Seleste, Then

SELESTE

I t was the most beautiful she'd ever felt.

The dress Cal had given Seleste felt like a dream against her skin. Everything about the evening unfolding before her felt like a fairytale. Whitehall was awash with candlelight, every polished surface displaying lush bouquets of Summer wildflowers and trays of hors d'oeuvres , exotic fruits, and lavish desserts.

She hadn't yet seen Cal, but he would walk in any moment, hopefully before the guests began arriving so she could steal a moment with him alone.

Lord Anthony Townsend and his family had arrived the day before, the Bardots and the Townsends spending every moment together. It was then that the rest of the staff had finally discovered who they'd been serving all Summer.

The Earl of Bellvary , Frances had whispered in astonishment at least a dozen times. The earl! Seleste had tried to act surprised, but it didn't matter, no one was paying her any mind once the secret was out and the Townsends arrived.

They were a distinguished family, highly proper and the perfect depiction of Seagovian aristocracy. Like Lady Della, the Lord and Lady Townsend carried themselves with faux kindness, interacting with the servants plastered with smiles that barely concealed the sneers hidden beneath them.

Along with all the information her cunning discerned about people, Seleste also made a point to monitor how they treated those they deemed lesser than themselves. It was a habit she'd taught Aggie and Sorscha when they were little girls in Helsvar. An immensely useful skill.

Though they were adept at concealing their feelings towards those in lower standing, the Townsends did not pass the test.

Their son took no pains to conceal his disdain for…everyone. He was, to put it mildly, a spoiled prat. His elder sister, though, was pleasantly unlike the rest of her immediate family. Lady Catherine was genuinely kind, carrying herself with elegance rather than snobbery, while she had every right bestowed by the beau monde to do so with her expensive gowns and angelic features. With dark-as-night hair and vivid green eyes framed by thick lashes, and perfect bow lips set into a pleasant smile, Lady Catherine was a vision.

Seleste saw her dart by then as she looked down over the balcony, rushing across the foyer. Her gown was pristine, the same emerald colour as her eyes, but her hair was only halfway pinned with curls. Seleste smiled to herself, imagining that was the purpose for the young woman's haste back toward her temporary room .

As she was preparing to descend the stairs to see if Frances or Madame Riley needed any assistance before other guests began to arrive, Seleste heard harsh whispers coming from a door that was ajar—the study.

"It doesn't make any blasted sense , Della."

Seleste baulked. It was certainly not Lord Bardot's voice, nor did it sound like Lord Townsend's. Not that he should ever be referring to Lady Della in such an improper manner, anyway.

She found herself creeping closer, listening. It was wrong to eavesdrop—Winnie would have her hide if she knew—but Seleste wasn't above letting her cunning take a break while she acquired information in an easier, mortal way.

"I know that, Orrin," the lady snapped back.

Orrin?

"What's changed?"

Goddess above . The voice had the same cadence as?—

"Nothing."

Seleste could just make out a slit of Lady Della's profile in the space between the door's hinges and its frame. She was dressed in a lovely shade of lilac, her hair in a perfect coif. "Nothing has changed."

"Dammit, Della. That can't be ." All she could see of the man was his hand, gesticulating angrily, and his hip. He swore again, and she watched as he moved roughly, a glint of something in his hand. A pocket watch. A familiar one that confirmed her suspicion.

"Orrin." There was a plea in Lady Della's voice. Intimate and unnerved. It was almost as if the woman was simultaneously in awe and fear of this man. "I've done everything as you've directed."

"Obviously not!" he seethed.

Lady Della stepped forward, but the hand Seleste was watching recoiled as if it had been burned. The sliver of Lady Della's expression that she could see looked pained.

A blur of movement crossed her view and Seleste ran. She'd just made it around the corner of the hall and peeked out when the man strode from the room, shoulders rigid and face pinched.

Dr. Pollock.

