“Yes, thank you,” Mariselle replied, already anticipating the confrontation that awaited her come morning. “I have a feeling I’ll need all my wits about me.”
Tilly departed, and Mariselle removed the remainder of her garments—which Tilly would discreetly launder the next day—before stepping into thebath and lowering herself with a sigh. The warm water, scented with wild jasmine and enchanted twilight herb, soothed her aching muscles and washed away the evidence of her evening’s adventure.
Though she was tempted to linger, anticipation bubbled through her veins. She couldn’t possibly luxuriate when Petunia remained unaware of the night’s extraordinary developments. With quick motions, she worked vanilla-scented soap through her hair and scrubbed away every trace of soil and blood.
After drying herself with swift pats of a plush towel, Mariselle slipped into her nightgown and robe, then hurried to her bedside table. From the drawer, she withdrew a small hand mirror framed in delicate silver filigree, one of a pair she and her cousin Petunia—the only person she truly trusted—had discovered in an oddities shop years ago. The mirrors were enchanted to allow communication between their bearers.
“Petunia,” Mariselle whispered urgently, pressing her palm flat against the glass before peering into its surface. “Petunia, are you there?” The mirror’s surface darkened, then return to his previously glassy reflection. She set it down on the bedside table and leaned over it as she pulled her damp hair over one shoulder and began braiding it.
For another few moments, the mirror reflected only Mariselle’s own face, cheeks flushed from her warm bath. Then the surface rippled like disturbed water, and Petunia’s face appeared, auburn hair falling in loose waves around her shoulders.
“Where in all the realms have you been?” Petunia demanded without preamble. “Did you go off on one of your nighttime rides? On the night of the Opening Ball? I was sooooo bored without you. Mother paraded me before every eligible bachelor with a pulse, and I had to feign interest in the most tedious conversations imaginable. Fortunately she developed a convenient headache and insisted we return home early, so now?—”
“Petunia, you’ll never guess what happened,” Mariselle interrupted. “I raced Evryn Rowanwood again, and I won, naturally, but then we?—”
A sudden commotion from elsewhere in the house cut her off mid-sentence. A familiar voice—her mother’s—rose in a piercing call. “Mariselle! Mariselle, where are you?”
Panic fluttered in Mariselle’s chest. “Oh no!” she hissed. “I have to go!” In her haste to scramble off the bed, the mirror slipped from her grasp and hitthe floor with a dreadful crack. The glass splintered into a dozen glittering shards that scattered across the floorboards.
“No, no, no,” Mariselle moaned, dropping to her knees and frantically attempting to gather the pieces. The swift sound of approaching footsteps sent her into a fresh panic. With no time to properly clean up the mess, she hastily swept the fragments beneath her bed with one slippered foot mere moments before her chamber door flew open without so much as a courtesy knock.
“There you are,” Lady Clemenbell declared, her voice as cold and cutting as the night air above Bloomhaven. She stood framed in the doorway, her copper-toned hair still arranged in an immaculate coronet of braids, not a single strand daring to stray from its appointed place. “Would you care to explain why you departed Solstice Hall without a word to anyone?”
Mariselle smoothed her nightgown with hands that threatened to tremble. She had hoped for the remainder of the night to carefully consider how best to present her news, to rehearse her words until they sounded convincing, but it seemed the revelation couldn’t wait. “I—yes. Something has happened, Mother. Something … entirely unexpected.”
“Indeed?” Her mother stepped into the room, sharp eyes taking in Mariselle’s freshly bathed appearance. “Curious, that this ‘unexpected’ event allowed you sufficient time for a bath but not the courtesy of informing your family of your whereabouts.”
“I … I needed to think. It all happened so quickly.”
Lady Clemenbell groaned, her eyes rolling skyward as though seeking divine patience. “For stars’ sake, Mariselle, if you’re referring to Lord Bridgemere requesting your hand for the first dance before the presentations began, then yes, we were all rather surprised.” She adjusted the folds of her evening gown with a dismissive flick of her wrist. “It was indeed unexpected that someone of his station would show interest in you, with your limited magic. But it signifies nothing of consequence. He likely acted on some wager or momentary whim. Nothing will come of it, so there’s hardly anything to contemplate. You should have remained focused on prospects that might actually materialize into something.”
“Actually, Mother, that wasn’t quite?—”
“You have embarrassed us, Mariselle,” her mother continued. “The elder Lady Titterleaf inquired after you specifically, and I wasforced to fabricate an excuse for your absence. Do you have any idea how that reflects upon our family? Upon your sister?”
“I—”
“Your actions have consequences beyond yourself. Ellowa is working tirelessly to secure an advantageous match, and your behavior reflects upon her prospects.”
As if summoned by the mention of her name, Ellowa appeared in the doorway, making no attempt to disguise her irritation. Her golden hair—so similar to Mariselle’s—had been styled in an elaborate arrangement of curls and pearl pins that must have taken her lady’s maid an hour to perfect.
“Have you beenherethe entire time?” Ellowa demanded. “Do you have any idea how difficult it was to explain your sudden departure? Lady Fawnwood asked me directly if you were unwell, and when I said I wasn’t certain, she looked at me as though I were the most negligent sister imaginable!”
Mariselle swallowed the urge to point out that Ellowa was, in fact, a rather negligent sister.
“I told you we were to remain at the ball until its conclusion,” Lady Clemenbell continued. “This sort of behavior is precisely why we’ve struggled to find suitable prospects for you. Your sister, despite being only one year older, conducts herself with appropriate decorum at all times. She understands her obligations to this family.”
“Yes, Mother,” Mariselle replied automatically, the words worn smooth from years of repetition.
“Last Season was a disappointment,” her mother pressed on. “Your magical demonstration was adequate at best, and your subsequent behavior did little to recommend you to potential suitors. This Season represents an opportunity to rectify those impressions, yet already you seem determined to sabotage yourself, and by extension, this family.”
Ellowa folded her arms over her chest. “Lord Titterleaf was asking for you specifically,” she added, her tone suggesting this was a great honor rather than a source of dread. “Mother and Father have gone to considerable trouble to arrange potential matches for you, despite your limitations.”
“I appreciate the efforts made on my behalf,” Mariselle said carefully, knowing any hint of defiance would not be well-received. “You will be relieved to know that such efforts are no longer necessary.”
Lady Clemenbell narrowed her eyes further. “And why is that?”
Mariselle’s heart hammered against her ribs. She swallowed before continuing. “I was not referring to the dance with Lord Bridgemere when I said that something unexpected has occurred.”
