Page 35 of Tempests & Tea Leaves (The Charmed Leaf Legacy #1)

Chapter Thirty-Five

Rain pattered against the windows of The Charmed Leaf Tea House in a steady, mournful rhythm, driven by a wind that moaned through Bloomhaven’s streets like a heartbroken spirit. Inside, however, golden faelights cast a warm glow over the assembled guests, and hearth sprites danced merrily among crackling flames in the fireplace that had materialized in the wall specifically for this unusually cold summer’s night. The contrast between the storm outside and the cheery atmosphere within only heightened the sense of privileged intimacy shared by those fortunate enough to have secured an invitation to Lady Rivenna’s Annual Tea Leaf Reading.

Iris sat with rigid posture at a table with her grandparents, every nerve in her body acutely, painfully aware of the two tables flanking hers—to her left, the Blackbriars, with Lord Hadrian offering her frequent warm smiles; to her right, the Rowanwoods, with Jasvian studiously avoiding her gaze. The seating arrangement was so obviously contrived that Iris could not help but wonder if Lady Rivenna had personally arranged it for maximum dramatic effect.

“Oh, Iris, isn’t this enchanting?” her grandmother whispered, patting her hand with uncharacteristic enthusiasm. The elder Lady Starspun had been positively despondent following Jasvian’s sudden coolness after the Night Market, where he had shown such promising interest in Iris. Her spirits were now remarkably improved, however, thanks to Iris spending much of the previous evening at the Fawnwoods’ ball enjoying Lord Hadrian’s attentive company.

“Such a charming tradition. Your grandfather and I haven’t been included in many years, not since we began our quiet withdrawal from society functions, you understand.”

“Indeed, it is quite lovely,” Iris murmured, fighting to keep her gaze from drifting toward Jasvian.

She had barely slept the previous night, replaying their dance at Fawnwood House over and over in her mind. The careful distance he had maintained, the precise formality of his words, the way his fingers had tensed almost imperceptibly when they brushed against hers. Most of all, she remembered the flash of raw longing she had glimpsed in his eyes before he had shuttered it away. Despite everything he had said in the garden, despite his insistence that duty must take precedence over personal feelings, something in that unguarded moment had whispered that he still cared.

The thought both comforted and infuriated her.

“Lady Iris,” a warm voice interrupted her brooding. Lord Hadrian had leaned slightly toward her from his adjacent table, his expression brightening as she turned her attention to him. “I must say, you look particularly lovely this evening. That shade of blue suits you remarkably well.”

“Thank you, Lord Hadrian,” she replied, managing a genuine smile. Hadrian’s kindness was a balm to her wounded spirits, his open admiration a welcome contrast to Jasvian’s deliberate coldness. “Did your sister enjoy her morning sketching excursion to the gardens? I understand she and her companions were fortunate enough to complete their drawings before this dreadful weather descended upon us.”

“Indeed, she returned quite pleased with her efforts. She captured a rather charming scene of two garden gnomes who appeared to be engaged in some sort of spirited debate over the proper pruning of?—”

“Distinguished guests!” Lady Rivenna’s clear voice cut through the murmur of conversation, drawing all eyes to where she stood regally at the center of the room. “Welcome to my Annual Tea Leaf Reading.”

As she continued her introduction, Iris found her gaze inadvertently straying to the Rowanwood table. Jasvian sat rigidly beside his mother, his severe expression softening only when he glanced at his younger siblings. Aurelise and Kazrian could barely contain their excitement at being allowed to attend such an adult gathering, while Rosavyn caught Iris’s eye and offered a small, sympathetic smile. She knew something of what had transpired between Iris and her brother, though Iris had not divulged the true extent of her feelings and the depth of her disappointment.

“… a tradition that honors our connection to the deeper patterns that flow beneath the surface of our lives,” Lady Rivenna was saying, her hands sweeping through the air in a graceful gesture that left a trail of silver sparkles. Outside, a particularly strong gust of wind rattled the tea house’s windows. “Tonight, we peer into destiny’s teacup, seeking what mysteries might be revealed.”

