Page 37 of Tempests & Tea Leaves (The Charmed Leaf Legacy #1)

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Iris stared at the timebloom on her bedside table, watching as its petals shifted from silver to the softest blue, informing her that it was well past midnight—the third consecutive night she had found herself still awake at this hour.

She turned onto her other side with a frustrated sigh. Sleep evaded her like a mischievous sprite, dancing just beyond her grasp whenever she came close to capturing it. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw Jasvian’s face, felt the warmth of his breath against her lips, heard again the whispered confessions that had nearly shattered her resolve.

Everything you feel, I feel a hundredfold. You haunt my dreams, my every waking moment.

He had left Bloomhaven the very next morning. No farewell. No message. Simply gone, returned to the northern mines with barely a word to anyone, according to Rosavyn. Iris had no notion of when—or if—he might return.

A week had passed since that rain-soaked almost-kiss in the garden. Seven days of smiling politely as wedding plans unfolded around her, her duties at The Charmed Leaf now significantly reduced. Seven days of accepting congratulations from society matrons who had previously snubbed her. Seven days of her grandmother’s triumphant satisfaction, her grandfather’s relieved pride. Seven days of Hadrian’s attentive devotion.

Seven days of absolute misery.

Iris pressed the heels of her hands against her eyes, willing away the tears that threatened, then lowered them with a groan. The ornate pearl-and-diamond ring on her finger caught the timebloom’s glow, scattering faint pinpricks of light from the diamonds as she turned her hand this way and that. The beautiful ring felt heavier each day, a physical manifestation of the guilt that weighed upon her heart.

Iris …

She turned with a huff and stared at the ceiling, trying to banish the memory of Jasvian's voice—the way he had whispered her name that night in the garden, each syllable caressed with an intimate reverence.

No. She was engaged to Hadrian. Hadrian. Proper, kind, consistent Hadrian who looked at her with such genuine admiration. Who was not deterred by the discovery of her family’s financial distress. Who believed she would make him happy.

Iris sat up in bed, pushing away the tangled sheets. The thought of Hadrian only intensified her guilt. How could she pledge her life to one man while her heart yearned so desperately for another? When Hadrian spoke of their future together, she smiled and nodded while her mind wandered to dark hair and stormy eyes, to the scent of rain and the whispered confession: Every minute away from you is agony.

She climbed out of bed and moved to the window, gazing out at the moonlit garden below. Somewhere beyond Bloomhaven, Jasvian was likely working even at this late hour, poring over mine repair reports or reviewing estate accounts, finding comfort in the orderly procession of numbers that never disappointed, never complicated matters with inconvenient feelings.

With a heavy sigh, Iris turned from the window. Beside her bed, the timebloom shifted, its petals darkening toward deep blue. The third hour past midnight approached, and still sleep eluded her. She crossed to her writing desk, retrieving her notebook and a quill before returning to the window seat. The silvery moonlight spilled across her lap as she drew her knees up and rested the notebook against them.

If anyone might offer clarity, it would be the acerbic, opinionated notebook that had become her unlikely confidant. She turned to a fresh page—resolutely ignoring the urge to pause over any pages where Jasvian’s elegant script appeared—and began to write.

I cannot sleep. My thoughts race like startled deer through a forest, never settling, never finding peace.

The notebook’s script appeared immediately beneath her words: A rather flowery metaphor, but accurate, I suppose. Though I’d have gone with ‘panicked hummingbirds’ myself. More frantic energy.

Despite everything, Iris found herself smiling. Ever the critic.

Merely offering editorial suggestions. One does strive for precision in language.

She hesitated, her quill hovering above the page before she wrote: I find myself wondering what would happen if I broke my engagement to Lord Hadrian.

The notebook’s reply came after a thoughtful pause: A question better answered by your own unique gifts, I should think. Have you tried to see the possibilities?

I have, Iris wrote, remembering her earlier attempts. But there are so many. Too many. They overwhelm me.

Perhaps if you wrote them down? Organizing thoughts often leads to clarity.

