Page 22 of Tempests & Tea Leaves (The Charmed Leaf Legacy #1)

Chapter Twenty-Two

Lord Hadrian Blackbriar stood hesitantly at the threshold of the tea house’s kitchen, looking remarkably different from his usual polished self. His cravat sat slightly askew, and his dark hair appeared to have been hastily combed with fingers rather than a proper brush. “Lady Iris,” he said with a polite bow. “Miss Rosavyn. I hope I’m not intruding.”

“Not at all,” Iris replied, embarrassingly aware of the tea stains spattered across her apron and the variety of tea leaves that had likely become entangled in her hair. She resisted the urge to attempt brushing them away, which would only draw more attention to her disheveled state.

Lord Hadrian stepped further into the kitchen, his gaze taking in the array of tea-making apparatus and open books before settling back on Iris. “I spoke with Jasvian last night, and he happened to mention you might be here early.” He cleared his throat. “I wanted to … that is, you left rather abruptly from the Thornharts’ gathering, and I wanted to ensure you were well.”

Rosavyn suddenly became intensely interested in a jar of dried flowers, though her posture made it abundantly clear she was listening to every word.

“That’s very thoughtful of you,” Iris said, genuinely touched by his concern as she took a few steps toward him. While there was no hope of finding actual privacy in a kitchen where it was likely even the spoons eavesdropped, she could at least make the conversation slightly less awkward by not conversing from opposite ends of the room. “I must apologize for leaving without bidding you farewell. It was terribly rude of me.”

“Please, don’t apologize,” he said quickly. “Your comfort is far more important than social niceties. I was merely concerned.” He shifted his weight, his usual easy confidence momentarily absent. “I also wanted to ask if perhaps …” He glanced at Rosavyn, who was now pretending to read a label with remarkable concentration. “If I had said or done something to cause offense? You seemed quite distressed when you left, and I feared I might have inadvertently?—”

“No!” Iris exclaimed, then moderated her tone. “No, Lord Hadrian. You were nothing but kind. I assure you, my hasty departure had nothing whatsoever to do with you.”

Some of the tension eased from his shoulders. “I’m relieved to hear it. I value our friendship greatly, Lady Iris.”

Friendship. Of course. For a brief moment, her mind flashed back to Ellowa’s cruel comments the night before: Men of his standing marry within their class. They may dally with … unusual specimens, but they do not offer them permanent positions. Which was just as well, Iris reminded herself, since she still had no intention of marrying if she could avoid it. She offered Lord Hadrian a smile she hoped appeared genuine. “As do I.”

An awkward silence settled between them, filled only by the rustling of Rosavyn’s unnecessarily loud examination of various tea leaves.

“Will you be attending the Living Portrait Exhibition tomorrow evening?” Lord Hadrian asked, his expression brightening. “I hear they’ve added several fascinating historical figures to the collection this year.”

“Yes, actually. My grandmother has been looking forward to it.”

“Excellent!” His face lit up with unmistakable pleasure. “I shall certainly be there as well. The portraits are fascinating, though some can be rather … opinionated.”

“So I’ve heard,” Iris said with a small laugh.

Lord Hadrian nodded, his gaze lingering on her face for a moment longer than strictly necessary. “Well, I shouldn’t keep you from your … baking?”

“Tea blending,” Iris confirmed. “I’m still learning.”

“I’m sure you’ll master it quickly.” His warm smile returned. “You seem to excel at everything you attempt.”

Rosavyn made a small noise that sounded suspiciously like a suppressed snort.

“You’re very kind,” Iris said, ignoring her friend’s reaction. “Thank you again for checking on my welfare.”

“It was my pleasure.” Lord Hadrian hesitated, seeming to gather his courage before adding, “I wonder if I might call upon you one afternoon at Starspun House? Perhaps later this week?”

The question caught Iris off guard. Was he suggesting something beyond the friendship he’d mentioned? A curious wave of vindication washed over her as she again recalled Ellowa’s dismissive words—her assertions that Lord Hadrian couldn’t possibly show genuine interest in someone like Iris. Yet here he stood, in a tea house kitchen at dawn, asking to call upon her properly.

