Scales and Sensibility by Stephanie Burgis

Chapter 4

There was only one stroke of luck for which Elinor could be thankful that evening as she stepped into the private room that had been reserved for their supper, carrying an alert and curious Sir Jessamyn on her shoulder.

She hadn’t recognized any of the men in the crowded front room of The Lion’s Head when she, Mr. Hawkins, and Mr. Aubrey had first arrived…which meant that the Singhs, who owned the bustling inn, had cheerfully accepted her identity as Mr. Hawkins’s sister, rather than Sir John Hathergill’s runaway niece.

Unfortunately, she still couldn’t quite escape her relatives.

“So,” Mr. Hawkins said, as he held out a chair for her at the weathered old wooden dining table, “you were remarkably cagey in our earlier conversation. Do I take it that you are acquainted with my future fiancée, Miss Tregarth?”

“Ah…” Elinor glanced around the room as she sat, hunting for inspiration.

Mr. Aubrey was immersed in a thick book, cheerfully oblivious to her entrance and their conversation; he had already scattered two sheets of scribbled-upon notepaper across his rice-covered supper plate and was rapidly jotting down notes on a third sheet now with a quill pen that spattered, spreading spots of black ink. A second book sat ready at his elbow, near the three thick candles that lit his studies.

A crystal goblet of wine on the oak sideboard behind him glinted darkly in the fading light from the narrow, grated windows, while two different curries—one chicken and one lentil—steamed pleasant clouds of spice into the air and large paintings of mountain scenes hung, shadowed, about the room.

As Elinor couldn’t think of any way to step into any of those paintings to escape the topic at hand, she sighed and gave up, bending her head to start slicing the plain chicken breast that had been cooked for Sir Jessamyn. “‘Future fiancée,’ Mr. Hawkins? I’m not sure I’ve heard that term used before.”

“Oh, she doesn’t know it yet,” he said cheerfully. “But she will soon.”

“I suppose she’d have to,” Elinor agreed, “if you are actually to be married.” She fed Sir Jessamyn a bite of chicken, and he chirped happily, leaning over her shoulder towards the plate.

“Exactly.” Mr. Hawkins poured three glasses of wine and set one of them firmly on top of his friend’s second book. “Now for pity’s sake, Aubrey, don’t forget this is here and knock it over again, all right? It’s actually a good brew this time—and you’re paying a princely sum for it!”

“Mmm-hmm.” Mr. Aubrey did not look up. “It’s measurements that go wrong every time with these people! Why don’t they ever take the time to think?” Still muttering to himself, he jotted a new round of angry notes.

Mr. Hawkins sighed and handed Elinor her glass. “You see, Miss Tregarth, you are the only one I can ask for assistance now. It’s not that Aubrey isn’t willing to help—he’s already done a great deal by coming out of his way to drop me off here, as you see—but as far as I can tell, he’s been dragon-obsessed ever since he was born. He has no helpful romantic experiences to share.”

“Since he was born?” Elinor set down her glass, seizing upon the distraction. “But I thought—that is, I never even heard of real dragons until a few years ago. Until then, I thought they were a myth. Didn’t everyone?”

She raised an apologetic hand to stroke Sir Jessamyn’s warm, un-mythical back. He nudged her fingers aside, pointing his snout meaningfully down at the neglected chicken breast.

“Oh, I certainly did.” Mr. Hawkins nodded as he sat down across from her. “But even before those Navy chaps down in South America started writing back home about them, Aubrey already had it in his head that there was more to it than mere legends. He read through all the stories in his grandfather’s library and started adding things up, apparently. And he’s not the only one—by the time that first dragon landed back in England, there was a whole slew of obsessive scholars all ready to start arguing at the top of their lungs over its fine points, never mind the fact they’d never seen any before outside of fairy tale illustrations.”

“Fairy tales, Hawkins?!” Mr. Aubrey looked up for the first time since Elinor had walked into the room. “Really, must you insult my hearing in that way? Haven’t I explained to you often enough how insidious that outmoded and offensive terminology is, when discussing the matter of dragons?”

“Beg pardon, old chap.” Mr. Hawkins scooped up a large portion of curry and dropped it onto his friend’s rice-covered plate, shifting the sheets of notepaper out of the way just in time. “Here, take at least one bite before it goes cold.” He handed Mr. Aubrey a spoon.

His friend took it, still glowering. “If people are going to spout any more gibberish about fairy tales in my presence…”

“I do beg your pardon, Mr. Aubrey,” Elinor said, “but isn’t that how most people first heard of dragons? I know my sisters and I—”

“Oh, well, in the old days.” Aubrey waved a dismissive hand, nearly smacking his friend with his spoon in the process. Mr. Hawkins dodged with the apparent ease of long practice. “Now that we are living in supposedly more enlightened times, though, there ought to be a ban on spreading that particular disease.”

“But—”

“Tell me, Miss Tregarth.” Mr. Aubrey fixed his glare upon her. “Has Sir Jessamyn ever belched flame in your presence? Spoken a single word of English or displayed an eccentric fondness for riddles? Can he, in any sense of the word, be described as magical?” He pronounced the last word with unmistakable distaste.

