“What I said to you was …” Mariselle paused, struggling to find the right words. She wanted to blame Ellowa, to say that her sister had forced her to play along and that she’d had no choice. But therehadbeen a choice, and Mariselle recognized the need to take responsibility for her own actions. “It was inexcusable. I should never have spoken to you that way. I’m truly sorry.”
Iris stared at her, clearly taken aback. “Oh. Thank you for saying so.”
The vulnerability of the moment was so foreign that Mariselle felt almost lightheaded, as though she’d stepped too close to the edge of a precipice. She blinked and gave her head a small shake.
“I believe the auction will be starting soon,” Iris said, glancing over her shoulder toward the main gallery just as Lord Jasvian appeared in the doorway, clearly looking for her. Evryn appeared at his side, eyes narrowing when he spotted Iris and Mariselle standing together.
“Yes, of course,” Mariselle said quickly, grateful for the shift back to safer, more formal territory. “We should probably join our families.”
“Yes.” Iris smiled tentatively. “The time for hiding has passed, unfortunately. Good evening, Lady Mariselle.”
Iris turned and walked away, leaving Mariselle standing there, her thoughts suddenly racing in a dozen directions.
The time for hiding has passed.
Mariselle’s mind darted further back, to her whispered conversation with Petunia.I’d far rather spend the evening hiding with you … I daresay we’ll find ample opportunities for hiding from both society and family.
With a quiet groan, Mariselle allowed her eyes to slide closed for a moment. Iris had heard far more than she should have. Would she tell anyone? Or would the half-fae woman recognize, perhaps better than anyone, the difference between the masks society demanded and the truth that lurked beneath them? As Mariselle opened her eyes and set off in reluctant search of her own family, she wondered which was more terrifying—being exposed as a fraud, or being truly seen for exactly who she was.
Chapter Thirteen
Mariselle adjustedher gloves for the third time as the carriage approached The Charmed Leaf Tea House the following afternoon. Her stomach twisted into knots as she directed another nervous smile at Tilly, seated opposite her.
“I shall remain nearby, my lady,” Tilly assured her. “Your mother was most insistent.”
Of course she was. Lady Clemenbell had spent nearly an hour that morning delivering detailed instructions on what information Mariselle was to gather during this unprecedented visit to the Rowanwood establishment. “Note every magical enchantment,” her mother had emphasized. “Pay particular attention to how they maintain such influence over Bloomhaven society. There must be some method beyond mere tea and gossip.”
The carriage rolled to a stop, and Mariselle drew a steadying breath. She was about to become the first Brightcrest in living memory to step foot inside The Charmed Leaf. The notion sent a strange thrill through her, half trepidation, half rebellious excitement.
“I shall wait on those benches beneath the trees,” Tilly said, gesturing to a pleasant seating area alongside the tea house as they descended from the carriage. “Should you require anything, simply send word.”
Mariselle nodded, smoothing her pale blue gown as she approached theentrance. For years, she had passed this establishment, her mother invariably steering her to the opposite side of the street with a dismissive sniff. Now she stood before its welcoming facade, taking in details she’d never allowed herself to observe properly. The gentle curves of the architecture, the way trailing vines curled around the windows, the soft golden glow emanating from within.
The door opened as she approached, and her breath caught in her throat as she stepped inside. The interior was even more enchanting than rumor suggested. Warm wooden floors, tables draped with cream cloths, a delightful variety of tea cups and teapots. The walls were adorned with living vines whose golden-tinged leaves seemed to rustle with interest at her arrival. Floating faelights drifted near the ceiling in gentle patterns, several of them dipping lower as she entered, their glow intensifying slightly as if to better illuminate her.
The air carried a subtle symphony of scents—spiced tea, fresh-baked scones, delicate floral notes that shifted as she breathed them in. The very atmosphere hummed with magic, a tangible presence that seemed to assess her as she stood in the entryway.
“Lady Brightcrest,” a voice called, breaking her reverie.
Only then did Mariselle become aware of the hush that had fallen over the room, the eyes turned toward her, the odd whisper here and there. The presence of a Brightcrest inside The Charmed Leaf was unprecedented, a spectacle so extraordinary that not a single member of Bloomhaven society present could fail to take note of it.
A slender fae woman approached, and Mariselle realized this was the woman who had just greeted her. “I am Mrs. Spindlewood, the tea house hostess,” she continued. “Lady Iris informed us you would be joining Lord Evryn this afternoon. If you would follow me?”
Mariselle inclined her head in acknowledgment and followed the hostess through the main room, uncomfortably aware of the whispers that had resumed in her wake. She caught fragments—“a Brightcrest, can you imagine” and “never in all my years”—and held her chin a fraction higher. Let them gossip. She was here by invitation, after all. And what else did they expect now that she was supposedly engaged to a Rowanwood?
Mrs. Spindlewood led her to a table positioned near an alcove where a lush cascade of honeysuckle vines spilled from the ceiling, partiallyconcealing the small private space beyond, where Mariselle could just make out a small round table and chair positioned beside a window.
“Lord Evryn sent word that he has been detained,” Mrs. Spindlewood said, “but he should arrive shortly.” She gestured toward a chair.
“Thank you,” Mariselle said, then stopped as the chair scooted out from beneath the table and turned slightly, as if presenting its cushioned seat to her. Was that normal behavior in this establishment? Recovering quickly, she seated herself with as much dignity as she could muster.
“Your tea service shall commence momentarily,” Mrs. Spindlewood continued. “The tea house itself will determine what blend is best for you.”
Mariselle nodded. She had heard of this, the fact that The Charmed Leaf was enchanted to appear as if it possessed opinions regarding its patrons’ tastes. She was curious to discover whether the establishment’s magic would truly divine her preferences or if it might serve her something deliberately unsuitable. In her current state, with nerves fluttering wildly beneath her composed exterior, she scarcely knew what might soothe her own agitation.
As Mrs. Spindlewood departed, Mariselle felt a peculiar ticklish sensation on her shoulder. Turning slightly, she found a delicate tendril from one of the wall vines cautiously brushing its dainty leaves over her shoulder. She resisted the urge to flinch. The touch wasn’t unpleasant, merely … strange. Did the vines interact with all guests this way, or was she receiving special attention as a Brightcrest intruder?
Her gaze drifted across the room, searching for details she could later relay to her mother, though she doubted she would spot anything useful. If therewassome scandalous secret at the heart of The Charmed Leaf’s success, she doubted it would be on full display in the main room of the tea house.