For a heartbeat, that familiar fear fluttered in her chest. The dread of being trapped, of having her independence slowly smothered like her mother’s had been. But looking at Hadrian’s open expression and remembering his gentle manner, that fear seemed as though it might be a little … misplaced. Besides, she reminded herself, one afternoon call hardly constituted a proposal. Nothing that warranted panicking just yet.

“Yes,” she said finally, “I would like that very much.”

The pleased expression that spread across his face was so genuine it made something warm unfurl in her chest. “Wonderful,” he said. “I shall send a note to arrange the details.” He bowed again. “Good day, Lady Iris. Miss Rosavyn.”

As Lord Hadrian departed, Iris became keenly aware that every occupant of the kitchen was staring at her. Rosavyn with barely contained glee, the hearth sprites hovering in mid-air with their tiny flames flickering in evident interest, and even Orrit, who had paused his scone-making to observe the exchange.

“Well!” Rosavyn exclaimed, abandoning all pretense of disinterest. “He arose at this ungodly hour and journeyed all the way here merely to ascertain your wellbeing. I do believe Lord Hadrian Blackbriar is quite smitten with you, Iris!”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Iris protested, heat climbing her neck once more. “He was simply being courteous.”

“Most men do not disarrange their cravats and rush across town at dawn for mere courtesy,” Rosavyn insisted. “He’s clearly besotted.”

Iris returned to her part of the worktable, hoping to escape Rosavyn’s teasing. She glanced down at her notebook and found that new words had appeared in Lord Jasvian’s elegant script:

Has something happened? You’ve gone unusually quiet.

Beneath this, the notebook had added its own commentary:

Why have you vanished just as this one-sided exchange was becoming interesting? Most inconsiderate of you to leave me in suspense.

And then another message from Lord Jasvian:

Have I offended you? More than usual, that is. It’s unlike you not to have an immediate retort for anything you might find objectionable.

Iris stared at the page, uncertain how to respond to his messages. The situation was becoming absurdly complicated. Lord Hadrian appearing unexpectedly at the tea house, Lord Jasvian’s messages growing increasingly familiar, and now Rosavyn watching her every reaction like a hawk.

“Why are you frowning at your notebook as though it’s personally insulted you?” Rosavyn asked. She had walked around to Iris’s side of the worktable and was now peering over her shoulder.

Iris slammed the book closed with more force than necessary. “I’m not frowning. I’m concentrating.”

“On what, precisely? Because your face suggests either profound consternation or severe indigestion.”

“Rosavyn!”

“Very well, keep your secrets,” Rosavyn said with a theatrical sigh. She glanced toward the window, where the morning light had strengthened considerably. “I should perhaps head home anyway. With any luck, Mother hasn’t yet noticed my absence, and I might still claim a proper breakfast before she sends someone looking for me.”

“Hopefully,” Iris said, trying not to sound too relieved. “Thank you for bravely testing new blends alongside me. I’ll let you know if I come up with anything truly remarkable.”

Rosavyn hesitated a moment longer, her brow furrowing slightly. “Are you truly all right, Iris? I know you didn’t want to share all the details of what those dreadful Brightcrest girls said to you last night, but if there’s anything you need to talk about …”

“I’m fine,” Iris assured Rosavyn, touched by her friend’s concern. “Last night was … unpleasant, yes. But I’ve determined to put it behind me. I’ve realized I have far more important things to focus on.”

Rosavyn studied her face for a moment longer before stepping forward and wrapping her in a warm embrace. “Should you find yourself in need of a confidante, I am, of course, entirely at your disposal.”

“Thank you, Rosavyn.”

As they separated, Iris felt a pang of guilt for keeping the full story from her friend. Not Ellowa and Mariselle’s cruelty—those words did not need to be repeated—but the visions, and Lord Jasvian’s unexpected defense of her, and her long and illuminating conversation with Lady Rivenna the night before. But some secrets felt too delicate, too new to share just yet. And when she eventually chose to reveal them, she would need to be carefully selective about her confidants.

She and Lady Rivenna had both agreed that this particular type of magic was not to be spoken about freely. Certainly not the sort one displayed for the entertainment of society at the Summer Solstice Grand Ball. But Iris felt sure that when the time was right, Rosavyn would be one of the first to know that her magic went far deeper than mere paper folding.

Rosavyn left the kitchen, but not before first darting past Orrit’s workstation and snatching a freshly baked scone from the cooling rack, earning an indignant squeal from the brownie, who shook his tiny flour-covered fist at her retreating form.

