Chapter 30
Chapter thirty
Tomorrow, the coach would be at Longbourn to take them away.
In the dark of the night, Valeraine went to the nest. Her father was accurate when he said he could not keep her from her dragon.
There was always a time she could sneak away.
She didn’t dare take a flight, when the nest’s large doors were so creaky, but she did say goodbye.
She laid her hand on Lelantos’ snout, and cried for him.
“I’ll be back. I’m not going because I want to. I’ll be back.”
She didn’t know if he understood her words, but he at least understood her pain, and leaned against her in comfort. She felt a small echo of loneliness come from him, laced with confusion.
Then, the dawn was breaking, and it was time to go to Kinellan City.
It had been years since Valeraine had visited Uncle Haupter in Kinellan.
He had always come to them in the countryside.
His townhouse (they had been reassured) was considered large and grand by the city’s standards.
By the standards of Longbourn manor, it was cramped and ill-kept.
Valeraine and Alyce would be sharing a room and a bed.
The townhouse was situated above the offices and press of The Dragoneer’s Journal, owned by Uncle Haupter.
While he was not from a dragon family himself, the Haupters had gathered enough consequences among the dragoneers that his sister (Mrs. Longbourn) could marry into that world.
He was in a peculiar state of being half accepted into the world of derbies and hatchlings — as it was his business to know everything about it — while having no practical business with actual dragons.
Kinellan City was a place of wondrous balls and parties.
It was where the dragon houses clustered — particularly in the autumn and spring, when the derbies happened less frequently in the countryside — to find marriage matches.
Now, as September rolled in with the morning frosts, the social season was mounting.
It was nearly routine that the Nethenabbis had come to Kinellan now.
If one ignored the suddenness of their flight from Netherfield and their lack of response to Alyce’s letters, one could imagine nothing was amiss.
The city, full of opportunities for revelry and romance, held little for Valeraine and Alyce.
They received many invitations (mostly through Uncle Haupter, as everyone wanted the Journal to take an interest in their lavish balls), but attended few.
There was only one connection that Alyce desired, and none that Valeraine did.
Alyce wrote to Mr. Nethenabbi’s townhouse several times, inviting them to a luncheon, a tea — anything.
There was no reply.
After the fifth letter, Alyce had given up. At least Mamma couldn’t fault her for not trying. It was painfully clear Nethenabbi wanted nothing to do with Longbourn house.
Alyce busied herself with giving Uncle Haupter’s townhouse the womanly touch it needed: new decorations, updated furnishings, fresh paint. Their uncle was grateful for the help, and gave her a budget.
Valeraine was waiting for her reputation to burst. When would Pemberley and the Nethenabbis tell other dragoneers?
When would the gossip break? And yet, the invitations to balls kept coming.
The news did not appear in The Dragoneer’s Journal society column, or any other section.
Valeraine wasn’t sure how big of a story a woman racing would be.
Would Uncle Haupter give the downfall of his niece the first page?
Valeraine and Alyce shared Uncle Haupter’s guest room, squishing their traveling trunks under the bed they shared.
At night, Valeraine would brush Alyce’s hair, then Alyce Valeraine’s, sitting on the bed together.
Then, Alyce would insist (in her careful, polite, Alyce-way) to inspect the wound on Valeraine’s shoulder.
Every few days, they would change the dressings.
Now, Alyce deemed it was time to remove Mr. Pemberley’s neat stitches.
She borrowed small sewing scissors from Uncle Haupter (they were shiny, and had seen little use), and went to work snipping the threads.
Valeraine endeavored not to flinch. It wasn’t that the removal of the stitches hurt (the pain was small compared to when stitches were put in), but the tension of the threads pulling at her skin, followed by the sliding motion of pulling the thread from her body was vexatious.
Valeraine flinched, and Alyce was immediately apologetic.
“I’m so sorry, it must hurt. Here, let’s take a break, then I’ll be more careful.”
“No, Alyce, you’re doing wonderfully.”
But Alyce only smiled kindly to her protest, and laid down the scissors on the mattress. Perhaps Alyce needed the break, or perhaps she could see Valeraine’s discomfort too easily.
They sat in silence, lit by candles, and Valeraine stewed. She would carry this scar for the rest of her life: the gash across her shoulder. A memento of her time as a dragoneer.
She wondered how she might explain it to a future husband.
“Just an accident, fell onto a sharp rock.” She wouldn’t have a future husband, not if it became common knowledge that she was a dragoneer.
But she dared to hope, with each passing day the news did not spread, that perhaps she would have a future, after all.
Perhaps she would have the opportunity to lie about the contents of her heart.
She wouldn’t need to explain it to Kesley, if he were her husband. He would understand what the scar meant to her, with this mixed feeling of pride in her accomplishment and longing for the times gone by, when she had ridden Lelantos freely.
She wouldn’t need to explain it to Pemberley, either, she supposed.
He knew the whole tale, had even helped to make the scar.
She wanted to explain it to him, though.
She wished he was here so she could explain what racing meant to her: pure exhilaration, the freedom of flight, and a chance to save her house.
