Page 30 of Deals & Dream Spells (The Charmed Leaf Legacy #2)
Chapter Thirteen
Mariselle adjusted her gloves for the third time as the carriage approached The Charmed Leaf Tea House the following afternoon. Her stomach twisted into knots as she directed another nervous smile at Tilly, seated opposite her.
“I shall remain nearby, my lady,” Tilly assured her. “Your mother was most insistent.”
Of course she was. Lady Clemenbell had spent nearly an hour that morning delivering detailed instructions on what information Mariselle was to gather during this unprecedented visit to the Rowanwood establishment.
“Note every magical enchantment,” her mother had emphasized.
“Pay particular attention to how they maintain such influence over Bloomhaven society. There must be some method beyond mere tea and gossip.”
The carriage rolled to a stop, and Mariselle drew a steadying breath. She was about to become the first Brightcrest in living memory to step foot inside The Charmed Leaf. The notion sent a strange thrill through her, half trepidation, half rebellious excitement.
“I shall wait on those benches beneath the trees,” Tilly said, gesturing to a pleasant seating area alongside the tea house as they descended from the carriage. “Should you require anything, simply send word.”
Mariselle nodded, smoothing her pale blue gown as she approached the entrance.
For years, she had passed this establishment, her mother invariably steering her to the opposite side of the street with a dismissive sniff.
Now she stood before its welcoming facade, taking in details she’d never allowed herself to observe properly.
The gentle curves of the architecture, the way trailing vines curled around the windows, the soft golden glow emanating from within.
The door opened as she approached, and her breath caught in her throat as she stepped inside.
The interior was even more enchanting than rumor suggested.
Warm wooden floors, tables draped with cream cloths, a delightful variety of tea cups and teapots.
The walls were adorned with living vines whose golden-tinged leaves seemed to rustle with interest at her arrival.
Floating faelights drifted near the ceiling in gentle patterns, several of them dipping lower as she entered, their glow intensifying slightly as if to better illuminate her.
The air carried a subtle symphony of scents—spiced tea, fresh-baked scones, delicate floral notes that shifted as she breathed them in. The very atmosphere hummed with magic, a tangible presence that seemed to assess her as she stood in the entryway.
“Lady Brightcrest,” a voice called, breaking her reverie.
Only then did Mariselle become aware of the hush that had fallen over the room, the eyes turned toward her, the odd whisper here and there.
The presence of a Brightcrest inside The Charmed Leaf was unprecedented, a spectacle so extraordinary that not a single member of Bloomhaven society present could fail to take note of it.
A slender fae woman approached, and Mariselle realized this was the woman who had just greeted her. “I am Mrs. Spindlewood, the tea house hostess,” she continued. “Lady Iris informed us you would be joining Lord Evryn this afternoon. If you would follow me?”
Mariselle inclined her head in acknowledgment and followed the hostess through the main room, uncomfortably aware of the whispers that had resumed in her wake.
She caught fragments—“a Brightcrest, can you imagine” and “never in all my years”—and held her chin a fraction higher.
Let them gossip. She was here by invitation, after all.
And what else did they expect now that she was supposedly engaged to a Rowanwood?
Mrs. Spindlewood led her to a table positioned near an alcove where a lush cascade of honeysuckle vines spilled from the ceiling, partially concealing the small private space beyond, where Mariselle could just make out a small round table and chair positioned beside a window.
“Lord Evryn sent word that he has been detained,” Mrs. Spindlewood said, “but he should arrive shortly.” She gestured toward a chair.
“Thank you,” Mariselle said, then stopped as the chair scooted out from beneath the table and turned slightly, as if presenting its cushioned seat to her. Was that normal behavior in this establishment? Recovering quickly, she seated herself with as much dignity as she could muster.
“Your tea service shall commence momentarily,” Mrs. Spindlewood continued. “The tea house itself will determine what blend is best for you.”
Mariselle nodded. She had heard of this, the fact that The Charmed Leaf was enchanted to appear as if it possessed opinions regarding its patrons’ tastes.
She was curious to discover whether the establishment’s magic would truly divine her preferences or if it might serve her something deliberately unsuitable.
In her current state, with nerves fluttering wildly beneath her composed exterior, she scarcely knew what might soothe her own agitation.
