Luna blinked, uncertain what she was supposed to make of this information.
“Lord Longshanks claims his is the best seat in the Wilkeringson’s Equine Club, but everyone knows that’s pure braggadocio. Whereas Lord Bruxley sits that gray hunter of his like a gods-born incarnate, and when he flies over the bullfinch at Clapsaddle, why! My heart skips a beat.” She pressed a large-knuckled hand against her double-breasted bosom, approximating aheavethat would satisfy even Auntie Arabella. “No other man in Ballycastle truly understands horseflesh.”
While Luna struggled to comprehend how such knowledge might form the basis of a true and lasting affection, she was not, admittedly, an equestrian. “My lady countess,” she said, soothingly, “I’m sorry to hear of your troubles. But unfortunately—”
A renewed sob of despair broke off whatever she might have said, accompanied by the sudden whistle of the kettle. Glad for a distraction, Luna leapt up to fetch the kettle from the stove and darted back to the kitchen, where Mr. Grimm had taken shelter. He stood rather awkwardly behind the work table, as though ready to duck.
“Quick!” Luna said at sight of him. “Tea!”
He startled and reached for the box of chamomile-lavender.
“No!” Luna cried, holding up a staying hand. “You can’t serve chamomile to a bruised heart. Give me the orange llarmi. Hurry!”
Mr. Grimm obliged, and Luna hastily poured a measure of dark leaves into the new rose-and-violet pot, followed by steaming water from the kettle. “Bring the teacups and milk as soon as you can,” she said urgently as she settled the lid on the pot. “And where is that tea cozy?”
He produced it from a drawer, and Luna was pleased to discover that it fit quite snugly over the round little pot. She met her employer’s gaze and said, “Chin up, Mr. Grimm. And if you’ve a spare cube of sugar anywhere in your pantry, best fetch it posthaste! The situation is, I fear, rather dire.”
“Really?”
“No.” Luna laughed outright at his panic-stricken face. “Heartache is a trial, to be sure, but it’s generally soothe-able. Heartbreakis a different story, but I trust that’s not the situation here. Still, a little sugar would go a long way.”
With that, she returned to the counter nook, where Countess d’Ackerley still sobbed into a monogrammed handkerchief. Luna set the cozied teapot on the counter to steep, making mental note of the time on the clock, then returned to the lady, kneeling in front of her.
“Tell me everything,” she said.
And so the countess did. Spilling out the story of her unrequited pining, which had been the thorn in her gentrified flesh since her own debutant season, six years past. Oh, she’d had offers aplenty, of course! But how could she settle for a man who thought good riding meant a meandering plod around Bally Park, when a horseman like Lord Bruxley lived and breathed? Luna listened to all with great attention. Eventually, Mr. Grimm crept from the kitchen, depositing teacups, milk, and—bless him—a small sugar bowl, along with the newly-acquired silver spoons. Luna prepared the tea with quick and practiced care, finally pressing a cup into the countess’s trembling fingers.
“You know, lady countess,” she said gently as Countess d’Ackerley raised the cup to her lips, “even if I could give you a flower to attract Lord Bruxley’s attention—which, I assure you, Icannot—you would be left to wonder to the end of your days whether he likedyouor was simply under the influence of enchantment.”
Countess d’Ackerley’s prominent (and rather red) nose twitched several times over the brim of her cup before she took a loud gulp. Then she set the cup back in its saucer, a considering line formed between her well-bred brows.
“But,” Luna continued, “if it’s meant to be between you and Lord Bruxley, then charmed flowers won’t make a lick of difference.”
The lady took another fortifying sip before speaking. “But what if it’snotmeant to be?”
“Well, my Auntie Aurora always told me it was best for one to hope for the Green Mother’s will, as the Green Mother’s will is sure to come to pass and always for the best of Her children.”
“Very pious, I’m sure,” Countess d’Ackerley acknowledged without malice. “Though I should like toknowthat the Green Mother’s will for me included Lord Bruxley.”
“But what if Lord Bruxley were to prove . . . not a nice sort of husband?”
The countess narrowed her eyes. “Go on.”
“What if, as good of a horseman as he is, he’s terrible in . . . other departments?”
“Impossible. One can always measure the merit of a man by how he treats his horse.” Countess d’Ackerley’s angular face softened, becoming momentarily almost pretty. “He keeps sugar in his pocket for his favorite hunter.”
Even Luna had to admit that sounded promising.
“Here,” she said, reaching out to take the lady’s teacup. “I may not be a flower witch, but my aunties taught me a thing or two about tea. Would you like to have your fortune read?”
The countess straightened in her seat, interested.
“Remember,” Luna added, “I can only tell you what I see. If it’s not to your liking, that cannot be helped.”
The countess considered. Then: “Very well. If it might shed some light on the Green Mother’s will, I am ready to learn it.”
Luna nodded and, with grave solemnity, peered into the leaves. She’d only partially strained the tea when she poured, suspecting a foretelling might be in order. There weren’t a great many leaves at the bottom of the cup, but enough to form a bit of a picture. Auntie Apolonia would make a better job of such an obscure reading, but though it was a bit blurry to Luna’s Sight, she definitely saw . . .something.