“Ah…” Elinor turned to Sir Jessamyn. In his eagerness for more chicken, he was hanging halfway off her shoulder, his small, glittering face nearly touching the plate. She pushed him back into place, wincing as his long claws scrabbled against her skin through her cotton gown. “Really, Sir Jessamyn, have some manners!”

“Exactly!” Mr. Aubrey thumped the wooden table with his fist, sending even more ink spattering in all directions. “He is a beast, like any other. Perhaps, many centuries ago, larger specimens may have existed in Europe and even England itself. If so, they were no doubt hunted to extinction by louts afraid of their size and strength, who liked to exaggerate the creatures’ danger and abilities as hunters always do. But there was certainly nothing magical about any of them, no matter what any fairy tales may say!”

He scooped up a heaping spoonful of curry and rice and shoved it into his mouth, glowering. “Fairy tales,” he finished around a mouthful of lentils. “Ha!”

“Quite so,” Mr. Hawkins said soothingly. “I’m sure Miss Tregarth won’t make that mistake again.” He gave her an apologetic look. “Why don’t you tell us how you came by your own dragon, Miss Tregarth?”

“Ah…” She took a bite of her own, filling her mouth to give herself a moment to think. Sir Jessamyn bumped his chin against her head, letting out a squawk of betrayal. “You can’t have all of your supper before I even start mine,” she told him as soon as she’d swallowed. “Don’t be greedy.”

Mr. Hawkins laughed. “You certainly seem comfortable with one another. Do you know, of all the ladies I’ve seen this season wearing dragons on their shoulders, you’re the first I ever saw actually talking to one as if he understood you.”

Elinor flushed. “Well, Sir Jessamyn is very intelligent.” Mr. Hawkins glanced down at his waistcoat; her flush deepened. He’d changed clothing since the Incident, of course. His new waistcoat, a flowered yellow satin, was clean and dry. Still... “As soon as he’s learned to control himself a bit better—”

“Oh, I don’t disagree,” said Mr. Hawkins. “Young puppies are much the same. He’s fortunate in having a mistress who understands him. I’ve always thought it one of the oddest quirks of Society nowadays that a third of the creatures in every ballroom are treated as if they were inanimate.” He lifted his glass of wine to her. “I didn’t mean to insult you, Miss Tregarth, on my honour. I admire your integrity.”

Integrity, Elinor reminded herself, hardly carried the same credit as beauty or wit. Still, she couldn’t help the brief burst of warmth that flooded her. She lifted her own glass to hide her embarrassment. “I haven’t had him long,” she said. “I found him in an…untenable situation. We were both in rather awkward situations, actually. So we left. Together.”

“Mm.” Mr. Hawkins regarded her steadily. “It must have been an awkward situation indeed, to send you out onto the open road without a maid or any other chaperone, and with all of your money in one small reticule.”

“Well…” She looked at Sir Jessamyn to avoid looking into the eyes of her cousin’s future fiancé. Sir Jessamyn rubbed his scaly cheek against hers, chirping softly, and she fed him another sliver of chicken.

“I do understand awkward situations,” said Mr. Hawkins gently. “I’m in the midst of one myself, at the moment.”

Regaining control of her expression, Elinor looked back at him. “Is that why you’ve decided to court Penelope?”

“Exactly.” He shrugged, half-smiling. “To be perfectly frank, Miss Tregarth, I’m in rather desperate need of Miss Penelope Hathergill—as are my three younger brothers, my five-year-old niece, and all of the tenant farmers on my father’s estate. My late father’s estate, that is. It’s mine now, at least for the moment…but it won’t be for long if my future fiancée doesn’t take a liking to me. In truth, she is my final hope.”

In other words, he was in desperate need of Penelope’s famous dowry, not her love, in order to settle his father’s debts. Elinor sighed. It was hardly a romantic realization to have about a man who looked like a hero…but she couldn’t help understanding his perspective. After the last twelve months, she had come to understand a great many unromantic facts of life, like it or not.

“Have I shocked you?” Mr. Hawkins said. “I’m sorry for that. Perhaps I shouldn’t have said anything.”

Elinor shook her head. “No. My own parents…” She traced her spoon along her plate while Sir Jessamyn watched, his head snaking out on his long neck to mirror every move she made. “My younger sisters and I were surprised, on their passing, to discover that they had no savings left at all—not even the small dowries they’d always planned for us. It seems that my father had been persuaded to invest all of his capital in a South American investment scheme—”

“The great Brazilian bubble!” Mr. Hawkins let out a crack of laughter that contained no humour. “Our parents were birds of a feather, it seems. Or rather, considering the nature of the scheme, I should say they were dragons of a…hmm. Of a claw? Or perhaps an ear ridge?”

