She smiled a little now, one hand resting over her full belly. It had all turned out well, hadn’t it? Why, Mr. Grimm had practically chased her all the way to Nettleton Lane! He’d been quite out of breath when he caught up to her, with his shirt allunbuttoned, and that floppy hair of his falling over his forehead, and . . . well, she couldn’t remember a time any man had run himself breathless chasingher. It was like something out of one of Auntie Arabella’s racy novels, the ones she kept hidden in her darning basket so Auntie Aurora wouldn’t find them.
Luna shook her head, hastily nipping that stray thought in the bud. The last thing she needed was to be thinking about Mr. Grimm in any sort ofway.He was her employer. The first employer she’d had in an age! Besides, according to the tea leaves yesterday, he already had a paramour in his life. Or would have one soon. Timing could be a bit tricky when it came to tea leaves.
A little tinkle of brass bells caught Luna’s ear. The shop door! She sprang to her feet and hastened from the kitchen. As Mr. Grimm had not yet reappeared, it was up to her to manage the floor. Unconsciously pulling at the cuff of her left sleeve, Luna stepped out of the passage into the aromatic atmosphere of the display room, trying to look composed and unconcerned, despite the galloping of her heart. “Welcome to The Arcane Bouquet,” she called out primly.
A young woman stood among the floral displays. She was immediately recognizable as a Lady in the strictest sense of the word, not only by the cut and quality of her morning suit and the fetching angle of her darling little hat (highly ineffective against the elements), but also by the demure maid who shadowed her footsteps, eyes downcast, mouth set in a firm line.
“What of these, Sutton?” the young lady asked, plucking a gardenia from its display.
“Very good, ma’am,” Sutton answered, without inflection, determined to venture no opinions whatsoever.
Luna hesitated for a moment. After all, Mr. Grimm had not yet gone over any shop protocol. But it seemed to her that she had a duty to perform here, and she did want to put her bestfoot forward. “May I assist you with anything, miss?” she asked politely, trying not to twiddle her fingers.
The lady cast her a look. A look which encompassed the whole of Luna’s person, including her somewhat worse-for-wear green wool and her shabby boots. Luna thought perhaps an apron might help her present a more official appearance, and made a mental note to ask Mr. Grimm about acquiring such an item. For the moment, she merely schooled her face into appropriately helpful lines and offered the faintest of smiles.
“I am looking for flowers to wear to the Duchess of Kinsley’s assembly this evening,” the young lady said after consideration. She glanced at the gardenias again, and her brow took on a consternated line, despite the youth of her features. “Miss Mildred Tuttlemouse is rumored to be wearing gardenias.”
Judging by the way this pronouncement was spoken, Miss Tuttlemouse was something of a trendsetter, an object of both admiration and jealousy.
“Gardenias are a lovely choice,” Luna confirmed, stepping closer to the display. She hesitated, studying the young woman’s pout. Then she ventured, “But a lady of discerning tastes may prefer something more . . . original.”
Sutton shot Luna a short glance, but the young lady, her fingers still trailing across gardenia petals, eyed Luna thoughtfully. “Miss Tuttlemouse is considered the foremost in fashion throughout Ballycastle.”
Despite Sutton’s warning chin-shake, Luna forged on. “Possibly because Miss Tuttlemouse doesn’t choose to wear what other women are wearing.”
The young woman’s eyes narrowed. A slight, “Hmmmm,” hummed on her lips.
Luna moved to a display on the other side of the table. This section was devoted to cuttings of short-stemmed blossoms, all carefully arranged in shallow trays of saturated foam. They wereremarkably fresh, and a faint atmosphere of magic hovered over them. “What color does miss intend to wear this evening?” she asked.
“Violet,” the young lady responded.
“Might I suggest these then?” Luna held up a cluster of little white blossoms with purple edges.
The lady frowned. “Aren’t those roses? Roses aresolast year.”
“No, indeed.” Luna smiled. “These are lisianthus. No thorns, and see that bright yellow center? What’s more, they radiate happiness and positivity.”
The lady took a step closer, her pouty lip not quite as set as it was. “They are sweet,” she admitted. “And the color is unusual.” She flicked Luna a glance. “Would you say these are . . . attractive?”
Based on the tone of the question, Luna guessed what kind of attraction the young lady hoped to inspire at the coming soiree. She wasn’t a particularly pretty girl—fair, even featured, but rather forgettable, despite the darlingness of her hat. No doubt, when competing against the Miss Tuttlemouses (Tuttlemice?) of the world, she felt rather at a disadvantage.
“Happiness and positivity cannot help but attract wherever they go,” Luna said, offering the cluster to the lady.
As she did so, her sleeve drew back . . . and the young woman glanced down sharply. Too late Luna realized her heptagram tattoo was on display.
“Of course,” she said, hastily, withdrawing her hand and tugging the cuff back into place, “if miss prefers gardenias, ours are the freshest—”
“No!” The lady reached out and positively snatched the lisianthus from Luna’s grasp. “No, I want these.”
She held Luna’s gaze for a moment. In her eye, Luna saw the burning desire for magic. For sorcery and arcane aid to bolster her in the coming Trials of Society awaiting her that evening.Luna half-wondered if she ought to confess her lack of any sorcerous ability; she wouldn’t want the young woman to be too bitterly disappointed by the lisianthus’s distinctly un-magical properties.
But the lady already strode with a determined clip of high heels to the shop counter, where Mr. Grimm, having emerged from the stairwell, now stood, pretending to be busy with some account books. He was looking rather more put-together: waistcoat properly buttoned, collar secured, tie in place, and hair smoothed with pomade back from his high forehead. Even the scruff which had shadowed his chin was scraped cleanly away. When the lady presented him with the lisianthus, he tied them neatly with floral string and quoted a price which would have made Luna think twice, but at which his customer never batted an eye.
Her purchase secured, the young lady cast Luna a last, considering look. Then, with a lift of her chin, she glided from the shop, drawing Sutton in her wake. The brass shop bells sang cheerily at their departure, and they soon disappeared into the bustle of Addle Street.
Luna turned to Mr. Grimm and smiled. “Our second sale of the day!”
He nodded, his mouth twitching as though trying to decide what it was supposed to do. “You’re a natural, Miss Talbot,” he offered. “Would you like to finish the tour now?”
