Page 12 of A Touch of Charm (Miracles on Harley Street #3)

Later that day…

A s the hired hackney turned off the busier Abbotsberry Road onto a deserted gravel road, Thea felt anticipation mingling with trepidation. Cloverdale House loomed ahead, its grand silhouette outlined against the afternoon sky. Surrounded by a relatively flat patch of manicured land and a private park open to the public, the mansion was like a castle with small turrets and exuded an air of both invitation and majesty. An ivory tower to lock her away from the freedom that had already been within her grasp.

Andre’s presence beside her was a steady comfort. His calm demeanor and reassuring smile made the journey feel less daunting. Mary, perched between them, could scarcely contain her excitement. Her blue eyes sparkled, and her small hands clutched her toy cat tightly.

Thea leaned slightly out of the window, taking in the sight of the sprawling grounds. Despite its grandeur, the place had a welcoming charm—perhaps it was the clusters of wildflowers dotting the grass, or the gentle curve of the pathways beckoning visitors to explore—a glimpse of freedom Thea decided to hold on to. In fact, the sense of openness of Cloverdale’s design starkly contrasted with the enclosed, rigid confines she often associated with stately manors.

“Is this like Bran Castle, where you grew up?” Andre asked.

“No, Bran is on a mountain. It’s not as easy to get there.”

“Ah, a secluded fortress?”

Yes, he saw straight into her heart. She grew up secluded. Alone.

Of course, her family had been there, but Thea had never been allowed to mingle with other children in the village of Bran. “It’s situated between the localities of M?gura and Dealul Cet??ii , offering a strategic view of the surrounding hills and valleys.”

“But no access to people?” Andre asked.

“Exactly.”

“You sound as though you felt rather alone.”

Thea shrugged. “It’s the price of being safe and sheltered.” Thea reached for Mary’s hand and rubbed it as she continued, “But there’s much to discover here in London, and we shall do it together.”

“And I’ll keep you safe,” Andre said reassuringly.

Mary chuckled with glee.

They’d arrived.

As the carriage drew to a halt in front of the grand entrance, Thea took a deep breath, trying to still the fluttering in her chest to return to the realm of aristocrats. She already missed the more unburdened life of a governess.

Andre descended first, then turned to offer his hand to Thea. She accepted it gratefully, feeling the warmth of his touch steady her nerves. Mary scrambled out next, her energy boundless as always.

The coachman tipped his hat respectfully in Andre’s direction, clearly expecting his response. “Will you be needing anything else, sir?” he inquired.

Before Andre could utter a word, Thea interjected with a grateful smile, “That will be all for now. Thank you.” She cast a quick glance at Andre, seeking his approval for her decisive interruption, a habit born from her upbringing as a princess, where she was accustomed to issuing commands.

Andre’s eyes widened momentarily, caught off guard by her forwardness, which did not go unnoticed by the coachman, who frowned slightly. “Quite forward, this wife of yours,” he remarked, his voice tinged with mild surprise.

“She’s used to having the world at her feet,” Andre said, quickly disseminating the coachman’s suspicions. Thea sucked her lips in, sorry she’d misspoken. If she was hiding that she was a princess, she had to remember all the lessons she’d learned as a governess.

She had to, but it seemed impossible. She’d run away from her life and duties as a princess, but she was still a princess at heart, whether in her elegant gown at Bran Castle or not.

“You have a nice family,” the coachman said, turned, and climbed back onto the driver’s seat.

The second man who’d thought Andre and Thea were a family with Mary as their child.

“You look perfect together,” he added.

With a final nod, the coachman guided the carriage away, leaving Thea, Andre, and Mary standing slack-jawed before the imposing front doors of Cloverdale House. Before Thea could say anything, the doors swung open with a creak, revealing a grand hall that seemed to pulse with history and elegance.

Andre offered his arm and escorted her inside.

“I need to tell you that we didn’t think the rehabilitation center would be open for a while, but since we had three new patients who needed to be admitted, we made do,” Andre explained as they walked down the giant white marble steps to the double-winged front door.

