Page 31 of Deals & Dream Spells (The Charmed Leaf Legacy #2)

“The High Lady seemed quite pleased by it,” Mariselle countered in her politest voice. “But I’m sure you are not suggesting that the High Lady herself is lacking in sense.”

An expression of absolute outrage flashed across Lady Rivenna’s features, her lips pressing into a thin white line as she realized the trap Mariselle had so neatly laid.

“You will not marry my grandson,” she said.

“There will be no Rowanwood-Brightcrest union. That is all there is to it.” She rose from her seat with the same regal dignity that had accompanied her arrival. “Enjoy your tea.”

With that, she departed, not toward her previous table but through a door that presumably led to the kitchen. Mariselle released a breath, her hands trembling slightly as she smoothed her skirts.

From her peripheral vision, she noted that Iris had quietly taken Lady Rivenna’s vacated place in the private alcove, a notebook open before her. Unlike her formidable grandmother-in-law, Iris did not stare; instead, she bent over her notebook, quill moving across the page.

As she attempted to compose herself, a young woman approached her table—human, with soft brown skin and expressive eyes that widened fractionally in recognition.

Mariselle placed her immediately: Lucie Fields, younger daughter of the dressmaker the Brightcrests steadfastly refused to patronize, whom she and Ellowa had publicly mocked on more than one occasion.

“Your tea, my lady,” Lucie said, quickly averting her gaze as she set down a delicate silver tray bearing a porcelain teapot adorned with hand-painted butterflies and two matching cups.

“The tea house has selected a rare duskmint-vanilla infusion for you. An unusual choice that happens to be among Lord Evryn’s preferred blends.

I believe you’ll find it both calming and restorative. ”

“Oh, thank you.” Guilt twisted in Mariselle’s stomach as she recalled the cutting remarks she’d made at this girl’s expense. Remarks that had drawn delighted laughter from Ellowa and her circle. She should apologize, as she had to Iris the night before.

But before she could muster a response, Lucie had already retreated, leaving Mariselle alone with the fragrant tea.

She watched until Lucie disappeared beyond the door Lady Rivenna had vanished through, then turned her attention to the teapot.

Her brows drew together in suspicion. Would Lady Rivenna stoop so low as to poison a guest in her own establishment?

It seemed unlikely, yet Mariselle couldn’t shake her wariness.

“Lady Mariselle,” said a familiar voice, and Mariselle looked up to find Evryn standing beside her table, a strained smile stretching his lips. He made a show of bowing gallantly before taking the seat Lady Rivenna had vacated.

“I do apologize for my tardiness,” he said in a low voice as he leaned closer, eyes flashing dangerously.

“I was detained by an unexpected affliction I appear unable to free myself from. Perhaps you might enlighten me as to why I find myself incapable of maintaining a normal conversation without being overcome by— Your golden hair, a cascade of light, sets my poor heart afire at night. I dream of braiding it into a rope, and swinging from it, shrieking with ? — ”

He clapped a hand over his mouth, his nostrils flaring with indignation as he inhaled sharply, eyes darting around the tea house as if to see whether anyone had overheard his mortifying outburst.

Mariselle stared, momentarily stunned, before a delighted laugh escaped her lips. She caught herself, cleared her throat, and reached for the teapot. “Is something the matter, my love? You are not usually so … effusive. ”

Evryn lowered his hand cautiously. “What have you done to me?” he demanded in a fierce whisper.

“I haven’t the faintest idea what you mean,” she replied, pouring tea into the first of the two cups. “Would you care for sugar?”

“Lady Mariselle,” he growled, leaning even further forward, “if this is because of that ridiculous— My darling muse, you radiant bean, the brightest sprout I’ve ever seen. Your smile, a sunrise on a trout— Ugh!”

Mariselle nearly choked on her tea, hastily covering her mouth with a napkin as several nearby patrons turned to stare. Evryn’s face flushed crimson, his expression wavering between murderous rage and acute mortification.

“You devious, conniving little— Oh dearest heart, my sugared ham, my golden goose, my velvet clam. No poet’s pen could ever convey ? — ”

He slapped a hand over his mouth once more as a matron at the next table sighed dreamily. Her companion pressed a hand to her heart. “How romantic. Young love is so refreshing.”

An undignified snort of laughter escaped Mariselle as she raised her teacup to her lips once more.

Evryn clenched his jaw as he reached for his own cup, clearly struggling to maintain composure. “This is because of that absurd book of poems. What did you do to it?”

“I merely made a few artistic improvements,” she replied innocently.

“The original verses were terribly dull. I simply rewrote a few to give them the passionate flourish they so desperately needed and added a touch of enchantment to help you … remember them.” She lowered her teacup and gave him her most dazzling smile.

“ You wrote those dreadful verses?”

She placed a hand over her heart, her expression a perfect mask of wounded dignity. “I’m afraid my poetic talents cannot rival your own, my lord. Some of us must make do with merely adequate literary skills.”

“And this enchantment,” Evryn said through gritted teeth. “I trust it will fade with time?”