Ducking back into hiding as he passed, Seleste considered what to do. They hadn't been clear about anything in their conversation, at least not the portion she had heard. But she still felt honour-bound to tell Cal, despite having learned of it through eavesdropping. They could figure it out together. Although she had a sickening feeling she already knew what it was concerning?—

"There you are." Cal's voice sent a delicious shiver along her spine as he came up behind her, wrapping his arm around her stomach and pressing a kiss to her cheek.

"Aren't you brazen tonight, milord?"

" Milord my arse," he murmured in her ear, another shiver snaking through her in the wake of his deep voice. "Tonight you call me what you call me in the dark of my chalet ."

She couldn't resist. Spinning in his arms that remained clasped around her, she gave him a wicked smile Aggie would have been proud of. "Shall I add the other less pure phrases as well?"

He sucked in a breath, leaning down to speak in her ear again. "Not unless you'd like for me to take you right there in the ballroom with everyone watching."

Seleste smacked his arm, laughing, and wiggled out of his grip. "Behave, milord, and you'll be richly rewarded when everyone leaves tonight."

Cal's eyes dropped from her lips, sliding down her dress, his expression morphing from hunger into sweet appreciation. "Goddess, Seleste. You are ravishing."

"You've cleaned up quite well yourself." He smiled at her words and she would swear the entire realm melted away. He'd said he would do anything for her smile, and she had to admit the feeling was mutual.

A rush of noise drifted up from the foyer, drawing both their attention. Cal extended his elbow. "Well, mademoiselle , let us go and greet the guests."

Breathing was difficult as they descended the stairs arm in arm. It was quite literally the first time they'd let anyone see them in close proximity, and they were approaching with absolutely no preamble, the foyer overflowing with guests. He should have told her this was his plan. She imagined they would sneak down the back steps and stay separated, dancing together a couple of times throughout the night. But this? This was madness…

His mother saw them first, her hostess' smile dropping abruptly from her face.

"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.

No. no. This couldn't be happening… Couldn't be real…

Cal's stricken eyes found hers again. He was jumping off the platform, pushing through the crowd toward her. His father was saying something, but the mud in her ears…

She turned and fled the ballroom, running until she was outside, tears hot on her cheeks.

He found her crying in the garden. Kneeling before her where she sat on a bench surrounded by beautiful flowers, he took her hands in his. "Seleste."

She didn't look up from her lap, and he ducked a bit lower, trying to get her attention.

"Seleste," he said again, a tremor in his voice. It sounded like a plea.

She looked up to meet his eyes, swallowing back a choked sob when she saw the tears in his lashes. "This is just a nightmare, isn't it?"

Cal dropped her hands and cupped her face in his hands. "Run away with me. Right now."

"We can't do that," she spoke through a fresh wave of tears, sadness warring with the hope emanating from him.

"Of course we can." His hair swayed with the movement of shaking his head as he dropped his hands, a plan formulating behind his eyes. "We don't even need to pack anything. I have some coin in the chalet . We can retrieve it and run into the woods. There's a town not that far from here?—"

Seleste silenced him with a finger to his lips. Their doom was imminent. She was a witch. He was a mortal. All the choices leading to that moment had been selfish of her. Just as her next thought was selfish.

Lady Catherine, though she would be his wife, would never bear his children. Thanks to the Grimoire. To her Order. To the potion Seleste had been forced to brew and serve him.

Instantly, Seleste cursed herself. Neither would she bear his children. Not only had she ripped his heart out by allowing their love to begin at all when their separation was inevitable, but this beautiful, amazing soul would never have children. The Bardot family Earlship of Bellvary would die with him.

"Cal," she whispered, pulling her finger from his lips, heart constricting with the pain on his face. "There isn't anything we can do."

"I'll leave everything for you."

"No." A voice came from the garden entrance. "You won't."

Cal stood and faced his mother. "What have you done?" he accused with venom behind his words. "I won't marry that woman."

