Jenkins shook his head and changed the subject. "But certain people don't seem at all pleased by my presence."
"Really?"
Miss Hersha started, a look of bewildered surprise on her face. "Are they jealous of your talent?" she guessed in a hushed tone. "I heard your book has been flying off the shelves in the city lately. It's almost impossible to find a copy."
"Oh, is it?"
Jenkins chuckled bashfully, his mind drifting to how much money he might make. At the sa ti, he found the noble lady before him, who feigned the deanor of a timid young girl, rather amusing.
How could anyone who had beco an Enchanter and witnessed so many bizarre abilities and rituals possibly maintain such a personality?
As he spoke, he discreetly activated his Eye of Reality, trying to get a look at her and see if she possessed any supernatural items.
He had barely blinked, activating the ability with a simple ntal suggestion, when Miss Hersha let out a soft cry, clutching her chest as she stumbled back a few steps.
"What's wrong?"
He hastily deactivated the ability.
"I don't know."
The young woman glanced around nervously as servants, having heard her cry, began to approach from a distance. "I felt like sothing was watching just now," she said, her voice trembling slightly. "It was a horrible feeling... Mr. Williams, would you mind escorting back to the drawing-room? With all the rumors of hauntings lately, I'm a little frightened..."
A faint blush colored her cheeks, and he couldn't tell if it was from genuine shyness or a masterful performance.
Jenkins, ever the gentleman, agreed to her request. He knew, however, that the girl must have incredibly sharp instincts. He had activated his ability right in front of her and had been careless enough to get caught. He would have to be more careful in the future.
Luckily for him, she had not realized the culprit was standing right before her.
Around eight o'clock, Jenkins found himself standing by a window, discussing his fairy tales with a few young ladies whose nas he could not recall. Each ti he reached the part where the little rmaid dissolves into sea foam, the noblewon would let out soft gasps of wonder.
"I'm not very fond of that story."
Miss Mikhail and Miss Hersha, wine glasses in hand, approached. Though the young won Jenkins had been speaking with kept smiling, their deanor suddenly grew more reserved.
"Why? Because it's a tragedy?"
Jenkins inquired.
He, too, held a delicate wine glass, though it was purely for show. He had not touched a drop of the red wine inside.
"But life isn't always a cody," he mused. "After so many stories with happy endings, I felt I had to write sothing different."
"You think so?"
Miss Mikhail winked at him. "I also took it as a warning to young girls: don't be so quick to trust a man's love."
Jenkins nearly choked, his breath catching in his throat.
He gave a light chuckle. "Everyone has their own interpretation. That's perfectly normal."
"Mr. Williams, have you considered writing a book about the love between a prince and a princess?"
Seeing an opening in the conversation between Jenkins and Briny Mikhail, one of the young won who had been talking with him earlier asked excitedly.
"That, um, I'm still considering it."
He did not dare commit, well aware of his own limitations. Coming up with stories was easy enough, but his prose still left sothing to be desired.
The host of the reading salon, the duke's third son, cleared his throat to draw everyone's attention.
"Ladies and gentlen, first, I'd like to thank you all for attending this gathering. I am deeply honored by your presence."
Jenkins could not quite recall the man's na. Wellington? Welington? Weggins?
"Since this is a reading salon, we ought to do sothing fitting. As it happens, many talented young authors are among us tonight. Why don't we decide on a the and take turns telling a short story, right here and now?" ＲÁNỖꞖĚš
Naturally, no one objected. The whole thing had likely been arranged beforehand, and everyone had co prepared.
"Alright then, since everyone agrees, let's begin!"
"Wait!"
A young man in silk stockings and a powdered face spoke up. "Since so many of us are taking part, shouldn't there be a prize?"
This was the height of fashion at the ti, a highly influential style among the youth. In contrast, Jenkins's more traditional gentlemanly attire would have been seen by so as rather dated.
"A symptom of a sick era."
Jenkins thought to himself, pegging the man as a plant for the duke's son.
"An excellent point!"
Mr. Wellington—or Weggins—exclaid dramatically. He then produced a beautiful gemstone earring from his pocket and held it aloft. He had, indeed, co prepared.
"Then allow to provide the prize," he declared. "This earring will be a gift for tonight's finest storyteller."
A few soft gasps rippled through the crowd. This ti, Jenkins suspected the reactions were genuine. The earring was adorned with an exceptionally rare, solid orange gemstone.
"I should probably just lay low. Best not to draw attention."
He thought to himself, lowering his head with a nonchalant air. But then a flicker of suspicion caught him. He blinked and saw a faint yellow glow emanating from the gemstone.
"Well, since I ca here with Miss Mikhail and Miss Hersha, I can't very well disgrace them. That wouldn't be very gentlemanly."
Jenkins told himself, lifting his head with a confident smile.
To create a more suitable atmosphere, they had the servants draw the curtains, extinguish the candles in the overhead chandelier and the gas lamps on the walls, and light a fire in the hearth.
A plush wool rug was spread before the hearth, and sofas and rocking chairs were arranged in a semicircle upon it. The ladies and gentlen promptly took their seats.
Miss Mikhail and Miss Hersha sat next to Jenkins.
"Mr. Williams, are you confident you'll win?"
The timid Miss Hersha whispered.
Jenkins gave a slight nod, adjusting his bow tie with his right hand. "Don't you worry," he said. "Leave it to !"
"Then, I, Daniel Wellington, will decide the the."
A charming smile played on the young duke's face as his eyes swept over the expectant crowd, finally coming to rest on Jenkins.
"Sumr may be drawing to a close, but on a tranquil evening like this, telling ghost stories by the fire has a certain elegance to it. Therefore, let our the be... horror!"
A slight smile touched the corners of Jenkins's lips.
He could feel the eyes of those around him turn his way. After all, he was a writer of fairy tales. This the, by any asure, was clearly aid at him.
But what of it?
Miss Mikhail looked as if she was about to object to the the, but Jenkins discreetly tugged at her sleeve. He gave her a smile, silently signaling that there was no need to worry.
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