Mauri, the young kitchen servant, entered the room with a tray laden with hot tea and Danishes. “Good morning, miss,” she greeted Evelyne politely as she placed a teacup beside her.
“Thank you,” Evelyne replied, grabbing a raspberry Danish and taking a hearty bite.
“You seemed to be enjoying yourself last night with Mr. Stonebridge,” her mother remarked with a hint of curiosity.
“Surprisingly, Mother, yes,” Evelyne retorted, “I did quite enjoy myself. I’d enjoy any time away from Lord Bavrick’s repulsive touch.” Her anger toward her mother for even entertaining the idea of a marriage to Lord Bavrick and not immediately rejecting his proposal still simmered beneath the surface.
“Perhaps you shouldn’t be so ungrateful, Evelyne,” Celeste remarked. “Lord Bavrick is a nice gentleman who has shown interest in you. In fact, he’s theonlyman to have requested your hand in marriage.”
Evelyne bit her lip furiously. Her mother’s insistence on Lord Bavrick was absurd.
“Actually,” she added, “I’ve invited Alaric for tea this morning.”
Her mother raised a brow, the faintest glint of approval in her eyes. “Good,” she said simply, and the family resumed their breakfast.
It wasn’t until several bites in that Evelyne noticed Cillian’s seat remained empty. “Where is Cillian?” she asked.
Her parents exchanged glances, but Aurelia responded, “He’s probably still resting after his episode yesterday afternoon.”
Evelyne stilled. “What episode?”
Aurelia, eyes still fixed on the letter, spoke again. “He dropped in the garden. Thankfully, the guards were swift enough to spare him a cracked skull on the flower bed stones. We really must send them our gratitude.”
Evelyne shot up from her chair. “And no one thought to inform me?”
“We didn’t want to worry you, especially before the Stonebridge dinner,” her father said firmly.
“That is irrelevant and pales compared to Cillian’s health,” Evelyne said, her voice trembling with anger. “One of you should have said something.”
“He’s fine, Evelyne,” her father insisted.
She was about to storm out of the dining room when Cillian entered, his hair tousled and dark circles showing under his golden eyes. He looked exhausted, but he smiled as he greeted everyone and sat down to eat.
“How are you feeling, Cillian?” theirmother asked.
“I’m fine, Mother,” Cillian answered calmly. “It was just a headache.”
His easy dismissal felt like denial. Like a flimsy cover for what Evelyne feared was the return of the same illness that once plagued him. And as Cillian began eating, she sank back into her seat, guilt creeping in for not noticing his discomfort sooner. She, and seemingly the rest of her family, had been too absorbed in last night’s preparations. And when she’d seen him before dinner, he’d appeared fine. A little on edge, perhaps, but nothing that had raised alarm.
Aurelia’s chair scraped against the dining room floor as she rose abruptly, her movements filled with theatrical excitement.
“Leopold is coming home!” she exclaimed. “Oh, I simply can’t wait to see him. Mother, may I be excused? I must write to him immediately.”
Lady Duskwood offered a gentle smile, reaching out to clasp Aurelia’s hand. “Of course, my dear,” she said warmly. “What wonderful news.”
Evelyne resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Aurelia hardly seemed concerned for Cillian—her presence here felt more like a placeholder until Leopold reappeared. Once he did, Evelyne knew she’d cast the rest of them aside without a second thought.Typical,she thought.Self-absorbed as ever.
Instead of letting her frustration take hold, Evelyne drew a steady breath and shifted her thoughts to the meeting with Alaric. She took a slow sip of tea, intent on grounding herself and clearing her mind.
***
Sunlight streamed through the large bay window of his father’s study, an unwelcome glare that matched the thoughts crowding Alaric’s mind. He sat stiffly in a high-backed chair, his hands resting on the mahogany desk, fingers idly tracing the wood’s grain. Gaviel spoke of dwindlingtrade and the troubles in Velenshire, but Alaric’s mind was elsewhere. He shouldn’t have accepted Evelyne’s invitation for tea. Hell, he shouldn’t have let himself enjoy her company last night as much as he did. Every laugh, every glance, every inch she’d leaned closer during their exchange had left an impression he couldn’t shake.
He was such a damned fool. Evelyne didn’t know her marriage was already arranged, that her heart had no vote. And even though the plan was clear—make her fall in love without telling her the truth—he hated every second of it, especially knowing he was tricking someone who trusted him.
“Alaric.” Gaviel’s voice sliced through his thoughts, snapping him back to the present. His father leveled him with a sharp stare. “Are you listening?”
“Yes, sir,” Alaric replied, straightening in his chair and bracing himself for the conversation.