She would show him the depths of her soul, and hope he understood them, then respected it enough to promise not to reveal her.
She couldn’t ever race again, except with the blessing of Pemberley.
Alyce’s mind was elsewhere. She had been working up to a different kind of confession: “I have received a response from the Nethenabbi townhouse.”
Valeraine’s melancholy was immediately discarded. “What did he say?” She leaned forward, and took Alyce’s hands. “Will he see you?”
Alyce stood and retrieved a letter from a stack of disordered papers on the bureau. “I haven’t yet opened it.”
Valeraine was silent in shock for a moment.
Then, she asked, “Are you afraid it will be a rejection?” She tried to say this gently, without judgement.
Because, of course this would be a rejection.
Why would Nethenabbi write now, after so long in silence, for any reason than to tell Alyce to stop contacting him?
Because of Valeraine’s foolhardy racing, Alyce was being rejected. Officially, completely.
Valeraine may not have ruined her own reputation — only thanks to the discretion of Pemberley and the Nethenabbis, a close thing — but she had ruined her sister’s chance at love.
“It’s worse than that.” Alyce returned to sitting next to Valeraine, and handed the envelope over. “It’s not from Mr. Nethenabbi.”
The sender was Miss Nedine.
Why would she be writing? It seemed even less likely to contain good news.
Alyce, searching for a change of subject, grabbed up the scissors and turned to be in position to snip the next of Valeraine’s stitches.
Valeraine sought to calm Alyce’s turmoil. “Would you like me to open it?”
“Yes. Would you read it to me? Oh, but if it is terrible please do not. Or do. Don’t hide anything from me. Unless it’s completely horrid.”
Valeraine tilted the envelope to catch the light of the nearest candle, and popped the wax seal.
Miss Alyce Longbourn,
Thank you so much for your correspondence to our household. It warms my heart to see your persistence in friendshipping my family. However, my brother is ever so busy with the social season here, and has no time to answer your messages, so the task has fallen to me.
Your invitation to tea at your Uncle’s home is such a welcome one. However, our schedules are entirely filled, and we will not be able to make it.
As to your concern for Mr. Nethenabbi’s health, let me assure you he is doing quite well. He is happy in his current pursuits.
I can sense that you are trying to instate a courtship between yourself and my brother, and I must give you a piece of advice, just between us women.
He has not mentioned you once, and indeed would be quite uninterested in seeing you in the city.
I think he may have only tolerated you at Netherfield due to the lack of eligible ladies nearby, and his boredom.
I’m sorry, for I know how this must disappoint you.
Your happiness would be found more readily elsewhere, I think. I wish you luck.
Cordially,
Miss Nedine Nethenabbi
Hatch-mother of Netherfield
Valeraine knew the truth: it was her rash actions that had caused this rend in Alyce’s love-life.
Nethenabbi had been taken with Alyce, until he found out Valeraine’s secret.
It was utter stupidity to suppose his attention to Alyce had been prompted by boredom, or a lack of other options.
Nethenabbi had loved Alyce. Now, he was repulsed by the scandal of Longbourn house.
Dragon riding had only brought disaster to her life.
It was all for nothing.
For days, that thought played again and again in Valeraine’s mind. She had risked it all, and instead of a reward she had a banishment. The only silver lining is the rumor of her racing may never spread. At least, it hadn’t so far.
No, that wasn’t true. It wasn’t all for nothing. It had brought her bond with Lelantos. It had given her amazing moments of soaring in synchronous joy with her dragon.
The sisters attended parties, and were pleasantly social. There were men who flirted with them, but none seriously. None that caught their attention.
Valeraine always dreamed of riding Lelantos, of feeling his excitement in her mind as they dived. Then, she would wake up, and remember that her dragon was leagues away, and she might never get to fly again.
Valeraine snapped.
Weeks of ruminating in her failure had gotten her nowhere but deeper into melancholy. She had more to offer Longbourn than attending balls in pursuit of an unfavorable marriage.
Her own dignity might have barely gotten through the crisis intact, but Longbourn’s was still withering. She would not let it die. She would not let it be for nothing.
She had not felt the wind and her bond with Lelantos for nothing.
She had not shown everyone that Longbourn was capable for nothing. There must be someone out there who would negotiate for breeding rights on the strength of that.
Papa had said if there was a good offer, he would accept it. He would be stupid not to. All Valeraine had to do was broker that deal, and their house would be saved.
She would make her own contacts. She would write to the dragon houses, and negotiate the future of Longbourn. It was a new kind of race: could she save her house before her own secrets got her ruined? She would need to move fast, just in case.
And so, in late October, Valeraine wrote to Rosings. Mr. Royce Rosings had seen firsthand the power of Lelantos, and he had said that he needed it for his own nest.
The reply, when it came, was brief.
Miss Longbourn,
Thank you for your interest in the dragons of Rosings house. I am curious about your proposal, and wish to discuss it further with you.
Would you grace us at Rosings with your presence? I will be happy to host you, and look forward to impressing you with our cook’s delicious offerings.
Yours,
Mr. Royce Rosings
Dragon Lord of Rosings