Lucie and Lissian emerged from the kitchen at that moment—Iris knew their arrival had been precisely timed—bearing trays of delicate, pearl-white teacups. Iris observed the faint luminescence emanating from each cup, evidence of the enchantment she knew Lady Rivenna had placed upon them to ensure distinctive patterns would form for the evening’s entertainment. This was well-understood and simply part of the evening’s accepted performance.

“Now,” Lady Rivenna instructed with a dramatic flourish, “before you are special blends I have personally created for each of you. I ask that you observe a moment of silence as you first inhale the aroma.”

Iris tucked her gloves beside her saucer before dutifully lifting her cup and breathing in the complex scent of her tea. She glanced up, only to find Jasvian watching her with an intensity that sent heat rushing to her cheeks. He looked away immediately, his jaw tightening.

“Drink your tea until only a spoonful remains!” Lady Rivenna commanded, her voice taking on a theatrical quality. The statement was followed by a ripple of anticipation through the gathering.

As Iris sipped her tea, she found herself unable to resist occasional glances toward both adjacent tables. Lord Hadrian caught her eye once and smiled, while Jasvian remained focused on his cup with unnatural concentration. The younger Rowanwoods—Aurelise and Kazrian—could barely contain their excitement, whispering to each other and earning a gentle rebuke from their mother.

“Hold your cup in your left hand,” Lady Rivenna instructed once most guests had nearly finished their tea. “Place your right hand atop it.” Iris complied. “Now swirl three times clockwise—no, Lord Thornhart, your other clockwise!” Rivenna corrected with good-natured exasperation, drawing laughter from the assembled guests. “Then turn the cup upside down onto your sauce.”

The room filled with the gentle clinking of porcelain as everyone followed her instructions. Iris carefully inverted her cup onto the delicate saucer, watching as a drop of amber liquid escaped and ran along the rim.

“Count to seven while contemplating your deepest curiosities,” Lady Rivenna intoned, her voice dropping to a near-whisper that somehow carried across the room.

Iris closed her eyes. One. What did she truly wish to know? Two. The path her future would take? Three. Whether the tea house would indeed become hers one day? Four. If her family would recover from financial ruin? Five. Whether she would find happiness? Six. If Jasvian would ever—Seven.

She stopped that thought abruptly.

“Now, carefully turn your cup right-side up and peer into the mysteries within!” Rivenna announced, her words followed immediately—and almost comically—by a dramatic rumble of thunder.

As Iris lifted her cup, she became aware of Lord Hadrian leaning toward her again. “I’m curious to see what fate has in store for you,” he said.

Iris smiled. “I believe you’re well aware, my lord, that these patterns are largely theatrical amusements arranged for the evenings entertainment.”

His smile widened. “That may be so, yet if your teacup were truly a window into your future,” he added, almost conspiratorially, “I suspect it would reveal something quite extraordinary on your horizon.”

Iris couldn’t help laughing. “Is that not the promise of all fortune tellers? That something momentous always lurks just beyond our view?”

Hadrian chuckled softly and returned his attention to his own teacup, though his smile lingered.

Lady Rivenna moved among the tables, pausing to offer dramatic interpretations for select guests. To Lord Emberdale, she declared that the winding pattern in his cup foretold an unexpected journey. Lady Featherlock was informed that the cluster of leaves near her cup’s rim suggested imminent happy news, while young Lord Bridgemere received the solemn pronouncement that the leaf formation resembling a horse indicated ‘swift changes galloping toward him.’

The guests were clearly enjoying themselves, comparing cups and offering their own interpretations amid bursts of laughter and exclamations of surprise. Even Iris’s grandfather seemed caught up in the festive spirit, turning his cup this way and that as he squinted at the patterns within.

