Page 107 of Summer of Sacrifice

“Cal, are you sure this is a good idea?” Seleste whispered through clenched teeth as they approached the last few steps.

“Relax. All will be well, I promise.”

Seleste’s stomach dropped. His words landed wrong, like a bad omen. “I think I might be sick.” The words were hardly audible, but he was so attuned to her. Pausing on the last step, he turned and—in front of everyone—took her face in his hands, breaking at least four different unwritten rules of the beau monde.

“I’m right here.” The look in his eyes made hers fill with tears. “I’ve got you.”

No one said a word, but their stares were loud enough.

Cal had introduced her to every individual invited to the Summer’s End party, while his mother stood in the corner, clenching her champagne flute so tightly her knuckles were white. Despite Cal’s optimism, the evening would not end well once all the guests left.

The earl, however, stole the show when he entered the ballroom, arms outstretched and looking like he had returned to the prime of his life. She’d heard he was better, but this was miraculous compared to a fortnight prior when she’d watched him cough up more blood as she told him of the girls’ progress in their studies.

Perhaps this radical change was all Dr. Pollock and Lady Della had been flummoxed about. Sure, she’d added a minute amount of magic, but not enough to cause this much of a change, or for anyone to suspect witchcraft. After the Witch Trials and the degradation of the Sisters Solstice, magic wasn’t a conclusion most came to any longer, especially not in High Society.

Pulled from her worries by Cal drawing her into a dance, Seleste determined to enjoy the evening. Adopting a page from Sorscha’s book, she lifted her chin and decided with firm resolution that what would come at the end of the party would come, and they would face that music when it did. Until then, there was only now.

“Ah,” Cal said appraisingly, noting her change in demeanour. “There she is.”

The evening passed in a blur of golden lights, champagne, dances, and laughter. It was, hands down, one of the greatest nights of her existence. She was sore and dewy and ridiculously happy.

Cal, his hair as askew as his jacket and shirt, looked much the same, as did everyone else in attendance, even Lady Della. At some point, her pinched face had given way to the pull of champagne, her disdain for Seleste with it. Perhaps—Goddess bless them—she would not disown Cal for parading Seleste on his arm. It was worth hoping.

The song ended, and the band did not pick back back up into a new melody.

Tink tink tink

Cal pulled Seleste off the dance floor, both of them smiling and exhausted. Together, they watched as the Earl of Bellvary raised a glass.

“A toast!” He beckoned his wife forward. Lady Della, his countess, was entirely composed again and exuded an unexpected sort of confidence. “And an announcement!”

Ah, that explained the countess’s demeanour.

“First,” the earl boomed, his voice echoing across the room, “my family and I want to apologise for our unexplained absence this Summer. As most of you know, we come to Whitehall annually, but business requires us to return to Merveille or Bellvary relatively quickly. This Summer, we elected to spend the whole of the Season quietly rejuvenating here, and then end the Summer with a bang!”

Whistles and hear hears came from amongst the guests. “We are thrilled to have you all here.” The earl raised his glass again. “To all our guests and a bright future!”

Cheers and applause erupted, everyone raising their glasses.

“Now! The moment my countess and I have been waiting for!”

Lady Della beamed at her husband before turning back to the crowd, her eyes landing on Seleste. If she wasn’t mistaken, the woman’s gaze hardened almost imperceptibly.

“Lord and Lady Townsend, we invite you forward,” the earl said.

The Townsends broke through the crowd, their spoiled son and beautiful daughter in tow.

“Cal!” The earl searched the crowd. “Ah, there you are. Come up here, my son.”

Cal shrugged jovially at Seleste, then ventured to the front of the room toward the little platform, the crowd parting for him. He was pulled into a rough hug, the kind only issued by fathers who rarely dole out such affection. Cal laughed, his cheeks reddening beneath the unusual attention. He took a place standing next to his mother, who preened, winding her arm through his.

Cal’s gaze found Seleste in the crowd, their eyes locking. He smiled at her, the true smile she’d never seen him offer his family members. It warmed her heart to think that her presence calmed him, this man who was not fond of politics and Society. He held her attention, presumably for that very reason, as his father continued speaking.

“Everyone, we are beyond pleased to announce the betrothal of Lady Catherine Townsend to our son!”

Cal’s attention snapped from Seleste to his father. His face drained of colour as his jaw went slack. “What?”

She saw his mouth form the word, but there was a ringing in her ears, everything muffled until she felt like she was submerged in water. The room tilted. Her mind spun. She pressed a palm against her stomach, swaying.

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