The Dragon's Match

I

I

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚ ˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

England, 1841

Addilyn Sybil Heatherington bumped into an imposing marble statue of some half-clad Roman goddess and mistook it for a real human.

Rubbing her shoulder from the jarring impact, she mumbled a hurried apology to the inanimate lady and continued on her way towards the drawing room in the expansive Ravensfield manor house, the rooms she had been substituting as her meeting chambers in the interim - at least until something more permanent took root.

If she had time to even establish that.

"I am quite sure that Minerva does not need your apologies," Finnegan Holt muttered, amused, as he joined her.

Addy glanced up sharply, and then quickly surveyed her surroundings. She had lost track of the time, again, and had her nose buried in the wealth of applications streaming into the Anxious Hearts Society's matchmaking service. There was more than she could possibly process in a short space of time and, between her and Finnegan Holt- her "faux" husband and very real confidante- they were only just managing to filter and accept clientele at a pace that kept everybody satisfied.

She noted the polished wooden tablet tucked under his arm, the single sheaf of enchanted parchment lifting at the edges with the slightest breeze from their brisk walk. "I beg your pardon?" Addy blinked up at him, perplexed. She had forgotten what she was about.

A concerned frown crossed his brow then, his wide lips pulling tight. "Addy, when was the last time you had an adequate night's sleep?"

"Just last night," she trilled happily. "Several hours, at least." She promptly bumped into yet another blasted statue, this one with more velocity that sent the expensive decoration teetering on its pedestal. Thankfully, Finn was more alert and nimble than she and caught the statue before it came crashing down about their toes.

Setting it straight and ensuring its stability, he gave her an exceedingly droll look. It was not an effort on his part- he was quite droll and lazily boyish in his appeal in general, and more often than not she was on the receiving end of one of his signature laconic looks.

"Fine," she relented, mimicking his pose and tucking her own tablet under her arm. "Two hours, I believe."

"God, Addy-"

"I am fine, Mr Holt," she told him firmly, continuing down the hall. "There are new applications to assess every day now, with an avid interest rising from our human clientele specifically." She glanced at him askance, noting once more the tablet tucked under his arm. "Have the next round of male applicants faired suitably?"

Finn snorted, deigning not to respond to that.

Addy huffed a sigh. The male applicants were by and by eager and optimistic faeborns, intrigued by the allure of companionship and the surging interest of the human women clients. This stemmed from fervent rumours about Lady Mildred Ravensfield finding her love-match with the exotically handsome and romantically possessive Draëllian beastkeeper who was always spotted close to her side in public and not averse to extending any form of physical affection towards his tempestuous human bride.

Who would have thought that women would be susceptive to an openly doting husband?

It had been an unprecedented boon to Addy's failing business that she had allied herself to Lady Ravensfield, especially during the young duchess's time of strife but a few weeks ago. In a show of gratitude, Mildred Adams had insisted that Addilyn linger on close to her side as advisor and, more recently, friend. As it stood, Addy had taken Lady Ravensfield up on her offer to handle proceedings of the matchmaking service from the massive ducal seat on the premise that it was lavish and extensive- and it was some distance from London, allowing her time to meet with less clients each day who would traverse from the city upon mutually agreeable meeting dates and allow Addy and Finn more time to screen the applicants.