Iris, having learned a few things by now from Lady Rivenna, examined her teacup and discovered a very obvious anchor shape that suggested a journey ending safely in harbor, and a distinct pattern like a ringing bell that indicated joyful news was on its way. Iris sighed and shook her head. Lady Rivenna likely knew far more than she let on about the current circumstances between her grandson and her apprentice, and this was perhaps her way of subtly trying to cheer Iris up.

With the formal readings concluded, guests rose from their tables and began to mingle. Iris found herself standing beneath an ornate hanging teapot with Rosavyn, while her grandparents conversed nearby with the elder Whispermists.

“Lady Fawnwood’s new hairstyle looks precisely like one of Orrit’s scones has taken up residence on her head,” Rosavyn whispered, leaning close to Iris’s ear. “I keep expecting it to sprout little legs and scurry away in search of clotted cream.”

Iris smothered a laugh behind her hand, grateful for the moment of levity that diverted her thoughts from the turmoil that had occupied them all evening. “Rosavyn! She’ll hear you, and then where will we be?”

“In terrible disgrace, I should hope,” Rosavyn replied. She heaved a theatrical sigh. “It’s been at least three days since I properly scandalized anyone. My reputation as the family’s secondary source of trouble is at risk of tarnishing.”

Before Iris could formulate a suitable response, Lord Hadrian approached. After greeting Rosavyn, he asked, “Might I borrow Lady Iris for a brief moment?”

“But of course,” Rosavyn replied, her eyes widening in exaggerated interest as she glanced between them.

Iris pretended not to notice Rosavyn’s pointed look, just as she ignored her grandmother’s keen observation of the exchange. As Hadrian led her across the room, they passed directly by Jasvian’s table, and though Iris kept her gaze carefully averted, she could feel the weight of his attention upon her like a physical touch.

Hadrian led her toward a quieter area of the tea house around the corner near the staircase that led to the upper levels. The faelight here was dimmer, more intimate, creating shifting patterns of shadow and gold across the wooden floor. The relative distance from the windows reduced the storm’s presence to a gentle murmur, creating a pocket of tranquility in the secluded alcove. The blossoms nestled among the vines adorning the walls seemed to turn toward them, their petals unfurling slightly as if curious about the conversation about to unfold.

“I’ve been wanting to speak with you privately,” he said, his voice gentle as he turned to face her. “Ever since the masquerade, in fact, though I’ll admit it’s taken me some time to work up the courage.”

A flicker of nervous anticipation curled in Iris’s stomach. “Oh?”

“Lady Iris,” he began, taking her hands in his with careful reverence. Her heart performed a peculiar little leap at the contact. While the press of his skin against hers sent a pleasant warmth through her fingers, it bore little resemblance to the liquid fire that had coursed through her veins at Jasvian’s merest touch.

“These past weeks, I have come to admire you greatly. Your intelligence, your courage in facing Bloomhaven society, your unique perspective—all of these qualities have captivated me.” He drew a deep breath, his gaze never leaving hers. “I find myself thinking of you constantly, wondering what insights you might offer on any given topic, longing to share my thoughts with you and hear yours in return.”

Iris felt a genuine warmth spread through her chest at his sincere words. Hadrian had always been kind to her, had seen value in her beyond her bloodline or social position. He was handsome, intelligent, respected. Everything she should want in a match. Yet even as these thoughts formed, her treacherous mind conjured an image of Jasvian’s face, his rare smile, the intensity in his eyes that night he had knelt beside her on the floor of the study.

“And I must confess, our encounter at the masquerade only deepened my admiration,” he continued earnestly. “Our lively conversation, your thoughtful observations—even as we shared far too many dances in succession, much to the disappointment of the other gentlemen present. Though our faces were concealed, I knew it could be no one but you.”

At this, Iris’s thoughts faltered. Though she had indeed danced with several partners that night, there was only one with whom she’d formed a genuine connection, and she knew with absolute certainty it had not been Hadrian. She opened her mouth to correct this misunderstanding, but before she could speak?—

Hadrian slowly lowered himself to one knee, still holding her hands in his. Iris’s breath caught as she realized what was happening. “Lady Iris Starspun,” he said, his voice steady with conviction, “I believe we could build a wonderful life together. A partnership of minds and hearts. Would you do me the extraordinary honor of becoming my wife?”

