Chapter 42
Chapter forty-two
Aletter came during lunchtime, from Netherfield. Valeraine assumed it must be from Nethenabbi — the drought of correspondence broken at last. But the letter was not for Alyce.
It was for Valeraine.
It was from Pemberley.
She didn’t open it immediately, not ready to read these words in front of her family at the table.
It would contain further insults, that was certain.
It may include pleading for her to accept his proposal.
It would include begging for her to not reveal him as Scaleheart. It would be utterly repulsive.
She went to the nest, wanting the solid comfort of Lelantos.
The nest was chilly, but bearable. The dragon was sleeping soundly, his regular breathing filling the space.
He radiated a gentle warmth, stoked from the fire in his chest. This nest could fit so many dragons, and yet it only held one.
The single whooshing of breath punctuated the quiet emptiness.
It was familiar to Valeraine, as this is how the nest had always been for her.
She hoisted herself onto the pulley swing, taking it high into the air.
She sat dangling above her dragon, swaying gently from her movements and the draft of the dragon's breath and warmth.
She was untouchable. Whatever angry rants Pemberley felt he needed to deliver to her, she was secure.
She held the trump card over him: his secrets. He had no power over her fate.
Now, she would not give him power over her emotions.
Valeraine opened the letter, and let the envelope flutter to the ground.
Miss Valeraine Longbourn,
I am aware any repetition of my earlier sentiments would be repugnant to you, so you may be assured that is not my intention in this letter. I will not plead for your hand further. I do not wish to humble myself by resuming my pursuit of you.
However, I must defend myself against your slanderous accusations.
It was the height of arrogance for him to attempt to continue their argument. Did he suppose he would deliver a winning blow, and that she would send him a reply conceding the victory?
First, as to my meddling in the correspondence of Miss Longbourn and Mr. Nethenabbi. It is true I stopped their letters from reaching their intended recipients. This was intended as a kindness and a mercy, but I see now it didn’t have that effect.
Nethenabbi has been taken in affection with many women.
His feelings rule him, guiding to women who were trying to swindle him from his money, or toy with his emotions for sport.
Seeing him grow enamored with your sister, I assumed that was the case.
The rumors of their impending marriage — started by your mother — confirmed my suspicions.
Miss Alyce’s feelings toward my friend were lukewarm at best, with her doing very little to encourage him.
I assumed there was no depth of feeling on her part, and too much on his.
When I discovered you were racing, it felt even more important to separate them in case the scandal broke and touched Netherfield through its connections to Longbourn.
To protect my friend, I persuaded him to go to Kinellan City, and severed all communication between them.
His heart was too volatile to behave with self-preservation, so intervention was necessary.
This was a very poor point. He confessed with all arrogance, explaining why he was right to do the despicable. Valeraine’s hands gripped the paper, wrinkling the sides. She couldn’t bear to continue to read his haughty words, and yet she couldn’t stop. What would he unveil next?
I see now that I was wrong, and I apologize.
I have now confessed the extent of my meddling to Mr. Nethenabbi.
He was upset, and so I will be leaving Netherfield today.
I regret that my actions have caused so many rents in relationships: between Miss Longbourn and Mr. Nethenabbi, between him and me, and finally between us.
I hope with time these relationships will heal.
In the weeks that have passed since I discovered you riding, I realized I was paranoid. I imagined it a matter of days or hours before it was discovered by all. It seems a much better kept secret than I supposed, far away from the scandal sheets. I panicked and acted rashly, and I am sorry.
Pemberley was apologizing.
He wasn’t excusing his actions, trying to bat away her accusations. He was admitting he was wrong.
Pemberley, the haughtiest man in the world, was apologizing to her.
A pit seemed to be slowly opening in Valeraine’s stomach. It was yawning wider, lilting in time with the swing she was sitting on.
As for the blackmail you mentioned, I will clear up things there as well. (I refer to me blackmailing you, not when you blackmailed me.)
I never intended for you to live in the fear of exposure.
I have not told anyone — save your father — about it.
I only told him out of an effort to protect you.
Your injury unnerved me more than I cared to admit, and it distressed me that you might race again.
I knew this wasn’t my business, but it certainly was the business of your father, so I wrote to tell him, in case he did not already know.
Save that instance, I have not told a soul.
I know you did not intend for me to learn of your racing, and I kept that accidental confidence like I would keep any other confidence given to me.
Valeraine wished she had his first letter to Papa in hand, so she could read it again. Hadn’t it contained a threat? Hadn’t he said he would tell the world if she raced again?
Maybe he hadn’t. She would have to check. But if she had misread it all this time... then he hadn’t ever been so terrible to her. But he was still a rough rider, who got racers killed, and who pretended at a gentle veneer. He had still kept Nethenabbi and Alyce apart.
As for the slander that I was responsible for the death of Mr. Allencourt, that is easily cleared.
I do not know who told you thus, but it was not me.
Mr. Ponsinter knocked him out of the sky.
I was at the derby that day, but I was not near the incident.
If you wish to confirm this version of events, you can write to these gentlemen who were also present at that derby: Mr. Nethenabbi, Mr. Bryton, and Mr. Whiterest.
Where had she heard the rumor that he killed Allencourt?
It had been Selaide, reading from a Scaleheart column.
A Scaleheart column.
Pemberley never would have criticized himself. There must have been some confusion in Selaide’s interpretation. She would have to check on that as well, to find proof of the error.
I admit, I have saved the most difficult point for last. This is of most concern and worry to me.