Iris considered this suggestion. Controlling her visions was still something of a challenge. She had been practicing, as Lady Rivenna suggested, focusing on specific questions to narrow the field of possibilities. Perhaps if she concentrated on this particular question—and accompanied it with a few sips of ‘Autumn & Pine.’

She rose from the window seat and returned to her writing desk where her evening teacup still sat, a small amount of liquid remaining at the bottom. The tea was cold now, and she grimaced as she drank the last few sips, but the familiar sensation of steadiness washed through her almost immediately. The world seemed to settle around her as she walked back to the window, her mind already feeling more centered and focused.

She closed her eyes, relaxing the careful control she usually maintained and allowing her magic to flow while focusing her thoughts on a single question: What might happen if I break my engagement to Lord Hadrian?

The now-familiar sensation washed over her—images unfolding themselves before her eyes, glimpses of potential futures, each one overlapping the next:

Hadrian’s face, stricken with hurt but quickly gathering his composure as he assured her he understood, that he wanted her happiness above all else, his voice hardly breaking?—

Whispers of ‘the half-blood who thought herself too good for Lord Blackbriar,’ society turning its collective back on the Starspun family?—

Her grandfather’s face, gray with disappointment as he informed her they would lose the Bloomhaven house, unable to maintain even the pretense of their former?—

Herself, decades older, alone in a small cottage, neither married nor Lady Rivenna’s successor, seemingly having lost both chances at security when?—

A furious Lord Hadrian, his usual gentle demeanor shattered by betrayal, publicly denouncing her, severing all ties with the Rowanwoods by extension, putting Jasvian’s friendship and business partnership at risk?—

Her family relocated to a modest home in an unfashionable district, her father forced to accept employment beneath his station while her mother?—

Herself at The Charmed Leaf, older and confident, directing the tea house’s operations with Lady Rivenna’s approval, financially independent despite the lingering whispers about her scandalous past?—

Hadrian smiling sadly as he wished her well, confessing he had suspected?—

Iris blinked, trying to call the vision back as she wondered what Hadrian might confess he suspected, but the image was gone. Breathless and a little disoriented, she picked up her quill once more.

So many paths, she wrote, hand trembling slightly. Some hopeful, others devastating. How am I to know which would come to pass?

You cannot, came the notebook’s immediate reply. That is the nature of possibility.

The outcome will also depend on precisely what I choose to share with Lord Hadrian , she wrote after a moment’s reflection. The true reason for wishing to end our engagement …

You are considering withholding certain truths? the notebook inquired.

I am considering focusing the conversation solely on Lord Hadrian and myself , she replied carefully. Explaining that my feelings are not what they should be for a future husband, rather than mentioning my … complicated sentiments regarding his closest friend.

A wise approach, if somewhat incomplete. I certainly wouldn’t recommend declaring your undying passion for Lord Brooding regardless.

A small sound from the hallway—the creak of a floorboard or the settling of the house—momentarily distracted Iris. When she looked back at the notebook, another line of text had appeared:

Do any of these hopeful potential futures you’ve just witnessed feature the aforementioned Lord Brooding?

Iris bit her lip. She had very firmly pushed Jasvian from her mind whenever attempting to see the possibilities in her future, fearing both disappointment and hope in equal measure.

I dare not look, she admitted finally.

Fear rarely leads to wise decisions.

It isn’t merely fear, Iris wrote defensively. It’s practicality. Even if Lord Jasvian truly cares for me, his duties will always come first. He’s made that abundantly clear.

Has he? As I recall, his most recent words on the subject suggested quite the opposite.

Words spoken in a moment of weakness, in the intimacy of a dark garden. He then left without saying goodbye the very next day. Actions speak louder than ? —

I must interject , the notebook’s script cut across her unfinished sentence. The gentleman in question was discovered on the precipice of kissing his dearest friend’s betrothed. What precisely was he meant to do? Remain in Bloomhaven and make awkward conversation over tea?

Iris stared at the words, a flush rising to her cheeks. When framed that way, Jasvian’s abrupt departure made rather more sense.

