A bit of dragon-y goodness to share from the new book: Draogn Keeper’s Cotillion. In which Anne and Wentworth settle in for the coming adventury with the Darcys.
March 21, 1815, Thames House, London
Anne squinted at the notes scrawled in pale pencil scratchings in the tiny notebook, sized to fit in a lady’s reticule, almost too small to be useful. There had to be some reason she had tried to write that down—whatever that was. She closed her eyes, leaned back and stretched, nearly knocking over the pile of books on Wentworth’s desk.
He had been the one who had insisted the modest study at Thames House was large enough for a second desk; the lady’s writing desk from the guest room upstairs would be ideal for her work; and it would be easy enough for them to share the office together.
Though his attitude was commendable, his assertions had been correct on exactly none of those counts.
The only way to fit the writing desk in the narrow room, that smelt of old books and dust from the bookcases on the far, short wall, was to create an ugly—but efficient—shoehorned arrangement with barely enough space to walk from the door to either desk. The writing desk—more a table with fancy scrolled legs than an actual desk—provided too little desktop to effectively hold the weighty, leather-bound tomes to which she repeatedly had to refer. Clearly, years at sea had affected his perceptions of adequate space.
And the fact that he muttered while he worked, and occasionally sang sea shanties under his breath, though not changing the fact he was a wonderful husband, made him a less than ideal office mate.
One more chorus of that particular ditty and she might smother him in his sleep tonight.
“Anne, dear, are you well?” The whispered singing stopped—thank heavens!—and Wentworth stared at her over the stack of books she had nearly knocked over.
She stood and offered him the tiny notebook. “Here, see if you can decipher what I wrote. You seem to be handy with ciphers.”
He squinted and turned the notebook upside down. “Perhaps it makes more sense this way,” and handed it back to her.
“Oh bother! Of course! Now I recall, in my haste to make note of what Mrs. Gardiner was saying—”
“You can hardly be criticized for wanting to remember the time and date for the final fitting for your Cotillion gown.” His eye twitched in the barest of winks. Heavens, he was hard to resist when he did that!
“Would it be terrible of me to say that I am so tired of Order-blue that I think I shall banish it from Kellynch-by-the-Sea?” The fact that the color itself was as horridly expensive as it was overused within the Order only made it easier to reject.
He chuckled. “You are ready to have that particular event behind us, are you not?”
“Profoundly.”
“It will be the last bit of good society we enjoy for some time, though. Should I rejoice or mourn?”
She tossed the notebook aside and squeezed her temples. “At the moment, I am not sorry for that.”
“What has happened? Did you—”
“Receive another summons to meet with the Cotillion Board? How did you know?”
“Did you know you mutter in your sleep?”
She pressed her palms to suddenly hot cheeks. “No, I had no idea!”
“It would not be a bad thing to talk to me about these things whilst you are awake.” He pushed back slightly from his cluttered desk and crossed his arms over his chest.
“You have far more important matters to be concerned about than—”
“Your concerns are important to me. Besides, you would be surprised to hear how often such information can be interconnected with ‘important things’ in ways one might not expect.”
“So, the she-dragons insisting I prove my minuet and quadrille steps are acceptable is somehow connected to the smuggling of dragon parts?” She leaned back in her chair and massaged her temples.
“That might not immediately be the case, but one never knows.”
“You are patronizing me—”
He stood, glowering. “I am most certainly not, and I take umbrage that you would suggest that.”
“Forgive me. I should not take it out on you that I am feeling out of my depth.” She gestured to the piles of books and notes and lists. “I do not know how Lady Elizabeth manages all that she does—”
“Might I remind you, she has a full house staff to manage nearly everything not associated with being the Dragon Sage. You cannot compare yourself to her.”
She laced her hands behind her neck and stared at the white plaster ceiling roses. “There are precious few other models to follow.”
“Anne.” He stepped an intricate dance around the desk and extended his hands toward her. “Anne, look at me.” He would not accept avoidance when he had that tone in his voice. “Are you sure this is what you want?”
She gulped hard and leaned back into her chair. If only his gaze did not look behind her mask and into places few had ever dared broach.
“You do not have to do this.”
“That is a very good theory.”
“It is true. Just say the word—”
“And what?” She glared at him, open hands spread wide. “The Order is going to miraculously find another literate, trustworthy correspondent who is capable of coordinating not only the information coming from the Somerset-Dorset region but the sea dragon talks as well? Oh yes, and whatever the passing fairy dragons might say. We cannot forget them. Considering all that is happening right now, from where is this person going to come?”
“It does not have to be you. You know that.”
She rubbed the heels of her hands into her eyes. “I know.”
“Then what do you want?”
She chuckled, stopping short of hysterical laughter. No, that was not going to help convince him of anything. “I would prefer to serve as Special Liaison all the while being happy and at ease about it.”
He knelt on the sliver of open floor beside her chair and pressed her hands to his face. “Not demanding at all, are you, Lady Wentworth?”
“It does not seem like so much to ask.”
He touched his forehead to hers. “Your family did not value your management nearly enough. You are entirely up to the task.”
“Even if my quadrille steps are insufficient?”
“The devil take those she-dragons! They are every bit as bad as your family, and I quite wish them the same fate! Do not pay them any mind. You are an official operative of the Order. What can they possibly do to you?”
Recent Comments