Chapter 20
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 had previously 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 the Bally 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 the rumored 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.’”
“Am I?”
“Naturally. It is a pleasure to meet me, after all. And you’re meant to offer your name in return.”
“Really?”
“It is the generally accepted mode when it comes to introductions.”
“If you say so, your lordship.”
“Oh, please, Archibald. Archie to my friends.” He bent a leg and leaned at a jaunty angle over the counter. “We are to be friends, aren’t we?”
She met his eye again, and he leered at her. No doubt he thought he was smiling, but Nigel knew a leer when he saw one, even from behind the double-delight rose, where he’d taken up temporary residence, observing the scene as it unfolded.
Before Luna was obliged to make any sort of answer, the two Silly Young Things crowded the counter and began begging for readings. Luna offered them her basket of tea pouches, assisted them in making their purchases, and put on the kettle behind the curtain. All this while, Lord Bruxley lingered.
“Are you going to take me behind that curtain with you?” he asked suggestively, when the first of the two ladies emerged from her reading. “I want my fortune told. It’s sure to be full of delights.”
He waggled his eyebrows. Actually waggled them.
Nigel’s grip on his pruning shears tightened, but the double-delight rose placed a warning cane against his arm, and he restrained himself.
Luna, unperturbed, merely invited the second young lady back for her reading. Lord Bruxley, bored, prodded one of the tiger lilies with the end of his walking stick. When he turned away, the lily took a swipe at his heel, but he didn’t seem to notice.
The second lady emerged from the nook, all giggles, and joined her friend by the gardenia display.
Lord Bruxley, seeing an opportunity, presented himself at the counter once more and plucked a silk pouch from Luna’s display basket.
“This one, if you please,” he said. “Brew it up extra strong; I like a little bitter with the sweet.”
“No,” Luna said quite clearly.
Nigel held his breath.
Lord Bruxley blinked. “What was that?”
“I said, ‘no,’ your lordship. I am not taking any more readings at this time.”
“What, is witching hour over already?”
“Something like that.”
His mustache drooped rather ominously before bowing in another greasy grin.
“That’s all right—I already know what my future holds.
A long, leisurely, candlelit dinner with a certain tea witch.
Tonight, I believe. At The Blue Moon Club.
And afterwards . . .” He let his voice trail away even as his eyes made an indecent run up and down Luna’s person.
The rose added a second cane to Nigel’s arm, holding him at bay.
Luna, however, merely looked at the gentleman demurely and said, “What a surprise, your lordship.”
“Surprise?” he queried.
“That you should happen to know two tea witches. I shouldn’t think it was a common profession.”
The gentleman’s brow furrowed for a moment with uncertainty. Then he caught her drift. He also reached out and caught her hand. “You know, I am a very powerful man,” he said, his voice dropping an octave.
“Yes,” Luna replied, withdrawing her hand rather sharply. “And you keep sugar in your pocket for your gray hunter, though that sweetness does not, apparently, extend to those who wait upon you in shops.”
A look of surprise flashed across his handsome face, and Lord Bruxley stood up a little straighter.
“How do you know about the sugar? And the gray hunter?” When Luna didn’t respond, however, he slipped back into charm and leaned in.
“You’ve seen me in one of your visions, haven’t you?
In your own teacup, perhaps. Come, little witch, there’s no good in denying it. ”
Luna offered the man a cold look. “I must ask you to step away from the counter, sir, and make room for other customers.”
“What other customers? There’s no one here but me and my little cousins. And I haven’t gotten what I want yet.”
“If you have a purchase to make, I am happy to assist you.”
“I want you happy to accompany me to The Blue Moon Club.”
“I cannot.”
“And why is that?”
“Because I don’t want to.”
He laughed outright, obviously finding this statement hilarious.
His laugh was cut short, however, by an abrupt, “Ow,” and a look of some surprise.
This look was followed by one of pain, and another, more emphatic, “Ow!” Lord Bruxley looked down at his striped trousers to find a vicious tiger lily worrying at his shin.
Even as his startled gaze struggled to make sense of what he saw, another lily launched at his shoe, growling like a wild animal.
A third one appeared, this one aimed at his posterior, where it caught hold with shocking ferocity, considering it had no teeth.
Lord Bruxley uttered a wordless cry and, using his walking stick, tried to beat them off.
But tiger lilies are tenacious blighters, and these would not relent.
They were joined by another, and another, until the gentleman let out a shriek of dismay.
He spun in place, whacking right and left with his walking stick, to no avail.
At last he turned and fled down the center aisle of the shop, trailing lilies behind him, even as his two lady companions burst into giggles and cheers.