Page 45 of Deals & Dream Spells (The Charmed Leaf Legacy #2)

“Indeed,” Mariselle agreed, eager to change the subject. She caught sight of Cordelina sending furtive glances toward Kazrian, who appeared oblivious to her attention. “Your daughter looks lovely this evening, Lady Locklear.”

The older woman immediately brightened. “Yes, doesn’t she? The shade was specially enchanted to complement her coloring.”

As Lady Locklear launched into an extensive monologue about the gown’s creation, Mariselle felt Evryn’s hand settle at the small of her back, a gesture that would appear affectionate to observers.

The warmth of his palm radiated through the fabric of her gown, steadying and somehow intimate despite its theatrical purpose.

All part of their charade, of course, but Mariselle found herself gravitating toward that warmth, her body shifting subtly into his touch like a flower seeking sunlight .

She would have to be careful not to act this way at tomorrow night’s birthday dinner.

Such casual intimacy would be unthinkable.

Her parents might reluctantly tolerate this engagement for appearances—and for whatever secrets they hoped she might extract from the Rowanwoods—but they would not stand for this sort of impropriety in their own home.

It would likely push them over the edge, causing them to do everything in their power to break the ‘soulbond’ immediately.

The mere thought of the impending family dinner sent a cold ripple of apprehension through her, dulling the pleasant warmth of Evryn’s touch.

Though at least her grandmother would be present tomorrow night to stand like an immovable wall between her and her parents.

Mariselle’s gaze swept across the crowded salon, instinctively searching for the familiar stern profiles of her parents. Even now, they might be watching.

Finding no sign of them among the guests, she allowed herself a small exhalation of relief and angled herself a little more toward Evryn.

He leaned close, his breath tickling her ear as he murmured, “I believe we’re being summoned to the music room.

” He nodded toward Lady Bridgemere, who was gesturing elegantly for her guests to proceed through the adjoining doors.

“Oh thank the stars,” Mariselle whispered back, relieved at the timely interruption. “If I had to hear one more word about the precise shade of seafoam green …”

“My sincerest apologies, Lady Locklear,” Evryn interrupted with a charming smile, “but I’m afraid I must steal my fiancée away. Lady Bridgemere is beckoning us to the music room.”

“Of course, of course,” Lady Locklear simpered, casting a speculative glance between them. “You two are simply inseparable these days, aren’t you? Such a dramatic change from your previous interactions.”

“Dramatic indeed,” Evryn replied, his smile never wavering. “Never a dull moment when a Brightcrest and a Rowanwood are in the same room.”

Mariselle allowed him to guide her away, aware of his hand still resting against her back. “That woman is determined to extract some scandalous tidbit from us,” she muttered once they were out of earshot.

“The entire Bloom Season runs on scandal and speculation,” Evryn replied dryly. “Without it, I suspect half of Bloomhaven would expire from sheer boredom.”

The Bridgemeres’ music room proved to be a marvel of magical acoustics.

The domed ceiling was inlaid with intricate patterns that caught and amplified sound waves—if one were to believe Lady Bridgemere’s effusive dissertation on the subject, delivered with the passionate intensity of someone who had personally invented sound itself—while the walls were paneled in rare imported resonance wood.

Cushioned settees, elegant armchairs, and small clusters of stools had been arranged to provide optimal viewing of the raised performance area, where a magnificent piano crafted from pale luminescent wood took center stage.

Evryn guided Mariselle toward a pair of armchairs positioned to one side of the room.

The space gradually filled with Bloomhaven’s elite, the low hum of conversation creating a pleasant backdrop as everyone settled into their seats.

Mariselle caught sight of several matrons casting curious glances in their direction, their heads bent together in whispered conversation.

“We remain the subject of considerable speculation,” she observed.

“Would you expect anything less?” Evryn asked, his expression amused. “I expect our ‘soulbond’ shall provide fodder for gossip for years to come.”

“Months,” Mariselle corrected, keeping her voice low. “Once we’ve completed our project, we can announce the dissolving of our engagement.”

Something flickered across Evryn’s features—too quickly for her to interpret—before his usual mask of casual charm returned. “Of course. How could I forget our temporary arrangement?”

Before she could respond, Lady Bridgemere stepped onto the raised platform. “Honored guests,” she began, “welcome to our humble home. Tonight, we are delighted to share our newly renovated music room and the exceptional talents of several distinguished performers.”