“Oh, eventually,” Mariselle agreed vaguely. “Though strong emotions do seem to trigger it. Perhaps you should endeavor to remain calm.”

Evryn set down his cup with exaggerated care. “I am the very soul of tranquility,” he said, his voice tight with restraint. “Despite having just embarrassed myself in front of the entire— I ache, I yearn, I hum and whine, each time I see your nose so f —oh for goodness’ sake.”

Mariselle bit her lip in a vain attempt to suppress her laughter. “I quite liked the one about burning toast. I thought it was one of my better?—”

“Don’t. Do not even mention that blasted— I burn like toast when you glance my way, crisped by the heat of your ? — ”

The rest of the verse became a mumbled groan as he covered his face with both hands.

“Yes, that one! Oh, darling, I do so love it when you recite poetry to me. It makes me?—”

“Stop,” he groaned, then lifted his teacup and drained half its contents in a single desperate swallow, as though he might drown the enchanted verses before they could force their way past his lips.

Then he closed his eyes. When he opened them again, his expression had shifted from outrage to something closer to resigned amusement.

“I suppose I deserve this after the flowers.”

“Indeed you do,” Mariselle agreed, surprised by his ready admission.

“Though I’m certain this is worse. My humiliation is far more public than yours.”

Mariselle tilted her head, conceding the point with a slight nod. “Perhaps, though I believe waking up nearly suffocated beneath a mountain of enchanted flora is somewhat more alarming.”

He frowned, genuine concern crossing his features.

“You weren’t actually in any danger, were you?

The flowers weren’t meant to— My beloved pumpkin paste, your radiant face makes my heart race at frantic pace —Oh good stars, Brightcrest,” he muttered, dragging his marked palm over his face, “that is truly awful.”

“Thank you,” she said sweetly, remembering his words from the cottage several nights prior. “I do try. Now.” She sat a little straighter, making sure to lower her voice as she said, “tell me when you are next able to meet.”

“Early next week, I believe,” he said, lowering his hand with a sigh. “My mother mentioned it this morning. She sent a formal invitation.”

“Oh, no, I wasn’t referring to anything public. But yes, I received your mother’s invitation to tea and I’ve already accepted. What I meant was …” Mariselle lowered her voice further. “When are we next meeting about our … project? ”

“Ah. Well, I had rather hoped we might ride this evening. Fin has been planning a most?—”

“My enchanting poet,” she interrupted with a pointed look, “as exhilarating as our nocturnal competitions may be, we have more pressing matters to attend to. Our endeavor requires immediate attention, unless you’re particularly fond of our current arrangement.”

He exhaled dramatically and drained his teacup before setting it down. “Well then. You’ll be pleased to know that before I was afflicted with this verbal curse that makes me ever more determined to thwart your plans at every turn, I was investigating resources for the project.”

Mariselle’s interest immediately sharpened. “Oh?”

“I accessed the family vault at Rowanwood House,” he said, voice even lower now. “There’s a reasonable supply of lumyrite crystals that could potentially be used for our restoration efforts.”

“How many?” she asked, leaning forward eagerly.

“Not nearly enough for a complete reconstruction, of course, but I noticed something interesting when we went in search of the dream core. The primary pavilion framework appears to contain most—possibly all—of the original lumyrite. Dulled with age and neglect, yes, but not destroyed.”

“So we may not need to source a large amount?” Her voice lifted with cautious hope.

Evryn gave a noncommittal shrug. “Perhaps none at all. Which, upon further thought, isn’t that surprising.

Lumyrite is remarkably resilient, after all.

The crystals themselves have remained sound while the metal supports that hold them have collapsed in several places.

I think perhaps the lumyrite itself requires reshaping and reconnection rather than wholesale replacement. ”

A genuine smile curved Mariselle’s lips. “That would simplify matters considerably.”

“It would still require considerable skill,” Evryn added.

“The lumyrite shaping itself is easy enough for me, but repairing the foundational framework that houses the lumyrite presents a more complex challenge. And then there is still the matter of the lumyrite network embedded in the ground beneath the pavilion. We’ve yet to determine whether those underground veins remain intact. ”

“All the more reason for us to get started as soon as possible. I propose we meet at the cottage tonight.”

“If you absolutely insist, my most treasured— rutabaga of passion, turnip of desire, your eyes like fire —” He clamped his mouth shut, face reddening once more.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Mariselle said sweetly, just as motion caught her eye beyond Evryn’s shoulder.

She looked past him toward the private alcove and saw Iris’s shoulders shaking with what appeared to be suppressed laughter, one hand to her mouth and her quill abandoned, though her notebook still lay open before her.

Panic flooded Mariselle like ice water in her veins.

Could Iris possibly have … No, that was silly.

She was far too distant from their table to have overheard anything.

Even the elderly ladies sitting right beside them had misinterpreted the dreadful lines of poetry as charming declarations of young love, clearly hearing nothing of importance.

Reassured, Mariselle reached for her teacup and lifted it to her lips, confident their secret remained secure.