Time seemed to suspend itself as Iris stared down at Hadrian’s earnest face. Suddenly, her vision blurred, reality folding in upon itself as it had so many times before. Multiple versions of her future unfolded before her, each one overlapping the next before she had time to properly consider any of them:

Herself in a beautiful gown, standing in a lavish garden in front of a magnificent country home, Hadrian beside her as they conversed animatedly about a book held open between them?—

Standing in The Charmed Leaf, older now, silver threading through her dark hair as she poured tea for distinguished guests?—

Standing at the tea house study window, a strong arm looping around her waist and drawing her nearer, Jasvian’s face filling her vision as his other hand rose to brush against her cheek?—

A dark-haired child running through a field of wildflowers, paper butterflies dancing in the air above tiny outstretched hands?—

The visions vanished as quickly as they had appeared, leaving Iris blinking in momentary disorientation. Hadrian remained before her, still waiting with patient expectation for her answer.

“I—” she began, then faltered. “It … I believe you’re mistaken about the masquerade, my lord. It was not me you danced with.”

Hadrian frowned. “Are you certain?”

“And … and the tea house?—”

“I assure you, Lady Iris, I would not ask you to give up The Charmed Leaf. If Lady Rivenna intends it for you, then it shall be yours. We could surely find a reliable person to manage its daily affairs while you guide it from afar and visit Bloomhaven as needed to ensure all is well. The arrangements can be determined once we are wed. But please, do not distress yourself with the notion that you must give it up.”

“I, uh …” That wasn’t quite the way Iris had envisioned her future at the tea house, but she supposed she couldn’t expect Lord Hadrian to upend his life and move permanently to Bloomhaven if that was not the Blackbriars’ custom. There was, however, one another pressing matter that required mentioning.

“There is something else I must tell you,” she added, guilt washing over her. “My … my family’s circumstances are not what they may appear. In truth, our situation is quite grave. We face significant financial difficulties, and I—I must inform you that I have no dowry to speak of. I have nothing save my family name. I should have disclosed this matter sooner, and for that I feel most dreadfully?—”

“None of that is of any concern,” Hadrian interrupted, a gentle smile smoothing away his frown. “I care nothing for dowries or financial considerations, Lady Iris. It is you alone whom I desire.”

His words struck her with unexpected force. Here was a man who wanted her for herself, who saw value in her mind and character, who cared not for distinguished bloodlines or a possible fortune. After weeks of judgment and scrutiny from Bloomhaven society, after Jasvian’s rejection, Hadrian’s unconditional acceptance felt like cool water to a parched soul.

She thought of her family’s desperate financial situation, of her grandparents’ thinly veiled anxiety as the Season progressed without a match, of her father’s warnings that their very survival depended on her securing an advantageous marriage. She thought of Jasvian’s stony expression as he had told her his duty must take precedence over whatever had been growing between them.

“Yes,” she heard herself say, the word escaping before she had fully formed the decision. “Yes, I will marry you.”

Hadrian’s face lit with joy as he rose to his feet, producing a ring from his pocket. It was a delicate gold band set with a luminous pearl surrounded by tiny diamonds that caught the light like stars. As he slipped it onto her finger, Iris tried to focus on the happiness she should be feeling, rather than the strangely hollow sensation spreading through her chest.

“You’ve made me the happiest of men,” Hadrian said. “Shall we share our news?”

Iris nodded, allowing him to guide her back toward the main room where her grandparents waited. The buzzing in her head made it difficult to focus on anything beyond putting one foot before the other. She was engaged. She would be Lady Iris Blackbriar. This was what she had been brought to Bloomhaven to accomplish—a match that would secure her family’s future.