Lady Della strode forward, her heels clicking on the stones. Seleste wondered vaguely how she'd missed her approach, but her mind was so clouded, her cunning off kilter. Serenely, proudly, the countess folded her hands in front of her, looking between her son and Seleste. "What I've done , my son, is fix this mess you've made. "

" Mess ?" Cal spat before a mocking laugh cracked out of him.

"Did you truly think no one would notice the way you look at her?" She sneered derisively at Seleste. "Or that you weren't alone in the chalet at night? That we would all miss your rumpled appearance after you'd been in her vicinity?" Lady Della sighed. "The help , son. And a woman of colour ? You disgrace this family."

Seleste sat frozen on her bench, save for the trembling in her fingers. No amount of centuries or Orders or war or trauma could prepare even a witch for humiliation and a broken heart. She caught a glimmer of something behind the countess, floating toward her in the night. Litha, cloaked in magic. She fluttered down on Seleste's shaking hand, trying to soothe her.

" Disgrace ?" Cal shouted, startling a few slumbering sparrows from a bush. "For not seeing things the way you do? For not living by your vile, self-centered, and ignorant standards?" Another furious laugh bubbled up out of him and he began to pace, running a hand down the length of his wan face. "I've never been this happy in my godsdamned life , Mother. Seleste means everything to me."

"Cal—"

"No! No . I don't give a fuck what you want to say to me right now. I will not marry that woman."

"Your father is dying !" Lady Della shot back, causing Cal to halt mid-step.

"He's getting better," Cal said slowly.

"No, he isn't. He's put on a good show, but he will not survive his illness. "

Indignance crossed Cal's flushed face. "It's his liver, I know it is. If you would let me operate?—"

"Operate!" The countess swore under her breath. "You think you can operate because you sneak off to surgical theatres and lectures when you think I'm not watching? Gods, Cal. You are more na?ve than I ever imagined!"

Cal's jaw muscles worked. "If someone will operate, it can be resolved."

"Stop meddling in things you know nothing about. Your father is not going to recover. You are to be Earl of Bellvary, and you will do your duty to this family." Before he could open his mouth to respond, she turned to Seleste. " You . Madame Riley has packed your belongings. They are in a carriage out front."

"You can't do this!" Cal launched forward and pulled Seleste up by the hand, nearly hitting Litha, invisible to his eyes.

"I can and I will," the countess said through gritted teeth. "She has caused enough damage." She turned to Seleste. "You have one moment to say your goodbyes. I expect to see you off in your carriage before the next bell."

"The girls," Seleste stammered as Lady Della turned. "Could I at least say goodbye to the young ladies?"

"No," the countess spat over her shoulder. "You may not speak to my daughters again."

As soon as her presence left the garden, Cal took Seleste by the shoulders. "We'll take the carriage together, I'll hide?—"

"No." She barely got the word out. Still, he looked as if she'd slapped him.

"You can't mean that. "

"Cal, I love you with everything that I am. But your mother is right. I cannot be your wife. I never could be."

"We'll change that," he pleaded. "You and I. We will change this continent, this realm. We will stop the classism and discrimination."

"How? Without a seat of power? If you're not Earl of Bellvary?"

"I–I don't know. Maybe I do take my father's place, in time. It's my right by blood. My mother can't take that away, even if I run away with you now."

"No one will listen to you if you've dishonoured your family. My darling, we will always have this Summer. Our memories." She lifted a hand to his cheek, knowing in her bones it would be for the last time like this. Tears welled in her eyes, and she could barely speak beyond the lump in her throat. "Goodbye, Cal."

He didn't chase after her. They both knew it would be futile and only prolong the inevitable. Prolong the pain.

When she reached the perimeter of Whitehall, prepared to turn the corner toward the carriage that awaited her, Seleste looked back one final time.

Cal sat on the bench in the garden, his face buried in his hands.