“Oh, I sincerely hope not, my little lavender teacake,” he said, his smile widening. “We have an entire Season of such performances ahead of us. And I do hope you’ll keep the flowers close by. They were enchantedespeciallyfor you.”
Chapter Ten
The last thingMariselle expected when she woke the following morning was to find herself nearly entombed beneath what could only be described as a botanical invasion of truly spectacular proportions.
She had gone to sleep the previous evening with Evryn’s enchanted bouquets arranged around her bedchamber. The roses on her writing desk, the orchids adorning her vanity table, the purple blooms gracing the windowsill, and the melodic yellow flowers positioned on a small table in the far corner where their humming would provide the least disturbance to her slumber.
In the carriage on the way home, her mother had insisted the ‘Rowanwood floral monstrosities’ remain confined to Mariselle’s chambers, expressing concern that they might somehow be designed to spy upon the Brightcrest household. Mariselle had thought this absurdly paranoid. Nevertheless, she had fully intended to dispose of the unwanted flora at the earliest opportunity, preferably by launching them from her window with enough force to knock out a gossip bird or two. Spy-flowers or common blooms, she wanted no part of Evryn’s theatrical declarations of affection cluttering her private space.
But then Tilly had swept into Mariselle’s room after the family’s return from Solstice Hall with a delighted gasp and proceeded to arrange thebouquets before Mariselle could stop her. She had watched, paralyzed, uncertain how to explain that she wished to unceremoniously evict these perfectly lovely flowers from the man she was supposedly infatuated with. So, against her better judgement, she had left them.
By dawn, the flowers had multiplied with such enthusiastic vigor that Mariselle had awakened to find herself buried beneath cascading blooms, their stems having stretched and twisted throughout the night to create what resembled a floral prison. The roses had spawned dozens of offspring, the orchids had produced trailing vines that draped from every available surface, while the purple blooms had apparently decided to colonize her entire floor. As for the melodious yellow flowers, their whereabouts remained a mystery, their gentle humming now lost somewhere within the wild labyrinth of plants.
Mariselle’s indignant shrieks had brought Tilly rushing into the chamber, where it had taken an embarrassingly large amount of time for the poor maid to extricate her mistress from the floral prison. The subsequent task of removing the multiplied blooms from her chambers had required the assistance of three additional household staff and multiple enchanted wheelbarrows.
Lady Clemenbell had observed the proceedings from the hallway, her gaze radiating cold fury, while Mariselle affected an air of lighthearted amusement that felt brittle even to her own ears. “Such passionate devotion!” she’d exclaimed with a forced laugh. “How fortunate I am to have captured the heart of a suitor with such abundant enthusiasm.”
The words tasted false on her tongue, but she clung to her pretense of delighted bemusement while silently entertaining fantasies of pushing both Evryn and his mounds of enchanted flora off the Elderbloom Park bridge and into the Silverflow River.
Now, hours later, Mariselle sat in the pristine tranquility of Windsong Cottage, her jaw still clenched with indignation as she waited for the architect of her morning’s humiliation to make his inevitable appearance. She had already spent considerable time examining all the documents she’d pulled from the shelves two nights before with Petunia’s help, separating the architectural plans and technical specifications relevant to Evryn’s particular magical abilities into their own pile.
She’d begun to examine the dream magic materials as well, appreciatingher grandfather’s meticulous attention to detail. His careful record-keeping meant she could bypass his extensive experimentation and numerous failures, proceeding directly to the methods that had ultimately proven effective.
The sound of approaching footsteps drew her attention toward the front door. She straightened in her chair, smoothed her hands over her skirts, and arranged her features into an expression of stern disapproval. The door opened to reveal Evryn Rowanwood, looking pleased with himself as usual. His dark hair was windswept form riding, and his storm-gray eyes held that familiar glint of mischief that never failed to set her teeth on edge.
“Good evening, my enchanted puffling,” he said with exaggerated warmth, sweeping into an elaborate bow. “I trust you slept well last night after the ball?”
Mariselle rose from her chair, crossing her arms over her chest as she fixed him with a withering stare. “I suppose you found that vastly amusing.”
“You’ll need to be more specific,” he replied, his tone infuriatingly pleasant. He closed the door behind him and removed his riding gloves. “I find many things amusing.”
“Your little botanical prank,” she clarified, her patience fraying further. “I awoke to find myself nearly entombed beneath a veritable garden of your enchanted monstrosities! The wretched things multiplied like spring rabbits overnight. I required rescue from my own bedchamber!”
Evryn’s eyebrows rose in apparent surprise, though the corner of his mouth twitched with barely suppressed mirth. “How extraordinary. It was my understanding that those particular varieties flourish in the presence of warmth and affection. I confess I expected them to wither entirely in such inhospitable surroundings as Brightcrest Manor.”
“You knew precisely what would happen.”
“I may have mentioned to the florist that I desired enchantments possessing particularly … vigorous properties.” He shrugged, the picture of innocence, as he took a few casual steps toward her. “How was I to know they would prove quite so enthusiastic in their growth?”
“You are incorrigible,” she hissed.
“Thank you,” he replied with a small bow. “I do try.”
“You—” Mariselle bit off the remainder of her retort, recognizing that rising to his bait would only provide him with further entertainment. There was also the fact that she still required his cooperation, despite his infuriatingdemeanor. It would serve no purpose to throttle him before he had fulfilled his part in restoring Dreamland. Afterward, perhaps.
“If you’re quite finished congratulating yourself on your childish pranks,” she said, turning back to the table and snatching up the pile of rolled-up scrolls and leather portfolios thick with architectural drawings, “we have actual work to accomplish this evening.”
She thrust the documents into his hands with enough force that he had to take a step backward. “I was here two nights ago and spent most of the evening examining every document I could find. Those contain all the technical specifications for the lumyrite network infrastructure that powered the original Dreamland. The instructions for how each crystal formation must be shaped and positioned are detailed therein. I trust you’ll find them comprehensible enough.”
Evryn grasped for a wayward scroll that had begun its descent toward the floor, his expression shifting from amusement to something resembling dismay. “All of this is for me?”
“Indeed.” Mariselle returned to her seat, reaching for another volume. “You’ll need to conduct a thorough examination of what remains of the original structure, determine what can be salvaged, and calculate what must be created anew. One of those portfolios contains detailed inventories of the original lumyrite installations, so you’ll have precise specifications for replacement components.”
“You cannot possibly expect me to manage all of this independently,” Evryn protested. “The scope of work here would require months, even with a full team of experienced craftsmen.”
Mariselle looked up, eyebrows arched. “Your great-uncle managed it perfectly well. I fail to see why you should find it beyond your capabilities.”
“Yes, but?—”
