Chapter 16
The steady rhythm of rain against the drawing room’s tall windows cast a soothing lull over the space, the glass panes blurring with rivulets of water as Evelyne turned the soft pages of her favorite novel.
The storm had come just as Vera Stonebridge had predicted, its arrival ruining any hope of clear skies for the evening’s grand ball.
Outside, the wind howled through the trees, and inside, the manor was alive with frantic energy.
Her mother had been in a whirlwind since dawn, a flurry of silk and determination as she directed the servants to move the decor and festivities indoors.
Though Evelyne hadn’t seen her enter the drawing room, she had felt her pass by no fewer than five times in the last ten minutes.
The thud of hurried footsteps against polished floors, the clipped commands—
“The wreaths must go near the grand staircase!”
“Why are there no candles in the receiving hall?”
“The violinist should stand near the east wing! No, no—there!”
Evelyne bit her lip to stifle a giggle as her mother’s voice faded into the distance, barking another order about the floors still needing mopping.
She had never seen her in such a state. The lingering excitement from last night’s dinner clung to her like a delicate mist. Alaric had sought her father’s blessing for Evelyne’s hand in marriage just before the meal, and her mother’s elation had been undeniable as she shared the news at the table.
For a fleeting moment, Evelyne could have sworn she saw tears welling in her eyes.
Aurelia, overcome with emotion, had pulled Evelyne into an embrace, pressing a soft kiss to her cheek. “Oh, I’m just so happy for you!” she’d whispered thrice before dinner ended.
Her father, always a quiet observer, had seemed relieved. He ate at his usual steady pace, nodding in approval and offering the occasional small smile.
Cillian had gone to his room before the announcement was made. Evelyne tried to see him after dinner, but when he didn’t answer her knock, his young red-haired servant appeared, shaking her head with a quiet, guilty look.
“He doesn’t want to see anyone, my lady. He’s been telling everyone to leave him alone all day.”
Evelyne had frowned, finding it odd, and knocked again.
“Cillian, it’s me.”
Silence lingered before he finally responded.
“Not now.”
His voice was different—tense, guarded. So she left him alone.
Now, as the manor bustled around her, filled with the rush of servants, the flicker of candlelight, and the distant notes of a violin being tuned, she tried to focus on her book, using it as a shield against the rising anticipation that coiled inside her.
But the house was too alive, too restless, and all too much.
Sighing, she closed the novel and returned to her chambers, where she knew she could find quiet. And indeed, there it was. A peaceful hush, broken only by the steady patter of rain against the window. She curled up by the sill and took a moment to breathe.
Aurelia and Seraphine swept in a few hours later, bringing the scent of fresh roses and lavender.
“It’s time!” Aurelia chirped, excitement lacing her words.
Seraphine followed with a half-smile, holding up a gown that shimmered in the dim light.
Evelyne barely had a moment to protest before they ushered her toward the vanity, working with practiced hands to prepare her.
Her hair was pinned back on one side, fastened with an ornate pearl clip that glistened like dew.
Her gown—a breathtaking rose gold threaded with silver embroidery—hugged her waist, the floral lace sleeves draping delicately over her shoulders.
The back dipped into an elegant plunge, revealing just enough to add an air of regality.
Dangling pearl earrings, a perfect match to the clip, completed the look.
She was no longer just Evelyne. Tonight, she was a betrothed woman, about to step into a world where she would be seen—truly seen—for the first time on a man’s arm.
Her heart fluttered, caught between nervousness and happiness. Tonight, everything would change.
***
Rain hammered relentlessly against the towering windows of Duskwood Manor; the storm outside contrasted starkly with the opulence and warmth within.
Guests hurried inside, shaking droplets from their cloaks, while their guards dutifully shielded the ladies’ elaborate gowns and carefully pinned curls with umbrellas.
The scent of candle wax and fresh roses filled the air, mingling with the crisp breeze that crept through the grand entrance.
The ballroom was alive with a symphony of sounds: the murmur of conversation, the delicate clinking of crystal glasses, the soft strains of a violin weaving a melody through the space.
Embroidered silks shimmered as noble figures glided across the floors, unconcerned by the thunder growling in the distance, their jeweled adornments catching the light.