With a smile, Iris pulled her notebook closer, relieved to finally be able to give it her full attention. Sitting on one of the kitchen stools, she opened it. Beneath Lord Jasvian’s most recent note, the notebook had added:

Never in all my existence have I been closed with such unwarranted violence. I fear for the integrity of my binding.

Iris rolled her eyes, refraining from pointing out that the notebook’s existence had spanned barely a week. Hardly long enough to justify such dramatic indignation. She grabbed a quill and wrote:

No offense taken, my lord. No more than usual, at least. I was merely distracted. Contrary to what you might believe, my world does not revolve around our correspondence.

She lifted her quill, her magic responding to her urgency by folding the envelope with unusual speed before it shot across the kitchen and out the door. Not waiting for a reply, she tore another section of blank paper, glanced quickly at his previous message about her ‘particular brand of disorder,’ and continued writing.

I’m pleased my ‘whirlwind’ activities provide you with such entertainment. Though I do apologize for disrupting your early morning peace. It’s my favorite time of day as well, when I’m not engaged in creating blends reminiscent of a garden gnome’s unwashed boots. The tea house has such a different quality in the quiet early hours, does it not?

She began returning ingredients to their jars and stacking the used teacups in a precarious tower while waiting for his reply, occasionally glancing at her successful blend with satisfaction, where it was cooling in the copper teapot.

Words soon formed in the notebook:

Thank the stars for small mercies. I’d make a rather poor celestial body around which to center one’s universe.

Regarding your fondness for morning’s tranquility, we agree on something at last. The morning quiet is indeed preferable to the chaos that inevitably follows. Though I hadn’t expected you to be an early riser. You struck me, initially, as someone who might prefer to linger among dreams rather than face reality at first light.

Iris stared at his words, surprised by the almost poetic quality of his observation.

My, my, the notebook commented. He’s been watching you quite closely to have formed such specific impressions.

Iris dismissed the notebook with a tsk and wrote back:

And you struck me as someone who might sleep inside a perfectly organized schedule, arising precisely on the hour without a single hair out of place. No doubt you keep your dreams alphabetized as well.

The envelope performed an elaborate twirl before shooting upstairs.

Dreams are notoriously resistant to organization, came Lord Jasvian’s reply. Though not for lack of trying, I assure you.

Iris found herself smiling again.

He’s making jokes, the notebook observed with apparent disbelief. The world truly is full of wonders.

The words had barely finished taking shape on the page and Iris was already writing her response on another torn piece of paper. The notes Lady Rivenna had left for her were becoming increasingly ragged around the edges, with hardly any blank space remaining on which to write her messages.

I picture you arranging them in neat little rows each night, only to find them hopelessly tangled by morning. How frustrating that must be for someone who values order above all else.

His reply came swiftly:

A keen observation, though not entirely accurate. I value purpose above mere order. The latter simply serves the former. Organization without purpose is just vanity.

Iris raised her eyebrows at this insight into his thinking.

That’s rather more depth than I expected, the notebook commented. Perhaps there’s more to Lord Brooding than meets the eye.

Iris tapped her quill against the edge of a page. Then, realizing that Lady Rivenna’s notes had no remaining blank spaces, she turned a few pages ahead in her notebook and unceremoniously tore out a blank page before returning to her current place.

WHAT ARE YOU DOING? the notebook’s script appeared. How DARE you mutilate me in such a barbaric fashion! I am a magical repository of knowledge, not scrap paper for your frivolous correspondence!

Iris rolled her eyes at the dramatics, tore her newly acquired paper into several smaller pieces, and continued writing.

And what is the purpose that all your careful order serves, my lord? Beyond ensuring the Rowanwood fortune continues to grow, of course.

She hesitated before sending it, wondering if she had pushed too far into personal territory. But her magic had a mind of its own, folding the paper and sending the resulting envelope shooting off the worktable before she could reconsider.

The pause that followed felt longer than previous ones. Iris chewed anxiously on her lower lip. Finally, new words appeared:

Safety. Security. The well-being of those who depend on the mines and those who work in them. Order is merely the means by which I ensure that no one suffers when it can be prevented.

Iris read the words twice, feeling as though she’d been granted an unexpected glimpse behind this man’s carefully maintained facade.

