Page 25 of Tempests & Tea Leaves (The Charmed Leaf Legacy #1)
Chapter Twenty-Five
Moonlight spilled across the narrow alleyway behind Starspun House as Iris slipped through the servants’ entrance, her heart hammering against her ribs. She clutched the plain cloak tightly around her shoulders, concealing the simple evening gown she’d worn at dinner.
“Lady Iris!” Brenna’s hushed voice followed her. “Remember, I’ll be waiting up after midnight to help you sneak back inside. It’s unlikely anyone will be awake then to see you, but on the chance that someone is.”
“Thank you, Brenna,” Iris said, turning back to her lady’s maid with a grateful smile. “I appreciate your assistance.”
Brenna’s smile stretched wider. “Oh, of course, Lady Iris! This is the most thrilling adventure I’ve been part of since I started working at Starspun House!”
Before Iris could respond, movement in the shadows at the end of the alley caught her attention. A figure emerged, silvery in the moonlight. “Iris! Come on!” Rosavyn beckoned, barely containing her excitement.
With one last grateful nod to Brenna, Iris gathered her skirts and hurried toward her friend. Together, they slipped around the corner of the tall hedge that bordered the property, giggling like schoolgirls as they made their way to where one of the Rowanwoods’ enchanted carriages waited, its lamps dimmed to avoid drawing attention.
“Into the carriage, quickly now,” Rosavyn urged, ushering Iris ahead of her.
Inside, Charlotte sat waiting, surrounded by a pile of fabric and ribbons. Her face broke into a delighted grin at the sight of Iris. “You made it! I was beginning to worry.”
“Was there ever any real doubt?” Iris replied, breathless with excitement as Rosavyn climbed in behind her and pulled the carriage door closed.
“I believe you did attempt to argue with me when I first presented my plan,” Rosavyn said.
Iris laughed. “I hardly put up much of a protest!”
Her grin still in place, Rosavyn placed a hand against the carriage’s side and raised her voice. “Rowanwood House, please!” And with a gentle lurch, they were off, rolling through Bloomhaven’s quieter streets toward the grand estate that awaited them.
“Now,” Charlotte said, lifting what appeared to be a stunning gown of deep violet silk, “let’s transform you.”
“It’s beautiful,” Iris breathed, touching the fabric reverently. “And the original owner …”
“Stop worrying about that part,” Charlotte said. “The original owner will never know. She developed an unfortunate fever this morning and won’t be attending the masquerade. Given that the dress is almost precisely your size, it must be fate bringing you together.”
“Do you think it’s even necessary to wear a dress so spectacular? The mask enchantment will alter my appearance anyway, so?—”
“Iris, you can’t very well enter Rowanwood House wearing that modest dinner gown,” Rosavyn argued. “You’ll be conspicuous in something so plain, and the objective is for you to blend in with everyone else. Now let me help you out of that dress.”
What followed was a whirlwind of fabric, corset laces, and suppressed laughter as the carriage traveled along cobblestone streets. Iris found herself twisted this way and that as Charlotte and Rosavyn helped her into the gown, their fingers working nimbly despite the swaying of the carriage.
“Turn around,” Charlotte instructed, brandishing a hairbrush and a handful of pins. “Let me see what I can do with your hair.” With deft fingers, she twisted Iris’s dark locks into a hastily arranged coiffure.
As she finished her work, Rosavyn reached into a small velvet pouch and withdrew something that caught the dim light of the carriage lamps. “Here,” she said, slipping a delicate silver bangle onto Iris’s wrist. “The final touch.”
“Oh, that’s lovely!” Iris exclaimed, admiring the intricate flower pattern etched into the silver band, each blossom’s center adorned with a purple gemstone that perfectly matched her gown’s rich hue.
“Isn’t it? I picked it up at Tremayne’s Treasures at the start of the season, but I have so many similar items I haven’t had a chance to wear it even once yet. Consider it yours.”
Iris caught Charlotte’s eye, and they both rolled their eyes. For all her privilege, Rosavyn’s genuine warmth and generosity made it impossible to hold her casual extravagance against her.
“Are you certain?” Iris asked her, gently touching one of the purple stones.
“Of course!”
“Thank you, Rosavyn.” Iris slipped the bangle onto her wrist where it settled perfectly over her elbow-length ivory gloves.
“We’re almost there,” Charlotte announced, peering through the carriage window. “I can see the lights of Rowanwood House.”
