“You . . . you mean to serve these? To customers?”
“Of course. Didn’t I say? I can’t have you spending good money on brand-name teas, not when Garden offers so much variety. I thought perhaps I’d sew up some little silk pouches and sell a few of my own blends from the counter. What do you think of that idea?”
“But it’s . . . a flower shop.”
“Yes? Theseareflowers, Mr. Grimm.” Her brow puckered with sudden uncertainty, she closed the oven door and straightened. “Have I overstepped? Garden was so generous this afternoon. It seemed as though everywhere I turned, there was another tea plant! It was like being back home with the aunties.” She bit her lip. “I do apologize if I’ve caused offense. Here you’ve been so generous, and—”
“Oh, no!” he hastened to say and offered what he hoped passed for a smile. “Not at all, Miss Talbot, don’t think a thing of it. I’m simply . . . wrapping my mind around the idea is all.”
She nodded, but still looked rather anxious. “It may not work out, of course. Home-sewn teabags and the like. But I thought, as customers are coming for tea anyway . . .”
“Indeed, an inspired idea, Miss Talbot. And I am eager to try one of your blends.”
Her smile returned at this, though perhaps not as confident as before, and Nigel wished he could go back in time by about thirty seconds and give himself a solid kick in the shins. He knew a spell that could accomplish just that, and was halfway tempted to use it.
The kitchen clock, however, chimed out the hour. Luna startled, her eyes widening as she took in the time. “Gracious!” she exclaimed, “I’d best get hustling. Mrs. Boggs has declared early curfew this evening, something she does on a whim, justto prove she can, the old bat. Do you need anything else, Mr. Grimm?”
“No, no,” he assured her. “Don’t risk the wrath of Mrs. Boggs on my account.”
He escorted her out the front door, locking it behind her. She waved through the window then set off at a brisk trot, looking both ways before she crossed the street. Soon she rounded the bend onto Nettleton Lane and vanished from sight.
Nigel stood a while, not fully realizing what he did. He breathed in deep—and yes! Despite her foray into Garden and her busy day handling numerous other plants and blossoms, there lingered still in her wake that trace of chamomile and lavender. Sweet, faintly elusive, but ever-present.
With a sigh, Nigel turned to face the shop. They were all looking at him. Debbie, the double-delight rose, the tiger lilies, the dahlias. Even the violets peeked out from behind their leaves, their round, purple faces distinctly amused.
“Have you nothing better to do?” Nigel demanded, his voice rather loud in the silence.
“Never mind,”Debbie chuckled, and winked her beady little eye.
The following morning, five more young Ladies of Quality—or Silly Young Things, as Luna had named them—appeared on the doorstep of The Arcane Bouquet, promptly at the stroke of nine. They all inquired after the tea witch, and no amount of protesting could dissuade them. A tea witch was said to be working at the new shop on Addle Street, and a tea witch must forthwith be produced!
This morning, however, Luna had arrived early and was prepared. She’d already managed to sew up a dozen or so little silk pouches of her quick-dried orange llarmi, and offered tea only to those who purchased their own teabags in advance, half-a-crown per bag. An effective scheme—the ladies made their purchases with enthusiasm, snatching up every one of the little pouches. Luna was obliged to prepare the tea in shifts due to the lack of cups and the very small pot, but the Silly Young Things were in no great hurry. Each waited breathlessly for her turn to be summoned back to the nook behind the curtain and, in the meanwhile, busied herself browsing the shop’s wares. Before Nigel knew what was happening, they had gathered great armloads of long-stemmed blossoms and brought them to the counter for him to shape into bouquets—not a skillset he hadpreviously practiced, but he made a brave effort, and the ladies themselves were in too high of spirits to be critical.
One by one, Luna visited with the ladies while they sipped their tea and subsequently read their fortunes. But it wasn’t the words of foretelling that left the greatest impression, Nigel suspected. No, it was Luna herself. Her warm spirit, her attentive listening to the chatter of the Silly Young Things, the homey wisdom with which she spun her unique brand of mysticism. She became, in those few minutes behind the curtain, each young lady’s big sister: a confidant and friend they never knew they needed.
It was magic. Green Magic. Very different from anything Nigel’s father ever practiced, but potent in its own way. Luna claimed not to be gifted in the Sight the way her aunties were, but Nigel began to suspect her powers ran much deeper than she realized.
Word spread swiftly, about the homegrown teas and Luna herself. Sooner or later, Nigel knew it would lead to trouble. And exactly one week to the day since she first blew through the door of The Arcane Bouquet and into his life, that trouble arrived. Clad in familiar striped trousers.
Nigel was wrapping up a bouquet at the time. He’d run out of tissue paper and was obliged to use yesterday’s newsprint instead to protect the delicate bundle. As he smoothed out the front page of theBally Daily, his eye was caught by a certain headline:“Heiress on the Rise!” And beneath it an enthusiastic paragraph declaring that one Miss Eugenia Lambert had become the sole beneficiary of her late godfather’s magnificent steel fortune.
A smile pulled at the corner of Nigel’s mouth. This then, was the source of the sudden and miraculous interest the young lady had inspired at the Duchess of Kinsley’s assembly. Not therumored magic of Luna’s lisianthus blossoms. Still, the rumor had worked well in their favor.
He was still chuckling quietly to himself when the shop bells tinkled, and three distinguished personages stepped inside. Two were Silly Young Things, as interchangeable to Nigel’s eye as any of the other misses who came and went from Luna’s nook. But arm-in-arm with the two of them came the same dashing mustachioed gentleman who claimed the honor of First Purchase ever made at The Arcane Bouquet.
At sight of him, something in Nigel’s chest turned to stone.
The man looked bored, despite the chatter of his two companions. As they drifted away to admire a set of potted pansies, however, his eye lighted upon Luna, behind the desk. His bored expression immediately quickened to one of interest. He oiled his way across the floor and angled an elbow against the counter.
“Well, well,” he said from behind his mustache, “if it isn’t the Witch of Addle Street. I trust you remember me?”
Luna, who was busy organizing her newest batch of silk tea pouches, cast him a mild glance. “Should I?”
His grin grew. “Most women find me memorable. But, so you won’t forget in future”—he offered a hand. A large ruby signet ring gleamed on his little finger. “Lord Archibald Bruxley, at your service.”
Luna’s eyebrows lifted slightly. She turned a more considering gaze his way, and her lips parted in a silent, “Oh!” of recognition. Then she touched his fingertips ever-so-slightly, and murmured, “Your lordship.”
“You’re supposed to say, ‘my pleasure.’”
