Chapter Twelve
It was already close enough that the movement of its wings created gusts of wind ruffling Elizabeth’s hair. A thrill of primitive fear ran down her spine, but Elizabeth forced herself to remain in place. After all, the dragon was pulling a carriage; it was hardly likely to attack.
The coachman perched at the front of the carriage pulled up on the reins, and the dragon’s velocity decreased sharply, slowing enough that it alighted almost daintily directly before Rosings Park’s principal entrance.
As the dragon settled onto its haunches, the carriage landed with a soft thump.
In all respects it resembled a conventional barouche.
It even had wheels, but Elizabeth imagined they were rarely used.
Dragons were uncommon in England, and Elizabeth had never seen one so close. Occasionally a dragon-drawn carriage would fly over Meryton, and it would be the talk of the neighborhood for weeks.
This particular dragon was huge, the size of a cottage, with iridescent green scales and an enormous golden eye with a slitted pupil similar to a lizard’s.
Mr. Darcy strolled down the steps toward her, followed by Mrs. Jenkins, whom Lady Catherine had insisted would serve as chaperone for the trip. “Ah, the carriage is here. Excellent.”
“This is our conveyance?” Elizabeth asked faintly. Everyone knew that the Convocation had dragon-drawn carriages at their disposal, but she never expected to ride in one.
“Indeed. We will reach London much faster than we would on the road.” He peered at her anxiously. “I hope the prospect is not too frightening for you.” He gestured toward the dragon’s foot-long claws.
The creature yawned, revealing a mouthful of jagged fangs, provoking a gasp from Mrs. Jenkins.
“Not in the least,” Elizabeth said. “I dreamed of such things when I was a child.”
He gave her a broad smile.
But Mrs. Jenkins had turned quite white. “We will be traveling in that?” Her voice quavered.
“I assure you that the dragon is quite tame,” Mr. Darcy said.
“What is its name?” Elizabeth asked.
“This is Daisy.” He sauntered toward the beast and gave it—her?—an affectionate pat on its flank.
The coachman, dressed in a fur-lined cloak against the cold air in the upper atmosphere, waved and grinned. “A good day to you, Mr. Darcy!”
“Hello, Grayson, good to see you again.”
Emboldened, Elizabeth moved close enough to stroke the beast’s scales. Although they appeared quite rough, they were actually soft and warm. “Daisy?” she asked in a low voice.
Mr. Darcy shrugged. “She really is like an oversized dog. The kind that curls up in front of the fireplace and begs scraps from the cook.”
“I would not deny her any scraps,” Elizabeth chuckled.
A Rosings footman stowed their luggage while another opened the carriage door. The interior was spacious and finely appointed, with dark wood paneling and soft leather seats. Some kind of warming spell ensured a cozy ambiance.
Mrs. Jenkins edged her way toward the carriage, moving as far as possible from Daisy. Mr. Darcy handed her in to sit beside Elizabeth and then took the opposite seat.
“You might want to grasp the handle.” He said to the ladies, gesturing to the bars set into the side of the carriage.
Moments later Elizabeth understood why as the carriage lifted from the ground with an abrupt jerk.
Elizabeth quickly grabbed the handle to avoid falling to the floor.
Mrs. Jenkins screamed and slid sideways on the seat before reaching for the handle.
The carriage shot upward at a dizzying speed. A clever window in the front of the coach provided a view of the top of the coachman’s head as well as the dragon’s back as it flapped its enormous wings to increase their altitude. Truly a magnificent sight.
Elizabeth could not prevent an astonished laugh. This was even more exciting than she had imagined. Her eyes darted avidly from one window to the next, not wishing to miss one second as the ground rapidly receded beneath them. Rosings Park shrank into a speck in the Kentish countryside.
Soon the carriage ceased climbing, leveled off, and started hurtling forward at an amazing pace.
The ride was noticeably smoother than in a regular carriage.
Surely enchantments kept it from being buffeted by the wind.
Elizabeth marveled at the extravagance; such permanent enchantments required the work of many mages over a period of weeks.
But the Convocation obviously spared no expense.
The dragon beat its wings infrequently, slicing effortlessly through the clouds. They were moving so much faster than a horse or a boat—as if they could race the sun across the sky.
Mrs. Jenkins gibbered, refusing to so much as glance out the window, too tense to even knit.
Elizabeth spoke soothingly to the woman, assuring her that dragon coach was a very safe conveyance.
