Page 6 of Love & Letter Charms
Yet she couldn’t simply ignore his request. To offer nothing felt unkind after all they had shared. But what? Even just the initial ‘A’ seemed as though it were revealing too much. But a random name or letter felt dishonest, a betrayal of the authenticity that had defined their correspondence.
She closed her eyes, considering, until her thoughts settled on the name her siblings still called her on occasion. The name Kazrian had first given her when they were small and his toddler tongue couldn’t manage all the syllables of her full name.
Lise.
Dear Mystery,
You may call me L.
I know that’s not very satisfying, but I must be honest and admit that I prefer our established anonymity. I hope you understand my caution. It is not a lack of trust in you specifically, but rather a shield I find I cannot set aside.
Mysteriously yours,
L
Dear L,
L! How delightfully enigmatic. Let me guess what it stands for: Ludicrous? Luminous? Loquacious? (Though given your admitted fear of crowds, perhaps not that last one.) Lamentable? Luxurious? Lexicographer? (I’m particularly proud of that one.)
Oh! I know. Librarian. You’re secretly a librarian who’s been studying ancient texts about mysterious letter enchantments this entire time.
Since you’ve given me a letter, I suppose it’s only fair I return the favor. You may call me R.
Riddlingly yours,
R
Dear R,
R for Ridiculous, I assume, given that list of increasingly absurd suggestions. Lexicographer, honestly. As if I spend my days compiling dictionaries. (Though words ARE rather beautiful, aren’t they?)
Mysteriously yours,
L (for none of the above)
P.S. I was relieved to see your reply in my box this morning. I feared my insistence on anonymity might havetried your patience beyond repair, that you might decide our correspondence was no longer worth pursuing. Thank you for understanding my need for this particular boundary, strange as it may seem.
Dear L (for Definitely Lying About the Lexicography),
Fine, you’ve caught me. R does indeed stand for Ridiculous. Also Remarkable, Ravishing, and almost always Right About Things.
Ridiculously yours,
R
P.S. As if I could ever cease writing to you.
Chapter One
The dressing tablemirror reflected chaos. Not only Aurelise Rowanwood’s wide eyes and half-done hair, but the whirlwind that had overtaken Windsong Cottage in the hours before the Season’s Opening Ball. Behind her, the reflection captured her mother’s hands fluttering like anxious birds over a tiny rent in the silk overlay of Aurelise’s gown, her sister Rosavyn sprawled across the small bed in defiance of all propriety, and Marta, her lady’s maid, rummaging through a jewelry case while muttering about pearl hairpins.
Through the open doorway, the mirror caught a flurry of activity in the sitting area. Kazrian balanced on the low table, his hands outstretched toward the ceiling faelight as he attempted to coax it back to proper illumination, while their grandmother, Lady Rivenna, swept into view, admonishing him about the flagrant indecorum of standing on furniture. She barely had time to duck as an errant spark of magic shot from Kazrian’s hand, narrowly missing her meticulously arranged silver hair.
“I did express my concerns about the lack of space here,” Lady Lelianna muttered, leaning closer to inspect her magical repair while drawing in her skirts as Marta passed with her newly discovered hairpins, the maid offering breathlessapologies as she squeezed between Lady Lelianna and the crowded dressing table.
“Oh, nonsense,” Rosavyn replied from her horizontal position. “This isfun, Mother! All of us here together in this cozy little?—”
A crash from the other side of the cottage interrupted her. Several moments of silence followed as everyone paused. Then Lady Nirella Brightcrest’s voice floated through the rooms. “Not to worry! That was merely the teapot meeting its unfortunate end. I shall brew a fresh pot in that lovely porcelain with the pink flowers instead.”
