“I believe she’s upstairs in the study with Lady Iris,” Lucie replied.
“Thank you,” Evryn said, squaring his shoulders as he headed for the door on the other side of the kitchen.
He stepped onto the polished wooden floor of the main part of the tea house, still empty of patrons at this early hour, and turned toward the staircase. The chairs remained neatly tucked beneath tables draped with freshly pressed cloths. Vines adorning the walls rustled slightly as he passed, one or two trailing fingers of greenery reaching out toward him as if in greeting before retreating back to their assigned positions.
The staircase loomed before him, each step taking him closer to what promised to be an uncomfortable confrontation. As he reached the top landing,voices drifted from the partially open door of the study. Iris’s measured tones followed by his grandmother’s sharper ones, both pitched with the unmistakable cadence of disagreement.
“… cannot simply dismiss what you’ve seen,” Iris was saying, her voice more forceful than Evryn had ever heard it.
“Of course I can,” his grandmother countered. “It’s nonsense.”
“And how do you know that?”
“Because what else could it possibly be?” Lady Rivenna demanded.
“Are you telling me that your interpretation of the leaves is incorrect?”
Evryn couldn’t help raising his brows at the audacity of such a comment. His lips twitched in amusement. There were few who ever dared to suggest that his grandmother might beincorrectabout anything.
“Of course not,” Lady Rivenna responded. “The leaves themselves are wrong.”
“And what about whatI’veseen?” Iris insisted. “You cannot dismiss?—”
“What you have seen is nothing more than a possibility that will never come to pass,” Lady Rivenna interrupted.
“Will you please stop cutting me off?” Iris said, a hint of exasperation bleeding through her typically composed demeanor. “You need to consider that evenyourmachinations cannot stop something from happening if it’s truly meant to be.”
Evryn felt his lips curve into a delighted grin, despite his anxiety. Sweet, accommodating Iris—who had married into a family as formidable as the Rowanwoods and somehow managed to carve out her own place within it—was standing up to the intimidating matriarch herself. His estimation of his brother’s wife rose several notches.
“I don’t understand why you’re defending this,” his grandmother said, her voice tinged with genuine bewilderment. “The girl is truly awful.”
Evryn could just make out the sound of Iris’s sigh. “On that much we can agree. I certainly never imagined having Mariselle Brightcrest for a sister-in-law.”
He froze, the realization washing over him like a bucket of ice water. They were discussing him and Mariselle. Whatever his grandmother had ‘seen’—in tea leaves, presumably—pertained to his fraudulent engagement.
He shifted his weight, and the aged floorboard beneath his foot let out a betraying creak. The voices within the study fell instantly silent.
“Is someone there?” his grandmother called sharply. Footsteps moved toward the door.
Cursing inwardly, Evryn had no choice but to announce himself. “It’s only me,” he said, moving forward and pushing the door open fully. He stepped into the study with feigned nonchalance. “Good morning, Grandmother. Iris.”
The study was warm and cozy with a large window allowing plenty of natural light in. These days, the space was commanded by two desks: the larger one, his brother’s domain, positioned at an angle in one corner, while the smaller one, where Iris now worked as his grandmother’s apprentice, stood before the window. Several comfortable chairs with plush cushions were arranged near the unlit fireplace. The walls held a modest but well-curated bookshelf, while carved wooden tables displayed fresh-cut flowers and delicately folded paper ornaments.
Lady Rivenna stood near the door, her silver hair arranged in its customary elegant knot, her posture rigid, while Iris leaned against her desk, arms crossed firmly over her chest. Her expression shifted from surprise to a carefully neutral smile.
“Evryn,” she greeted him, lowering her arms and taking a step forward. “What a pleasant surprise.”
“Is it?” his grandmother asked dryly. “I would have thought he’d continue avoiding me for at least another week.”
Evryn attempted a casual shrug. “I’ve never been one for predictability.”
“Indeed not,” Lady Rivenna agreed, assessing him with her sharp gaze. “To what do we owe this unexpected visit? Or need I ask? I assume it has something to do with your … situation.”
The distaste with which she pronounced the final word made it clear exactly what ‘situation’ she was referring to. Evryn straightened his posture, summoning the determination that had propelled him here this morning.
“As a matter of fact, yes,” he replied, plunging ahead before his courage could desert him. “I came to inform you that Lady Mariselle will be joining me for tea here tomorrow afternoon.”
His grandmother’s expression remained frozen for several heartbeats before she spoke, each word carefully enunciated. “She most certainly will not.”