But the older woman did not even appear to hear Elizabeth’s words, so she returned her attention to the sights outside the window
The land below them passed in a blur. Dark green forests. The lighter green and brown of cultivated fields. Clustered buildings of villages. Blue ribbons of rivers and streams. She watched it all, unwilling to miss a single minute.
***
Witnessing Elizabeth’s sheer delight at traveling by dragon coach was a joy. Darcy had once treated Caroline and Bingley to a dragon coach ride, but Caroline had complained constantly about the smell of the dragon.
Elizabeth acted as if he had given her a precious gift. He found himself reliving the sense of wonder he had experienced when his father had first taken him in a dragon coach.
Darcy had accepted Mrs. Jenkins’s presence as an inconvenient necessity—essential for propriety’s sake.
But he wished he and Elizabeth could enjoy this time in private.
He had not anticipated the chaperone’s terror or the dampening effect it had upon the atmosphere within the coach.
Elizabeth clearly tempered her exclamations of joy.
The older woman jerked and started at the slightest jostling of the coach and at one point let out a shriek.
“Perhaps you should sleep?” Darcy asked the woman.
“As if I could!” the woman glared at him.
That was the final straw for Darcy. Gathering together a few strands of ether with murmured Latin words, he sent Mrs. Jenkins into a deep sleep.
Elizabeth turned in alarm as the woman abruptly slumped against the squabs but then gave Darcy a brisk nod. “It is a mercy, really.” She immediately returned her attention to the window.
Darcy had not anticipated the effect her enthusiasm would have on him.
Elizabeth had removed her bonnet and cloak and laid them beside her.
Excitement brought a rosy glow to her cheeks, and her eyes sparkled as they mirrored the blue of the surrounding sky.
He had always found her appealing, but now she was nearly irresistible.
And for the next two hours, Darcy had no other way to occupy his time except to stare at her.
If his goal was not to fall more deeply in love with Elizabeth, he had indeed miscalculated.
Her hair was up in a simple twist, with a few tendrils curling around her face and her traveling dress was a faded yellow. There was nothing remarkable about her appearance save her natural beauty, and yet he had difficulty tearing his eyes from her for even a few seconds.
Eventually the carriage flew into a cloud so that only whiteness was visible outside the windows.
Elizabeth settled back against the squabs and gave Darcy a blinding smile.
“This is wonderful. I thank you.” His sense of danger multiplied.
He could easily imagine crossing the small space between them and brushing her cheek with eager fingertips.
A glance at Mrs. Jenkins confirmed that she was deeply asleep; Darcy would need to constrain his darker impulses without her watchfulness.
Elizabeth related what she had learned about dragon banishment from the books at Rosings.
Darcy tried to focus on the conversation rather than how desperately he wanted to touch her.
Every tilt of her head and graceful hand gesture was absolutely mesmerizing.
His mind catalogued each detail…the way she bit her lip in concentration…
or how her eyes blazed under the influence of some strong emotion.
Belatedly he realized she had ceased talking.
Had he been staring? Had she noticed anything inappropriate in his behavior?
“Is something amiss?” she asked.
Nothing except that I cannot make you my wife. “I was woolgathering. I apologize.”
Elizabeth peered anxiously at Mrs. Jenkins, who gave a loud snore before settling into a different position. They shared a laugh. When Elizabeth sobered, she said, “I must also thank you for your prescience. As promised, you did an admirable job of ridding me of Mr. Collins’s attentions.”
Darcy managed not to scowl at the sound of the man’s name. “Collins was not the right man for you. You deserve far better.” Like me. The words burned in his throat, aching to be uttered.
Her smile was a tremulous thing. “I thank you for your kind words, sir. Although I do not expect to have another offer of marriage.”
“Why do you say that?”
“You yourself observed that few men could overcome their distaste for my use of magic.”
Darcy squirmed in his seat. How could I ever have said such a thing to her? “I may have been mistaken.”
She shrugged. “Given the size of my dowry, I am hardly a prize for any man.”
Utter contempt for his fellow gentlemen burned in Darcy’s chest. “Then they are fools.”
An ironic smile twisted her lips. “I thought you found me barely tolerable.”
“I was a fool,” he said vehemently. “I did not realize how lucky any man would be to win you.”
This provoked a blush as she peered down at the hands clasped in her lap. “You are too kind.”