“Did you operate on them?” Mary asked.

Andre chuckled. “I can’t tell you, I keep my patients’ confidentiality.” He winked at her.

“So there’s another surgeon?” Thea asked.

“You mean, Dr. Philip Rosen? He works across the street from us, at 91 Harley Street but comes here, too. That’s all I can say.”

With these words, the door clicked shut behind them, and a young woman with a full head of curly black hair and a white apron appeared.

“Andre, there you are!” Her smile was infectious as she greeted Thea kindly and immediately told Mary the cook had just taken fresh honey buns out of the oven.

“That way, the fourth door is on the left. Tell her that Shira sent you.”

Mary darted off without another look at Thea.

“Mary!” Thea called, but Andre chuckled merrily.

“This is Nurse Shira Rosen, Dr. Philip Rosen’s wife.” Andre turned to Thea, but she hesitated. “You can tell her, if Mary knows, the secret’s out, and yet it will be safe among us.”

“I already heard, Your Royal Highness. It’s an honor to meet you and your secret is as safe with me as a diagnosis.” Shira took a deep bow.

“See? Confidentiality,” Andre said with a satisfied smile.

After Shira assured them that the house staff had prepared the rooms for Thea and Mary and another for Stan, she left to look after Mary in the kitchen.

Again, Thea and Andre were alone, this time at the elegant entrance of a lavish London estate. The grand hall was lovely, even for someone like Thea. Its walls were adorned with intricate moldings and paintings depicting pastoral scenes and noble ancestors. A grand staircase with a carved oak balustrade swept upward to the upper floors, promising more rooms filled with riches.

Andre’s touch on her arm brought her back to the present. He was looking at her with a mixture of concern and encouragement.

“Are you quite well?” Andre asked softly.

Thea nodded, though her emotions swirled within her. “Yes, I think so.”

“Would you like a tour?”

“I’d love one.”

“I won’t leave you alone.”

His words were a balm to her soul. Thea took another deep breath, this one steadier, and allowed herself to take in the beauty of Cloverdale House.

As the golden light of the setting sun filtered through the grand hall, casting a warm glow over the polished marble floors and ornate furnishings, a sudden disturbance shattered the tranquil atmosphere. The sound of clanking porcelain preceded the raised voices, growing louder with each passing second.

Thea and Andre exchanged concerned glances. The tension in the air was palpable.

There was a thud in the adjacent room.

Thea felt a knot of anxiety tightening in her chest. She could discern the harsh, clipped tones of German and the flowing cadence of French, both voices rising in anger.

Stan had warned her of the person he suspected ordered her abduction.

“Baron von List,” Andre mumbled as if the name tasted bad.

“Is he here?” Thea fought the impulse to hook her arm into Andre’s and hold him tight.

“I don’t think so, but I might not know all the patients who arrived while I was at the wedding.” Andre moved closer to her, his presence a steadying force. “Stay here,” he murmured, his tone protective yet calm. “I’ll go look what’s happening.”

“Don’t! He’s dangerous!” Thea pulled Andre back.

“Yes, you’re right. He’s a threat. Let me see if it’s him at all,” Andre said.

But before he could step, the door swung open again, and two men stumbled into the hall, locked in a furious argument. Though different in style, their uniforms bore the marks of nobility and military distinction. Judging by his attire, the taller of the two, a Bavarian soldier with a proud, aristocratic bearing, had eyes that blazed with anger. His opponent, obviously a French imperial guard in a blue coat with golden epaulets, was of equal stature and spat his words with venom, his accent thick and unmistakable.

“How dare you, Heinrich!” the Frenchman shouted, echoing off the high ceilings. “Your kingdom benefitted from Napoleon’s brutality! Do not pretend to be above reproach!”

Heinrich, his jaw clenched in righteous anger, fired back. “And what of your own country’s sins, Jacques? France tore Europe apart for the sake of one man’s ambition. You have no right to lecture me on honor!”

