Scales and Sensibility by Stephanie Burgis

Chapter 3

Elinor had resolutely refrained from swooning, shrieking, or giving in to any other romantic self-indulgences across the last year of her life. But as she looked at the empty reticule in her hand now, she felt the insides of her head begin to spin in a decidedly ominous fashion.

“I say,” said the man behind her. “Are you quite well? You weren’t carrying too much of your money in that little bag, were you?”

“Everything I had.” Elinor’s lips felt numb. Little spots began to dance before her eyes.

“Hawkins!” Another man’s voice called out from the open door of the carriage. “You won’t believe this, but I’ve just found the most astonishing fallacy in De Groot’s thesis. You’ll laugh when you hear what he says about wingtips!”

She really must be losing consciousness, Elinor thought muzzily. She hadn’t understood a word of what he’d said.

The man behind her sighed and stood up. “Look here, I think you’d better come with us.”

“I beg your pardon!” Abruptly regaining her wits, Elinor scooted away from him and scrambled to her feet, while Sir Jessamyn chuckled ominously on the ground beside her. “I’ve thanked you for your help, sir, but—”

“Oh, yes, we have been terribly helpful, haven’t we? Especially knocking you into the ditch in the first place, to lose you all your savings.” He gave her a lopsided, self-mocking grin. “I can only imagine just how grateful you must be feeling right now.”

“Regardless…” Elinor stiffened her shoulders and backed away. That grin was dangerous. It was exactly the sort of thing that persuaded defenceless young women to get into strange gentlemen’s carriages, which marked the beginning of every warning story she had ever heard. “I don’t require any more assistance, so—”

“Don’t be absurd. You haven’t any money, remember? Would you really rather sleep in a hedgerow tonight than allow my friend to give you supper and put you up at the local inn for a night as an apology?”

“Your friend?” Elinor frowned.

“It’s his carriage, not mine. But he couldn’t get out, because he was too busy. To tell you the truth…” Her rescuer ran one hand through his hair, rumpling it even more. “I don’t honestly think he even noticed the collision. Wingtips, you see. It’s a bit of an obsession.”

“Wing tips?” Elinor echoed faintly. She didn’t feel like swooning anymore—at least, she didn’t think so—but his words still made no sense.

“You’ll understand when you meet him,” said her rescuer. “Come. I swear you’ll be safe and unharmed by either of us. And you can hardly deny your dragon a meal, can you?”

“Oh, dear.” Elinor looked down at Sir Jessamyn, who had curled into the tiniest possible ball behind her feet. “I suppose…” She swallowed.

Every ounce of propriety and common sense was telling her not to accept his offer. Unlike her sister Rose, Elinor had never believed that Fate would ever sweep in to rescue her. Anything that looked like a stroke of luck from the blue was far more likely to be an appallingly bad idea.

But her rescuer was right. She could not deny Sir Jessamyn food. So what choice did she have?

“Here, I’ll carry your dragon for you,” her rescuer said. “Pretty little fellow, isn’t he? I’ve seen a few in London, but none quite so glittery as this one.” He scooped up Sir Jessamyn easily and tickled him under his cobalt-blue chin. “I say, he’s in a good mood, isn’t he? He’s actually laughing at me.”

“What?” Elinor had been reaching for her valise, but now she straightened abruptly. “I think you’d better—oh, Sir Jessamyn!”

It was too late.

Her rescuer looked down at his slime-covered silver waistcoat for a long moment. Elinor tensed. “It wasn’t his fault!” she said. “You see, when he’s frightened—”

“Yes,” said her rescuer, gazing at his ruined waistcoat. “I can see, actually.” Then he looked up, met her eyes, and began to laugh as he adjusted the little dragon in his arms.

“Well,” he said. “Let’s hope that inn is close by, eh? Because—forgive me for saying this, but—you’re not the only one who could do with a bath.”

* * *

With Sir Jessamynsafely back in her own keeping, Elinor opened the door of the carriage to find that the inside had been as elegantly designed as the exterior…or at least, the top half had been. She assumed that the same must have been true for the rest, too, but it was rather more difficult to tell. Both of the seats and the footwell in-between were completely filled with books and scattered sheets of paper. Even the fair-haired gentleman who sat inside the carriage, frowning down at a thin pamphlet with total absorption, was covered with massive flurries of books and papers from his knees up to his waist, as if the pages were slowly rising up to devour him.

She gaped at him from the doorway as even more pages fluttered past her ankles to fall onto the ground like leaves.

“Just tip some more into the footwell to make yourself a space to sit,” said the man behind her. “Trust me, it’s the only way.”