A noble purpose indeed , she wrote. I apologize if my question seemed intrusive.

Not at all , came his response. Though I admit I find it somewhat discomfiting to discuss such matters. May I ask what drives your own pursuits? There must be some purpose behind your early morning experimentation beyond simply fulfilling Lady Rivenna’s expectations.

Iris considered her answer carefully, still not ready to share her discovery with him and the real reason behind her experimentation this morning.

A desire to understand. To make sense of things that seem beyond my control.

She watched the paper envelope disappear through the doorway, then turned her attention to the copper teapot and the successful blend she’d created earlier. She poured some into a vial and labeled it ‘Autumn & Pine. A Possible Winner.’ She set it aside with the other vials as Jasvian’s response appeared:

Control is certainly a worthy pursuit. I admit that anything beyond my influence makes me extremely uncomfortable. I strive to never find myself in such a position.

Iris raised her eyebrows at his candid admission as she lifted her quill once more.

Really? Do you not find it freeing to occasionally release that iron grip on your surroundings? There’s a certain exhilaration in surrendering to the unexpected, is there not?

Once her folded note had vanished through the kitchen door, she began running her fingers over the silver measuring spoons, arranging and rearranging them as she waited for his reply.

Perhaps for some. For me, surrendering to the unexpected inevitably leads to disaster. When you are responsible for hundreds of lives, a single unpredictable moment, one unexpected variable outside your control, can result in catastrophic consequences.

His words carried a weight she hadn’t anticipated, hinting at responsibilities she’d never fully considered. What might it be like to know that if one’s magic did not fulfill its intended purpose at precisely the right moment, it could result in actual loss of life? The burden of such responsibility must be crushing. She was beginning to understand why Jasvian clung so desperately to order and control, but still she felt the need to steer the conversation in a somewhat lighter direction.

I recognize that in your line of work, this is true. But surely not all unexpected developments are catastrophic. She hesitated, took a breath, then added: Even your grandmother’s decision to take on a half-blood apprentice might qualify as such an unexpected development, don’t you think? And surely that is not catastrophic?

She sent the note, wondering if she’d foolishly given him the opportunity to revive his earlier prejudices or unleash a fresh barrage of condescending opinions about her unsuitability for the position. More time than usual passed without a reply, and she found herself growing increasingly anxious as she hunted around the kitchen in search of a box in which to place all the samples of her experimental blends.

Finally, just as she found something suitable, Lord Jasvian’s response arrived:

I admit my initial assessment of the situation may have been … somewhat hasty. The tea house has its own wisdom, as my grandmother often reminds me. Perhaps it saw something in you that merited consideration beyond conventional expectations.

The notebook, which had maintained a dignified silence since the page-tearing incident, apparently decided that this exchange was too significant to ignore. Its elegant script appeared beneath Jasvian’s message:

Is that … an apology? Mark the calendar for this historic occasion.

Iris stared at the words, genuinely surprised. It wasn’t quite an apology, but from Lord Jasvian Rowanwood, it felt remarkably close. She wrote:

Thank you. I find myself similarly reconsidering certain hasty judgments. Perhaps we’ve both been too quick to assign each other to neatly labeled categories that leave no room for nuance or growth.

As she watched the paper envelope depart, she heard Lady Rivenna’s voice echoing from the main tea house, accompanied by the sounds of other staff arriving. The day was properly beginning now, and with it, the likelihood of interruption.

Lord Jasvian’s response appeared quickly, as if he too sensed their time drawing to a close:

A fair observation. Though I maintain that your desk, like your half of the kitchen worktable, is still offensively disorganized.

The notebook commented: And there is the Lord Jasvian we know. Order has been restored to the universe.

Ignoring the fact that her half of the table was now infinitely tidier than when Lord Jasvian had glimpsed it earlier, Iris laughed softly and wrote:

And I maintain that your ledgers would benefit from occasional disorder. But perhaps we can agree to disagree on matters of organization while finding common ground elsewhere.

She sent the note, then carefully transferred all her labeled vials into the small box she’d found. By the time she was done, Lord Jasvian’s reply had appeared in the notebook:

An acceptable compromise. I must attend to the day’s business now. Good day, Lady Iris.

And beneath it, the notebook had added:

Well, well. Progress, it seems, is indeed possible. Even for the terminally stuffy.