Thea’s heart pounded as she watched the confrontation unfold. She observed the two men and the subtle indicators of their noble status, the quality of their uniform materials, the intricacy of their embellishments, and their demeanor. The German-speaking man wore a Rittmeister’s cavalry uniform that was so finely tailored that Thea had no doubt he was of highest ranks. And the Frenchman wore reinforced breeches like the Hussar’s of Napoleon’s Grande Armée. These were not just soldiers; they were men of noble descent, their titles and lands intertwined with the turbulent history of post-Napoleonic Europe. And they were at odds, seemingly trying to provoke one another by wearing formal uniforms even when they were patients at the same rehabilitation center.

Andre cleared his throat. “Dr. Andre Fernando, an orthopedist. And this is—”

“Princess Josephine Theodora Andrea Hohenzollern-Sigmaringen.” Thea knew her rank was higher, and she didn’t hesitate to use it in this instant. “I was assured of diplomatic neutrality at this establishment.” And I will not submit to either of you, lest you threaten the independence of Transylvania.

Both men straightened their postures, their expressions shifting from anger to something more controlled and respectful. As the tension in the room dissipated, Heinrich and Jacques seemed to recognize the need for civility.

Heinrich was the first to step forward. He removed his hat, inclining his head in a gesture of deference. “Please allow me to introduce myself properly. I am Heinrich von Thurn und Taxis, Count of Bavaria.” Though still tinged with the remnants of anger, his voice held a note of genuine respect. “It is an honor to make your acquaintance, Your Royal Highness.”

Thea nodded graciously. “Count Heinrich, thank you. I appreciate your introduction.”

Jacques followed suit, his expression softening as he approached. He offered a formal bow, his French accent smooth and refined. “Your Highness, I am Jacques Devereux, Marquis of Lyon. I apologize for the disturbance we caused. It is an honor to make your acquaintance.”

Thea returned his bow with a slight curtsy. “Lord Jacques, thank you for your introduction. Let us hope that from this moment on, we can find common ground and peace within these walls.”

“May I ask, Your Highness, whether you are the same Princess Josephine betrothed to Prince Ralph of Habsburg?”

Thea swallowed hard, and her breath shook. “Yes, I am.”

When Thea answered, the marquis gave her a knowing look, almost like the once-over of a matron at the balls. Although she’d accepted a dance with their sons, her reputation as the runaway princess seemed to have caught up with her. The marquis didn’t offer any congratulations on the betrothal. So, news had spread indeed.

Andre truly must have heard what had been said. The words, careless and cutting, still lingered in the air. She was the runaway princess, the stupid and selfish one who didn’t want to marry a Habsburg prince. And yet, there was so much more to her she wished to show Andre. She longed to explain herself. Thea’s gaze darted to Andre’s again, searching for a sign, a reassuring glance that might dispel her fears that he wouldn’t care for a chance to know her better. The air around her felt charged with uncertainty. Thea’s fingers clenched into a fist at her side, desperate to hold onto something tangible, preferably Andre.

But Thea remained steadfast as her upbringing commanded.

Both men nodded politely, their initial hostility giving way to mutual understanding.

Thea’s outwardly calm demeanor and grace had set the tone for a more amicable interaction, and for a moment, it seemed as though peace might indeed be possible—if not in her life, then at least between the nations of the nobles present. Amazingly, neutrality at Cloverdale House seemed to work.

“Dr. Rosen said you’d come to see me,” the count said. “ Sie sind aus Wien? ” Are you from Vienna? The question was directed to Andre.

“ Ich habe dort studiert, jawohl .” I studied there, yes.

Andre bowed and turned to Thea stiffly, his expression unreadable as he barely held her gaze. “Perhaps we should have tea,” he suggested, his voice measured, lacking the warmth she had come to cherish.

Thea nodded, her heart fluttering with a mix of apprehension and hope. “Yes, tea would be lovely,” she replied, though her voice wavered despite her efforts to keep it steady. Her mind swirled with the fear that his formality signaled a shift, a retreat into the safe confines of decorum, which would ruin her hope that he felt as she did.