If you do care to answer this letter, I desire your response on only one point: how did you discover I was Scaleheart? What proof do you possess? To my knowledge, you are the only soul who knows. I am anxious to keep it this way.
Much like I am keeping your confidence, I dearly wish that you will keep mine. I say this not as a threat — even if you reveal my secrets, I will take yours to my grave — but as an earnest plea.
I understand how you see my writings as hypocrisy.
I criticize the derbies, and yet I participate.
I speak on the taming of hatchlings, and yet I am a man who has no business doing so.
The Scaleheart column has caused many scandals, and my position in the races and status among the dragon houses has improved because of it.
However, every one of those words comes from my heart, and I endeavor to live them.
I must race to maintain the renown of my house, and yet I do campaign for greater safety precautions and rules in the derbies.
I care for the hatchlings of my nest — though this is not widely known, and I would like to keep it that way for propriety’s sake.
Sometimes I feel that Scaleheart is more of a representation of my soul than Pemberley is.
Yours, forever,
Bennington Pemberley
This morning, Valeraine was assured. She had known who she was, and who Pemberley was. She had been gripped in the power of his blackmail, but eagerly awaiting reversing their positions. She was going to triumph over that odious man. Then, she would be free to race as she wished.
Nothing had gone to plan.
She had delivered her threat. Instead of justified retribution, it now felt like the most terrible kind of coercion. He had never been blackmailing her. It was all a misunderstanding.
He was not her enemy.
It was infuriating, to be proven wrong so thoroughly. Not just proven wrong, but proven to be the villain of the piece.
Would she ever reveal he was Scaleheart? Only if he wronged her greatly, which was looking less and less likely the more she discovered of his true character.
“What a fool I’ve been,” she murmured, and reread his letter.
I say this not as a threat — even if you reveal my secrets, I will take yours to my grave — but as an earnest plea.
No, she wouldn’t hold this weapon over his head — wouldn’t grip him in terror, like she’d been living. They would keep each other’s secrets.
It felt strange, now having this truce with Pemberley, who had been her greatest enemy. Now, he was the man who carefully held her secret, and trusted her to hold his.
He was still an arrogant buffoon who had stopped Alyce’s letters and sabotaged the love of his friend.
She must hold onto her anger there. It was more difficult to maintain the fire of her distaste when she read his lines again, a genuine care for his friend shown.
She would not forgive him for it, she resolved.
Where would she be, if she didn’t hate him for something?
Thinking on it with terrible rationality, Valeraine could admit that Pemberley ramming Lelantos at the derby could have been an honest accident.
He had attempted to rally the racers to caution, and he had treated her wound without any reward.
He had even had the medical kit at the ready, and was trained in its use.
That showed more dedication to safety at the derbies than the words in his letter could convey.
What master of a dragon house busied himself with learning how to dress wounds?
In short, he was caring and attentive. He was defensive of his friends — to a fault. He was honest in his writings as Scaleheart. He was trustworthy with her secrets. He was not violent as she had supposed.
And he wanted to marry her.
In that, he was presumptuous. He hadn’t even asked — simply outlined his reasons for hating her and her family and assumed, “When we are married.” There, she could easily hate him.
He hadn’t considered her opinion or consent.
And why not? He had thirty-one dragons. He was one of the wealthiest men in Kinella.
He was from a prestigious family, which was of so much higher status than her own.
He didn’t have a painfully embarrassing Mamma spreading rumors.
The only thing that could be construed as a blemish on his character or house was that he was writing anonymous scandal sheet columns which espoused controversial opinions that racing was dangerous and that dragons should always be treated with respect.
Valeraine wondered if he ever would have told her he was Scaleheart, if they did wed.
Would he have kept it from his wife? What kind of a husband would he have been?
Continually condescending, never forgetting her lower status?
Distant and cold? Warm and affectionate?
Treating her with care and honor — or was that only reserved for his dragons?
What kind of man was it who hatch-mothered? A domineering one who needed to control everything in the nest? Or one who cared so deeply for the dragons that he wished to be involved in the most delicate of steps?
Valeraine didn’t know which type of man Pemberley was. This morning, she would have guessed the first. Now, she suspected the second.
Pemberley was a good man. Not a perfect man (she was not going to forgive him for Alyce’s letters, nor for the insulting proposal), but he was a better man than many others she had known.
Should she have accepted him? Even after that insulting and disastrous proposal, should she have said yes to the arrogant man and his thirty-one dragons?
She would never be happy to part from Lelantos, or with a man who looked down on her. She would never be content being the wife of Pemberley, even if the money was good and the company more tolerable than she had suspected.
Valeraine could now write him a response.
She would tell him that she would keep his secret (she would have to swear Alyce and Kesley to secrecy, but did not regret confiding in them).
She would apologize for the slanderous accusation of the death of Mr. Allencourt (though not of his meddling in Nethenabbi’s courtship).
She would tell him that she had forgiven him for some of the things he had done, but not all.
That kind of letter would give him hope of a marriage between them, no matter how she worded it to the contrary.
Men always thought any smile was a yes, even if it was accompanied by a no.
She wouldn’t toy with him, after he had given her so much truth.
Silence was the best route. She wouldn’t speak to him again, and the whole matter would resolve itself in time.
She could go on disliking him (alas, she had lost the capacity for hate now), and he could move on from his foolish, contrary admiration for her.
They would both move on, and become people independent of each other.
Valeraine lowered herself to the ground, and went back to the house in search of proof of Pemberley’s words.