Dilligently at work on the new book! About 2/3 of the way through and it’s time for a first peek inside. Straight from the Dragon Lady’s desk!

August 23, 1815

Anne fastened her spencer and tied her hat in place with a double knot. It had taken some time, and an unfortunate toll on her headwear, to get accustomed to the constant wind so near the sea. Wentworth and Laconia paid it little mind, which made sense as it was as natural to them as the countryside was to her.

Wentworth kissed her goodbye and headed toward the sea cave whilst she turned toward Lyme. The crunchy graveled path she followed would soon melt into the steep, narrow road that traversed through the Spittles woods, past Kellynch-by-the-Sea and into town. She could have called for the coach to convey her the mile and a half, but she a display of wealth would have been unseemly, not to mention unnecessary wear on the equipage.

She turned her face to the sun, relishing its kiss on her cheeks. A gust of wind carried the smell of the woods to her, like a gift of something familar and homey. Yes, that was just what she needed. This was home now; it was nice when sometimes it felt that way, too.

Though she almost daily found new things to adjust to, Kellynch embraced his transition to an estate proper for a marine wyrm. He all but considered it a concert when the sea birds made their noisy calls; relished every whiff of salt air, all but basked in it; played in the crashing waves at high tide at each new moon, cavorting like tatzelwurmlings, Corn and Wall. In short, he was one very content dragon these days.

Such a transformation from the cross, resentful creature he had been at Kellynch Hall—all things considered, though, it was hard to hold that against him. Cheated by Cornwall and wronged by Lady Russel—no, it was Viola now. One day that new name would become second nature to her—any rational being would respond with ire. Vengeance would have been a more typical reaction for a dragon in his state. Perhaps the Order was recognizing his patience when they assigned him so desirable an estate. That was not the sort of thing that was said outright, but it seemed to explain some of the favor shown to such a low-ranking dragon.

There had been a few moments of concern that Kellynch would resent the lowly title of Laird, but with a newly titled seaman for a Keeper, and Corn and Wall as he own adoring dragon Friends—what other major dragon had minor dragon Friends?—what could possibly increase his contentment?

All told, those things were good. Yes, definitely good, exactly as they should be.

She glanced over her shoulder. The tidy, white manor peeked over the horizon, bidding her goodbye, and the road dropped lower and blocked the view.

It was a pleasant, generous house, though it did not compare to Kellynch Hall. Still, the household ran efficiently, with a proper budget and money being set aside for future crises—of which there were sure to be more than one. Without the worries of debt and a lavish lifestyle to maintain, the household was a joy to manage.

Yes, everything was good. Very good.

She sighed as her foot slipped on the gravel. This was the spot where one had to tread carefully to avoid a most embarrassing fall.

But even in that, she could hardly grumble. They had a road to the estate, and it was in good repair. Everything was good.

Good … oh, how she hated that simple word. That things were good made it difficult to confront that things were not perfect. It seemed self-centered to complain. But even if she did not complain, the fact remained: she was lonely.

How difficult that was to admit. How ungrateful it sounded, even in her own ears. But there it was.

At Kellynch Hall there had been Elizabeth and Lady Russell, who admittedly were not ideal companions, but they were present. And the Musgroves, and the tenants. There were ladies around her to take tea and share conversations about something other than sea-faring.

But here? Perhaps they had not been in Lyme long enough to meet the right people, but for now, it seemed that everyone had some connection to the sea. The sea but not dragons. That was the material point. Theirs was the only dragon estate near Lyme, and one of the few near the coast in the whole of England. Most landed dragons avoided the shore. No one really knew why, but they did.

One more reason that set her apart from her circle of acquaintance.

The one place she felt vaguely comfortable, the local Blue Order Office, was hardly the most welcoming. Magistrate Allenden’s draconic personality had ensured he had no dragon Friend either, only a secretary drake assigned by the Order, which probably made matters worse. Since there had been no dragon estates from which to draw a magistrate, he was one of the few from the mercantile class who served that office. An office he resented, perhaps even more strongly than most men called to serve in the role of magistrate.

The non-existent pay, the time it drew from his business, and the absence of personal connection to dragons made his resentment understandable. Understandable, but hardly tolerable. He was perpetually put out with his secretary, who, while competent, was young, inexperienced and, unfortunately, female.

