Page 69 of Tempests & Tea Leaves
Her grin still in place, Rosavyn placed a hand against the carriage’s side and raised her voice. “Rowanwood House, please!” And with a gentle lurch, they were off, rolling through Bloomhaven’s quieter streets toward the grand estate that awaited them.
“Now,” Charlotte said, lifting what appeared to be a stunning gown of deep violet silk, “let’s transform you.”
“It’s beautiful,” Iris breathed, touching the fabric reverently. “And the original owner …”
“Stop worrying about that part,” Charlotte said. “The original owner will never know. She developed an unfortunate fever this morning and won’t be attending the masquerade. Given that the dress is almost precisely your size, it must be fate bringing you together.”
“Do you think it’s even necessary to wear a dress so spectacular? The mask enchantment will alter my appearance anyway, so?—”
“Iris, you can’t very well enter Rowanwood House wearing that modest dinner gown,” Rosavyn argued. “You’ll beconspicuous in something so plain, and the objective is for you to blend in with everyone else. Now let me help you out of that dress.”
What followed was a whirlwind of fabric, corset laces, and suppressed laughter as the carriage traveled along cobblestone streets. Iris found herself twisted this way and that as Charlotte and Rosavyn helped her into the gown, their fingers working nimbly despite the swaying of the carriage.
“Turn around,” Charlotte instructed, brandishing a hairbrush and a handful of pins. “Let me see what I can do with your hair.” With deft fingers, she twisted Iris’s dark locks into a hastily arranged coiffure.
As she finished her work, Rosavyn reached into a small velvet pouch and withdrew something that caught the dim light of the carriage lamps. “Here,” she said, slipping a delicate silver bangle onto Iris’s wrist. “The final touch.”
“Oh, that’s lovely!” Iris exclaimed, admiring the intricate flower pattern etched into the silver band, each blossom’s center adorned with a purple gemstone that perfectly matched her gown’s rich hue.
“Isn’t it? I picked it up at Tremayne’s Treasures at the start of the season, but I have so many similar items I haven’t had a chance to wear it even once yet. Consider it yours.”
Iris caught Charlotte’s eye, and they both rolled their eyes. For all her privilege, Rosavyn’s genuine warmth and generosity made it impossible to hold her casual extravagance against her.
“Are you certain?” Iris asked her, gently touching one of the purple stones.
“Of course!”
“Thank you, Rosavyn.” Iris slipped the bangle onto her wrist where it settled perfectly over her elbow-length ivory gloves.
“We’re almost there,” Charlotte announced, peering through the carriage window. “I can see the lights of Rowanwood House.”
Indeed, as they rounded the corner, Rowanwood House came into view, ablaze with golden light that spilled from its many windows. The magnificent marble steps of the grand entrance were lined with enchanted lanterns, and a steady stream of carriages moved along the curved drive, depositing elegantly dressed guests who proceeded up the grand staircase toward the entrance.
Their own carriage joined the queue, and Iris clasped Charlotte’s hands with heartfelt gratitude. “Thank you so much for everything.”
Charlotte pulled her into a quick embrace. “But of course! If I can’t attend the masquerade myself, helping someone prepare for it is a most welcome substitute. And adjusting dresses for all those haughty ladies parading through Mother’s shop certainly doesn’t count!”
The next thing Iris knew, she and Rosavyn were stepping out into the warm evening air. She fought the urge to hunch her shoulders or hide her face. Instead, she ascended the stairs confidently beside Rosavyn, her chin lifted just as they’d practiced.
Inside, the grand entrance hall of Rowanwood House took Iris’s breath away. Crystal chandeliers bathed everything in warm golden light, reflecting off polished marble floors where footmen in elegant livery guided guests toward the ballroom. Just before the entrance, attendants stood behind a table laden with exquisite masks.
“This is where the magic begins,” Rosavyn whispered excitedly as they approached.
A footman bowed slightly. “Ladies, if you would make your selection,” he said, gesturing to the array of masks.
Iris’s hand hovered over the collection before settling on one more delicate than most of the others. Silver filigree with tiny floral details reminiscent of the bangle on her wrist. Beside her,Rosavyn selected a mask of deep blue embellished with tiny crystals.
“When you place the mask on your face,” the footman instructed, “the enchantment will take effect. It will remain until the final chime of midnight, at which point all illusions will fade.”
With a shared glance of nervous excitement, Iris and Rosavyn lifted their masks simultaneously. The moment the cool metal touched Iris’s skin, she felt a shiver of magic wash over her. Instinctively, she wrapped her fingers around the bangle on her wrist, hoping it wouldn’t be changed by the enchantment.
Her gaze returned to Rosavyn and she gasped, watching as her friend’s appearance rippled and changed before her eyes. Where Rosavyn had stood a moment before, a slightly shorter woman with cascading golden curls now smiled back at her, her eyes visible through the mask but somehow unrecognizable.
“Iris!” Rosavyn’s voice emerged slightly altered, musical and lilting. “Look at you!”
Rosavyn gestured to the mirrored surface of the open ballroom doors, and as they stepped past them, Iris caught a glimpse of herself. Her hair, normally a deep brown, now gleamed with auburn highlights and sat atop her head in an elaborate arrangement of braids woven with silver ribbons. Her gown had shifted from violet to a shimmering teal, and her ivory gloves had transformed into sheer teal lace that extended past her elbows, patterned with silver threads that precisely echoed her mask’s design. The only part of her ensemble that remained unchanged was the silver bangle.
The sight of her altered image brought to mind Lord Jasvian’s humorous description from their morning correspondence—the peacock feather and how comically small the enchantment would make her—and she couldn’t helpsmiling, almost wishing he was here to see how wrong his prediction had been.
