Evelyne pressed her lips together to stifle her laugh while Ivanbristled beside them. One might hope he would accept the slight and excuse himself, having been so neatly excluded. Yet predictably, he remained rooted at her side.
“Evelyne, a word, if you please.” Her mother approached, disapproval gleaming in her eyes.
Evelyne murmured an apology to her companions and allowed herself to be guided toward a quieter corner. Once they were out of earshot, Lady Celeste’s expression hardened.
“This is not the time for idle chatter. You are here to form connections, to draw the notice of suitors—not to amuse yourself.”
“I was only being kind, Mother,” Evelyne replied.
“Dismissing Lord Ivan in favor of bantering with his younger brother is hardly kind. Do you not see how that might be perceived? Lord Ivan is a serious prospect, and this is not a game.”
Evelyne drew herself up. “I did not dismiss him. He was quite obviously beside me.”
“And yet you offered him no regard whatsoever.” Celeste sighed, pressing her fingers to the bridge of her nose. “You must begin to take these matters seriously, Evelyne. Should you fail to do so, I will see to the choices myself. Do I make myself clear?”
Evelyne forced herself to remain composed. “Yes, Mother.”
“Good.” Celeste’s expression softened slightly. “You have so much to offer, Evelyne. Don’t squander it.”
A mockery—that was all this day had become. Evelyne’s patience was spent, her civility frayed to threads. Only a little longer, she reminded herself, and the luncheon would conclude. Yet this was but the first trial; how was she to endure the ball come evening? Sheunclenched her fists, her gaze following her mother’s retreat into the crowd. And just as she thought matters could sink no lower, Lady Callista Evermere came prowling into her path.
The only daughter of a prominent southern lord, and a woman who evoked both admiration and unease within social circles, Callista was in her second season only because she had countless suitors vying for her favor, and she couldn’t possibly decide yet. Her raven-black hair was styled in elegant waves that framed a face as sharp as it was beautiful. Her gown, a marvel of lavender silk and glittering gemstones, clung to her figure like starlight, accentuating skin kissed by the sun.
Surrounded by a loyal orbit of fawning girls, Callista tilted her head and flashed a cruel smile. “It’s so lovely to see you, Evelyne… though I must say, I’m surprised you’re still attending events like this. Surely it’s a bit late for you to secure a match?”
The words fell like velvet-edged blades, striking unerringly. Evelyne’s jaw tightened as she mastered her composure with a slow breath.
“Why, Callista, surely you know—the rarest vintages take the longest to mature; perhaps one day you’ll be more than a pretty bottle with nothing worth pouring.”
A ripple of stifled snorts spread through Callista’s entourage, their amusement poorly concealed behind fluttering fans.
“Clever,” she said, her voice syrupy-sweet. “Do take care, Evelyne. Smart remarks may keepyouentertained, but won’t warm your empty bed at night.”
Evelyne’s lips curved into a wicked smile as she drank deeply from her tea, swallowing her frustration along with it.
“That seemed spirited,” Alaric Stonebridge murmured, biting into a tart as he came to stand beside her. “She has always had a gift for venom. Shall we slip away to the gardens? A walk might serve you well.”
Evelyne shook her head. “Thank you, Alaric, but I would prefer a little solitude.”
He studied her for a moment before nodding. “As you wish, my lady. But don’t let her words linger. She envies anyone she can’t overshadow.”
With a faint smile of gratitude, Evelyne slipped back into the manor and let the familiar halls guide her to the library’s quiet embrace. The scent of aged leather greeted her as she pushed open the heavy oak door. Cillian, sprawled in an oversized chair, looked up from his book.
“Let me guess,” he drawled. “An afternoon of flattery and whispers?”
Evelyne exhaled, shutting the door behind her. “Callista Evermere felt the need to remind me of my supposed shortcomings.”
“Ah, Callista. Ever the charmer. Why let her rattle you?”
“I try not to,” she admitted, sinking into the chair opposite him. “But it’s exhausting, pretending to care about their games.”
Cillian tilted his head. “Then don’t. And if it grows unbearable, we’ll run away. A quiet life in the countryside has its appeal.”
Evelyne laughed softly. “Tempting. But you’d miss your books.”
“True,” he conceded, grinning. “Still, I might bear it—if it spared you from Callista.”
Evelyne smiled, warmth threading through her weariness. “What would I do without you, Cillian?”