Indeed, as they rounded the corner, Rowanwood House came into view, ablaze with golden light that spilled from its many windows. The magnificent marble steps of the grand entrance were lined with enchanted lanterns, and a steady stream of carriages moved along the curved drive, depositing elegantly dressed guests who proceeded up the grand staircase toward the entrance.
Their own carriage joined the queue, and Iris clasped Charlotte’s hands with heartfelt gratitude. “Thank you so much for everything.”
Charlotte pulled her into a quick embrace. “But of course! If I can’t attend the masquerade myself, helping someone prepare for it is a most welcome substitute. And adjusting dresses for all those haughty ladies parading through Mother’s shop certainly doesn’t count!”
The next thing Iris knew, she and Rosavyn were stepping out into the warm evening air. She fought the urge to hunch her shoulders or hide her face. Instead, she ascended the stairs confidently beside Rosavyn, her chin lifted just as they’d practiced.
Inside, the grand entrance hall of Rowanwood House took Iris’s breath away. Crystal chandeliers bathed everything in warm golden light, reflecting off polished marble floors where footmen in elegant livery guided guests toward the ballroom. Just before the entrance, attendants stood behind a table laden with exquisite masks.
“This is where the magic begins,” Rosavyn whispered excitedly as they approached.
A footman bowed slightly. “Ladies, if you would make your selection,” he said, gesturing to the array of masks.
Iris’s hand hovered over the collection before settling on one more delicate than most of the others. Silver filigree with tiny floral details reminiscent of the bangle on her wrist. Beside her, Rosavyn selected a mask of deep blue embellished with tiny crystals.
“When you place the mask on your face,” the footman instructed, “the enchantment will take effect. It will remain until the final chime of midnight, at which point all illusions will fade.”
With a shared glance of nervous excitement, Iris and Rosavyn lifted their masks simultaneously. The moment the cool metal touched Iris’s skin, she felt a shiver of magic wash over her. Instinctively, she wrapped her fingers around the bangle on her wrist, hoping it wouldn’t be changed by the enchantment.
Her gaze returned to Rosavyn and she gasped, watching as her friend’s appearance rippled and changed before her eyes. Where Rosavyn had stood a moment before, a slightly shorter woman with cascading golden curls now smiled back at her, her eyes visible through the mask but somehow unrecognizable.
“Iris!” Rosavyn’s voice emerged slightly altered, musical and lilting. “Look at you!”
Rosavyn gestured to the mirrored surface of the open ballroom doors, and as they stepped past them, Iris caught a glimpse of herself. Her hair, normally a deep brown, now gleamed with auburn highlights and sat atop her head in an elaborate arrangement of braids woven with silver ribbons. Her gown had shifted from violet to a shimmering teal, and her ivory gloves had transformed into sheer teal lace that extended past her elbows, patterned with silver threads that precisely echoed her mask’s design. The only part of her ensemble that remained unchanged was the silver bangle.
The sight of her altered image brought to mind Lord Jasvian’s humorous description from their morning correspondence—the peacock feather and how comically small the enchantment would make her—and she couldn’t help smiling, almost wishing he was here to see how wrong his prediction had been.
The thought caught her by surprise. Why should she wish for Lord Jasvian’s presence? He’d likely only sour the atmosphere with his perpetual seriousness and refusal to dance. In all the gatherings she’d attended since arriving in Bloomhaven, not once had she seen him take to the dance floor, much to the disappointment of every eligible young lady present.
“We should separate,” Rosavyn said in her new lilting tone. “The whole point of the masquerade is to mingle freely. Let us meet by the crystal fountain in the entrance hall just before midnight. That way, we can leave together, and I can help you get home safely.”
Iris nodded. “Until midnight, then. And thank you again for this!”
With that, they parted ways, each disappearing into the swirling crowd of masked revelers.
The ballroom of Rowanwood House had been transformed beyond imagination. The ceiling appeared to have vanished entirely, replaced by a perfect view of the night sky where stars twinkled against velvet darkness. Swirling patterns of luminescent mist drifted overhead, and the very air sparkled with tiny motes of magic that resembled fireflies hovering just above the guests’ heads. Iris stood at the edge of the dance floor, simply absorbing the spectacle. Couples twirled in perfect synchronization to the music, and the floor beneath them gleamed with intricate lumyrite inlays that pulsed with light in time to the beat.
