“Have you recovered yet from your first trip into Dreamland?” she asked in a low tone, turning her attention away from the gossip.
“Dreamland, perhaps. Seeing you in that theatrically scandalous outfit—now that I may never recover from.”
A burst of laughter surprised her, even as she felt her face flush. It had seemed entirely natural, once she was inside Dreamland, to transform her ordinary garments into the spectacularly flamboyant carnival-like attire she’d only ever imagined. But out here, in the waking realm, she was mildly horrified to discover she’d been so swept up in the moment that she’d revealed that part to Evryn.
“It was magnificent,” he said, his voice pitched low, genuine. “All of it. Every single moment.”
She stopped and looked up at him. “Do you?—”
“Lady Mariselle!” a shrill voice called out, startling her. She looked around and found Lady Locklear approaching, her daughter Cordelina trailing behind. “I simply must hear about your experience at the Blackbriar garden party last week. I heard the most fascinating gossip regarding their son’s abrupt and unexpected return to Bloomhaven that very morning.”
“I’m afraid I observed nothing particularly noteworthy,” Mariselle replied smoothly.
This was not entirely true. Lord Hadrian Blackbriar had indeed made quite the entrance, but Mariselle had been too absorbed in memorizing a particular enchantment for Dreamland’s dream core to pay much attention. Besides, she had no intention of feeding Bloomhaven’s insatiable appetite for gossip, especially when she herself had become one of its favorite courses.
“Really?” Lady Locklear’s expression fell. “How disappointing.”
“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.