The first few performances proved pleasant if unremarkable.

A young lord performed a competent but uninspired rendition of a popular ballad on the celestial stringed bow, followed by twin sisters whose harmonized singing was technically accurate but lacked genuine emotion.

Then came one of the younger Bridgemere sons, whose violin playing was so painfully off-key that Mariselle had to press her lips together firmly to suppress her reaction.

She felt rather than saw Evryn’s shoulders shaking with silent laughter beside her. When she dared a glance in his direction, she found him studiously examining the floor, though the corners of his mouth twitched tellingly .

“Stop it,” she whispered, fighting her own amusement. “It’s dreadfully impolite.”

“I’m merely appreciating his … unique interpretation,” Evryn whispered back, still not looking at her.

“His unique attempt to murder that poor composition, you mean.”

A snort of laughter escaped him, quickly disguised as a cough. Several heads turned in their direction, and Mariselle adopted an expression of concerned attention as she patted Evryn’s arm solicitously.

“Perhaps some water, my love?” she suggested, loud enough to be overheard.

“I’ll be fine, my precious pearl,” he replied, matching her volume. “Simply overcome by the moving performance.”

When the Bridgemere boy finally concluded his assault on musical sensibilities, Mariselle joined in the polite applause with perhaps more enthusiasm than warranted, relieved the ordeal had ended.

Evryn leaned in until his lips nearly brushed her ear. “I’m beginning to think we should reconsider Aurelise’s participation tonight. Far from beneficial exposure, this display might actively corrupt her musical sensibilities.”

A quiet laugh bubbled up from Mariselle’s throat before she could contain it as she inclined her head in agreement. In that moment of conspiracy, she almost forgot they were meant to be pretending.

A subtle shift in the atmosphere drew her attention toward the entrance, where a ripple of whispers and movement indicated the arrival of someone significant. Mariselle turned to look, her breath catching slightly as she recognized the newcomers—the High Lady herself, accompanied by Prince Ryden.

She moved through the room with effortless grace, acknowledging greetings with regal nods as she made her way toward the seat that had evidently been reserved for her near the front.

Her son followed in her wake, his posture relaxed yet somehow still managing to convey the proper deference to his mother’s position.

“I wouldn’t have thought the High Lady would be interested in attending a private musicale,” Marisela said under her breath.

“Nor I,” Evryn replied. “Though it’s clear she was invited, and I supposed she does occasionally grace certain events with her presence if she finds them of interest. ”

As the High Lady seated herself, Ryden continued a few steps further, coming to a halt beside Evryn’s chair.

“Rowanwood,” he greeted quietly, his tone casual. “Mind if I join you?”

“Your Highness,” Evryn replied with a slight nod. “Not at all.”

The prince dropped into the empty chair on Evryn’s other side, stretching out his long legs with a sigh. “Mother insisted I accompany her tonight,” he explained in a low voice. “Apparently, my continued absence from ‘appropriate social engagements’ has become concerning.”

“How fortunate for us all,” Evryn remarked.

“Lady Brightcrest,” the prince acknowledged, leaning forward slightly to catch her eye. “You’re looking well. The blue hair is an interesting choice. I approve, of course.” He gestured to his own midnight-toned hair.

“Thank you, Your Highness. It’s a cleverly disguised enchantment that reduces wind resistance during high-speed flight,” she added without missing a beat. “I look forward to putting it to use during our next race.”

“Ah, yes, we’ve missed your presence in our nocturnal adventures,” Ryden said with a roguish grin. “Particularly the delightful spectacle of Rowanwood’s wounded pride whenever you best him.”

“It was only three times,” Evryn muttered. “Hardly worth mentioning.”

“Four,” Mariselle corrected sweetly. “And once the whirlwind of wedding preparations subsides, I intend to make it five. Savor your temporary reprieve, gentlemen.”

Lady Bridgemere had returned to the platform, hands clasped dramatically at her breast as she gushed about the unprecedented honor of the High Lady’s attendance.

Mariselle settled back in her chair, half listening as the conversation between Evryn and the prince continued in hushed tones beside her.

“Speaking of wedding preparations,” Ryden continued, “are they progressing to your satisfaction? Mother keeps asking for details, as if I’m somehow privy to your intimate affairs.”

“Everything is proceeding splendidly,” Evryn replied.