Page 96 of Tempests & Tea Leaves
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 imminenthappy 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.
