Page 38 of Deals & Dream Spells (The Charmed Leaf Legacy #2)
Chapter Sixteen
Mariselle’s first drowsy thought upon waking the following morning was that someone had apparently replaced her silk pillowcase with something that looked remarkably like the Brightcrest family banner—until she realized with mounting horror that the brilliant blue fabric cascading across her pillow was, in fact, attached to her head.
She shot upright, yanking a lock of hair before her eyes. The azure blue strand dangled between her fingers like a vivid declaration of magical mischief.
“Evryn Rowanwood,” she hissed, her voice a venomous whisper. The bracelet. That wretched, beautiful, enchanted bracelet he had presented her with yesterday afternoon. She’d only worn it while at Rowanwood House and in the carriage ride home, but clearly that had been long enough.
Mariselle scrambled from her bed and flew to her vanity, where the looking glass confirmed her worst suspicions. Her hair—her glorious honey-gold hair that had been the envy of half the young ladies in Bloomhaven—now resembled the sky above a cerulean sea.
“Oh, my lady!” Tilly gasped as she entered with a tray bearing Mariselle’s morning tea, nearly dropping it at the sight of her mistress. “Whatever has happened to your?—”
“It appears,” Mariselle said with deadly calm, “that my betrothed possesses a rather juvenile sense of humor.”
“Your … do you mean Lord Rowanwood? But he is so devoted to you, my lady.”
Mariselle silently cursed her careless tongue. There in a single unguarded moment, she’d nearly unraveled all her careful pretense. She composed her features into a mask of fond exasperation and released a tinkling laugh that she hoped disguised her momentary panic.
“Oh, forgive my temper, Tilly. What I meant is that this was an unfortunate accident. Lord Rowanwood presented me with the most exquisite silver bracelet yesterday, set with sapphires that match precisely this … unexpected hue. He acquired it at Vesper’s Curiosities faint lines still traced the path of each individual shard from when it had shattered.
It seemed the enchantment required more time to mend completely.
With a small sigh, she returned the mirror to its velvet-lined compartment and closed the drawer with a gentle click, then reached past the side of her vanity and pulled the silver bell-cord that would summon one of the household pixies.
Then she quickly penned a note to Petunia requesting her presence in the greenhouse as soon as possible.
For Evryn, however, she crafted their customary coded message.
A seemingly innocent lover’s note that would appear to anyone else as mere sentimental drivel:
My dearest, the nightveil orchids we discussed remind me of your eyes when you smile. Perhaps I shall dream of them tonight. Yours in tender affection, M.
She had just finished when a faint tap at her door signaled the arrival of the pixie.
She crossed the room and opened the door to find the tiny blue-tinged creature on the other side.
The pixie froze mid-hover, its wings stuttering in shock as it registered her transformed appearance.
It emitted a piercing chime of surprise that made Mariselle wince.
She fixed it with a withering stare that brooked no comment on matters beyond its station.
“Please take this directly to Lady Petunia next door,” she instructed the pixie, handing over the first note. “And place this one in the hollow stone by the front gate for the messenger pixie service to collect on their morning rounds. Thank you.”
With the pixie gone, Mariselle dressed quickly, deciding not to wait for Tilly’s return.
She struggled with the buttons at the back of her day dress, then resorted to a minor fastening charm that coaxed them into place—an unladylike shortcut her mother would never have approved of.
“Magic is no substitute for the proper dressing skills of one’s lady’s maid,” she’d say.
But Lady Clemenbell wasn’t here right now .
Mariselle twisted her transformed blue locks into a serviceable chignon, securing it with two enchanted pins that immediately tightened and adjusted themselves to hold every strand in place.
She examined her reflection with a critical eye, then cautiously opened her door and peered into the hallway.
Evasion was now the priority. Her mother and Ellowa would be taking their breakfast in the sunroom, no doubt dissecting the previous evening’s gossip, and her father was probably already locked away in his study with his endless correspondence.
That left the rarely used west lounge as her escape route—a chamber with worn velvet settees and bookshelves crammed with generations of eclectic reading material.
Mariselle had always favored its cozy, comfortable disarray, but Lady Clemenbell had declared it ‘hopelessly provincial’ and ‘unsuitable for anyone worth impressing’ years ago.
Mariselle slipped through the corridors, pausing at corners and ducking behind elaborate crystal flower arrangements whenever a servant appeared.
At last, she reached the west lounge, pushing open the heavy oak door with a sigh of relief.
To her surprise, the usually dim chamber was flooded with morning light, the heavy velvet curtains pulled back and windows flung wide.
The unexpected brightness momentarily dazzled her.