a prince,” I corrected while eyeing my sparse wardrobe of formal gowns. When I wrote to my maid at Hartfield, I had not expected to meet royalty. “Let us try the ivory. With warm petticoats for the terrace.”
In most estate homes,the top floor was attic, short and stuffy, fit for aging aunts and overstayed guests. Here, it was as lofty as the lower floors, with a row of towering arched windows on the house’s southern front.