“Well…if you’re quite certain it won’t be a problem…” She edged inside, shuffling through calf-high piles of paper as carefully as she could. Holding Sir Jessamyn in one arm, she pushed aside just enough books to glimpse a dark green leather cushion across the gentleman who was still absorbed in his reading. She perched on the edge of the seat, horribly aware of the mud that coated her gown and trying desperately not to touch anything.

It was a doomed attempt. There were more books in this carriage than she’d seen in all of Hathergill Hall.

Her rescuer pulled the carriage door closed behind him and swept a broad swathe of books off the seat across from her. It was only as he sat down that his friend finally seemed to notice his presence.

“Oh, are you here again, Hawkins? I have to tell you, De Groot—”

“Tell me later, old man.” Mr. Hawkins rapped the roof of the carriage, and it rolled into motion. “We have company.”

“We do?” The owner of the carriage peered up over his spectacles and blinked with visible surprise when his gaze passed over Elinor and Sir Jessamyn, seated directly across from him. “I say. What a perfectly marvellous specimen of dracus domesticus. Look at those ear ridges!” He leaned forward, dislodging a stack of paper from his lap and sending it cascading across Elinor’s feet.

Sir Jessamyn’s ears flattened against his head, but—much to Elinor’s relief—he didn’t chuckle, even when the man’s silver-rimmed spectacles nearly brushed his head. Instead, he made a strange, clicking sound in the back of his throat, and his eyelids fluttered half-closed. He tilted his head back to expose his glittering, blue-and-green neck.

For heaven’s sake, Elinor thought. Sir Jessamyn was preening. The little dragon looked positively coy.

“Beautiful,” murmured his inspector, in a reverential tone. “Beautiful, beautiful. Just look at that arch! Now, if De Groot thinks he can explain that with medieval symbolism—!” He waved his pamphlet threateningly at his friend, with such vehemence that Sir Jessamyn scuttled back and pressed himself into Elinor’s stomach.

Mr. Hawkins, on the other hand, wore a look of resignation. “I dare say,” he said. “But the point remains.” He coughed meaningfully. “Perhaps you may have noticed another occupant of your carriage, Aubrey? One without any ear ridges?”

“Eh?” Mr. Aubrey blinked at his friend. “Another occupant, you say?”

“Erm…” Mr. Hawkins tilted his head in Elinor’s direction.

“Oh! Oh, I see. Yes. Quite. Miss—that is, Miss…” He frowned. “I beg your pardon, but I can’t quite remember…”

“That,” said Mr. Hawkins, “is because you haven’t been introduced. Your horses knocked her over, not ten minutes ago, and sent her into the ditch. That is why she is in such disarray.”

“I say!” Mr. Aubrey lowered his pamphlet, looking horrified. “I do beg your pardon, Miss...I’m afraid I don’t recall your name. But we knew you already because…?”

“We didn’t,” said his friend patiently, “but now we do. She lost all of her money in the ditch when your horses knocked her over, so you’re going to put her up at the local inn tonight and pay for her to eat a bang-up supper as apology.”

“I am?” Mr. Aubrey’s frown deepened into a scowl.

Heat crept through Elinor’s cheeks. She pulled Sir Jessamyn closer to her chest. “If you would rather not, sir—”

“Oh, no,” said Mr. Aubrey. “If we have inconvenienced you, we must make up for it, certainly. I was only trying to remember when we had decided all of this.” He sighed. “I’m afraid the discussion has quite escaped my memory. How terribly embarrassing.”

“No need to be embarrassed, my dear chap.” Mr. Hawkins patted his shoulder. “This is the first you’ve heard of it. I was the one who made the decision.”

“Aha!” The frown vanished; Mr. Aubrey beamed at Elinor, his angular face lighting up. “That’s quite all right, then. It is a pleasure to meet you and your dragon, Miss—?”

“Tregarth,” she said, and let out the breath that she’d been holding. “Elinor Tregarth. And this is Sir Jessamyn Carnavoran Artos.”

“A pleasure.” Mr. Aubrey’s words were fervent as he tipped his head to one side, examining Sir Jessamyn again from a different angle. The spectacles slid slowly but inevitably along his perfectly straight nose as he inquired, “How old is Sir Jessamyn, precisely? Have you noticed any peculiarities about him?”

“We still haven’t finished our introductions.” Mr. Hawkins sighed. “Miss Tregarth…” He sketched a half-bow from his seat, dislodging more books. “Benedict Hawkins, at your service. And this dragon-mad fellow is Cornelius Aubrey. One of Cambridge’s finest, you understand, but without much experience in the non-scholarly world.”

“I…see.” Elinor looked at Mr. Aubrey, trying to gauge his age. Surely he couldn’t be much more than one-and-twenty? “Are you a student at Cambridge, sir?”

“A student?” He lifted Sir Jessamyn’s tail, peering closely at the scales underneath. “No, no. I study, only.”

