Page 62 of Love & Letter Charms
But enough of my philosophical musings. Your letters remain my favorite escape. Each evening I find myself rushing through obligations just to reach the moment when I can read your words.
Eagerly awaiting your next correspondence,
R
Dear R,
Behind statuary is perfectly adequate if one chooses the right statue. The trick is finding one with sufficiently dramatic robes.
This guest who apparently travels with warmth among her belongings—she sounds rather selfish, don’t you think? Taking all the atmosphere with her when she leaves? Very inconsiderate.
I find it curious that you have never mentioned her before. I presume you have only recently met her. In which case … this seems an insufficient amount of time to make such an impression. Or perhaps she was just particularly … impressive? I’m merely wondering what sort of person can affect an entire household’s ambiance so thoroughly. Does she have other magical qualities besides temperature theft?
Regarding dare three: I accidentally told someone their cufflinks were ‘geometrically pleasing’ at a small gathering last night (my brother had spent the evening praising the virtues of ‘attractive symmetry’ in his latest diagrams). The gentleman looked alarmed. I don’t believe I can count this toward dare number three.
Yours in mathematical compliments,
L
P.S. How does one pack warmth, exactly? Does she have special baggage? This seems like information I might find useful.
Chapter Seventeen
The rainagainst the windows created a gentle percussion that seemed to wrap Aurelise’s bedchamber in the softest of embraces. She had curled herself into the corner of her favorite chaise, legs tucked beneath her, the pale folds of her nightgown spilling across the cushions. She held a cup of sugarplum whimsy to her lips, sipping the delicate, confection-sweet blend Marta had prepared for her this evening after discovering the small paper-wrapped parcel of tea leaves on Aurelise’s bed. Apparently her grandmother had sent a messenger pixie ahead this afternoon to deliver her favorite tea.
The journey from Rowanwood House back to Solstice Hall had been accompanied by a familiar flutter of anxiety, but now, ensconced in the quiet sanctuary of her rooms, the comforting fragrance of pink plum and spun sugar curling through the air and the soft rain tapping gently at the glass, she found herself unexpectedly content.
Well. Aside from R’s mention of that mysterious warmth-stealing woman who was absolutely not making her feel confusing feelings she had no business feeling. Fortunately Thimble and Spark, with their endless chatter and spirited disagreements, provided ample distraction from the entirelyunimportant subject of what R’s next letter might say about this woman Aurelise was most certainly not dwelling on.
Across from her, Spark had claimed the burgundy armchair as his throne, a delicate china dish of custard kisses balanced precariously on the arm. He was currently in the process of devouring his third—or was it fourth?—treat, the sparkly sugar dusting his emerald scales and creating small constellations across the upholstery.
Must you make such a production of eating?Thimble asked from her position on the arm of Aurelise’s chaise, her tiny pink paws crossed before her, chin resting upon them as she lay in a languid sprawl.The sugar is absolutely everywhere.
I am savoring, Spark replied with immense dignity, though the effect was somewhat undermined by the sugar sparkles adorning his snout.Custard kisses are the pinnacle of culinary achievement, and I shall not have you diminishing my enjoyment with your pedestrian concerns about tidiness.
Pedestrian!Thimble lifted her head.This from the dragon who spent twenty minutes earlier arranging his sleeping cushion to achieve the perfect angle for his afternoon sulk?
It was not sulking. It was meditative repose.
Aurelise couldn’t suppress her smile as she watched them bicker, the familiar rhythm of their squabbling as comforting as the rain itself. “I missed the two of you,” she admitted. “Tell me everything that happened while I was away.”
Oh! You missed quite the commotion, Thimble began, wings fluttering as she pushed herself upright and sat.Yesterday afternoon, the garden pixies decided to hold a snail race along the east fountain path, and all the companions gathered to support. It was all very festive until Larkdancer—that’s Lady’s Coravelle’s companion, remember—tripped over a toadstool and accidentally set the finish ribbon on fire.
Spark gave a long-suffering sigh, a thin curl of smoke escaping his nostrils.The hydrangeas have only just recovered.
They were barely singed, Thimble corrected.And everyone cheered when Blossy’s snail won. Well, except Misty, who insisted the humidity had conspired against her snail.
Indeed, Spark murmured.An insidious foe, moisture.
Thimble ignored him.Nevertheless, it was rather nice for everyone to be together without the ladies for a little while. Several companions said they were immensely relieved to have a moment’s peace. Ever since the High Lady announced that each Crown Court lady must host her own tea, they’ve all been in utter chaos. The poor companions have been running about collecting flower samples and color palettes and debating which cakes are most becoming to serve at three o’clock.
Most unsatisfactory, Spark declared.We are, of course, delighted to assist. That is our purpose, after all. But the degree of strain—and responsibility—some of these ladies heap upon their poor companions is quite unconscionable. They’ve never hosted events before, and yet they are expected to manage every detail while remaining invisible on the day itself. A most inequitable arrangement.
Oh! But for YOU, our dearest lady, Thimble added quickly, wings fluttering in a blur,we shall, of course, attempt to do absolutely everything within our limited power! Table linens, flower charms, pastry placement?—
“No, no,” Aurelise interrupted, leaning forward to place her teacup on its saucer on the low table beside the trailing vine her grandmother had gifted her. “I wouldn’t dream of burdening you with so much of what is clearly my own responsibility.”
She drew a steadying breath, willing down the familiar ripple of anxiety that accompanied any mention of her upcoming tea. It didn’t quite work. She pulled her braid forward over oneshoulder, her fingers absently tugging at its neatness until a few curls escaped—a nervous habit she scarcely noticed.