The room’s ambient noises seemed to swell in her ears as they proceeded to a room off the main hall, the muted conversation in German between the men weaving a tapestry of distraction as she tried to decipher Andre’s intentions. Her palms felt clammy against the fabric of her gown, a tangible reminder of her unease. Would tea merely be a polite obligation, a preamble to distance?

As they moved toward the tearoom, Thea was acutely aware of the space between them. She longed for reassurance in his gaze, a flicker of the connection they had shared, yet his face remained impassive, a mask she could not penetrate.

The plush carpet in the drawing room muffled their footsteps, the rich scent of black tea with bergamot wafting through the air as they neared the table set for four. Thea settled into her seat, her fingers tracing the delicate rim of the teacup before her, seeking comfort in its familiar texture. She watched a footman pour the tea, each movement precise and controlled, and wondered if the ritual would be the last thread tying them together.

After tea, Andre rose and made to leave. “Please excuse me, Your Royal Highness. Monsieur le Marquis. Herr Graf, ” Andre bowed to all of them, addressing each in a nearly impeccable accent in French and German. “I must attend to my work.”

Thea forced herself to meet Andre’s eyes, determined to bridge the gap with sincerity. She hoped for a thaw in his demeanor, a sign that their bond could weather this storm but all she could make out was his fear. Could it all be traced back to Baron von List or was there something else? She wanted to know more.

Everything about the handsome doctor.

Andre withdrew to a separate room, first with one and then with the other of the two men, to examine their injuries. Nurse Shira returned, informing Thea that Mary would be an adorable assistant nurse.

“My husband operated on them, but it is Andre who will see to their recovery from now on,” Shira explained when she joined Thea and oversaw a footman clearing the tea set once Andre had left with the count and the marquis. “He’s very talented, and it certainly helps that he can speak with both of them in their native tongues.”

“Indeed.” Thea marveled at the broad education Andre had for a doctor. It still didn’t make sense to her that he had had a governess and spoke so many languages. Something about him made him fit in with the lords more than the working class.

“Yes, he speaks so many languages fluently. Isn’t he amazing?” Shira smiled, but then another woman in a white apron called her. “Would you pardon me, please? Andre needs my assistance.”

“Certainly,” Thea said.

“Please feel free to explore the castle. I will send someone to show you your chambers shortly.” With these words, Shira disappeared into a corridor.

Thea continued to walk down the other direction of the hall. She was surrounded by the elegance of England’s craftsmanship and artistry. Lavish draperies, gilded mirrors, and finely upholstered furniture whispered tales of a time when beauty and elegance were life’s priorities. Although distinct from Bran Castle and other European palaces, each space exuded a warm sense of welcome. Everything felt quintessentially English—from the floral tea service to the embroidered settee cushions—and Thea was enchanted by it all.

Her gaze swept over the lavish room, and each intricate detail sparked dreams of a life with Andre. She envisioned them moving gracefully through these elegant spaces, their fingers gently touching, and their laughter floating in the air. She pictured intimate dinners, where every word exchanged over candlelight promised a deeper connection, filling her heart with a delightful mix of joy and longing. If this castle was nice on the inside, then there would be even more to explore outside, wouldn’t there? Perhaps, while Stan was healing, Andre could show her more of London? More than she’d seen in the short time with Mary’s family. More time with Andre—yes, that was what she longed for even though she couldn’t quite explain the urge.

But reality always found its way in, a stark reminder of the barriers between them. The class divide was undeniable, with Andre’s status as a commoner casting a shadow over her dreams. Her engagement to Prince Ralph felt like an unyielding burden, now amplified by her notoriety as the runaway princess. The whispers of scandal swirling around her urged caution. Still, even as her imagined world began to dissolve, its beauty lingered, urging Thea to hold on to every stolen moment with Andre.

She wasn’t ready to let this newfound tingling sensation go when she was near him—not yet. No matter how much Stan wanted to lock her up at Cloverdale House while he was a patient—she wasn’t in need of treatment. But she did want more time with the doctor.

This is not over.