Lucie still did not trust it. She would not be storing anything she could not afford to lose up here, not until it had behaved for considerably longer than a few days. But she had shifted a few more of the unnecessary things from the bedroom at the end of the passage into the storeroom’s care to make room for the launch supplies now crowding the little room that would one day become someone’s living quarters.
She moved to the bedroom now, where bags and crates sat in orderly rows along the far wall. She hoisted a fresh bag of flour onto her hip, balanced a tin of ground cinnamon on top of it, and tucked it against her chest with her chin.
She was halfway to the staircase when she heard the back door open downstairs.
Her heart leaped becauseKazrian. He had said he would be bringing some things over from The Charmed Leaf, as per his grandmother’s instructions, and Lucie was pleased to know she would soon be able to cross a few more items off her launch preparation checklist. That was why her pulse had done that ridiculous thing. No other reason at all.
Although—it was very likely Lady Rivenna. Yes. Almost certainly Lady Rivenna. Kazrian had stayed on at Dreamland the previous night after Lucie had left with Charlotte and Theo. He was no doubt still abed, as any sensible person would be after such a late night. It was Lady Rivenna downstairs, and Lucie’s heart could calm down at once.
She gathered the flour more securely and went down—slowly and carefully, in case of any extra steps—with Balthazar padding behind her.
The kitchen was empty.
No Lady Rivenna hanging up her cloak. No Kazrian crouched over some misbehaving fixture. Only the hearth crackling low and the kitchen pixies preparing tea. But there were voices—from the front, through thedoorway to the shop—and she recognized the bright lilt of Georgiana’s among them.
Lucie set the flour on the worktable, something tightening in her chest. It was Georgiana who had come in, but she was speaking to someone, and it was too early for customers, which meant?—
A shape filled the doorway from the front room, and Henry stepped through into the kitchen. Balthazar went rigid beside Lucie, his back arched, every dark line of him sparking, and loosed a hiss that cracked with visible magic.
Lucie straightened, set her shoulders, and arranged her face into a bright, welcoming smile. “Henry. Good morning.”
“Good morning.” His own smile arrived warm and easy. He ignored Balthazar, who stalked to the hearth and settled there facing him, tail twitching, watching.
“You are here rather early this morning.”
“Ah, yes, I found myself uncommonly well rested this morning. Woke before the sun, with more energy than I rightly knew what to do with. And I thought, well, why not call in and see how my sweet Lucie is faring.”
She wanted to object to the ‘my’ in that sentence, but it did not feel like the right time. She smiled instead. “How kind of you.”
He settled against the worktable with his arms folded loosely across his chest. “And did you have a pleasant evening last night?”
Lucie adjusted the position of the flour bag on the worktable and kept her voice level as she answered. “Yes, thank you.”
“Nothing out of the common way? No diversions? No entertainments?”
She looked at him then. A small frown tugged at her brow, because it was an odd question, and because the answer was one she did not want to give. “I’m not quite sure what you mean, Henry.”
“I was outside Dreamland last evening. For the opening.” He said it pleasantly, conversationally, the way one might remark on the weather. “And guess who I saw there.”
The bottom dropped out of her stomach. The warmth drained from her hands. He meant her. Of course he meant her.
Steady.
“And I couldn’t help but notice young Lord Rowanwood trailing after you.”
“Lady Rivenna invited me,” Lucie said, trying to sound apologetic. “Or rather, she arranged it. Through her granddaughter. It was all rather last minute. I did not feel I could decline.”
“I see.” The smile stayed exactly where it was, fixed and pleasant and going nowhere near his eyes. “You appeared to be having a marvelous time as you disappeared inside. I am so glad you were able to get away from all this work and enjoy yourself for an evening.” A small pause. “Without me.”
“Henry—”
“Because I have been asking you, Lucie. For weeks. And every time, it is how busy you are, how much you have to do, how impossible it would be to take a single evening away. And then I see you at Dreamland. With the Rowanwoods.”
She picked up the flour again, hugging it to her chest. “Please do not be cross, Henry. I understand how it seems, but I did not plan it. It came about quite suddenly. And I promise you, once the Season’s first rush has eased and The Honeycomb has launched, I shall have time to myself again. Time for—” She caught herself, and finished it anyway, because it was the thing that would soothe him. “For you. That is.”
He raised one brow. “A promise.” He said the word as though tasting it. “Do you know, that is the very first thing you have ever promised me, Lucie Fields.” He pushed off from the worktable and took a step toward her. A low, warning hiss came from the direction of the hearth. “I shall hold you to it.”
“Of course.” She produced another smile. It did not feel entirely convincing.
