Marie Brennan - A Natural History of Dragons

“Even if your wife volunteered for it?”

“That does not enter into it. It is my duty to protect you and keep you safe. Protection and safety do not include ventures of this sort.”

I folded my hands into my lap, noting irrelevantly that I had begun biting my nails again. It was a habit I have spent my life trying and failing to break. “Then the question, I suppose, is how much those criticisms concern you.”

“No.”

I glanced up at Jacob again, and saw the quirk in his mouth grow to a rueful smile.

“The question,” he said, “is whether that concern is important enough to warrant making my wife miserable.”

Hardly daring to breathe, I waited for him to go on. Whatever else he might say, I knew one thing: that I had been luckier than I knew, the day Andrew invited me to go with him to the king’s menagerie. How many other gentlemen would even have made such a statement?

Jacob’s hazel eyes fixed on me, and then he shook his head. My heart sank, though I tried not to show it.

“I am the greatest lunatic in Scirland,” he said, “but I cannot bear to deny you. Not with you looking at me like that.”

His words took a moment to sink in, so convinced was I that I had lost my case. “You mean—”

Jacob held up a cautioning hand. “I mean that I will write to Hilford. The expedition is his; I can’t go adding people on my own whim. But yes, Isabella—I mean that I, at least, will not stand in your way. On the condition—!” His words broke off as I surged to my feet and threw my arms about him. “On the condition,” he continued when I released him enough to breathe, “that you promise me, no mad antics. No putting yourself in the path of a hungry wolf-drake. Nothing that will make me regret saying this today.”

“I promise to try and keep myself safe.”

“That isn’t quite the same thing, you know,” he said, but my kiss stopped any other objections he might have had.

True to his word, Jacob wrote to Lord Hilford that very afternoon. This began a week of nervous waiting, wherein I replayed every interaction I had ever had with the earl. He seemed to tolerate, even appreciate, the company of his granddaughter Natalie, who had something of a mad streak in her; surely that boded well for my own chances? But I was not family—and so my thoughts went, round and round, dragging up every factor, every ounce of information that might influence his decision.

When a letter came notifying us that he would call at our house on his way to Falchester in a week’s time, I did not know what to make of it. Jacob gave me the letter to read, and I pored over every word, but it said nothing of Jacob’s unusual request. Was he favorably inclined to it? Unfavorably? Had he even received our letter? I dreaded that last prospect; how awkward it would be to bring it up if he had no prior warning!

Nonetheless, he was coming, and we had to prepare. I made certain the house was ready to receive its visitor, devoting far more of my time and energy to domestic tasks than I ordinarily did. (I fear I drove the maids quite to distraction with my interference.) I carefully selected the gown I would wear, when the time came. I reminded myself to be on my best behavior.

I tried not to invent contingency plans for what I would do if he said no. That way lay all manner of schemes that would turn my husband’s hair grey with fright.

Lord Hilford arrived in a comfortable carriage pulled by a splendid pair of matched greys. I praised the horses as he entered our house, using it as a source of comfortable small talk while we were out in public places. It helped me to hide my nerves.

“You are here to see my husband, I imagine?” I said when he was done handing his hat and gloves to the footman.

“Hmmm,” the earl said. “I rather think I had better speak with you both.”

This made my heart skip a beat. “Please, have a seat in the drawing room,” I said, indicating the way, as if he could somehow lose his orientation in our smallish front hall. “Jacob will be down in a moment. Would you like tea?”

Fortunately my husband was prompt; I might have died of nerves else. He greeted Lord Hilford, and when everyone was settled in with tea and biscuits, the earl cut straight to his point.

“I received your letter, Camherst,” he said to Jacob, “and read it over two or three times. Rather surprising to me, you must understand. Eventually I decided the only sensible way to handle it was to come here and speak to you in person—you and your wife both. If you don’t mind?”

Jacob made sounds of demurral, and as he did so, I realized Lord Hilford was asking permission to question me directly. I sat bolt upright in my chair as the earl turned his sharp-eyed attention to me.

“Mrs. Camherst,” he said. His booming voice was almost too much for our small drawing room. “Let me see if I understand. You wish to accompany us to Vystrana, where you imagine you will keep your husband’s notes—or mine as well; the letter was a trifle unclear—provide us with accurate drawings, and otherwise be some manner of assistant to us in our studies and daily living?”

I had expected this question, and so even under his gimlet eye, I did not squirm. “Yes, my lord.”

“Your husband’s a sensible enough fellow. I can’t imagine he’s neglected to describe to you the sorts of hardships and difficulties we’re likely to suffer.”

“I am well aware of them, my lord. Both from my husband, and from my own reading.”

He took a sip of tea. It hid his lower face from me momentarily, which I think might have been his intent; I could not tell what he thought of my statement. “You are a well-read woman, I take it.”

“As much as I can be.”

“Hmmm. I’ll want to pick your brain on that more later. In the meantime, though—you know the difficulties, apparently in good detail, and despite that, you still wish to be a part of the expedition.”

There was no room for prevarication, for the kinds of social niceties that might have softened the blunter edges of my desire. All I could do was say, “Yes, I do.”

He eyed me for several heartbeats. I fought not to reach for my tea and avoid his gaze thereby.

“Well,” Lord Hilford said abruptly, turning to Jacob, “that seems clear enough. Either she’s birdbrained and you failed to make the situation clear to her—in which case she’ll be entirely your problem; I wash my hands of her—or she knows precisely what she’s letting herself in for. At the very least, she might be a civilizing influence. Might even be of some use—in which case I take full credit for bringing her along, and commandeer her services in filing my own notes. I stuff them in a box most days; makes for a devil of a time finding anything when I need it.”

I vowed on the spot to show no behaviour that might possibly be construed as birdbrained, from then until the end of time.

“You—you’re certain?” Jacob stammered, glancing from me to Lord Hilford and back again.

“Don’t go questioning me, Camherst, unless you want me reconsidering my decision. Make sure she knows what she needs to before we get to Vystrana; fat lot of use she’ll be filing notes if she can’t tell a hatchling from a lizard. But I doubt that will be a problem.” Lord Hilford’s eyes twinkled at me, so briefly I might have imagined it.

We rushed to thank him, but he waved it all off with one hand. “My plans are all being turned on their heads anyway; what’s one more change?”

“What do you mean?” Jacob asked.

Lord Hilford’s good humour was overshadowed by a scowl. “Politics. The tsar of Bulskevo has decided again that he doesn’t like Scirlings. Which is a problem, when we’re dependent on him for iron… but that is neither here nor there. What matters is that the boyar of Ziveyjak—which is where I captured that albino runt—is a boot-licking court toady who won’t do anything the tsar might frown at. So I’ve been refused permission to return to Ziveyjak next year.”