Her grandparents’ faces transformed with undisguised delight when Hadrian formally requested their blessing. Her grandmother actually clasped her hands together in pure joy, while her grandfather clapped Hadrian firmly on the shoulder in a rare display of emotion. Their relief was palpable, like a physical wave that washed over their table.

“We would be honored to welcome you to our family,” her grandfather declared, his voice unusually warm. “This calls for a toast!”

As word of the engagement spread through the tea house, guests began to approach with congratulations and well-wishes. Lady Lelianna offered a gracious smile, while Rosavyn squeezed Iris’s hand warmly, though her eyes held a hint of something Iris couldn’t quite decipher. The noise and chatter seemed to increase with each passing moment, pressing in upon Iris until she felt she could hardly breathe. The ring on her finger felt both foreign and unnaturally heavy.

“If you’ll excuse me,” she managed to say, offering Hadrian an apologetic smile. “I … believe Lady Rivenna may need me in the kitchen.”

She turned, intending to make her way toward the kitchen where she might find a moment’s peace, only to collide solidly with a tall figure. Strong hands steadied her, grasping her upper arms briefly before withdrawing as if burned.

“Lord Jasvian,” she gasped, stepping back to find herself staring up into his face. His expression was carefully controlled, but something dark and turbulent lurked in his eyes. For a long moment, they simply stared at one another, the noise of the gathering seeming to fade into muffled irrelevance. Then she blinked and remembered herself. “I—excuse me, my lord.”

She stepped past him and wove her way between the tables and guests until she pushed through the door into the kitchen, where blessed quiet greeted her, interrupted only by the soft clinking of porcelain as kitchen pixies methodically washed teacups and arranged them in orderly rows. The familiar scents of herbs and spiced tea brought a momentary comfort that vanished instantly when the noise from the tea house’s main floor surged—the door had opened again.

She turned to find Jasvian walking in, the door swinging closed behind him.

“What are you doing?” he asked as he stopped a few paces away, his eyes dark with an emotion that seemed to hover between anger and desperation.

Iris blinked. “What do you mean?”

“This.” He gestured vaguely toward her hand, where Hadrian’s ring glimmered. “This isn’t what you want.”

Anger flared within her, hot and sudden. “How do you know what I want? You made it abundantly clear that my wishes were of no consequence to you.”

“That’s not—” He broke off, inhaling deeply. When he spoke again, his voice was lower, but no less intense. “Please. Think carefully about what you’re doing.”

“I have thought carefully,” she retorted, though the slight tremor in her voice betrayed her uncertainty. “Lord Hadrian is kind, intelligent, constant, and values me for who I am. I could not ask for a better match.”

“Is that enough for you?” Jasvian pressed, stepping closer. “To build a life on kindness and intelligence alone?”

“It’s certainly more than duty and obligation,” she shot back.

His jaw tightened. “You don’t understand?—”

“Oh, I understand perfectly well. You chose your duty over anything that might threaten your perfect control.” Her voice had risen slightly, drawing anxious glances from the pixies. “And now you have the audacity to question my choice?”

“Because it’s the wrong one!” he shouted, causing the kitchen pixies to abandon their dishwashing duties entirely, darting into the pantry to hide. “You don’t love him! You barely know him!”

“And what would you know of love?” Iris demanded. “You’re too terrified to allow yourself to feel it.”

“That is not?—”

“And as for knowing each other—you’re right. Lord Hadrian and I haven’t had the opportunity to properly know one another. Perhaps we would have if someone hadn’t monopolized so much of his time with endless work on magical detection systems that will likely never see use because someone can’t bear to relinquish control!”

“My control, at least,” he snapped in return, “prevents me from angling quite so obviously for the first advantageous match that presents itself!”

Iris recoiled as if physically struck, her breath catching in her throat. She stepped back, her body suddenly rigid except for the trembling of her hands. Drawing in a ragged breath, she bit out, “There is nothing more to say.”

Turning on her heel, she marched to the back door and flung it open. Without a backward glance, she stepped out into the storm, slamming the door behind her with a resounding bang.