Now Mariselle stood outside Windsong Cottage, her grandmother at her side who, despite her disheveled appearance, still managed to project such formidable authority that even the morning breeze seemed to hesitate before disturbing the folds of her traveling cloak.
Lord and Lady Brightcrest picked their way through the brambles with visible distaste. Their enchanted carriage waited in the distance, gleaming in the morning light. As they approached the edge of the clearing where the cottage’s garden path began, they paused, taking in the scene before them with evident displeasure.
“Mother,” Lord Brightcrest acknowledged Lady Nirella with a stiff nod before his gaze settled on Mariselle. “I see you’ve managed to escape your confinement. How predictable.” His tone carried the same cold dismissal she’d grown accustomed to, but for the first time, Mariselle felt it glance off her rather than pierce through.
“We’ve come to collect our daughter,” Lady Clemenbell announced, chin lifted as though she were addressing servants rather than family. “The procedure to remove that … mark … is scheduled for this afternoon.”
Lady Nirella stepped forward. “My granddaughter will not be accompanying you anywhere.”
“I beg your pardon?” Lord Brightcrest’s brows shot up. “She is our daughter, and she?—”
“She is a woman who has been subjected to unconscionable treatment under your care,” Lady Nirella cut in, her voice dropping to a dangerous pitch, and Mariselle realized that Evryn must have told her grandmother what he guessed had happened. “A fact that will be addressed separately. For now, understand this: Mariselle’s affairs no longer concern you. She will be residing with me from this day forward.”
A bright, unexpected warmth bloomed inside Mariselle’s chest at these words—the first she’d heard of such an arrangement. The prospect of living with her grandmother suddenly seemed like the most wonderful gift, a sanctuary she hadn’t dared hope for. Well, perhaps not quite as wonderful as waking beside Evryn every morning would be, but that particular joy would have to wait until proper vows had been exchanged and the grandmothers’ strict rules about ‘arm’s length’ no longer applied.
Lady Brightcrest gave a dismissive laugh. “This is absurd. You cannot simply?—”
“Of course I can,” Lady Nirella replied, ice coating each syllable. “I may have failed in my duty to protect her before now, but that ends today.”
Lord Brightcrest’s jaw worked from side to side, muscles tensing beneath his skin as he visibly struggled to maintain his composure. “Do you understand what a disappointment you’re inheriting? This sudden claim of dream architect abilities—how convenient that she waited until now to reveal this magic. And even if it were true, she lacks the discipline to harness such power properly.” His gaze flicked contemptuously to the side, toward where Dreamland lay, its skeletal structure fully restored. “This childish fantasy will collapse like a house of cards the moment anyone with actual discernment examines it. She simply doesn’t possess the capability.”
Indignation burned through Mariselle’s veins. She took a step forward and stood beside her grandmother. “I’ve been inside, Father. I most certainly do possess the capability to bring this so-called ‘childish fantasy’ back to life.”
Her father made a dismissive sound, and Mariselle’s grandmother shook her head. “How embarrassing it must be to have so vastly underestimated your own daughter. It seems you have not the faintest idea what she’s capable of.”
“I am entirely?—”
“I will not be returning to Brightcrest Manor,” Mariselle interrupted firmly, meeting her father’s gaze directly.
His face darkened with rage. “You ungrateful?—”
“Enough!” Lady Nirella’s voice cracked like thunder. “One more word against my granddaughter, and I shall ensure that every social door in Bloomhaven closes to you both for the remainder of the Season.” She swept her gaze between them. “I may have spent decades avoiding certain social circles, but I now find myself in the renewed friendship of someone whose whisper can determine whether you receive invitations or polite regrets for the remainder of your lives.”
Something shifted in Lord Brightcrest’s expression. A flicker of calculation replacing the anger. “This discussion is not over,” he said finally, though the fight had gone out of his voice.
“On the contrary,” Mariselle replied, feeling a strength she’d never known in the presence of her parents. “It is very much over.”
She watched as her parents retreated, her mother casting one last contemptuous glance over her shoulder before they disappeared into theircarriage. As the conveyance pulled away, Mariselle breathed in deeply, and it felt as though invisible bindings had been loosened from her chest after years of gradual tightening.
Her grandmother’s hand found hers, squeezing gently. “You stood your ground admirably,” she said, a note of pride warming her voice. “Now, I should very much like to hear what you’ve managed so far with this Dreamland restoration project. I find myself quite excited at the prospect of experiencing its wonders again.”
Mariselle faced her grandmother as a grin spread across her lips. “Truly? You’ll help us?”
“My dear, was I not the Brightcrest who signed the original contract?” Light sparkled in her grandmother’s eyes as she smiled. “If anyone has hope of Dreamland one day being restored to its former glory, it is surely I.”
Evryn turned away from the window, forcibly tamping down the surge of protective rage that demanded he march outside and deliver to Lord Brightcrest the same treatment he’d inflicted upon Mariselle. Instead, he faced his grandmother, reminding himself that Mariselle stood with Lady Nirella now—an unyielding guardian whose steel had only just begun to reveal itself.
Lady Rivenna sat motionless in the armchair, her hands resting lightly on its worn upholstery. The commanding woman who typically filled any space with her authoritative presence seemed momentarily diminished, her gaze fixed on some invisible point, her thoughts clearly adrift in the currents of long-buried memories.
“How did you know to come?” Evryn asked her.
Lady Rivenna looked up, her expression clearing as she focused on Evryn. She gave him a small smile before her gaze swept to the window seat that overlooked the cottage garden. “There is a connection between this cottage and The Charmed Leaf.” She rose and moved to the window, her fingers tracing the edge of a vine that curled along the sill, its leaves rimmed with a delicate border of gold.
“Do you see these?” she asked. “The very same vines now cover the walls of The Charmed Leaf, though they’ve grown considerably since their humble beginnings. Nirella gifted the first cutting to me shortly after Valenrik and Iwere married. She had developed quite the fascination with Lady Eugenia’s botanical journals and the remarkable specimens cultivated here.” Her fingers continued their gentle exploration of the vine. Then she turned to face him.
“When you called out in distress last night, it wasn’t precisely me who heard you. It was the tea house. It seems the vines maintained their connection to their origin—a fact I was not aware of until last night when the tea house, sensing your desperation, alerted me to your need for help with such urgency that I departed without a second thought.”
Evryn momentarily set aside the unsettling notion that The Charmed Leaf possessed some form of consciousness capable of ‘alerting’ its proprietress—a matter to be pondered at a later time. Instead, his attention caught on the wordswithout a second thought.
