In which Anne is determined and Ring is amenable.

Exactly one hour later, according to the mantel clock, Anne pulled on her hat and her pelisse and took herself out to the old barn that had been remade into The Puck’s hoard.

From the outside, it looked like a normal barn, save for the large red dragon that was painted on the side. Since most dragons did not read, this served as the sign to reveal the actual nature of the structure. And a quiet acknowledgement of Pemberley as the major dragon of the Keep.

A minor dragon could never acknowledge that too often.

The window shutters were open, as was the wide front door. Since everyone on Pemberley Keep heard dragons and knew about The Puck’s Hoard, there was no need to disguise its presence. And if the odd dragon-deaf warm-blood wandered in, there was always someone around to notice and to persuade them that they had seen nothing of note.

Even the dragons that did not enjoy company or the drink and victuals offered at the pub appreciated the fact that there was a specific building and resources dedicated to them. They guarded it as zealously as if it were a hoard of their own.

One more thing that made Pemberley not-normal, even among dragon-hearing estates.

On principle alone, that should have been enough to make Anne refuse to go along with Mama’s scheme. Besides, Anne did not need a dragon-nanny to watch over her, especially when it did not support her quest to do something normal.

Absolutely not. The whole endeavor was becoming odder by the moment.

She paused, halfway between the house and The Puck’s Hoard. She should stick to her resolve and refuse. That would show Mama the strength of her desires. No question about it.

But … but … why did there always have to be a ‘but’ about things?

Mama had that look about her. One could always tell when she could be persuaded—the human way, not the draconic one—to see things their way, and when she was resolute. When they talked, Mama had been wearing that resolute expression she used when dealing with stubborn dragons.

Even they knew better than to cross her when she wore that expression. Or so the local cold-blooded gossip said.

Fairy dragon feather and fluff!

If Anne refused, there would be nothing even vaguely resembling normal fun to be had. And she quite possibly would have nothing at all to do until her dragon-hearing cousins arrived. Though they were all younger than she, they could still be rather diverting. And her aunts were often very sympathetic.

The dragon-deaf family members stayed away most of the time—persuaded by the dragons that they had other things to do, did not like Pemberley, or had caught an inopportune cold. The reasons varied so long as it kept them away from Pemberley.

It seemed a shame, but, even her current state of temper, Anne did not want to keep company with James Charles, pompous because he insisted on using both names, not just one like a normal person and overflowing in his superiority and entitlement as the eldest boy among the cousins. Unpleasant as he was, and dangerous to the secrets that must be kept, it was best that all those cousins stayed away.

And the rest of the cousins would not be arriving for some time yet. She simply had to have something to do!

Besides, Ring was pleasant company and understood how to have fun. The whole point of The Puck’s Hoard was to give the local dragons an opportunity for frivolity. Dragons without such an outlet had the propensity to make their own kind of fun, which rarely seemed to agree with Mama’s definition of fun.

So though wassailing with a dragon was not normal, dragons did know how to have fun. It might still be amusing.

For now, it would be best to humor Mama’s decrees.

She hurried the rest of the way to the dragon pub.

***

“Miss Anne!” Ring, the knucker of Ring Pond, greeted her as she walked in.

As a dragon, he was rather dull, looking like he was yet unfinished. He had fin-like wings that could not fly, a soft, long face which lacked the chiseled intensity of a firedrake’s, flexible, instead of spiky, spinal ridges, and a four-legged, serpentine—rather than lizard-like—body shape. He might have been more regal, more imposing if the sculptor had finished the project properly, instead of leaving him soft and slender with dangling mustache whiskers and floppy fin-y bits.

After spending time in the company of greater dragons, it was easy to dismiss him as someone of less worth. Like one often did in the presence of Uncle Bingley.

Anne winced, best not to give voice to that out loud. There would be no end of grief for that opinion if she did. Even if she was right.

“It is so good to see you Ring!” She hurried the last few steps into the pub.

She blinked in the dim interior light—it was too early to light candles inside. Though the door and windows were open, it provided a pleasant break from the determined winds outside.

A proper bar had recently been set along the right-side wall, in place of the makeshift boards on barrels that had been there before. Papa had it brought from a pub in Chestershire that had closed and was being converted into a dance and music school.

Heavy, dark wood carved with the usual leaves and vines, it bore the expected scars of hard wear. But still, it was a step up from the make-do furniture. And it served as a quiet stamp of the Keeper’s approval, something every dragon on Pemberley valued. Several of the more artistic dragons on the estate had tried their claws at renewing the piece, with mixed results.

At one end, dragons of all sorts had been worked in among the existing vines and swirls. A finely wrought firedrake head and neck, stained in mahogany red, had been added to the edge, peeking over the bar. A respectful tribute to Pemberley, who had always been an enthusiastic supporter of The Puck’s Hoard.

The other side suffered from the amateur efforts and too many ideas expressed at the same time. Probably an attempt by Ring to keep the peace with all who wanted to participate in the project. He was a diplomat among dragons that way.

According to Dale, Mrs. Reynold’s Friend, the bar would eventually be finished properly by the dragon-artist who did the carving of Pemberley. But only when the lesser artists had their chance at it all first. It would be interesting to see the final project.

There was no way to tell how long that would take. Dragons seemed to have a different sense of time to warm-bloods.

“Miss Anne, the Lady Sage said that you were interested in wassailing on the estate.” Direct, as dragons always were. Ring beckoned her closer.

“Christmastide is the time for fun and frivolity, is it not.”

“Certainly, certainly. You know I am always a supporter of your schemes.” He glanced over his shoulder.

Heavens, in the corner stood one of the painted wooden images of himself that she and her siblings and cousins had used in their Christmas theatrical some years ago. They had sung the Twelve Days of Christmas with five gold Rings. Things might not have quite gone to plan with their performance, but it had been great fun and the source of some delightful memories.

“So, tell me, Miss Anne, what have you in mind?” He asked. He poured her a glass, which by its smell contained some herbal cooling water, and gestured for her to take a seat near him. Unlike most pubs, the Puck’s Hoard did not contain many tables—most furniture was foreign to dragons. The few bits and bobs that were there were aimed at helping smaller dragons converse more comfortably with larger ones.

That was one unique thing about the pub—located deep in Pemberley’s territory, Vicontes Pemberley had declared it to be free from dominance challenges. In most places within her territory, the smaller dragons still could and did squabble for dominance, but here it would not be permitted. Only Pemberley’s dominance would be recognized; all others would be considered equal.

That led to some interesting conversations, or so she had heard. But the one she was about to have might be one of the most interesting.

Watch for part 3 next week! Catch up with prior chapters here.

While you wait, check these out!

An Historical Christmas

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Want to spend a little longer in Christmas past?

Discover the real traditions of the Regency holiday season in A Jane Austen Christmas, or join Elizabeth and Darcy for a festive visit to Pemberley in The Darcys’ First Christmas. After all, reading about a Regency Christmas is delightful. Spending one with the Darcys might be even better.