Page 36 of Tempests & Tea Leaves (The Charmed Leaf Legacy #1)

Chapter Thirty-Six

The rain struck Iris’s face and bare arms, carried sideways by the restless wind that whipped through the tea house garden. Though the woven canopy of branches overhead blocked the worst of the downpour, enough water slipped through to immediately dampen her gown. She barely registered the cold, her anger burning hot enough to ward off the chill as she strode blindly forward, seeking distance from Jasvian’s cruel words.

How dare he? How dare he?

Behind her, the kitchen door slammed once more. “Lady Iris!” Jasvian’s voice cut through the storm. “Wait!”

She quickened her pace, navigating the slick garden path between the rows of herbs and flowers with reckless abandon.

“Iris!” he called again, closer this time.

She didn’t stop until she reached the fountain at the center of the tea house’s outdoor seating area. Rain-slicked stone met her fingertips as she gripped its edge for balance, then spun to face him. He stood beneath the edge of the canopy, rain already darkening the shoulders of his evening coat, plastering errant locks of hair to his forehead.

“Have you not said enough? Must you pursue me into a storm to deliver further insults?”

“I’m sorry,” he said, his eyes filled with such profound regret that it momentarily stilled her anger. “I’m so sorry. I did not mean that.”

She shook her head and swiped at her cheek with one hand, unsure if she was wiping away rain or tears. “What is it you desire of me?”

His expression crumpled into something raw and desperate. “Please, Lady Iris, I only wish to speak with you.”

“Speak?” She gave a harsh laugh. “You wish for conversation now ? After telling me that duty and responsibility must take precedence over whatever existed between us? After ensuring your complete absence since your return from the mines? Now that I am engaged to your dearest friend— now you suddenly discover the power of speech?”

Jasvian strode forward through the rain until he stood mere feet from her. “You cannot enter into this marriage.”

“I have already accepted his proposal,” she replied, hating how her voice trembled. “And you have made it abundantly clear that you do not desire my company.”

His brows rose. “You must know that is the furthest thing from the truth.”

She shook her head again. “It scarcely matters, does it? You will inevitably distance yourself again, regardless of your desires.”

“I …” He exhaled, running a hand across his brow. “I need … some time?—”

“Time?” The incredulity in her voice was obvious. “For what purpose? So that you might reject me once more when you determine that your sacred duty remains of greater importance than all else?”

His next words came so softly she almost lost them to the wind. “I was mistaken.”

Iris stared at him, momentarily rendered speechless. Something fierce and bright flickered to life in her chest—hope, longing, something even more dangerous. And then, just as quickly, it was consumed by a wave of indignation that burned away everything else.

“No,” she said, her voice trembling with suppressed emotion. “You do not get to declare your mistake only after I have pledged myself to another. Your dearest friend, no less! Would you have me break his heart now?”

“Of course not! I merely—” A sound of pure frustration escaped him, half growl and half groan, quickly swallowed by the wind’s howl. “I find myself at a loss! I have created a terrible mess of this situation. A complete disaster. I know I should never have pushed you away as I did, but I believed there was no alternative! You do not know what it is to be utterly alone in shouldering?—”

“Alone?” The word burst from her lips. “You think I know nothing of what it means to be alone ? Every day I stand at the edges of society, watching others move effortlessly through a world where I will never truly belong. Lord Hadrian was one of the few who made me feel I might find a place here. He shows kindness, and constancy, and he genuinely wishes for my company. He does not push me away the moment I draw too near. He—” Her voice caught. “He does not make me feel as you do.”

“And what,” Jasvian asked in a voice scarcely more than a whisper, “do I make you feel?”

Iris drew in several shuddering breaths, the enormity of the question pressing down upon her. Rain continued to fall around them, though it had slowed to a gentle patter now, the garden growing hushed beneath the soft drumming. Something about the night, the darkness, the isolation of the garden—it stripped away her defenses, leaving her raw and exposed. When she finally spoke, her answer was achingly, terribly honest.

“As though I stand at the heart of a tempest,” she breathed, voice unsteady. “As though my heart might burst from my chest at any moment. As though I cannot draw proper breath when you are near, and yet I feel more alive than I have ever been. As though every nerve in my body awakens to your presence, and I find myself counting the hours until I might see you again, even knowing I should not.”

By the time she finished speaking, he had drawn so near that she could feel his breath warm against her rain-cooled skin. “Iris?—”

“No.” She pressed her palms against his chest, intending to push him away. Instead, her fingers curled into the fine fabric of his coat. “I … I cannot …”

He took one final step to close the distance between them, leaning forward to press his brow to hers. “Iris,” he breathed, and oh, how different her name sounded without its formal title. Impossibly intimate, like a secret shared in the space between heartbeats.

Her eyelids fluttered shut, her resistance crumbling like autumn leaves. “Jasvian …” she whispered, savoring the taste of his name on her tongue.