As Mrs. Spindlewood departed, Mariselle felt a peculiar ticklish sensation on her shoulder.
Turning slightly, she found a delicate tendril from one of the wall vines cautiously brushing its dainty leaves over her shoulder.
She resisted the urge to flinch. The touch wasn’t unpleasant, merely …
strange. Did the vines interact with all guests this way, or was she receiving special attention as a Brightcrest intruder?
Her gaze drifted across the room, searching for details she could later relay to her mother, though she doubted she would spot anything useful. If there was some scandalous secret at the heart of The Charmed Leaf’s success, she doubted it would be on full display in the main room of the tea house.
A prickle of awareness crawled up her spine as her gaze traveled back to where it had begun, and— Oh. A shiver of apprehension darted up Mariselle’s spine. For there in the private alcove, seated in solitary splendor on the chair that had previously been vacant, was Lady Rivenna Rowanwood.
Their eyes met across the intervening space, and Mariselle felt as though she’d been caught in the focused beam of a magnifying glass held to sunlight.
Refusing to be intimidated, however, she lifted her chin a fraction higher, offering a polite smile that deliberately failed to reach her eyes.
Lady Rivenna’s only response was a slight narrowing of her gaze, as though Mariselle were a puzzle she found both tiresome and intriguing .
Neither woman looked away. The silent standoff continued, a wordless battle of wills conducted through the tea house air.
Mariselle folded her hands primly in her lap, maintaining steady eye contact despite the thundering of her heart.
She had been raised to hold her own in social warfare, after all.
Lady Rivenna’s eyes narrowed further, genuine affront crossing her features when Mariselle refused to be the first to look away. The tea house itself seemed to grow still around them, as though holding its breath in anticipation.
After what felt like an eternity but could only have been a minute, Lady Rivenna rose with regal dignity and began approaching.
Mariselle’s heart leaped into her throat.
It was one thing to maintain eye contact across the room; it was quite another to face Lady Rivenna Rowanwood directly.
Every bit of proper upbringing insisted she show respect to this older woman, regardless of family animosity.
As Lady Rivenna reached her table, Mariselle stood and dipped into a respectful curtsy. “My lady,” she murmured.
Without a word, Lady Rivenna settled herself elegantly into the chair opposite. Mariselle hesitated a moment, then reseated herself, awaiting whatever would come next.
For several heartbeats, Lady Rivenna simply studied her, continuing their silent assessment. Then, with deliberate slowness, she spoke. “Lady. Mariselle. Brightcrest.” Each word fell between them like a stone dropped into still water.
“Yes, my lady,” Mariselle replied, pleased that her voice emerged steady.
“I find myself in the unprecedented position of hosting a Brightcrest in my establishment,” Lady Rivenna observed, her tone glacial. “A situation I never anticipated—nor desired.”
“Your grandson extended the invitation,” Mariselle said, matching the older woman’s formal cadence. “I would not wish to disappoint him.”
“No, I imagine you wouldn’t.” Lady Rivenna’s gaze sharpened. “What manner of enchantment did you use?”
Mariselle blinked, feigning confusion. “I beg your pardon?”
“On my grandson,” Lady Rivenna clarified. “What manner of magic did you employ to create this false connection between you?”
Heat flared in Mariselle’s cheeks—half indignation, half terror that the truth might somehow be discerned. “I assure you, my lady, I employed no enchantment whatsoever. The mark that binds us formed of its own accord.”
“Curious,” Lady Rivenna replied, clearly unconvinced.
“How extraordinary that such a phenomenon—so rare that many have lived entire lifetimes without encountering a single instance—should suddenly manifest between two people whose families have been bitter enemies for generations. A remarkable coincidence, wouldn’t you agree? ”
“Magic works in mysterious ways, does it not?” Mariselle said, her tone deliberately light.
“Do not offer me such vapid platitudes, child. I cannot yet discern the precise nature of your scheme, but I recognize artifice when I see it. Make no mistake, Lady Mariselle. Whatever this binding truly is, I will see it severed before I allow this absurdity to continue.”
“Absurdity? You doubt our connection?” Mariselle asked, managing to sound wounded rather than alarmed.
“Yes,” Lady Rivenna said bluntly. “Your connection is complete nonsense, a mockery of genuine bonds that offends anyone with even a modicum of sense.”