“Mr Stratton.” Her tone was so perfectly warm, so immaculately sweet, that it could have been drizzled over a scone. And that alone should have been warning enough, because Lady Rivenna Rowanwood was many things, but warm and sweet were generally not among them. “How good of you to stop by. I am always a little surprised to find you back here, in the working part of the shop, rather than out front where we keep our guests. You have come to see your sister, I expect. She is just through there.” A small gesture toward the front. “Do not let us keep you from her.”
Henry’s hand dropped to his side and he took a slow step backward. “Lady Rowanwood. A pleasure, as always. I was only?—”
“Of course.” She had already turned from him, a dismissal almost, and was crossing to the small side table by the window. “Goodness, the light is particularly lovely this morning.” She set her portfolio down with a decisivesnap. “I believe I shall work down here today.”
The light, Lucie thought, was exactly what it was every sunny morning. And Lady Rivenna almost never chose to work in the kitchen. But she watched as the older woman slipped out of her cloak and handed it to the group of pixies that came fluttering to take it from her. Then she drew out a chair and sat.
“Well,” Henry said, drawing Lucie’s attention to him. His voice was pleasant. His smile was pleasant. Every part of him was pleasant, yet somehow none of it looked quite right. “I ought to deliver that umbrella to Georgiana before I forget why I came.” A small laugh. “It was good to see you, Miss Fields. And I hope you will rethink your answer regarding the concert.” A pause, and then, in a lighter, easier tone: “I am not going anywhere.”
He nodded to Lady Rivenna. “Lady Rowanwood. A pleasure, as always.”
“Mr Stratton.” She did not look up from the portfolio that now lay open before her. “Do give Georgiana my regards.”
He left through the doorway into the shop. His footsteps moved through to the front, and Lucie heard Georgiana’s voice, surprised, and then the low murmur of siblings. Then the faint chime of the front door as it opened and closed.
Gone.
The kitchen settled around her. The hearth crackled softly. A pixie swooped from the high shelf to the worktable and back again, carrying a single dried petal for reasons known only to itself.
Lucie exhaled.
She carried the tub of flour to the pantry. She came back and gathered the remaining ingredients from the worktable and returned them to their places. She ducked beneath the pixies carrying mixing bowls to the basin. She checked whether the chocolate on the florentines had set.
The motions steadied her. One thing, then the next, then the next.
Balthazar appeared at the back door, sauntered inside with a satisfied air, and resumed his place on the cushion by the hearth. He glanced once at Lady Rivenna.
“Cat,” she said, without looking up.
Balthazar’s tail flicked. The protocol observed, they ignored each other completely.
Lucie was carefully transferring the florentines into a parchment-lined tin while two of the pixies darted off to check on the ginger biscuit dough in the cooling cabinet when footsteps sounded on the staircase, quick and slightly uneven, and Kazrian appeared in the kitchen. And?—
Good stars, why did he look like he’d just woken up? Hair disheveled, waistcoat unbuttoned, shirtsleeves rolled to his elbows. Her mind was trying to process the fact that he was even in the building—she’d had no idea—but she was struggling to get past the fact that no one,no one, had any right to look that distractingly charming upon just waking up. It was?—
“Good gracious, boy, did you spend the night in a hedge?”
“An armchair,” Kazrian corrected, sounding somewhat distracted as he crossed the kitchen. He raked a hand through his hair in a way that made it considerably worse. “In the study. I must have fallen asleep at some point in the early hours of the morning.” He stopped at the worktable and frowned down at it. “I was working on a possible fix for—well, I have woken up with an idea, and I should like to?—”
“The armchair? I cannot determine which is worse. Go home, Kazrian. Wash. Change your clothes. You look dreadful.”
“The idea will not wait.” Kazrian ran his fingers over a specific part of the worktable surface where—Lucie noticed with a familiar sense of resignation—the wordsPotion 245were once again carving themselves into the wood.
The building’s quirks had, in the days since Kazrian had declared everything repaired, achieved a level of absurdity that bordered on theatrical. The ovens and cooling cabinets had mercifully continued to function—Lucie suspected they would not dare do otherwise, given Kazrian’s very particular attention to them—but everything else had grown worse.
The high shelf had progressed from hurling objects to producing a steady drip of water, to creating the occasional dusting of flour that drifted down onto the shelf below like confectioner’s snow. The storeroom door upstairs remained firmly shut on all days that were not Thursday. A cupboard in the pantry had begun humming a tune. And then yesterday, the wordsPotion 245had started carving themselves into the far end of the worktable. Slowly, letter by letter, as though the building were taking dictation from its former life as an apothecary. It did not affect Lucie’s work, but it was somewhat distracting to glance across and see the letters deepening themselves into the grain at the far end of the surface.
Kazrian stood at the end of the table now, one hand braced on the surface, studying the letters with a frown.
Lady Rivenna returned to her portfolio. Lucie returned to her florentines.
And then a bright sound, the sort a high-pitched brass instrument mightmake, pierced the quiet from somewhere outside. Lucie looked up and met Lady Rivenna’s disapproving gaze.
Before anyone could move, Georgiana appeared from the front, slightly flushed. “My lady, forgive the interruption. There is a herald pixie outside the shop. Riding one of those enormous dragonflies. I saw it come round toward the back a moment ago, and I wanted to be sure you were aware, but there is a customer at the counter and I really ought to?—”
“Go,” Lady Rivenna said, already rising. “I shall see to it. Thank you, Georgiana.”
Georgiana dipped her head and disappeared back into the shop. Lady Rivenna crossed to the back door, and when she opened it Lucie caught a glimpse of the herald pixie on the courtyard wall. Tiny and imperious in miniature Solstice Hall livery, seated astride a dragonfly whose iridescent wings were still humming. Lady Rivenna stepped outside and pulled the door partially shut behind her.