The air itself felt charged, scented with exotic flowers and something more elusive—pure magic, perhaps, or simply the combined energy of so many powerful fae gathered in one place. It made Iris’s skin tingle pleasantly, heightening her senses until every color seemed more vivid, every note of music more resonant.
As she watched the dancers, she allowed her mind to relax, and slowly she became aware of possible futures flickering across her vision, almost too fast to make sense of before they folded into one another. A flash of white wedding lace unfurling beside one laughing couple, a glimpse of a sealed letter being hastily tucked into a pocket overlaying the gentleman over there. Nothing that made much sense to her.
She surveyed the crowd until her gaze eventually settled on the far side of the room where the High Lady stood in conversation with Lady Rivenna. Unlike the rest of the attendees, neither woman wore a mask, their true identities visible to all who approached them.
As Iris watched, another series of scenes unfolded rapidly, playing out over the image of the two women. For a brief moment, Iris caught a glimpse of a tall, dark-skinned man towering over the High Lady in a threatening stance. Iris blinked, the haunting image gone in an instant.
Then, to her horror, the High Lady’s gaze snapped up, locking directly with Iris’s across the crowded room. Her piercing stare seemed to cut through the enchantment, and Iris quickly looked away, heart pounding. Had the High Lady somehow felt her magic like an intrusive touch? And what if she could somehow see beyond the enchanted masks? Was she now aware of who it was that had inadvertently attempted to exert some kind of magic over her?
But the High Lady had turned back to Lady Rivenna, bending her head close to speak to the tea houses’s proprietress, and before Iris could dwell further on the unsettling possibility that the High Lady had seen her, a voice spoke from beside her. “Would you care to dance?”
Iris turned to find a tall gentleman in a coat the cheerful hue of sun-warmed marigolds, its cuffs and standing collar richly embroidered with gleaming rose-gold thread. A bronze mask obscured his face, revealing only a friendly smile.
And all of a sudden it struck her, what was distinctly lacking at this event that had shadowed almost every other gathering: the judgmental stares and whispers. Tonight, there were none. No sidelong glances at her half-fae ears, no hushed comments about the ‘half-breed’ behind gloved hands. For the first time since arriving in Bloomhaven, she stood unscrutinized, her identity concealed behind her silver mask. The realization brought with it a lightness, as if she’d suddenly shed the weight of others’ expectations and prejudices.
She placed her hand in the outstretched gentleman’s and said, “I would be delighted.”
The first dance passed with pleasant small talk about the decorations and music, neither participant revealing anything that might hint at their identity. Iris found herself relaxing into the anonymity the masquerade provided. Her second partner was more talkative, speculating about which prominent families might be represented among the masked guests. “I’m certain that’s the elder Lord Thornhart over there,” he whispered conspiratorially, nodding toward a portly gentleman who kept stepping on his partner’s toes. “Dancing has never been counted among his accomplishments.”
Iris laughed, playing along with the guessing game while carefully avoiding revealing details about herself. When the dance ended, she found herself near one of the garden archways and gratefully accepted a glass of something rose-tinted and effervescent from a passing footman.
As she stood sipping her drink, enjoying the refreshing breeze that drifted in from the gardens, Iris noticed a tall gentleman lingering on the other side of an elaborate floral arrangement. His mask, adorned with intricate bronze and ink blue detailing, caught the light as he occasionally glanced in her direction. There was something striking about his posture. A certain controlled elegance that contrasted with the casual revelry around him.
Catching him looking her way once more, Iris offered a small smile and lifted her glass in polite acknowledgment. He seemed to hesitate, his attention fixed on her for a moment longer before returning to surveying the room.
As the orchestra struck up a new melody and couples began forming for another dance, Iris considered the impropriety of initiating an invitation herself. The mysterious gentleman’s repeated glances surely indicated some measure of interest, and she herself was quite keen to dance again. Would it truly cause much of a stir, especially when everyone was masked?
She had just taken a step in his direction—thinking that this was precisely the sort of behavior her grandmother had dreaded—when he finally approached her. He cleared his throat before speaking, his voice deep and measured. “May I have the honor of this dance?” he asked, extending his hand.
Amused by his evident deliberation in approaching her, yet pleased he had finally gathered the courage, Iris nodded. “You may,” she replied, glancing around for somewhere to set her glass. As if summoned by her thought, a footman appeared at her elbow. She handed him the glass before turning back to her prospective partner and placing her hand in his.