Evelyne had been waiting for this moment all day, yet now that it was here, she could scarcely believe it was real. Alaric, her dearest friend, the man who had stolen her breath with a kiss, had asked her to marry him. The thought left her lightheaded with the enormity of it all.
She moved through the evening, soaking in the attention and accepting congratulations from noble families eager to gain favor with the powerful union of the Duskwoods and Stonebridges.
But Alaric wasn’t himself.
He stood beside her, his arm around her waist, but his touch felt distant.
His replies were short when the engagement was mentioned, and his smile was too quick to be real.
He had looked at her when they first arrived, told her she was beautiful and even kissed her cheek softly before leading her inside.
But she couldn’t ignore how he emptied glass after glass of champagne, how his jaw stayed tight, and how his eyes kept searching for something just beyond her.
At first, Evelyne ignored it, but as the night wore on, a wave of unease settled over her. The way Alaric avoided her gaze and the growing distance between them tightened a knot in her stomach. Something was wrong.
“Dance with me?” Evelyne asked him with pleading eyes. She expected a smile, a playful quip, something to reassure her, but instead, he only gave a silent, perfunctory nod. Without a word, he took her arm and led her to the dance floor.
Her heart plummeted. He wasn’t happy, and the realization hit her like a blow.
“What’s wrong?” she asked as they took their first steps, her voice barely above a whisper. She searched his face, praying that he would shake off whatever cloud hung over him and tell her.
“Nothing. Why do you ask?” His tone was calm and careful, but his gaze remained distant.
Evelyne frowned. “Have I done something to upset you?”
That, at least, seemed to pull him back. His eyes softened as they met hers, and before she could process it, his hands cupped her face gently. She hadn’t realized how much she needed his warm touch and longed to see his smile again.
“You’ve done nothing to upset me, Evelyne,” he murmured, his lips curling into that smile she loved. “You are perfect.”
Relief flooded her, but he twirled her into the next step before she could respond, spinning her into the waltz rhythm.
She let him take the lead, allowing herself to surrender to the rhythm of the music.
At least Ivan Bavrick was nowhere to be seen.
One less problem to deal with. Still, she couldn’t help but hope Alaric’s punch had left a visible, well-earned bruise—one for everyone to notice.
When the melody slowed, she dared to ask again. “And you? Are you okay?”
He shrugged, casual, unaffected. “Big crowds stress me out.”
Evelyne arched a brow. “You?” she scoffed. “Afraid of big crowds?”
He was lying, and they both knew it. Alaric thrived in the spotlight. He loved flirting, charming, and effortlessly commanding attention. This wasn’t nerves. This was something else.
She could have pressed him and demanded answers, but not here. Not now. So, she let it go, and they danced. Just the one, and though his movements were precise, they were empty. Even so close, he felt impossibly far away.
And then it was over. The final note of the waltz hovered in the air as Alaric released her. He bowed politely and excused himself, disappearing into the sea of guests.
Evelyne stood there, frozen, her heart pounding against the confines of her corset. She smiled through the congratulations, nodding graciously, accepting well wishes with all the poise expected of her. But her mind was elsewhere.
Where had Alaric gone? And why did it feel like she was already losing him?
It wasn’t until she spotted Callista, standing with her usual clique of well-dressed, sharp-tongued friends, that her night took an even stranger turn. Callista smirked as she raised her champagne flute in a feigned salute.
“Lady Evelyne, who would have thought? You engaged to Alaric Stonebridge. What a surprise.”
Evelyne lifted her chin, keeping her expression neutral. “Thank you for your congratulations, Callista.”
“Oh, don’t mistake me,” Callista said with a false sweetness. “I’m merely wondering how long this little arrangement will last. Alaric has always been so… selective.”
Evelyne narrowed her eyes. She wasn’t going to let Callista ruin her night. “Excuse me. I have a fiancé to find.”
Callista chuckled. “Already scared him off, have you?”
Evelyne didn’t dignify it with a response. Instead, she lifted her chin and walked away, refusing to let the words settle.
She needed to find him. Her eyes flicked across the ballroom, scanning for the familiar dark waves of his hair, the sharp cut of his suit—but he was nowhere to be seen.