Chapter 14
Luna swirled the white Whittlewedge teacup in her hand: clockwise thrice and counter twice.
Just the way her aunties had taught her.
The aromas of a pleasant herbal tea drifted up to her nose, but it mingled with the potent perfume of the Silly Young Thing seated across from her in the nook behind the counter.
The result was oddly ticklish in the nostrils, and Luna fought the urge to sneeze.
Sneezing certainly wouldn’t suit the auricular aura of the moment, so she twisted her nose and valiantly kept all sneezes and sniffles at bay.
When the dregs had settled, she peered over the lip of the cup.
To her surprise, her Sight clarified almost immediately, revealing a stunning image.
But then, sweet little Miss Peabody had been quite specific in her scrying request, and her own worries about the upcoming occasion would have influenced the tea as she drank it, leaving behind a powerful residue for Luna to pick up on.
“Well, Miss Peabody,” Luna said, her eyebrow rising. “You are, in fact, going to be kissed by a gentleman wearing a red rose in his buttonhole at the Governor’s Ball tomorrow night.”
“Is it Frankie Attwood?” Miss Peabody asked, eager hands clasped at her bosom, eyes shining.
Luna glanced up from the tea. “Does Frankie Attwood have ginger hair and a crooked front tooth?”
“No.” Miss Peabody sagged a little in her seat. Then her head tilted, her expression considering. “That’s Oliver Trimble, his best friend.”
“A friend of yours as well, I trust?”
“We’ve spent some time together. But I never noticed him much, not with Frankie around. Frank’s one of those loud fellows, you know.” She pursed her little rosebud lips. “So, Ollie Trimble is going to kiss me at the Governor’s Ball?”
“Yes,” Luna confirmed. “Under the rose arbor, by the looks of it.”
“Interesting.” Miss Peabody tapped her lip thoughtfully. “He’s usually so very shy, is Ollie. Not the sort to go around kissing girls.”
“Unlike Frank Attwood?” Luna hazarded.
The young lady shrugged. “He kissed Mabel at the Covingshire Picnic last week. And Babette at Stokingsly, the week before.”
Luna knew she ought not to invest herself too deeply in the doings of her Silly Young Things. Look at the trouble Miss Eugenia had very nearly got her into! Still, she couldn’t resist a gentle, “Miss Peabody, do you want to be one in a line of Mr. Attwood’s kissing objects?”
Miss Peabody tipped her bobbed head to one side. “I just wondered what it would be like. Everyone seems to think he’s quite a good kisser, you know!”
Luna returned her gaze to the teacup, considering the scene playing out within.
Her own range of kissing experience was not exactly vast. Other than two brief, embarrassing, blink-and-you’d-miss-it instances (which she tried very hard not to dwell upon), there’d really only been John Ward.
A month ago. The night before he shipped out on assignment.
He’d kissed her quite thoroughly that night, but she couldn’t say whether or not he was a good kisser, having no basis of comparison.
All she could say for certain was that she didn’t enjoy it all that much.
It had struck her as quite a lot of mouths-mashing and not a lot of romance or thrills.
A bit wet too. She’d had to resist the impulse to wipe her mouth off with the back of her hand, not wanting to offend the man in question.
It was altogether more awkward than anything.
Though Ward had seemed to get a kick out of the endeavor.
The image in the teacup faded. Luna took a last look, just in case there was some detail she’d missed, but it wafted away.
Setting aside both cup and saucer, she faced Miss Peabody and looked her in the eye.
“Well, Mr. Trimble is definitely going to kiss you under the rose arbor tomorrow night. If I were you, I’d decide how I feel about the idea going in.
If you do not wish to be kissed by Mr. Trimble, I would recommend avoiding the rose arbor entirely. ”
“I didn’t say I didn’t want to kiss Ollie,” Miss Peabody said as she rose and shook Luna’s hand. “Thank you ever so, Miss Witch. You’ve given me much to think about.”
With that, she slipped out from behind the counter to join the gaggle of Silly Young Things with whom she’d come to the shop.
They’d already had their readings and were now finishing up selections of blossoms to be pinned to their gowns on Tuesday evening.
Luna took their orders and down payments, promising to have the corsages ready for pickup by 3 o’clock tomorrow.
The governor’s upcoming ball was proving quite lucrative for business, actually.
