“I am sure it is expected. Mrs. Darcy’s note clearly said—”
“Charles!” I called, skipping up the remaining steps and into a flurry of Bingley greetings. Jane and I hugged joyously, then I pushed her to arm’s length to see what on earth I had thumped. Even in her winter coat, her belly was prominent. “Goodness! You grew that much more in a single month? Is it twins?”
“Mr. Johnson says no,” Jane said. Her happy smile warmed me to my toes. “But I did not know one baby could be so heavy!”
“Mary knows all about these things. She says you will be a grump in a few more weeks.”
“Oh,” Jane said, her face falling. “Must I?”
Caroline Bingley was eyeing me from beneath an elaborate poof of yellow curls. Although nothing could have stopped me from embracing Jane first, it was also perfectly proper. Caroline’s unmarried status rendered her inferior to married Jane. That thought brought a sincere smile to my lips as Caroline and I curtsied to each other.
“Mrs. Darcy,” she said.
“Miss Bingley,” I answered. “But I must be Lizzy to you. We are sisters.”
“Eliza, then,” she said with a blazingly false smile, and I wondered if mine was equally transparent.
Charles was next, his hair as tousled as ever, and after greetings he began a flustered explanation. “This gentleman at the door is concerned, but I assured him it would be fine. Have we done this right?”
I looked at the gentleman in question and recognized a particular round-headed museum employee. “Is there a problem?”
“They have brought amonster,” he said, pointing a trembling finger at Jane’s glorious golden wyvern, who was sitting patiently a little aside.
“There will be draca in attendance,” I said. “It is in the invitation.” I had borrowed the wording Mary used in her salon announcements.
“That is not adraca,” he spluttered. “That is a… adragon.”
Jane and I exchanged amused glances. Wyverns were powerful and rare draca, heavier than lindworms and with wings that spanned ten feet. Not to mention four-inch razor claws. Still, even the Bingleys’ wyvern, which was unusually solid and muscled, weighed less than a hundred pounds, so she was an unconvincing dragon regardless of which mythologized account you preferred.
“I assure you she is not a dragon,” I said. “All draca may enter. I suspect Lady Catherine will bring her wyvern as well. Do say hello for me.” I began to turn away, then turned back. “I mean, say hello to her ladyship, not to her wyvern. Unless you wish to greet both?” The man shook his round head desperately, looking like a befuddled globe.
The Bingleys proceeded in. As Darcy and I followed, he whispered, “Bringing small draca I understand. But why did Jane bring her wyvern?”
“I asked Jane to bring her. Just in case.”
We passed the doors, and he caught my elbow and drew me away from the crowd. “In case ofwhat?”
“Well, you know. Trouble. Yuánchi cannot fit through the doors.”
“Is that a joke?”
“Of course,” I said, grinning, although really it was just a practical observation.
“You cannot unleash a wyvern in the British Museum!”
“Love, do not worry so. Lord Wellington is overseeing security for the dagger. He and I agreed—”
“Heandyou! Are you involved with the security?”
“I cannot imagine what ‘involved’ means,” I said, a shade guiltily as Lord Wellington and I had walked a full circuit of Westminster Palace while scheming. “I am the hostess. Naturally I care about all aspects of the evening. Now, come. We are ignoring our duties.Youare supposed to be acquiring influence in government.”
I spied Emma and Harriet at the door. Emma was dressed in the same striking golden silk gown she wore to Mary’s salon but with only a wool shawl for warmth. She looked positively frosted. I fussed over her and asked, “Where is your beautiful red pelisse?”
“I am tired of fur. It makes me sneeze!” She declared this with wide eyes and a crinkled nose, and Harriet giggled.
Darcy and I quickly passed our coats, mittens, and boots to the coat clerk so we could move to the foyer, where it was warmer, if only marginally. I had enlisted Mrs. Reynolds and Lucy to organize the decorators, and their two personalities were apparent. Formal jade scarves draped the banisters, while lively sprays of green holly and hothouse crocuses were tucked in nooks and vases.
There was a surge of arrivals, and Darcy and I were engulfed in London acquaintances, some good friends to me if new, others remote enough that I had to nudge Darcy for hints. He never seemed to forget a face. Then I spotted Mamma and Kitty in the crowd and shamelessly abandoned him to run to them. They wore traditional white muslin over layered petticoats for warmth. Kitty was on the arm of an unfamiliar gentleman in naval dress uniform, while a second uniformed gentleman walked a step behind. A spare, perhaps.