His touch was warm as his fingers closed around hers, guiding her toward the dance floor. As they assumed the formal hold for the waltz, Iris found herself half expecting that his initial reserve might translate into a degree of awkwardness on the floor. She was pleasantly surprised, therefore, when their first movements flowed together with a wonderful, almost instinctive effortlessness.
“You … dance well,” he remarked somewhat stiffly.
“As do you,” she replied, hoping to ease his apparent discomfort. “The orchestra is particularly excellent tonight, don’t you think?”
“Indeed,” he agreed, then took a breath, seeming to search for something more to add. “The acoustics of the ballroom are well-designed for such performances.”
“Have you attended many masquerades before?”
“Not as many as one might expect,” he answered. Another pause, in which he appeared to think and rethink his words before finally uttering them out loud. “To be perfectly honest, I find gatherings like these rather challenging. The expectation of easy conversation with strangers … it creates a certain anxiety. Where possible, I prefer to avoid such situations altogether.”
A pang of sympathy rose in Iris’s chest. His confession resonated more deeply than he could know. She remembered all too well her first few society events in Bloomhaven. The whispers that followed her, the sidelong glances, the way conversations would halt at her approach. Though things had improved somewhat as the season progressed, she still felt the sting of being an outsider, never quite belonging. Social anxiety was a familiar companion, even now.
“Well, I’m glad you chose to attend tonight,” she replied with genuine warmth. “And I hope I’m not causing you further discomfort. If you’d prefer to forego trivial banter, please feel free to introduce a more serious topic. I’m perfectly amenable to discussing something of substance.”
His expression softened behind the mask, almost reaching a smile. “Thank you for your consideration, but that won’t be necessary. I find myself quite enjoying our exchange as it is.”
“I’m happy to hear it,” Iris replied, and as they completed another turn, she added, “What shall we speak of next, then? The enchanted ceiling? I don’t think I’ve seen an illusion quite like it before.”
“It’s remarkable,” he agreed, glancing upward. “Maintaining an enchantment of this complexity for an entire evening requires considerable magical skill and attention to detail.”
“The stars seem so real,” Iris observed, admiring the twinkling lights above. “I wonder if they’re arranged in true constellations or merely designed for beauty.”
“I’ve studied the illusion quite carefully,” he admitted, “and I believe the stars are simply arranged in random patterns. I was disappointed at first—a missed opportunity to replicate the true order of constellations—but the more I observe it, the more I appreciate what has been accomplished. There’s a certain … creative chaos to it that has its own appeal.”
Iris nearly missed a step as recognition dawned with startling clarity.
Lord Jasvian , she thought with a jolt of surprise.
“My lady?” he asked, noticing her misstep. “Are you all right?”
A retort nearly escaped her: You said you weren’t coming! And then, almost immediately: I thought you were a terrible dancer! And then?—
Then she pressed her lips firmly together, because revealing that she recognized him would give away her own identity, and she wasn’t yet prepared for that. There might be … advantages to this situation. Perhaps she might discover aspects of the reserved, guarded Lord Jasvian that he would not ordinarily disclose.
And … well, there also happened to be the fact that she was rather enjoying the warmth of his hand pressed against the small of her back up until the moment she’d realized precisely who the hand belonged to. That same hand now guided her through a graceful turn, its pressure steady and assured against the curve of her waist. The heat of his touch, and something about the fact that she now knew it was him, sent an odd shiver through her.
“Yes, I’m fine, thank you,” she said as they returned to their original positions. Her eyes darted up once more, seeking that familiar gaze beyond the mask, but the enchantment had turned his eyes a deep blue. How very strange to think that it was Lord Brooding himself behind this mask.
As they moved through an elegant series of turns, Iris found herself impressed by the assurance of his lead, his movements confident yet never forceful, anticipating each step with remarkable timing. In truth, he was an excellent dancer. Was it simply because of the pressure to make conversation that he generally avoided dancing?
Curiosity began to build within her as they continued to dance, the melody shifting seamlessly into another piece. Here was an opportunity she might never have again—to speak with Jasvian without the weight of their past interactions coloring every word. Protected by anonymity, perhaps she could learn more about the man behind the perpetual frown.