“Your father was drawn into the Brazilian scheme, too?” Elinor’s head jerked up; she met his sympathetic gaze. “I could hardly believe it when I found out the truth. To think that anyone could ever imagine making such an unlikely fortune—”

“Dragons were considered to be mythical not five years ago,” Mr. Hawkins said. “I suppose both of our fathers thought there might still be some magic left in them after all. Perhaps yours even imagined that it was his chance to give you all the larger dowries you deserved.” His voice was gentle, but his eyes hardened as he slowly shook his head. “I’d give a great deal to find the blackguard who organized that scheme and then fled with the profits from so many innocents’ livelihoods.”

“Oh, so would I,” Elinor said fervently. “When I think…” She bit her lip to hold back the torrent of passion that wanted to come pouring out.

“We are in a similar predicament.” Mr. Hawkins sighed. “So tell me, Miss Tregarth. What is your scheme for salvation? I’d offer you a wealthy husband, but the only candidate I know of is Aubrey, here. He’s far more interested in dragons than in wedlock, I’m afraid.”

“Hmm,” said Mr. Aubrey vaguely, without looking up. “It’s the wingtips, you see. If you want to talk about domestication...”

Elinor met Mr. Hawkins’s gaze. Her lips twitched. “Mr. Aubrey is very charming,” she said sincerely, “but I don’t believe I would make him happy.”

The rules of propriety all confirmed that this was an unforgivably vulgar conversation. Indeed, Elinor ought to feel consumed by embarrassment at the very thought of discussing her potential mercenary marriage-hunt with an attractive single gentleman who was no member of her family.

Oddly, though, Elinor realized as she met Mr. Hawkins’s warm and rueful gaze that she felt far more comfortable at this very moment than she had for over six months now…ever since she had said good-bye to her sisters.

Benedict Hawkins might look like a romantic hero, but in fact…

She smiled and lifted her wineglass to him. “I appreciate the thought regardless,” she said.

In fact, he had all the makings of a friend.

* * *

...None of which,of course, made her feel any better as she lay in an unfamiliar bed that night, listening to the walls of the old inn creak and groan around her. Even the finest conversation couldn’t make her forget her darker truths forever. A single evening of shared laughter and companionship could not change the future.

And the future for a girl without any prospects or protectors…for a girl without a single coin in her reticule but with a dragon who needed feeding…

Common sense might keep Elinor from weeping or swooning in the daytime, when there were urgent tasks to be done. Pride could always hold her chin high whenever witnesses were present. But in the middle of the night, Elinor found herself weeping with silent desperation into her pillow. Even Sir Jessamyn’s increasingly anxious cheeping couldn’t make her stop. When his pointed snout finally nosed past her hair into her bare cheek, all she could do was roll over and bury her face in the comfort of his warm scales.

“Oh, Sir Jessamyn,” she whispered, “I’m so sorry. I wish I was wealthy enough to look after you properly. I wish I was wealthy and clever and powerful and…” An image of the fashionable Mrs. De Lacey, as she’d seen the lady sketched in so many newspapers across the years, popped into her head, and she choked on a sob. “Oh, I wish…”

Mrs. De Lacey wouldn’t have to settle for mere friendship if she met an attractive, intelligent gentleman. How many famous and titled gentlemen had been numbered among her public admirers by now? Mrs. De Lacey certainly wouldn’t have to walk away with quiet dignity into the jaws of poverty and terror while such a man was snapped up by Penelope, of all people! Mrs. De Lacey...

“Oh, rubbish.” Elinor pulled back from Sir Jessamyn and wiped her tears away with one hard swipe. Breathing hard, she forced down the final sob that wanted to escape her throat.

Who was she trying to fool? Even if she had been as wealthy as Mrs. De Lacey herself, Benedict Hawkins still wouldn’t look twice at a crow like her when a true beauty like her cousin was available.

Penelope and her friends had been right all along. Elinor was dark and drab and insignificant. The only reason she hadn’t realized her inadequacy before was because her sisters and their sweet, impractical parents had been far too unworldly to care for that sort of thing. She’d been so naïvely happy, safe and confident in the shelter of her family’s love, that it had never even occurred to her to fear that other people would see her in a different light.

Now that she was left on her own in the outer world, though, well outside the safe walls of their vicarage, no one would ever again look at Elinor and see anything of interest.

It was only too easy to see that unpalatable truth in the utter darkness of the room…and to whisper her secrets into the safety of Sir Jessamyn’s warm scales, where no one else could ever hear them. “I just wish everyone could see me differently. If only I was as handsome and as stylish as Mrs. De Lacey...” Her words trailed off as Sir Jessamyn nudged her gently up to face him.

The little dragon leaned in close, until his snout pressed against her nose with surprising firmness. There was something odd about the intensity of his gaze in the darkness. She could feel it burning into her, even though she couldn’t see his eyes.

Until…

“Sir Jessamyn?” Elinor whispered through her tears. “Are you...glowing?”

Sir Jessamyn opened his mouth wide. Shocking heat flared across her face. Light blinded her.

Elinor’s final thought before she lost consciousness was:

I must tell Mr. Aubrey. Dragons can breathe flame after all!