“Aubrey took a First at Cambridge at sixteen,” Mr. Hawkins explained, “and never left. He’s a genius, you see.”

“Mm.” Mr. Aubrey was tracing the under-scales with one long finger now, while Sir Jessamyn watched him nervously.

Yawning, Mr. Hawkins leaned back in his seat and crossed his trouser-clad legs. They brushed against Elinor’s gown on the way, inciting quite a disconcerting sensation, but he shifted swiftly to grant her more space in the crowded footwell. “I do apologise, Miss Tregarth, for our tight quarters. Aubrey’s on a visit now to one of his mad colleagues in Wales, you see, and was kind enough to give me a lift along the way.”

“Wales!” Elinor’s chest tightened with longing; for a moment, excitement pushed her to lean forward, drawing a breath. Her sister Rose was in Wales. Perhaps—?

But no. She could hardly beg a ride so far across the country with two strange gentlemen, no matter how kind and harmless they both seemed…and even if she did, Rose still wouldn’t be allowed to take her in. There was no use in even asking the question.

Elinor sighed as she sat back and tried to remember her manners, despite the highly irregular situation. With her muddy hair drying stickily against her skin, it was uncomfortably challenging simply to keep herself from scratching her chest in public, much less to make any polite conversation. Worse yet, every time the carriage took a turn, her legs bumped unstoppably against those of either Mr. Hawkins or Mr. Aubrey. Thank goodness, Mr. Aubrey paid no attention to the contact, and Mr. Hawkins looked perfectly comfortable even with the noxious smell of his dragon-slimed waistcoat rising up to fill the carriage.

He really was unnervingly handsome. She’d never in her life sat in such close proximity to even one attractive gentleman, much less two in the same carriage—and as much as she reproved herself for her forwardness, she couldn’t stop sliding discreet glances at Mr. Hawkins’s broad shoulders, which were outlined far too well by his fashionable coat. His rumpled brown hair fell haphazardly across his brow, just begging for her to reach over and stroke it back into place…

No! She jerked her eyes away and kept her wayward hands firmly clasped around her dragon. Common sense was more than enough to inform her that the wealthy and too-appealing Mr. Hawkins was well beyond her reach. Still, even after she forced herself to lower her gaze to the dragon in her lap, her whole body prickled with awareness at every carriage turn that brought the two of them together.

If she didn’t distract herself soon, she might begin to drool, and that really would be unacceptable. So she forced herself to begin, with an air of polite interest, “How much further is your journey to—?”

“Here we are!” As the carriage pulled to a halt in front of the local inn, Mr. Hawkins straightened and jogged his friend’s elbow. “Forget the dragon just for the moment, old man. There’ll be plenty of time to inspect him over supper.”

“I beg your pardon?” Elinor stared at him. “I thought you two were going to Wales and only leaving me here!”

“Oh, Aubrey is, but I’m not. I’ll be staying in the area for quite some time,” said Mr. Hawkins. “We’re just sharing one last evening of leisure tonight before Aubrey goes on to Wales and I embark upon my great matrimonial adventure.”

“Your great…” Elinor blinked. “Oh, you’re betrothed?” Wanton, Elinor! How could she have allowed herself to ogle a betrothed man’s shoulders? Her skin burned with the shame of it.

“Oh, no, I haven’t even met the lady yet—and she’s never heard of me.” He opened the door and leaped to the ground, ignoring the folded carriage steps. “Come, let me assist you.” He held out his arms. “It was enormously helpful to meet you today, actually. As a local yourself, you can advise me on my best matrimonial strategy over supper—you must have met the lady I’m meant to woo, if you’ve spent any time in this area.”

“I must?” Elinor repeated. A hideous presentiment began to dawn inside her even as she leaned inevitably forward towards Benedict Hawkins’s broad chest.

She had known this couldn’t be as easy as it seemed, hadn’t she? She had certainly known better than to ever step into a strange gentleman’s carriage. And yet...

Mr. Hawkins closed his strong arms around her and swung her easily to the ground, sending a burst of entirely inappropriate heat throughout her mud-covered body. “Oh, you must at least have heard of her. Her father is a landowner of renown in this county, I’ve been told. And she is said to be unforgettable!”

He stepped back the moment that her feet touched the ground, lowering his arms with perfect courtesy to his sides and grinning his lopsided grin down at her. Even his noxiously slimed waistcoat couldn’t make him look unappealing.

It was most unjust and disagreeable.

“Do tell me.” Elinor swallowed. “What is her name?”

There were several young ladies in the neighborhood, after all. Only the cruellest, most unjust hand of Fate could possibly—

“Penelope Hathergill,” said her rescuer. “Have you met? Is she as beautiful as they say?”

Elinor closed her eyes against his smile.

Fate was never on her side.