Page 14 of A Touch of Charm (Miracles on Harley Street #3)

T he next day, it seemed nothing was unfolding as Andre had anticipated. Sleep had evaded him the previous night, leaving him restless and awake before dawn. By seven o’clock, he had already visited the Patisserie de La Loire, a charming bakery nestled near his practice. He had collected a parcel of delicate madeleines, their sweet vanilla aroma a small comfort as he held the parcel in his lap during the carriage ride to Cloverdale House.

Upon arriving at his treatment room at the rehabilitation center, Mary’s delighted smile greeted him.

“This smells so good!” She beamed. “Did you hear that my parents sent word that I can stay as long as I like?”

“Until they return?” Andre asked and Mary nodded. To a child, a few days or weeks meant as much as an adventure of unascertainable duration. He smiled. “Fresh madeleines from the patisserie near the practice on Harley Street,” Andre said and instinctively passed the pastries to her.

“Can I take them to the study? Miss Thea is waiting for me with a bilo-logy lesson.”

“Biology?” Andre chuckled.

He handed the parcel over, and Mary immediately took it.

“We have scissors there to cut the cord,” she called as she skipped down the hallway, tugging at the cord that tied the parcel, and Andre hoped she’d share them with Thea. The gesture felt right in the moment, yet he knew deep down that he had acquired them for Thea, not just as a mere treat. There was a longing in his chest, an unvoiced wish to present her with something more fitting—flowers, chocolates, tokens of affection he could not openly bestow.

In fact, Andre had not seen Thea again after tending to the patients at Cloverdale House.

He had only caught sight of Stan arriving to confirm their dinner plans with Thea once nurse Shira had attended to the task of cleaning his wound and refreshing his bandage. Earlier that morning, Andre had inspected Stan’s shoulder, noting with a twinge of disappointment that it wasn’t healing as swiftly as he’d hoped either. The other doctors would return shortly, marking the official opening of Cloverdale House as a rehabilitation center. Likewise, his friends would soon arrive, and a steady flow of patients would provide a welcome distraction from the princess who had occupied his every thought.

Andre’s heart ached for the unlikelihood of a formal courtship. He could have sent a calling card, requested a proper visit, and perhaps invited her on a chaperoned stroll along Pall Mall. But he was no aristocrat, and she, a princess, stood on a pedestal he felt forbidden to reach. His mind lingered on possibilities that dared not take form, constrained by the chasm society placed between them. Mainly because of the secret of his birth, the jeopardy he’d put his family in, and the shame he’d bring upon Thea’s lineage. He could tackle impossible love, but what he’d realized he harbored for Thea was beyond words. All he could call it was hopeless—a fatal diagnosis of heartbreak was the only possible outcome.

Thus, he hoped Mary would share the madeleines with Thea so that she could at least taste some of his favorite pastries. He could offer his protection and friendship without admitting to the ardor of his feelings, couldn’t he? Thea had sounded as though she felt rather alone, and perhaps the spongy cakes could offer her some comfort—that’s what Andre’s mother had always said: “There’s comfort to be found in food.”

With several patients in residence, although the other doctors hadn’t returned, Cloverdale House buzzed with activity. But Andre needed solitude to think. He slipped through the side door, emerging into the secluded area at the back of the estate, where a long medieval wall still stood. The wall seemed pointless, not enclosing anything of significance. “Hedges along a pointless wall,” Andre muttered to himself. The blackthorn, meticulously pruned and perfectly aligned, stood staunchly in its place. Pruned, trimmed, and unwavering. Andre felt like that hedge—close to a piece of history laden with royal legacy, yet unable to expand or grow. His lineage was too diluted to claim any throne, although it allowed his family to brush shoulders with the elite of Europe. But not him. He was merely the hedge, vibrant and robust, deeply rooted yet not truly part of the grand scene. Plus, he wasn’t going anywhere, just like the hedge.

Frustrated, Andre kicked a pebble across the gravel path. He’d never felt so trapped by his station—angry, yes, especially when his siblings had been invited to the Hofburg Palace in Vienna, the epicenter of imperial social life. As the eldest son, he should have escorted his sister, but his younger brother, Lorenzo, donned the evening attire and took his place. At their mother’s behest, Andre had stepped aside.

He was the outsider, pruned by tradition to stand firm in his place. When the Napoleonic army invaded Florence, his survival hinged on discretion. That fateful night had severed him from his family, and he missed them now more than ever.

“Andre, listen to me,” his mother had whispered, her voice steady despite the chaos unfolding outside. “You must go to Vienna. Study at the university. They won’t acknowledge you, and it’s all my fault. Your future depends on your education. Do you understand?”