She did not want to lie to him, but she would need to be strategic with her questions. “I’m familiar with Bloomhaven and its prominent families—” that wasn’t a lie; she had discovered much since arriving here “—but I’m still learning about the specific magic of all those who have manifested prior to the last few years. Do you know anything about Lord Rowanwood’s specific magic?”
If she had not already guessed his identity, the way he stiffened would most likely have given him away. “I know, of course, that it’s related to sensing the building of mine tempests,” she added quickly, “but I don’t believe I fully understand the extent of his power. Do you know anything about it?”
“I believe I do know a thing or two,” he replied, his voice carefully neutral.
Iris looked up at him expectantly, hoping her masked appearance would encourage him to speak more freely.
“You are correct,” he said finally, “that Lord Jasvian can sense the building of mine tempests. His magic is particularly attuned to the gathering of volatile magic around raw lumyrite deposits. When in close proximity to the mines, he is aware of the constant, low thrum of energy emanating from the raw lumyrite. Should that energy begin to coalesce significantly, however—signaling the inevitable formation of a tempest—he can detect that dangerous surge even across considerable distances. The feeling is similar to hearing distant thunder, I’m told, though no one else can detect it. And in addition to sensing the building tempest, he can also calm the wild magic before it erupts.”
“That sounds extremely useful,” Iris observed, “though rather taxing, I imagine.”
He nodded, guiding her through another turn. “Indeed.”
“Can he sense other types of unstable magic as well?” Iris asked, thinking of something Lady Rivenna had said the night she helped Iris understand the full extent of her own magic. The older woman had mentioned being alerted to Iris’s situation by someone possessing the ability to detect such unexpected magical surges.
“Yes, I believe he can,” Jasvian replied after a brief hesitation. “Similar to the tempests, he can feel when other magic threatens to erupt beyond control.”
Iris nodded, her suspicion confirmed, deciding now was not the time to examine precisely how she felt about the fact that he’d been fully aware she’d lost control of her own power that night. Curious, she added, “And can he calm that magic as well?”
“If necessary, yes. Just as with the tempests, he can soothe magic that threatens to cascade beyond its boundaries. Though I believe he has little experience with anything outside of mine tempest magic.”
Iris’s thoughts drifted as they moved across the floor. “I’ve often wondered,” she said after several moments of quiet had passed between them, “why the Rowanwoods are called Rowanwoods if their magic is related to earth and minerals and crystals. It seems an odd name for a family whose power lies in the ground rather than in trees.”
He seemed surprised by the question. “You have a curious mind. Particularly when it comes to the Rowanwoods.”
“I’m interested in all the prominent families of Bloomhaven,” Iris assured him. “But perhaps because we’re at Rowanwood House tonight, my attention has naturally turned to its namesake.”
“That seems reasonable,” he conceded. “The Rowanwood family’s magic wasn’t always tied to earth and crystal,” he explained. “Originally, the family possessed magic connected to rowan trees, the mountain ash. They could communicate with them, accelerate their growth, shape their wood without tools. They served as forest wardens and protective charm crafters.
“What changed?” Iris asked, genuinely intrigued.
“There was a disease—the Ashen Decay—that ravaged the forests many generations ago,” Jasvian continued. “Most of the family devoted their resources to fighting it, working directly with infected trees. But one of the younger sons had manifested differently. While his siblings spoke with trees, he could sense what minerals lay beneath their roots.”
Iris nodded encouragingly as they moved through the steps of the dance.
“When the Decay worsened, many in the family fell ill, their magic corrupted by the disease. But the Rowanwood son whose magic was different was working in the northern mountains when he discovered vast deposits of lumyrite through his unique ability to sense what lay beneath rowan roots. As the family’s traditional magic faded with each generation affected by the Decay, the line of Rowanwoods who had a connection to earth and crystal grew stronger.”
“So the current Rowanwoods are all descended from that particular line?” Iris asked.
“Yes. The family kept their name to honor their heritage, even as their magic evolved.”
“That’s fascinating,” she said. “I understand a little of what that Rowanwood son must have felt. My own magic manifested quite differently from the rest of my family. Knowing you’re different can be both a blessing and a burden.”
“I don’t suppose you’ll share more about your magical ability?” he asked, his tone lighter. “It might give me a clue to your identity.”
Iris laughed, shaking her head. “Absolutely not. We’re wearing these enchantments for a reason, are we not?”
