Page 13 of Triumph at Pemberley

Jasper groaned. “Not again! First he wanted me to take a living, and then a government position at Whitehall, and now this! I would be terrible at any of them.”

He could not disagree; Jasper was notorious for his lack of ability to concentrate on anything but sword-fighting. He would be unlikely to survive the invasion in the militia. Darcy did not want to lose Pemberley’s best defense against fae incursions, but he owed it to his uncle to at least make an effort. “There is desperate need in the militia right now, with the invasion imminent.”

Jasper slumped in the chair. “Is there no hope the Army will come?”

“They are still stranded in Spain because the sea serpents sink any English ships.” A pang of guilt assailed Darcy. He had promised the French sea serpents to stop Napoleon, who had stolen their young to force them to destroy British Navy. His attempt had failed, and since then, he had done nothing beyond warning the dragons. The serpents deserved better. They had saved his life on his ill-fated journey to France.

Jasper looked shaken. “Are you certain?”

“Richard would tell you the same. My mother will be arriving here soon, and you can ask her if you wish. She knows every step the government takes.” He could practically see the gears turning in Jasper’s sword-obsessed brain as he considered this. This might be the time to strike. “But you have also been doing important work here. Without you, we might well have lost Georgiana last week. And the war will be coming here soon enough. I would be glad of your help then. I assume you can shoot a gun, and we will need every man.”

“Would you be willing to tell my father that?”

Relieved, Darcy relaxed a bit. “I would be happy to.” He could deal with Lord Matlock’s anger later, if they all survived the invasion. Holding up the roll of papers, he said, “Richard just sent me updated plans and maps for defending the valley, if you care to see them. Perhaps your sword-fighting experience might give you some insights.” He doubted it, but it might help if Jasper felt he was part of the effort.

Jasper straightened, seeming to come to a decision. “I would like to look at those plans. Even if it is for gun-fighting. Stupid weapons.”

Darcy tried to be patient. “It does not matter whether you can hit a target or not.”

Jasper made a hissing sound. “I am an excellent shot. I can hit anything. Always could. Doesn’t matter if it’s a sword, a bullet, an arrow, or a toy marble. M’brothers hated me for it. No challenge in guns, so why bother? At least in swords, I have an opponent who can surprise me.” His face fell. “Or I used to.”

And Jasper thought he had no Talent before! Unless Darcy was mistaken, there was some magic in that ability. He held out the maps. “The tactics of sword fighting might give you insights the rest of us have missed. I will also understand if you would rather put your energies into defending Matlock instead of Pemberley. It is your home, after all.”

A shadow crossed Jasper’s face as he took the maps. “There is nothing at Matlock for me beyond my parents demanding I take up a profession.” Then he looked to the side, a smile curling his lips, and he reached out a hand as if patting a child on the head. “The lesser fae want me to stay here, too. They have a great deal to say on that matter.”

Which was worse, knowing that Jasper was hearing an entire conversation Darcy was shut out of, or that his study had apparently been invaded by invisible lesser fae who had heard everything he had said? “I asked Georgiana to keep them out of this room,” he said evenly.

“Oh, they do stay out. These two are only here because they follow me everywhere,” Jasper said, as if there were nothing surprising about it.

Darcy studied his cousin. “Why?”

Jasper shrugged. “Georgiana is their great lady, and they say I am her knight and champion. Which apparently means I must have an entourage of sorts.”

He did not like how the lesser fae worshiped his changeling sister, either. At least they provided some protection for her.

How he missed the days when Pemberley was a simple mortal estate! Though he could hardly imagine life without his dragon now. “Take a look at those plans, then, and let me know what you think.”

***

Darcy wiggled his toes inside his boots. Why were they so hot? He had not been doing anything unusual, merely sitting at his desk looking over the account books as his steward explained the latest entries to him.

This was growing uncomfortable. Something must be wrong with his feet. He would have to remove his boots and see what the matter was. “I beg your pardon, but I must stop for now,” he said to the steward as he pushed his chair back.

But his feet were oddly heavy, almost as if they were glued to the floor. Was one of the lesser fae pranking him? Annoyed, he yanked his foot up.

A muffled thump made him bend down to peer under his desk. A baby dragon lay there, blinking groggily at him.

It was the one he had helped to hatch, who had declared his intention to become companion to Darcy’s as-yet-unconceived son. He must have snuck in and decided to nap on Darcy’s feet, at least until his body heat began to cook Darcy’s toes.

“What are you doing there?” he asked sternly, though a smile was tugging at his mouth.

“Wanted…” The dragonet seemed to drift off again, then continued. “…to see you.”

What had happened to the lively, talkative hatchling? This was not right. Darcy scooped up the small creature and stood. “Excuse me,” he said to the now wide-eyed steward, and then he headed up to the ballroom with the limp dragonet in his arms.

Coquelicot’s pleasure at his arrival enveloped him. Darcy held out his burden to her. “Something is wrong with him. I found him asleep on my feet. I know you cannot heal dragons, but I hoped you would have advice.”

She reached out a talon to caress the dragonet’s face. “He has overextended himself; that is all. I will give him a little energy, and he will be as good as ever.”