Page 42 of Tempests & Tea Leaves (The Charmed Leaf Legacy #1)

It is here! Today is the day! After all these weeks of preparations and planning! I find myself sitting here in bed, watching the sun rise, filled with such a riot of emotions that I scarcely know how to contain them all. Last night, Grandmother presented me with starlight embroidered gloves to match the veil she wore on her wedding day. White, with traditional starspun threads, crafted especially for me by my aunt. They are exquisite! Grandmother even shed a tear when she gave them to me. I cannot help but remember how cold she was when I first arrived in Bloomhaven. Can you believe we have come so far?

First: A remarkable development indeed, considering she once looked at you as though you were a particularly disappointing teacake. Second: Why am I being subjected to these emotional outpourings at this uncivilized hour?

Because you are the only one I can speak to with everyone else still abed! And I simply cannot sleep a moment longer. My mind is racing with a thousand thoughts. I cannot believe this day has finally arrived! Five weeks of preparations have felt both endless and impossibly brief. Do you suppose Jasvian is awake as well? Is he nervous? I cannot imagine him pacing about Rowanwood House in his nightclothes, but perhaps he is staring at the ceiling, counting the minutes until

Lord Brooding is undoubtedly engaged in some tediously practical task such as reviewing his vows for grammatical precision or meticulously arranging his cravat pins. Possibly drafting a schedule to ensure the day proceeds with maximum efficiency. ‘Matrimonial logistics,’ if you will.

You’re terrible. He’s not nearly so rigid anymore. And how many times must I ask you to stop referring to him as that? He hardly broods at all these days!

No, I suppose not. Now he merely gazes at you with such nauseating adoration that even Lady Rivenna has been moved to occasional eye-rolling.

Oh I do so love those adoring looks! They make my knees weak and fill my entire body with

Please spare me the intimate particulars of your physical responses. I am a notebook of refinement, not a repository for your amorous sensibilities. We have discussed these improper confidences before, and I remain steadfastly uninterested in the precise manner in which your pulse quickens in his presence.

Such prudishness from an inanimate object! And—oh how the gloves and veil sparkle! They continue to catch my eye from across the room. I cannot stop staring at them. Grandmother’s gift means more than I can express. To see her truly happy for me rather than merely relieved at our family’s salvation is something I never expected. Though I still find myself smiling whenever I recall her utterly flabbergasted expression when Lord Jasvian Rowanwood—the very man with whom I so publicly quarreled at the Opening Ball—formally requested my hand in marriage.

She was not the only one shocked. Half of Bloomhaven is still coming to terms with this dramatic transformation from sworn enemies to devoted lovers.

It is marvelously romantic, is it not?

Yes, nothing says ‘true love’ quite like beginning with venomous hostility followed by chandelier destruction.

A memory I shall cherish forever.

I perceive you are employing mockery at my expense.

I would never! It is indeed a moment I shall never forget. And oh I cannot WAIT to see him standing there at the end of the aisle today! He’ll be wearing that new coat he commissioned—it complements the light gray in his eyes so perfectly. But I still worry about the gathering itself. What if someone causes a scene over the presence of human guests at a fae wedding? What if my paper butterflies refuse to cooperate with the flower arrangements? What if Orrit attempts to assault Lady Thornhart with another scone for suggesting the cake is too simple?

If any of those delightful scenarios unfold, I expect a full account afterward. Particularly the last one.

You’re not helping!

On the contrary. I am helping you confront the truth that minor catastrophes are inevitable. The question is not whether something will go wrong, but whether you will allow such trivialities to diminish what is, by all accounts, meant to be a joyous occasion.

When did you become so wise?

I have always been wise. Your ability to recognize wisdom has simply improved with time.

I suppose that’s fair. Oh! I hear Brenna at my door. She’s early—the sun has barely risen. I suppose the transformation from apprentice to bride requires additional time. I’d better go let her in.

Go forth to your elaborate beautification ritual. Though I maintain you could arrive at the ceremony wearing nothing but your typical tea-splattered apron and Lord Formerly Brooding would still look at you as though the stars themselves had descended to earth.