Suffering a female secretary was bad enough. But dealing with Anne as well? He seemed to take umbrage at a mere woman holding a role as significant as a Special Liaison to the main London office. More than once she had heard him muttering under his breath that he was perfectly capable of managing such matters and it was an insult that the Order brought in someone else, much less a woman, to take on those responsibilities. Ironic, considering how little he wanted any dragon-related responsibilities.

Funny how many Order members seemed to forget that the preternatural hearing that allowed them to hear dragons also meant that other dragon-hearers easily overheard them? One would think that at the Order offices at least, which were populated solely by hearers, they would exercise a bit more caution. But then again, the offices were but a backroom, behind his imported goods, above which he lived. So there the entire arrangement lacked the isolation and privacy available here that were to be had in even a county office like Dorset.

Ah, well, perhaps it was for the best that she understood where Mr. Allenden stood and could set appropriate expectations.

The road paused at its lowest point just outside Lyme, making the town feel more daunting that it actually was. Houses, cottages, and shops dotted the sides of the street as it wound its way up to the top of the hill, where the Order Offices perched.

Mr. Allenden’s shop occupied a large four-story building at the intersection of three busy roads and two smaller lanes. An excellent location for a shop, benefiting from the traffic of vacationers on their holidays. Three dark-framed arched windows and a matching doorway punctuated the white stone front. A large, dark wooden sign with white letters that extended across the entire length of the building announced ‘Finest Imported Goods’. Above it, the mundane rectangular windows in the floors above had no framing, which focused attention on the shop below. Outside, shoppers gathered at the storefront, pointing to the various treasures and trinkets within. A steady stream of patrons came and left through the double front doors.

Anne nodded at the shoppers as she passed and four other pedestrians before she came to the narrow alley that led to the mews behind the shop. Dark and dreary, it would be later in the day before the sun got high enough to reach above the buildings and into the pinched mews. Several sheds and a well dotted the length of the alley as back doors and cellar stairs opened on to it. There, the blue painted door—a rather shabby painted one that needed at least a good cleaning, and probably a fresh coat of paint—marked the Blue Order office rooms for Lyme Regis.

Anne rang the bell by the door and waited. Some days it could be rather a long wait. Mr. Allenden often ignored it, with the excuse that he was serving his customers, which may or may not have been true. After a minute, she rang it twice more. The housekeeper upstairs listened for that signal and would come down to let Anne in.

The lock rattled and the blue door inched open. “Good morning, Lady Wentworth,” the housekeeper, Mrs. Frankel, nodded and ushered her inside.

Instead of an entry hall, the door opened into a long narrow room with two frosted windows into the mews and a compact fireplace complete with a dainty zaltys basket at the end. Odd chairs and tables, a small writing desk under a painting of the London Order Offices, and a few somber portraits implied this was a parlor of sorts. The doorway at the end led to a dark, slender hall that would take one to the records room, which doubled as the magistrate’s office, store front, and the stairs up to the living spaces upstairs.

“We’ve been expecting you. It has been quite some time since you’ve gotten your correspondence. I will put some tea on for you.” Short, plump, but not stout, with mounds of red curls peeking from under her mobcap, Mrs. Frankel was a force of nature. A gale on two legs that somehow left order rather than chaos in her wake. And Anne was not about to tell that windstorm she did not need tea this morning. Nor was she going to mention that her correspondence was supposed to be delivered to Kellynch-by-the-Sea if she did not make it in each week to pick it up herself. That was Mr. Allenden’s business, not Mrs. Frankel’s.

“There’s a spot of weather happening out in the shop. You may want to sit yourself down and catch your breath a moment while it passes.” Mrs. Frankel opened a modest cabinet near the tea table and pulled out a lovely painted tin. She pried off the lid it and set it on the table, filled with clear cakes, marzipan, lemon drops and barley sugar candy. “A little sweet to fortify you won’t hurt none either.”

Oh, that did not bode well. “Should I come back tomorrow?”

Mrs. Frankel’s brow knit and she bit her lower lip. Funny how clear it was when she was thinking. “As I recall, that pile of correspondence looked rather large. Might not want to let it set much longer, I dare say. Oy, Mist, there? You know where Cypher has gone off to?”

