“Grandmother—”
“No Brightcrest has crossed the threshold of The Charmed Leaf in over fifty years,” Lady Rivenna continued, “and I will not have that tradition broken for the sake of your inexplicable infatuation.”
“With respect,” Evryn countered, maintaining a calm he didn’t entirely feel, “this is about more than tradition. Lady Mariselle is to be my—wife.” He hesitated for only the briefest of moments this time over the word ‘wife.’ “She cannot remain perpetually excluded from a place so central to our family’s life.”
“Mariselle Brightcrest will never be your—” His grandmother squeezed her eyes shut, inhaled deeply, and groaned. “I cannot even utter the word,” she finished, opening her eyes and fixing her piercing gaze on Evryn once more. “The answer is no. I will not have her here.”
“It was not a request,” Evryn said. “I’ve come as a courtesy to inform you of our plans, not to seek permission. Lady Mariselle will be joining me for tea tomorrow afternoon. If her presence is so distressing, perhaps you might find business to attend to elsewhere in the tea house during our visit.”
His grandmother studied him for a long moment before approaching, stopping directly before him. The imperious mask she typically wore had slipped, revealing something Evryn rarely witnessed—raw emotion. For a startling instant, he thought he detected a sheen of tears in her eyes, but she blinked and it vanished so quickly he suspected he’d imagined it. When she spoke, her voice had lost its sharpness, replaced by an almost earnest quietness. “You are toying with things you do not understand.”
“Then enlighten me,” Evryn challenged. “Instead of making cryptic allusions, tell me exactly why this feud persists. It’s clear there is more to it than we were brought up to believe. What did the Brightcrests do that was so unforgivable?”
His grandmother’s expression shuttered. “It is not a matter for discussion.”
“Convenient,” Evryn remarked, his patience fraying. “You expect me to honor a grudge whose origins you refuse to explain.”
“I expect you to trust that I have good reason for my objections!”
Once again, Evryn found himself wondering how this would play out if he were truly in love with Mariselle Brightcrest. If he truly intended to marry her, what would his grandmother do then? “Is your desire to maintain thisancient animosity truly of greater importance to you than my chance at happiness?” he asked quietly.
Lady Rivenna released a heavy sigh, and there was something almost desperate in her gaze. “Evryn, you will not find happiness with?—”
“That is not what I asked,” he said stiffly.
“Evryn—”
“If Lady Mariselle is not welcome here, then neither am I.”
The declaration hung between them, absurdly dramatic considering the entire engagement was a charade destined to dissolve. Yet the words had tumbled from his lips with startling conviction, driven by some raw, unexamined need to test whether his grandmother valued an ancient feud above her relationship with him.
A heavy silence followed. Lady Rivenna stared at him, genuine surprise flickering across her features before hardening into something closer to hurt. “You would choose her over your family?”
“You would choose agrudgeover your grandson?” Evryn countered immediately.
The two regarded each other for a long moment, neither willing to yield. Finally, with a long inhale through her nose, Lady Rivenna’s shoulders stiffened further—if such a thing were possible.
“Three o’clock,” she said, her voice clipped. “Mrs. Spindlewood will seat you near my private alcove—where I can keep an eye on both of you.”
Without waiting for a response, she swept past him and out of the study.
Evryn’s breath left him in a rush, the tension draining from his shoulders like water from a broken vessel. “Well,” he murmured, “that went about as well as expected.”
“Better than expected, I’d say,” Iris offered with a gentle smile. “She agreed, after all.”
“Under protest,” Evryn pointed out, dropping into the nearest armchair. “And with clear intentions to make the experience as uncomfortable as possible.”
“Your grandmother is …” Iris hesitated, visibly choosing her words with care. “Complex. Especially where the Brightcrests are concerned. I must confess I’m burning with curiosity about what she refuses to reveal.” She perched on the edge of the chair across from Evryn, her brow furrowing thoughtfully. “Has Lady Mariselle offered any insights that might explain your grandmother’s particular intensity on this matter?”
Evryn shook his head. “Her story differs somewhat from the one I was brought up with, though it’s essentially just the opposing perspective of the same tale—each family blaming the other for Dreamland’s failure rather than anything truly illuminating.”
“Hmm.” Iris stared passed him, apparently lost in thought for a moment.
Evryn studied his sister-in-law, recalling the conversation he’d overheard when he’d arrived. “What has my grandmother seen?”
Iris blinked and refocused on him, clearly startled by this abrupt subject change. “Excuse me?”
“The two of you were arguing about something when I arrived,” Evryn said, deciding not to hide the fact that he’d overheard part of their conversation. “About something she’d seen. About somethingyou’veseen. Regarding Lady Mariselle and me. I assume the two of you were speaking of tea leaf reading. I know my grandmother still practices this ancient art.”
