She was halfway down the stairs when she heard the resounding bang of the study door closing upstairs. She halted mid-step, fingers tightening around the banister as a fresh wave of indignation surged through her. The insufferable man had actually slammed the door! For a wild moment, she contemplated marching right back up those stairs, flinging the door open once more, just so she could have the satisfaction of slamming it shut herself.
That would be childish,a small voice of reason whispered in her mind.And exactly what he would expect from you.
She took a deep breath, then another, willing the flush of anger to subside from her cheeks. Lord Jasvian Rowanwood might be the most irritating, rigid, judgmental person she had ever encountered, but she refused to give him the power to disrupt her day any further. She would not allow his arroganceto chase her away from this apprenticeship—her path to independence and, hopefully, her family’s financial salvation.
By the time she reached the kitchen, her breathing had steadied, though her irritation still simmered beneath the surface. She pushed open the door, expecting to find the usual bustle of morning activity. Instead, she was greeted by a surprising stillness. The kitchen wasn’t entirely empty, but the usual frenetic energy had dissipated to a gentle hum of minimal activity.
Before Iris could inquire about this unexpected calm, Lady Rivenna emerged from the pantry, a ledger tucked against her side, a kitchen pixie sitting on her shoulder, and a frown creasing her brow. “It’s simply unacceptable,” she was muttering to the pixie. “I paid the astronomical shipping price weeks ago and yet the stock still has not arrived? And we aredaysinto the start of the Season now. I most certainly will not be dealing with them again in—” She broke off, noticing Iris. “Ah, Lady Iris. I thought you’d be occupied in the study until noon at least.”
“I found the environment less than conducive to focused study,” Iris replied carefully.
Lady Rivenna’s eyebrow arched knowingly. “I see. My grandson’s company proved as stimulating as expected, did it?”
“If by ‘stimulating’ you mean ‘infuriating,’ then yes.”
A smile tugged at the corner of Lady Rivenna’s mouth, but all she said was, “Interesting.”
“Where is everyone?” Iris asked, gesturing to the quiet kitchen around them. “I expected more activity.”
“We’re closed today. It’s the spring races.”
“Races?” Iris repeated.
“Pegasus racing,” Lady Rivenna clarified. “The first major event of the season after the Opening Ball. Nearly all of society will be in attendance. The tea house would be practically emptyeven if we were to open. Personally, I lost interest in pegasus racing years ago, so I rarely attend these days.”
“I had no idea,” Iris admitted. “I wonder why my parents did not mention it. I would have thought they’d want me to attend if all of Bloomhaven’s elite will be there. It seems like the perfect opportunity to make a favorable impression and improve my standing in society.”
“Your grandparents have never been particularly fond of pegasus racing either—they haven’t attended in years,” Lady Rivenna replied with a dismissive wave. “Besides, it’s not truly an ideal setting for making meaningful connections. Everyone is far too distracted by the races to engage in any conversation of substance. They’re either shouting themselves hoarse over their favored steed or frantically calculating their potential winnings.”
“Ah, well perhaps that’s for the best then,” Iris said, though inwardly she felt a pang of disappointment. Her curiosity about the magical marvels of Bloomhaven—so different from everything she’d known before—made her secretly long to witness such a spectacle.
“Well,” Lady Rivenna said, moving toward the kitchen’s central worktable and placing her ledger upon it. The pixie leaped from her shoulder and disappeared into a gleaming copper pot hanging from the ceiling rack. “Tell me what you learned during your botanical study this morning. Before my grandson disrupted your concentration, that is. Oh, and have you been recording your observations in the notebook I provided?”
Heat crept up Iris’s neck. “I, um …” She cleared her throat. “I seem to have temporarily misplaced it.”
“Misplaced it?” Lady Rivenna repeated, her tone suggesting that misplacing such an item was akin to misplacing the High Lady herself.
“I’m sure it’s here somewhere,” Iris hastened to add. “I last had it when …” She cast her mind back over the past few days, taking a few moments to think before realization struck. “The alcove! Your private alcove, where you had me sit and observe. I must have left it on the window seat when I was distracted by …” By the revelation that the tea house itself was actively listening and reporting on every conversation within its walls. “I’ll find it immediately,” Iris promised, already backing toward the door.
“Please do,” Lady Rivenna said, her expression subtly communicating that she expected better.
Iris hurried through the quiet main floor, weaving between tables until she reached the honeysuckle-draped alcove. She ducked inside and surveyed the small space, her eyes scanning the window seat with its plush cushions. Nothing. Frowning, she lifted the cushions one by one until finally she saw a gleam of deep plum leather wedged into the back corner of the window seat. “There you are,” she murmured, reaching for the notebook.
She tucked it securely beneath her arm and made her way back to the kitchen, where Lady Rivenna was now sitting at the worktable consulting a weathered recipe book. “Found it,” Iris announced, holding up the notebook.
“Good,” Lady Rivenna said, looking up. “See that you do not misplace it again.”
Iris was about to assure her that she would be more careful in future when the back door burst open with a bang that made both women jump. A whirlwind of teal silk and dark curls swept into the kitchen, bringing with it the scent of fresh air and herbs from the tea house’s garden.
“Grandmother!” the whirlwind called, resolving itself into the form of Rosavyn Rowanwood. “I simply must?—”
“Rosavyn!” Lady Rivenna exclaimed as she stood. “A lady does not careen about like a runaway pegasus.”
“Pegasus! That’s precisely why I’m here, Grandmother. The races. You simply must allow Iris to accompany me today. And may I remind you, I’m not actually a ‘lady’ yet, so perhaps I’m still entitled to a bit of careening.”
“With that unruly mane of yours, my dear, you’ll need far more than a magical manifestation before anyone considers you a proper lady,” Lady Rivenna replied with a pointed sniff.
“Fine, fine! I’ll tame this wild mane into the most elegant of hairstyles if you’ll allow Iris to accompany me,” Rosavyn said.
