The Temeraire Series Books 1-3: Temeraire, Throne of Jade, Black Powder War. Naomi Novik
tell it.’
What with Temeraire making him repeat favourite sections and asking questions about the dragons and ships which Laurence thought even a scholar could not have answered, the rest of the flight passed without giving him leisure to worry any further. Evening was far advanced by the time they finally closed in upon his family’s home at Wollaton Hall, and in the twilight all the many windows glowed.
Temeraire circled over the house a few times out of curiosity, his pupils open very wide; Laurence, peering down himself, made a count of lit windows and realized that the house could not be empty; he had assumed it would be, the London Season being still in full train, but it was now too late to seek another berth for Temeraire. ‘Temeraire, there ought to be an empty paddock behind the barns, to the southeast there; can you see it?’
‘Yes, there is a fence around it,’ Temeraire said, looking. ‘Shall I land there?’
‘Yes, thank you; I am afraid I must ask you to stay there, for the horses would certainly have fits if you came anywhere near the stables.’
When Temeraire had landed, Laurence climbed down and stroked his warm nose. ‘I will arrange for you to have something to eat as soon as I have spoken with my parents, if they are indeed home, but that may take some time,’ he said apologetically.
‘You need not bring me food tonight; I ate well before we left, and I am sleepy. I will eat some of those deer over there in the morning,’ Temeraire said, settling himself down and curling his tail around his legs. ‘You should stay inside; it is colder here than Madeira was, and I do not want you to fall sick.’
‘There is something very curious about a six-week-old creature playing nursemaid,’ Laurence said, amused; although even as he said it he could hardly believe Temeraire was so young. Temeraire had seemed in most respects mature straight out of the shell, and ever since hatching he had been drinking up knowledge of the world with such enthusiasm that the gaps in his understanding were vanishing with astonishing speed. Laurence no longer thought of him as a creature for whom he was responsible, but rather as an intimate friend, already perhaps one of the dearest in his life, and one to be depended upon without question. The training lost a little of its dread for Laurence as he looked up at the already-drowsing Temeraire, and Barstowe he put aside in his memory as a bugbear. Surely there could be nothing ahead which they could not face together.
But his family he would have to face alone. Coming to the house from the stable side, he could see that his first impression from the air had been correct: the drawing room was brightly lit, and many of the bedrooms had candlelight in them. It was certainly a house party, despite the time of year.
He sent a footman to let his father know he was home, and went up to his room by the back stairs to change. He would have liked a bath, but he thought he had to go down at once to be civil; anything else might smack of avoidance. He settled for washing his face and hands in the basin; he had brought his evening rig, fortunately. He looked strange to himself in the mirror, wearing the new bottle-green coat of the Corps with the gold bars upon the shoulders in place of epaulettes; it had been bought in Dover, having been partly made for another man and adjusted hastily while Laurence waited, but it fit well enough.
More than a dozen people were assembled in the drawing room, besides his parents; the idle conversation died down when he entered, then resumed in hushed voices and followed him through the room. His mother came to meet him; her face was composed but a little fixed in its expression, and he could feel her tension as he bent to kiss her cheek. ‘I am sorry to descend on you unannounced in this fashion,’ he said. ‘I did not expect to find anyone at home; I am only here for the night, and bound for Scotland in the morning.’
‘Oh, I am sorry to hear it, my dear, but we are very happy to have you even briefly,’ she said. ‘Have you met Miss Montagu?’
The company were mostly longstanding friends of his parents whom he did not know very well, but as he had suspected might be the case, their neighbours were among the party, and Edith was there with her parents. He was not sure whether to be pleased or unhappy; he felt he ought to be glad to see her, and for the opportunity which would otherwise not have come for so long; yet there was a sense of a whispering undercurrent in the glances thrown his way by the whole company, deeply discomfiting, and he felt wholly unprepared to face her in so public a setting.
Her expression as he bowed over her hand gave him no hint of her feelings: she was of a disposition not easily ruffled, and if she had been startled by the news of his coming, she had already recovered her poise. ‘I am glad to see you, Will,’ she said, in her quiet way, and though he could not discover any particular warmth in her voice, he thought at least she did not seem angry or upset.
Unfortunately, he had no immediate opportunity to exchange a private word with her; she had already been engaged in conversation with Bertram Woolvey, and with her customary good manners, she turned back once they had completed their greetings. Woolvey made him a polite nod, but did not make any move to yield his place. Though their parents moved in the same circles, Woolvey had not been required to pursue any sort of occupation, being his father’s heir, and lacking any interest in politics, he spent his time hunting in the country or playing for high stakes in town. Laurence found his conversation monotonous, and they had never become friends.
In any event, he could not avoid paying his respects to the rest of the company; it was difficult to meet open stares with equanimity, and the only thing less welcome than the censure in many voices was the note of pity in others. By far the worst moment was coming to the table where his father was playing whist; Lord Allendale looked at Laurence’s coat with heavy disapproval and said nothing to his son at all.
The uncomfortable silence which fell upon their corner of the room was very awkward; Laurence was saved by his mother, who asked him to make up a fourth in another table, and he gratefully sat down and immersed himself in the intricacies of the game. His table companions were older gentlemen, Lord Galman and two others, friends and political allies of his father; they were dedicated players and did not trouble him with much conversation beyond what was polite.
He could not help glancing towards Edith from time to time, though he could not catch the sound of her voice. Woolvey continued to monopolize her company, and Laurence could not help but dislike seeing him lean so close and speak to her so intimately. Lord Galman had to gently call his attention back to the cards after his distraction delayed them; Laurence apologized to the table in some embarrassment and bent his head over his hand again.
‘You are off to Loch Laggan, I suppose?’ Admiral McKinnon said, giving him a few moments in which to recapture the thread of play. ‘I lived not far from there, as a boy, and a friend of mine lived near Laggan village; we used to see the flights overhead.’
‘Yes, sir; we are to train there,’ Laurence said, making his discard; Viscount Hale, to his left, continued the play, and Lord Galman took the trick.
‘They are a queer lot over there; half the village goes into service, but the locals go up, the aviators don’t come down, except now and again to the pub to see one of the girls. Easier than at sea for that, at least, ha, ha!’ Having made this coarse remark, McKinnon belatedly recalled his company; he glanced over his shoulder in some embarrassment to see if any of the ladies had overheard, and dropped the subject.
Woolvey took Edith in to supper; Laurence unbalanced the table by his presence and had to sit on the far side, where he could have all the pain of seeing their conversation with none of the pleasure of participating in it. Miss Montagu, on his left, was pretty but sulky-looking, and she neglected him almost to the point of rudeness to speak to the gentleman on her other side, a heavy gamester whom Laurence knew by name and reputation rather than personally.
To be snubbed in such a manner was a new experience for him and an unpleasant one; he knew he was no longer a marriageable man, but he had not expected this to have so great an impact upon his casual reception, and to find himself valued less than a wastrel with blown air and mottled red cheeks was particularly shocking. Viscount Hale, on his right, was only interested in his food, so he found himself sitting in almost complete silence.
Still more unpleasantly, without conversation