A Proper Dragon: A Regency Gaslamp Fantasy (Dragons of Mayfair Book 1) by E.B. Wheeler

Author:E.B. Wheeler [Wheeler, E.B.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Rowan Ridge Press
Published: 2021-06-10T22:00:00+00:00

Chapter Fifteen

Aunt Seraphina was distressed to learn that the strange man had been seen around the house again, but she was determined not to let it ruin Phoebe’s social success.

“I believe it may be the work of someone jealous of how well you have taken,” she said.

“But Jamie broke into my room before my presentation.”

Her aunt wrinkled her forehead at this. “True. Then, someone who dislikes newcomers to the social scene. Either way, we will not let him stop us.”

Phoebe doubted her aunt’s wisdom in this matter, but her uncle hired an extra manservant specifically to patrol the premises, and Phoebe did not wish to end up locked in the house like Deborah, so she let her aunt guide her.

Her next social engagement was the first of several musicales where she was asked to perform for her peers of the haut ton. Her piece was to be last—a grand finale. She wanted to wear her mother’s opal bracelet for good luck but didn’t dare if it might attract thieves or other criminals.

She sat through the other performances with none of her usual enjoyment of the music. The back of her neck crawled as if everyone were staring at her. All she could think of was what would happen if she sat at the piano and her magic did not manifest itself. None of her skills on the keys would make up for the audience’s disappointment.

“Help me, Mushroom,” she whispered to the dragon as she took her place at the piano, but the dragon only stretched on the top of the piano and batted a foreclaw at the candlelight reflecting off the glossy finish.

Phoebe took a deep breath and played a lively toccata, much more cheerful than the piece she had performed at the Queen’s Drawing-room. Lights jumped up around her, dancing and swirling in time to the music. A few appreciative whispers rose, but this was nothing like the bright images she had conjured at the drawing-room. Of course, then her emotions had been in a whirl of terror and—yes—anger with Lord Westing for making her feel foolish.

She glanced at the audience. Several of them fidgeted with fans or tugged at watch fobs. Lady Millicent smirked and whispered something to Lady Amelia, who watched with a gleam of pity in her eyes. And there, towards the back, Phoebe spotted a head of white-blond hair. Why did Lord Westing have to be there for her embarrassment?

The balls of light around her burst apart into swarms of glowing bees buzzing to the beat of the music and zipping around the room. Gasps echoed through the audience. A few ladies shrieked and ducked, and Phoebe had to bite her lip to keep from laughing. It was just light. Unlike the more substantial elements, it couldn’t hurt anyone.

When the song ended, she received roaring applause, and a rush of people came to congratulate her. She would not tell them, of course, that she hadn’t done any of it on purpose. She glanced around for Lord Westing, but Mr.

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