Elizabeth swallowed hard as the door from the walled garden opened to reveal Queen Charlotte. Royalty, right here at Pemberley! Dealing with the monarch might not be unusual for Frederica or Lady Anne, but she had never expected to have so much as a glimpse of them. Darcy did not seem overly troubled by their presence, but the looks he kept sending Lady Anne were furious.
He bowed as the queen approached them. Lady Anne and Frederica made deep curtsies which Elizabeth did her best to imitate.
Royalty. At Pemberley.
Her Majesty held a lace handkerchief in her hand up to her reddened eyes. “He is himself again,” she said, though it was hard to comprehend between her heavy accent and the shaking in her voice. “He does not wish to be seen yet, though.”
Perfectly understandable, given the glimpse Elizabeth had caught of him going into the garden, the only space large enough to hold Coquelicot. The king had been tied into a stained strait jacket, his hair and beard long and ungroomed, his hands deformed with arthritis. No doubt it had been unsafe to bring a razor too close to him. Poor man!
“I am glad to hear it, Your Majesty,” said Lady Anne gravely.
“You have done us a great service.” The queen turned away and closed the garden door behind her.
“What now?” Darcy asked his mother, his voice clipped. Oh, yes, he was still displeased.
“I imagine that is up to His Majesty, if he is back in his right mind,” Lady Anne said. “It is certainly out of my hands.”
With a rush of wind, Coquelicot flew over the wall and landed beside Darcy. “Oh, that was very interesting! So many problems, the poor fellow, but I think he will be happier now. He was so surprised that I could fix his eyes.”
His eyes. The king had been blinded by his cataracts years ago. Everyone knew that.
“And his mind?” Lady Anne asked.
“Much better. It was very cruel what your traitor sister did to him, but it was easy enough to remove. He is still an old man who has been through a terrible time, though. Do you know how very many joints there are in mortal wrists and hands? It is truly amazing. That is what took the longest, fixing each of those, but it was so enjoyable.” The dragon beamed at them.
To her surprise, Frederica ran forward and put her arms as far around the dragon’s chest as she could, which was not very far at all. “You have done a very good deed, Coquelicot. He has suffered so much, and so has all his family and even England itself.”
The great ruby dragon patted her fondly. “It was entirely my pleasure. There is still an ill woman seeking my care back at the house, so I must go.” She transformed into a hawk and flew off.
Lady Anne – calm, cool, collected Lady Anne – dabbed at drops of perspiration on her forehead with a handkerchief. “Thank heavens that is done. I feared the queen might not permit the healing,” she said. “Her Majesty insisted on Coquelicot removing her bindings first, to be certain she would do no harm, before even allowing her to meet the king.”
Frederica frowned. “How many others did Lady Catherine put bindings on?”
“The Prince of Wales, of course. Lord Rockingham, Lord Shelburne, and Pitt the Younger, but they are no longer with us.” Lady Anne reeled off a list of Prime Ministers as if they were no one in particular. “No doubt there were others, but I am certain of those.”
Elizabeth found her voice. “Why the king, though? What did she gain by harming him?”
“He refused to permit Prinny to marry her,” Frederica said. “Marry her legally, that is; they went through a wedding ceremony, but it did not count unless the king approved it. Lady Catherine wanted to be queen, not merely Prinny’s mistress.”
Elizabeth’s hand flew to her mouth. It could not be, but Lady Anne was nodding. Did Darcy know that his aunt had been a royal mistress? He was showing no sign of shock. What other surprises did the Fitzwilliam family have up its sleeves? Would he ever trust her with them?
“I imagine she also put bindings on journalists and caricaturists,” Lady Anne said. “There were a few articles and images published, but far less than one would expect for such behavior.”
Had it been public knowledge, then, at least among London society? That must have been mortifying for Darcy. No matter; Elizabeth intended to demand some answers from him. Later, when they were alone.
The following morning, with some embarrassment, Darcy was ushered into the royal presence, following a summons from the king. It had been mortifying to explain to Elizabeth exactly how scandalous and wicked his aunt had been. He would have been glad never to deal with the royal family again. This was a direct command, though, and could not be ignored.
His Majesty had been transformed from a madman into, well, if not a king, perhaps a country squire. He was clean shaven and dressed properly, if simply and not in the latest fashion, and his hair had been trimmed and curled. But he was still a fragile old man.
Darcy made his best court bow.
The king waved his hand to indicate that he should rise. “That dragon. She is yours?”
This was not the time to go into the different degrees of bonding between humans and dragons. “I have a bond to her, yes.”
“She is truly remarkable. You will tell me how I may repay her. She would not even accept my thanks.” He sounded offended.
Carefully, Darcy said, “Dragons, like most fae, are uncomfortable with thanks. She was happy to assist you.”
