A Reign of Roses

Secrets Over Tea

The drawing room at the Lefevre estate was a symphony of light and luxury. Golden rays filtered through the lace curtains, dancing over the polished mahogany furniture and casting delicate patterns on the silk-upholstered chairs. The air was fragrant with the scent of freshly brewed Earl Grey, mingling with the sweet aroma of sugared pastries arranged neatly on a porcelain tiered stand.

Lady Anastasia de Lemoine sat stiffly on the edge of her seat, her fingers tracing the rim of her teacup. Across from her, Marguerite Lefevre—Maggie, as only Anastasia dared call her—lounged with effortless grace, her curls spilling over her shoulder like an inkblot against her pale yellow gown. Maggie's mischievous brown eyes sparkled as she popped a candied violet into her mouth.

"You look like you've swallowed a nettle," Maggie remarked, her voice teasing. "Is it the tea? Or are you fretting about some dreadful ball your mother is dragging you to?"

Anastasia tried to smile, but it came out more like a grimace. "It's not that," she murmured, setting her teacup down with a soft clink.

Maggie arched a perfectly shaped brow, leaning forward. "Oh? Then what is it? And don't you dare say it's nothing—I know that face, Ana. It's the one you make when you're about to burst."

Anastasia hesitated, her gaze drifting to the window where the garden sprawled in a riot of autumn colors. The words she wanted to say felt heavy, lodged in her throat like a stone. Finally, she took a deep breath and whispered, "There's someone I need to tell you about."

Maggie straightened, her interest piqued. "A someone?" she repeated, dragging the word out with exaggerated curiosity. "Don't tell me the unflappable Lady Anastasia de Lemoine has been swept off her feet!"

Anastasia's cheeks flamed, but she pressed on, her voice trembling slightly. "His name is Lukas Rosenberg. He's a soldier... a captain."

Maggie's eyes widened. "A soldier? Good heavens, Ana, this is already scandalous. Do go on."

Anastasia glanced around as if the walls themselves might overhear. Then, in a rush, she began to describe him. "He's... different. Reserved, almost stoic. But there's a kindness in his eyes, even when he tries to hide it. And the way he speaks—it's as if he sees right through me, past all the pretenses we're forced to wear."

Maggie's lips curved into a sly smile. "And I presume he's handsome?"

Anastasia shot her a glare, but it lacked venom. "That's hardly the point."

"Oh, it's entirely the point," Maggie quipped, leaning back with a laugh. "But I'll allow you to pretend it isn't. Tell me more."

Anastasia fiddled with the ribbon on her sleeve, her expression softening. "There's something about him, Maggie. Something I can't quite explain. When I'm with him, it feels like... like I'm stepping out of a dream and into something real. But—" She stopped abruptly, her voice catching.

"But?" Maggie prompted, her teasing tone gone.

Anastasia's brow furrowed, and her voice dropped to a near whisper. "He feels dangerous, Maggie. Not in the way one might fear a thief or a brigand, but... as if he's hiding a part of himself. And I don't know if I want to uncover it or keep it buried."

For a moment, Maggie said nothing, her sharp gaze studying Anastasia with uncharacteristic seriousness. Finally, she reached out, placing a hand over Anastasia's. "Ana, love is powerful. It can make us brave or foolish, and sometimes both at once. But you must tread carefully. Some men's secrets..." Her voice softened, her tone almost mournful. "Some secrets can shatter even the strongest hearts."

Anastasia's throat tightened. She nodded, though her mind raced with questions she wasn't ready to voice.

Maggie gave her hand a reassuring squeeze before releasing it. "Still, I've always believed in following the heart—cautiously, mind you, but faithfully all the same. And if this Lukas makes you feel alive, then perhaps he's worth the risk."

The tension in Anastasia's chest eased slightly, and she managed a small smile. "You always know what to say, Maggie."

"Well, someone has to keep you from spiraling into despair," Maggie said lightly, reaching for another pastry. "Now, tell me—when will I meet this mysterious captain of yours?"

Anastasia laughed softly, the sound tinged with relief. "Perhaps someday. But not yet."

Maggie tilted her head, studying her friend with a knowing smile. "Ah, the great Lady Anastasia, keeping secrets even from me. Very well. But don't keep him hidden too long, my dear. Men like that—" she paused, plucking a macaron from the tray with exaggerated delicacy, "—don't stay mysteries forever. The world has a way of uncovering them, whether you're ready or not."

Anastasia's smile wavered, and her gaze dropped to her lap. Maggie's words struck a chord, though she wasn't entirely sure why. "I'll keep that in mind," she murmured.

For a moment, silence hung between them, filled only by the soft clink of china and the distant trill of a bird outside the window. It was Maggie who broke it, her tone light but her eyes shrewd. "Promise me one thing, Ana."

Anastasia looked up, startled by the sudden gravity in her friend's voice. "Anything."

"Promise me that whatever this is—whoever he is—you won't lose yourself in it." Maggie leaned forward, her expression uncharacteristically serious. "You're brilliant, fierce, and capable of so much more than the world gives you credit for. Don't let him, or anyone, dim that light."

Anastasia's throat tightened, her emotions tangled in a knot she couldn't untie. She wanted to reassure Maggie, to tell her that she wouldn't lose herself. But as she sat there, Lukas's face flashed in her mind—the sharpness of his gaze, the way he looked at her as if she were the only person in the room. And she wondered if Maggie's warning had come too late.

"I promise," Anastasia whispered, though her voice carried the weight of a vow she wasn't certain she could keep.

Maggie smiled then, the solemn moment giving way to her usual cheer. "Good. Now, enough of this heavy talk. Have you tried these little tarts? I swear they're so good they might be illegal."

Anastasia laughed, a real, unguarded sound this time. "Maggie, only you could turn dessert into a scandal."

"Well, if there's anyone who could appreciate a good scandal, it's you," Maggie shot back, grinning as she reached for the tarts.

The rest of their tea passed in a haze of laughter and teasing, but when Anastasia finally left the Lefevre estate, her thoughts were far from the pastries and chatter.

As her carriage rumbled along the cobblestone streets, she stared out the window, her mind wandering to Lukas. Maggie's words echoed in her ears—warnings and reassurances blending together in a confusing chorus.

She reached into the pocket of her cloak, her fingers brushing against the edges of a folded scrap of parchment. It was one of Lukas's notes, hastily written but imbued with a warmth that seemed to leap off the page. She didn't need to open it to remember what it said.

"You are a storm, Anastasia. And I am but a man willing to stand in its path."

Her fingers tightened around the paper as her heart fluttered and ached in equal measure. For a moment, she closed her eyes, leaning her head back against the carriage wall.

"Someday," she whispered to herself. "Perhaps someday, I'll tell him everything too."

But for now, she held her secrets close, just as Lukas held his.

And for better or worse, they were bound together by the mysteries they refused to share.