His lips curved into a smile that transformed his masked face, and something inside Iris ached to see that expression on his true countenance. “Very well,” he conceded. “Then perhaps a different approach. Tell me something about yourself that most people don’t know. Something that couldn’t possibly reveal your identity.”
Iris considered for a moment before admitting, “I love poetry.”
“Poetry?” he repeated, sounding genuinely surprised. “What do you enjoy about it?”
“The emotion contained in so few words,” she replied. “How a carefully crafted verse can paint vivid pictures in the mind and stir feelings that prose sometimes cannot reach.”
“I confess I’ve never been able to lose myself in poetry,” he admitted. “Perhaps I’m too practical-minded for such things.”
Iris laughed, the sound bubbling up naturally. Had she harbored any lingering doubt about her partner’s identity, that admission would surely have dispelled it.
“Perhaps I should try again,” Lord Jasvian mused, his tone thoughtful.
“I challenge you to do so. You might surprise yourself.”
“I believe I shall,” he replied, and the sincerity in his voice caught her off guard.
They continued dancing, his hand remaining steady at her back as he guided her through the intricate steps of the current dance, one whose lively, weaving patterns marked it as originating from traditional fae culture, presenting a delightful challenge given her limited practice with such forms back home.
As the music returned to a gentler temp, and conversation became easier once more, they discussed everything from favorite seasons to the comparative merits of various magical transportation methods. Iris employed some invention when stating that she was currently engaged in furthering her knowledge of plant-derived comforts and their proper presentation, quietly amused at the way his eyes narrowed behind his mask as he attempted to decipher her deliberately vague description. She found herself enjoying the freedom to speak her mind without the weight of her identity coloring his responses, savoring each unguarded comment and genuine laugh she drew from him.
When the music shifted once more, quickening again into something spirited, Jasvian asked, “Would you prefer to rest?”
“Not at all,” Iris replied, surprised by her own eagerness. “I’m quite enjoying this. Unless you wish to stop?”
“I’m happy to continue if you are,” he said, and the warmth in his voice made something flutter in her chest.
As the tempo increased, Iris surrendered to the music, allowing him to guide her through spins that sent her skirts swirling around her ankles. Each time she returned to his arms, his smile grew wider, his movements more confident. Around them, other couples matched their enthusiasm, the entire ballroom transforming into a whirlwind of color and motion.
Iris found herself laughing freely as he led her through a particularly challenging sequence of steps, her feet somehow finding their way without conscious thought. When the final notes rang out, Jasvian pulled her into one last dramatic spin before drawing her close, both of them breathless and flushed with exertion.
Half the ballroom erupted into spontaneous applause, the energy of the dance having captured everyone’s attention. As the enthusiastic response died down, Iris realized with a start that they had danced multiple pieces together without pause. The orchestra had seamlessly transitioned from one melody to the next, and neither of them had thought—or perhaps wanted—to separate.
She caught Jasvian’s eye, but before either could speak, a hush fell over the ballroom. The music faded, and all eyes turned toward the dais where the High Lady now stood, commanding attention without saying a word.
“Ladies and gentlemen of the United Fae Isles,” her voice rang out, clear and powerful. “As another magnificent Rowanwood Masquerade draws to its conclusion, I wish to extend my gratitude to our gracious hosts for what has, as always, been one of the most spectacular events of the Bloom Season.” She paused, her gaze sweeping the room. “Of course, as wonderful as this evening has been, it serves primarily as a prelude to the true pinnacle of our season—the upcoming Solstice Ball.” A slight smile curved her lips, something almost smug in her expression. She gestured to the orchestra. “And now, the final dance before the enchantments come to their end. I suggest you choose your partners wisely, for at the stroke of midnight, all masks shall fall away, and true identities revealed.”
With a start, Iris realized how late it had grown. She had completely lost track of time during her conversation with Jasvian, and now midnight approached dangerously near. She needed to meet Rosavyn and leave before the enchantment faded.
Jasvian took a deep breath, seeming to gather his courage once more. “Would you honor me with this last dance?” he asked.
For a fleeting moment, Iris was tempted to accept. To dance until the final chime, to see his expression when he realized who she was. But caution prevailed over curiosity. “I’m so sorry,” she said, already taking a step back. “I must go. I’ve just remembered that—that I must meet someone.” She offered a quick curtsy. “Thank you for the dances. They were truly wonderful.”
And before he could respond, Iris turned and wove her way through the crowd, leaving behind the mystery and enchantment and the lingering question of what might have been.