Even so, she continued stubbornly, to break my engagement would devastate Lord Hadrian, who has shown me nothing but kindness and respect. It would ruin my family financially. And it would confirm every whispered suspicion about my unsuitability for society. So what am I to do?

I believe the more pertinent question is: Can you truly pledge your life to one man while your heart belongs to another?

Iris set down the quill and pressed her trembling hands to her face. That was indeed the question that had been keeping her awake night after night. She had tried so desperately to convince herself that she could grow to love Hadrian—that admiration and respect might eventually bloom into something deeper. But each passing day made the self-deception harder to maintain.

Every time Hadrian smiled at her, she found herself comparing it to the rare, transformative smile that occasionally graced Jasvian’s usually stern features. When Hadrian took her hand, she remembered the electric awareness that had coursed through her at Jasvian’s slightest touch. And whenever she and Hadrian engaged in pleasant, agreeable conversation, she couldn’t help but long for the mentally stimulating exchanges she shared with Jasvian—those sharp, witty volleys of words that challenged her intellect and sparked her imagination.

She lifted the quill once more. Even if I were to end my engagement, there’s no guarantee that Jasvian would

That Lord Rowanwood would what? the notebook prompted when she paused for too long without completing the sentence. Return your affections? Overcome his excessive devotion to duty? Cease running away at critical junctures?

Yes. All of that.

Perhaps not. But that isn’t truly the point, is it?

Iris frowned. What do you mean?

The question of whether to marry Lord Blackbriar should not hinge upon whether Lord Rowanwood might offer for you instead. It should rest solely on whether you can, with clear conscience and true heart, pledge yourself to a man you do not love.

The words seemed to hover on the page, demanding her attention, refusing to be ignored or dismissed. She read them again, then a third time, feeling their truth settle deep within her chest like a physical weight.

It wouldn’t be fair to him, she finally wrote, her hand moving slowly across the page. Hadrian deserves someone who loves him completely. Someone whose heart doesn’t belong elsewhere.

Indeed. And what of you? What do you deserve?

Iris blinked, taken aback by the question. I … I don’t know.

Then perhaps that is something worth considering.

Iris lowered her quill and stared out at the night sky. The moon had shifted position, casting new shadows across the garden below. A streak of light flashed across the velvet sky—a shooting star. Her breath caught as she watched it disappear beyond the horizon. She thought suddenly of the first magical star charts created by her distant ancestor, of the legacy that stretched back through generations of Starspuns.

Then her mind turned to the tea house, to everything Lady Rivenna had offered her. It was true that Hadrian had not asked her to give up her apprenticeship, but she knew that residing at the Blackbriar country estate would inevitably slow her progress, reducing her presence at The Charmed Leaf to occasional visits. Hadrian believed she could manage it from a distance, perhaps eventually employing others to handle the day-to-day operations when Lady Rivenna eventually passed the establishment to her care.

But the thought filled Iris with a profound sadness. She didn’t want to be detached from something she imagined would become so central to her life. The tea house wouldn’t truly be hers in the way she longed for it to be—present, immediate, alive beneath her hands and guided by her developing magic. It would be a possession rather than a calling, and the realization struck her with unexpected force.

In that moment, Iris knew what she had to do. Tomorrow, she would speak with Hadrian. She would return his ring and free him to find someone whose heart was truly his to claim. And then, regardless of whether Jasvian ever returned her feelings, she would reclaim her own future—one guided by truth rather than expectation or fear.

Iris closed the notebook gently and returned to her bed. The timebloom’s petals had shifted to a deep indigo, marking the hour far too late for proper rest before dawn. Yet as she settled against her pillows, she felt a strange peace descend upon her for the first time in days.

Tomorrow would bring difficult conversations and painful consequences. Her decision would disappoint her family, might devastate Hadrian, and would certainly set Bloomhaven society abuzz with fresh scandal.

But for the first time since accepting Hadrian’s proposal, Iris felt truly certain of her course. She would not build her life upon a foundation of obligation and pretense. Whatever came next—whatever future unfolded from this decision—at least it would be one she had chosen with clear eyes and an honest heart.