The evening remained peaceful and enjoyable for all until it came to a perfect end with all the grace and splendour it began with.
Madelyn scarcely remembered the succeeding formalities. She had bowed when required, curtsied when addressed, and murmured her thanks to their royal hosts.
Beside her, and her arm in his, Brand guided her from the ballroom, through corridors still alive with murmurs and trailing silks, and out into the cool night where his carriage awaited.
If he spoke, she did not hear it.
If he looked at her, she did not dare return it.
The drive to Mainecroft Hall was cloaked in silence. She sat opposite him, her hands clasped too tightly in her lap, her gaze fixed on absolutely nothing. She did not know what to say—she did not wish to say anything. And Brand did not press her. But he did not look away either.