Well now. It appears I have been abandoned mid-conversation, though I suppose that’s to be expected on such an occasion. Since you will undoubtedly return to these pages at some future date—sentiment being one of your more predictable traits—I shall take the liberty of recording some observations about this momentous day.

First, your decision to host a celebratory breakfast at the tea house following the ceremony was inspired. The garden has never looked more enchanting, with your whimsical paper touches among the cascading flower arrangements transforming the space into something from a fairy tale. Even I must admit a certain aesthetic appreciation.

The choice to wait until after the Bloom Season officially ended proved equally wise. Most of society has already departed for their country estates, allowing for a more intimate gathering that perfectly suits both your preference for meaningful connection and Lord Jasvian’s aversion to excessive socialization.

I must also commend your remarkable resilience in the face of what was, by Bloomhaven standards, a veritable wildfire of gossip following your engagement to Lord Jasvian mere weeks after dissolving your arrangement with Lord Hadrian Blackbriar. You weathered it all with exceptional grace, I suppose because you had already endured the worst society could offer. It certainly helped that the Rowanwood name carries such weight, and that Lady Rivenna’s withering glare can silence even the most determined scandal-monger. How fortunate that most of high society has now departed Bloomhaven, taking their pointed remarks with them and leaving only those who genuinely wish you well.

Your wedding processional arrangements reflect your peculiar talent for disrupting social hierarchies in the most charming way possible. Rosavyn as your primary attendant was expected, but the inclusion of Charlotte Fields alongside her has caused quite the flutter among the remaining society members.

Speaking of flutters in society, I am pleased to note the remarkable absence of any unseemly whispers regarding ‘that human woman’—your mother—since your parents’ return to Bloomhaven a fortnight ago. Perhaps society is finally developing the capacity to evolve beyond its narrow prejudices, just as it has grudgingly come to accept you. One might almost dare to hope that intelligence and character will someday matter more than bloodlines. How revolutionary.

The incident involving Orrit and the wedding cake yesterday shall undoubtedly be recounted in Bloomhaven circles for generations to come. Who would have imagined that beneath his scone expertise lurked such extraordinary cake-baking talents? His insistence that he—and he alone—must create your wedding confection upon hearing the celebration would take place at the tea house revealed yet another layer to his cantankerous brilliance. Lady Thornhart’s ill-considered remark that ‘three tiers hardly befits a Rowanwood wedding’ provoked the first full sentence I believe anyone has heard from the brownie in decades. His gruff assurance that ‘three perfect tiers outshine any gaudy monstrosity’ was memorable enough, but his subsequent decision to launch still-warm scones at her elaborately constructed coiffure was truly inspired. The woman’s hairdo has never looked more … decorated.

I note with appropriate solemnity that Lord Hadrian Blackbriar will be absent today—an understandable circumstance that has caused Lord Jasvian no small measure of regret. The congratulatory letter he sent, however, suggests that wounds may eventually heal, and friendships might, with sufficient time and grace, find new forms.

I suppose I should conclude with some profound observation about the nature of love and partnership, as seems customary on such occasions. Very well:

When you first wrote ‘I am alone’ in these pages, you were mistaken in more ways than you knew. Your journey from that night to this morning has been one of discovering all the ways in which you are, in fact, connected—to Lady Rivenna, to the tea house, to your heritage, to your friends, and now most permanently to Lord Jasvian.

The fear that once gripped you—that connection meant diminishment—has given way to the understanding that the right connections can instead create expansion. Your magic has grown. Your influence has widened. Your happiness has deepened.

And while I maintain that Lord Jasvian remains excessively concerned with order and occasionally alarmingly intense, I must reluctantly acknowledge that the two of you have achieved something rather remarkable: a balance of opposing forces that somehow strengthens rather than diminishes each of you.

I shall await your return to these pages when you are prepared to record the next chapter of your story. Until then, Lady Iris Rowanwood—for that is who you shall be by day’s end—I remain,

Your faithful correspondent and occasionally reluctant confidant