“Everything you feel,” he whispered roughly, his breath mingling with hers, “I feel a hundredfold. You haunt my dreams, my every waking moment. When you enter a room, all else fades to shadow. Every minute away from you is agony, and the mere thought of you with another—” His voice caught. “It is a torment beyond enduring.”

His thumb traced the curve of her cheek, and Iris leaned into his touch. His breath was warm against her lips, so close now … so achingly?—

“Tell me what you saw,” he whispered, breath ragged. “At the Night Market. The vision that made you put such sudden and hasty distance between the two of us.”

Heat rushed through her body at the memory of what she had seen in that fleeting but intensely intimate moment. With a shuddering breath, she said, “You have already guessed.”

“You saw the two of us.”

Her answer was barely audible now: “Yes.”

Lightly, his fingertips brushed down the side of her neck, the intimate contact causing a shiver to dance across her skin and a sharp intake of breath she couldn’t suppress.

“But it was only a possibility,” she forced herself to say. “One of many. It does not mean …” She trailed off as his hand slid upward once more, his thumb tracing the sensitive skin beneath her jaw, guiding her to angle her head further. The gesture was both reverent and possessive, and she found herself yielding to it without conscious thought, her body responding to his as naturally as flowers turn toward sunlight.

“We cannot …” she murmured, on the brink of losing all self control. “Hadrian is …”

“I know.” Jasvian’s hand clenched into a fist as he trailed his knuckles back up her cheek. “I know … I know …” And she heard the anguish in his voice. “I … just …” His thumb grazed over her lower lip, and something tightened deep inside her in a way it had never?—

“Jasvian Evrynd Valenrik Rowanwood!”

They sprang apart at the sound of the voice that cut through the air like a guillotine. Jasvian spun around, and beyond him, standing in the pathway between the herbs and flowers, stood Lady Rivenna. The rain had now stopped, as if even the storm recognized the commanding presence of the Rowanwood matriarch.

“Grandmother,” Jasvian said, his voice emerging rather strangled. “What are you … How did you … I thought you were?—”

“The tea house,” Lady Rivenna replied coldly, “sees all.”

Iris felt herself shrivel with mortification while beside her, Jasvian drew himself up to his full height, attempting to gather the shreds of his dignity. “I was merely?—”

“Merely what?” Rivenna’s gaze swept over them both. “Attempting to compromise a betrothed young lady in my tea house garden?”

Iris felt her face flame. “My lady, please?—”

“And you? What were you thinking, Lady Iris?” Rivenna’s tone could have frozen the summer itself. “Do you have any notion of the scandal if anyone else had walked out here? The ruination would be absolute. Your reputation would never recover.” Her eyes narrowed. “Or have you forgotten that you have already promised yourself to another?”

“I-I was caught up in?—”

“Caught up in what, precisely? Feelings the two of you should have acknowledged weeks ago, before you accepted Lord Hadrian’s suit? Before it was too late to do anything but cause pain to all involved?”

Iris flinched as though she’d been struck. “My lady, I never meant to?—”

“You should return indoors, Lady Iris.” Though Rivenna’s tone remained measured, there was steel beneath the surface. “Your grandparents have expressed concern about your sudden absence. And I hope, for your sake,” she added, “that you can come up with a believable explanation for why you currently look like a drenched pixie.”

“I …” Iris glanced at Jasvian, then looked away before he could meet her gaze. “Yes, my lady.” She dropped into a swift curtsy before hurrying past the older woman.

Just before she reached the door, she heard Lady Rivenna’s voice again, somehow even more forbidding than before: “Now then, grandson. Shall we discuss your deplorable lack of judgment?”

Mere moments after Iris vanished back into the tea house, another door shimmered into existence beside the first. It swung silently open of its own accord, revealing a narrow staircase Jasvian had never seen before. With an icy gesture, his grandmother indicated he should precede her up the unfamiliar steps, which emerged, he discovered, directly into the study, providing a discreet route that bypassed the kitchen and main floor of the tea house.

This magical second door into the study slammed shut behind Jasvian and his grandmother with enough force to send several books tumbling from the shelf—and then promptly vanished with barely a whisper. Jasvian stalked toward his desk, his heart still thundering from Iris’s nearness, the almost-kiss burning like amberberry wine in his blood. He ran trembling fingers through his wet hair, further destroying whatever remained of its proper arrangement, while behind him, his grandmother’s boots clicked against the wooden floor with measured precision.

“I cannot decide,” she said into the charged silence, “whether to be furious at your behavior or devastated by your timing.”

He turned. “I beg your pardon?”

“Lord Hadrian Blackbriar is your closest friend.” Each word fell like ice. “The woman he intends to marry was just in your arms. And you were about to compromise her reputation beyond repair.”