A dainty green zaltys, with cloudy grey spots, lifted her snake-like crested head. She glanced at Anne, lazily blinking her long eye-lashes, and nodded. “Good day, Lady Wentworth. The last I heard, Cypher was looking for recordsss in the attic. Shall I inform her that you are here for your lettersss?”

“That would be most agreeable.” Mrs. Frankel said and opened the hall door for the zaltys. “She’s quite a love, no?”

“Indeed. Have you been Friends for very long?”

“I met her on a trip to Bath when I was but a girl. We have been through a lot together, her and me.”

A pang that was most definitely not jealousy pinched Anne’s throat. “You are lucky to have one another.”

“That we are, Lady Wentworth. That we are.” A bell rang in the distance. “You will excuse me. I am needed.” Mrs. Frankel curtsied and hurried out.

What sort of ‘weather’ had Mrs. Frankel been hinting at? Was Allenden as ill-tempered with his customers as he was with Order members who required his attention? Not likely. It was probably a supplier or Blue Order complaint that had him in high dudgeon.

Cypher, a dusky red drake with darker markings that resembled cryptic symbols, scurried in with a satchel over her back. Around her neck she wore a Blue Order livery badge. “Good day, Lady Wentworth.”

“You seem rather out of breath. Are you well?”

Cypher looked up at her, her head cocked and turned sideways. “Forgive me, but that is an odd thing to ask.”

“May I ask why?”

“You suggest I have been running from a predator, that I am behaving like prey. It is … insulting.”

Anne pressed hands to her cheeks. “Oh gracious, I am sorry. I intended nothing of the sort. Pray forgive me.”

“Then what did you mean?” Cypher blinked several times.

What precisely did she mean? That was a good question. “Mrs. Frankel mentioned that there was ‘rough weather’ in the office today.”

“There was no weather to speak of. I imagine that was a figure of speech, yes?”

Anne nodded.

Cypher twitched her head and tail in time. “I will never understand why warm-bloods insist on speaking what is not true instead of what is. But yes, I suppose she might describe it in that way. Mr. Allenden is probably best not disturbed right now. Mist said you were in search of your correspondence?”

“Yes. It is supposed to be sent to me regularly.”

“Is that so? I thought you picked it up here.”

“I discussed the matter with Mr. Allenden myself.”

“Oh, I see.” Cypher worried her teeth against her bottom lip, her throat pouch inflating. “I was not aware. But the magistrate has been quite occupied. Perhaps it simply slipped his mind.”

“What has kept him so engaged? Is there Blue Order business of which I should be aware?”

“I do not know that it is Order business, madam. There are problems in the bay. The seamen and fishermen are upset and trying to organize some way to deal with matters. Since he has interests with many of them, he has offered to assist.”

“Is that what is occupying him right now?”

“I believe so. You need not be concerned about it, though. If you come with me, I can give you your correspondence. Come.” Cypher dropped to all fours and led her to the office. She pulled a key from her satchel and, stretching tall upon back legs, she fumbled with the lock and opened the door. Without thumbs, precise motions like those were difficult.

Only a trifling excuse for a window filtered light into the tiny room, more fit for a storage chamber than an office. A student-sized desk with a chair on either side stood in the middle. Bookshelves filled the window wall and locking cabinets lined the other two walls, leaving only enough space for one to walk around the desk. It reminded her of Wentworth’s descriptions of his quarter’s shipboard.

Cypher unlocked the first cabinet and removed a generous stack of letters.

Anne rushed to her side and caught them before they scattered on the floor. “Gracious! This is a considerable pile!”

“I can ask Mrs. Frankel for the use of a basket for you to bring them home with you if you would like,” Cypher said.

“Yes, I think that would be helpful.”

Cypher scampered out, and Anne turned to the desk. She made a quick sort of the letters. Several from the London Order Offices, one from the Dragon Sage. More than a few Keeper’s reports—Allenden conveniently directed all of them to her, now, without even opening them first, so thoughtful of him…

What was this? Something from Briarwood? Not just one, but three! She cracked the topmost seal and unfolded the paper. Dated almost a fortnight ago! How could Mr. Allenden have kept this from her for so long? Mean-spiritedness or simple disorganization.

She sank into a hard wooden chair as she scanned scanning the sheet. The Order Blue ink near the middle of the page stopped her as effectively as a stone wall.

Quickly, come quickly. The situation has become urgent.

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