Not the same as a big wedding commission, but certainly a nice little bump.
Luna should have just enough time to fulfill these commissions before closing up for the last time tomorrow evening.
Then she would never see these delightful young ladies ever again. Because she’d be in Bromley Bay. Working in a factory. If she was lucky enough to get a position.
Firmly shaking this thought away, Luna smiled and nodded and let the girls out to a tinkle of brass bells.
She paused a moment in the doorway, watching them as they tripped along down the sidewalk and away.
Addle Street was fairly quiet at this time in the late morning.
The initial rush of traffic had died back, and there was no one else on the sidewalk save for the street fiddler.
He scraped out a lively sea shanty on the corner, hat at his feet, though there was no one around to drop any coin into it.
Luna often wondered how the man made a living—he seemed to subsist on music alone, and she wondered, not for the first time, if he had a drop or two of elfin blood in his veins.
She cast an uncertain gaze up and down the street, searching for some sign of a skull-headed walking stick or a low-pulled hat shielding a grotesquely half-melted face.
Her nerves were all on alert, had been ever since the moment he tried to mark her.
Several times in the night, she’d crawled out of bed to peer through her garret window into the street below, convinced the phantoms must have returned to haunt Mrs. Boggs’s Boardinghouse for Young Women of Good Character.
Each time the street was empty. Still, she’d been terribly tempted to grab her already-packed bags and slip out into the night. But where would she go?
No, she needed to be smart. After all, the violet had given its life to get rid of that mark on her palm. She shouldn’t dishonor its sacrifice by doing something stupid.
Stepping back into the shop once more, Luna breathed out slowly and let the door swing shut. She turned to find all the flowers watching her. Like they knew. Like they had caught on to her plan to leave them.
“And why are you lot so somber today?” she asked, hastily painting a smile on her lips. “It’s such a lovely morning! Cheer up, sweethearts.”
Debbie, on her skull pot, flapped her wings and snapped her beak. Her mood seemed a good reflection of the rest of the shop inhabitants.
Luna sighed. Her gaze dragged almost inexorably to the doorway leading to the back passage.
To the boiler room door. Her heart felt heavy.
She hadn’t seen anything of Mr. Grimm all day.
He’d already escaped out into Garden by the time she arrived.
Which was probably a good thing. That time they’d spent together yesterday had not strengthened her resolve to leave.
Right now, she needed all the resolve she could get.
But her heart hurt, nonetheless.
Just as she took a step to retreat across the shop floor, quick footsteps outside drew Luna’s attention, followed by the newsboy’s voice, upraised: “Extra! Extra! Read all about it! Heiress flees wedding to duke! Get your scoop here!”
Eyes brightening, Luna darted to grab a coin from the tip jar before hastening out onto the sidewalk and hailing the newsboy.
He turned over a paper to her, touching his hat politely and winking, the brazen little thing.
Luna smiled back and returned to the shop, stepping over to the counter.
There she laid out the pages, passing over all the gossipy details about Miss Eugenia’s wedding.
Instead, she turned to the reviews on page 7, running her finger down a line of columns.
There was a review for Tokens of My Confection and then . . . and then . . .
A smile broke across Luna’s face. She looked up, meeting Debbie’s stern gaze. “I’ve got to tell him,” she said.
“Never mind,” Debbie opined.
“No, really! He needs to know.”
Despite the raven’s protests, Luna dashed down the passage and pounded on the boiler room door.
Mr. Grimm had taken to locking it behind him when he ventured out, just to be safe.
As there was no other key, Luna could not go in after him, so she simply pounded and called out, “Mr. Grimm! Mr. Grimm, you’ve got to come see this! ”
There was a rumbling sort of noise on the far side. Luna paused, took a step back. Bit her lip.
Suddenly, the door swung open, and Mr. Grimm was standing there in front of her.
He was quite disheveled, like he’d been working hard.
His shirt hung unbuttoned, and his hair flopped over his sweaty forehead, and Luna was obliged to repress the powerful impulse to throw herself into his arms and kiss him right then and there.
Which was odd. Considering she wasn’t altogether convinced she liked kissing.
There was just . . . something about him in this disastrously messy state of being that looked so painfully kissable.
She bit down hard on the inside of her cheek, hoping against hope that he couldn’t see how many shades of pink she’d just flushed.