“Nothing happened?—”

“Because I interrupted you. Tell me, what might I have found had I arrived a few moments later?”

Jasvian dragged a hand through his hair once more. “I was merely …”

“Yes?” His grandmother’s eyebrow arched. “Do enlighten me. What were you ‘merely’ doing with your lips so close to hers?”

“I was—trying to find my self control.”

“And where, pray tell, were you hoping to locate this ‘self-control’?” His grandmother’s voice could have stripped paint. “Down Lady Iris’s throat?”

“Grandmother!”

“Jasvian!”

“I thought … I believed you would approve of this match. You’ve always seemed to …” He broke off, frustrated, and began to pace the length of the study. “You like her.”

“Of course I like her. And I do indeed approve of a match between the two of you. You may recall that I conveniently placed her right here , in this very room, where you would be forced to acknowledge her existence.” Rivenna gestured to the desk where Iris usually sat, before letting her hand fall to her side.

Jasvian froze mid-stride. “You … you placed her here with me intentionally ?”

“My dear boy.” His grandmother’s eyes rolled toward the ceiling with such force he feared they might become stuck there. “I do everything intentionally. Though I must say, you made it extraordinarily difficult. Most young men, when presented with a beautiful, intelligent woman, would not continue to antagonize her day after day.”

“I …” He trailed off, unsure what to say to that. “Did you …” He blinked and shook his head. “Did you see this in your tea leaves? Lady Iris and me?”

Rivenna arched a brow. “I see many things, none of which are set in stone. This, you know.”

Her words reminded him of Iris’s breathy whisper in the garden. It was only a possibility. One of many. He ached with the thought that if he had not been such a stubborn fool—if he’d questioned his long-held beliefs about duty at the expense of happiness sooner—that the future Iris had seen might still have been possible for them now.

“Why did you not say something?” he asked quietly.

“Would it have mattered?” Rivenna flicked her hand at the books that had fallen to the floor, and they promptly returned to their positions on the shelf. “You were so determined to see her as beneath your notice. A half-blood upstart who dared to debut with magic you deemed inferior. You failed to see the truth that was immediately evident to me the very first night the two of you met.”

Jasvian frowned. “That first night? At the Opening Ball? Grandmother, it was a near-disaster.”

A familiar sparkle danced in Rivenna’s eyes. “It was magnificent. My dear boy, I watched you retreat further into yourself each day following your father’s death, keeping everyone at arm’s left, determined to make no true connection with anyone. Then Lady Iris arrived and quite simply marched straight past your defenses and provoked a reaction in you I had not seen in years—she made you feel something once more.”

Jasvian’s gaze slid past his grandmother’s. “And now she is engaged to Hadrian,” he murmured. He raked his hands over his face and groaned. “How am I to endure it? Witnessing her build a life with him? Seeing her at social gatherings, watching her bear his children, knowing she might have been …” He couldn’t finish. Couldn’t bring himself to utter the word mine .

“You’ll endure it because you must.” Rivenna’s voice was gentle now. “And because you love her enough to want her happiness, even if it is not with you.”

“I don’t …” But he couldn’t complete the lie. He turned back toward the window where Iris’s desk stood. A few sprigs of dried herbs and something that appeared to be an intricately folded paper chandelier lay on the surface. He swallowed. “What do I do now?”

“You do what any gentleman would do.” His grandmother’s voice was firm but kind as she crossed the room and stood beside him. “You wish them joy, you maintain your friendship with Lord Blackbriar—even if from a distance—and you learn to live with your regret.”

“And if I cannot?”

“You can, and you shall.” She squeezed his shoulder. “Perhaps they will reside at the Blackbriar country estate after they are wed, which will make things easier for you. They need not return here during the Bloom Season.”

“Perhaps I shall be the one to never return.”

“Oh, do stop being dramatic.” His grandmother’s tone sharpened again. “You are not the first person to lose someone to their own stubborn foolishness, nor shall you be the last.”

“I cannot lose her.” The words emerged as barely more than a whisper.

“You already have.” She sighed. “Jasvian, dear, the time for realizing your feelings was weeks ago, before Lady Iris accepted Lord Hadrian’s suit. Now, you must move on.”

Jasvian closed his eyes, remembering the way Iris had whispered his name, how close he had come to tasting her lips. “I am such a fool.”

“Yes,” his grandmother agreed. “But a lovable one, despite your best efforts to be utterly insufferable. And perhaps now that you’ve finally learned to unlock that fortress you call a heart, there may be room for another to one day step in.”

Jasvian shook his head, a bone-deep certainty settling over him. “For me, there will only ever be her.”

He stared out the window at the night beyond, where the dark clouds had finally begun to drift away, revealing a sky newly washed clean, dusted with brilliant stars. How fitting, he thought bitterly, that the storm should pass just as his world collapsed around him.