Downstairs, heavy boots thudding against the wooden floors grew louder. Napoleon’s soldiers were raiding homes, searching for any sign of resistance. Andre’s heart pounded, his instincts urging him to rush downstairs and defend his family. But his mother’s grip on his arm was firm, her eyes pleading with him.

“Papa already reserved a spot at the Faculty of Medicine for you. Go early; they will let you work until the semester begins.” She handed him more money than he could count and stuffed it in his waist pocket. “This is all we have in the house.” Why did she assume she wouldn’t have any use for it?

Dread settled in Andre’s chest, and his heart pounded with an unfailing yet new sense of panic.

“I can’t leave you and the others,” he protested, the weight of responsibility as the eldest son pressing down on his shoulders. “I need to protect you.” But he didn’t want to leave his family’s side. What would life be without his family?

Mother jerked back.

A loud crash echoed from below, followed by the unmistakable sound of a struggle. His father, Dr. Johann von Dürer, was trying to fend off the invaders. Andre heard a grunt, a shriek from his little sister, then silence. His breath caught in his throat.

His mother, Isabella di Lorenzo, quickly moved, gathering a small bundle of essentials. Her usually composed face was etched with worry lines, her lips pressed tightly together. The faint glow of a single candle illuminated her features, giving her an almost ghostly appearance.

Mother’s eyes were so wide open that he saw the white around her dark brown irises, the same color as his own.

“Go!” her voice cracked, and she avoided eye contact. It would have shattered her resolve; he understood that much. She kissed his forehead, pushing him towards the window. She hurriedly opened it, the cold wind biting at their faces. “If I can, I will find you. But it would be best if you survived despite my mistakes. Nothing else matters, my love, except your life and survival. Remember that! I wish you only happiness in life.”

“But Mama!”

“Please go, my love!”

Andre hesitated, torn between his duty to his family and the urgency of his mother’s command. He glanced back at her, but she turned away, moving towards the stairs. A faint cry escaped her lips, and she disappeared. Andre didn’t know it then, but it would be the last time he’d see his mother.

The night air carried a chill that seemed to seep through the stone walls of their villa in Florence. Andre, eighteen and brimming with youthful idealism that was doomed that night, stood by the window of his dimly lit room. Florence’s terracotta roofs stretched before him, their familiar reddish-brown hues muted under the cloak of darkness. The undulating pattern of the tiles formed a mosaic, each piece fitting seamlessly into the next, creating a familiar and treacherous landscape.

Half-hidden by storm clouds, the moon cast intermittent patches of silver light across the rooftops, making the wet tiles glisten like polished stone. The rain had turned the usually warm, dry surfaces slick and dangerous. Andre could see the rivulets of water streaming down the curves of the roofs, pooling in the dips, and cascading down to the cobblestone streets below.

Propelled by panic, Andre climbed onto the roof, the shingles slick with rain. The metallic scent of iron filled his nostrils, a gruesome reminder of the bloodshed below, dull hits, and the stench of brutality emanating from the streets. He moved cautiously, heart racing, as he navigated the treacherous surface. With every step, the image of his family’s villa, not as he knew it during his happy childhood, rather that night, fraught with violence, burned into his memory.

The streets were scenes of horror; lifeless bodies lay sprawled in the mud, victims of the violent raid. The mingling scents of blood and rainwater created a horrendous odor. Andre’s stomach churned, but he pushed forward, driven by desperation. He found a hidden corner on a faraway roof and crouched, his body trembling with cold and fear.

Andre’s memories flooded his thoughts, destroying his unrealistic imagination to woo Thea. Again, he looked at the small green blackthorn along the old wall. His parents had repeatedly advised to remain inconspicuous until they found him. He waited semester after semester at the university but they never came for him. And when he went to pursue his apprenticeship in India with Felix, he knew the traces of his old life would be erased. The one thing he’d promised his parents was that he’d do well as a doctor—his only link to his family. And yet, Andre was like a hedge in the wall’s shadow, forbidden to blossom like other plants. But he felt a change around Thea, as if his feelings might finally unfurl and bloom.

“I want to find one first!” came a cheerful voice, starkly contrasting his stormy emotions. Little Mary bounced out the side door and held a small glass jar. “Oh, Andre!” she called, holding her straw bonnet with the other hand.

“Good morning, Miss Mary. How do you do?” Andre initially feigned politeness, unable to forget his gloom, but when the little girl came to stand before him and looked at him, donning her baby teeth in a bright smile, his mood lightened instantly.

He squatted to face her. “What have you here?”

He inspected the jar, which seemed empty but for a few wrinkled leaves she’d stuffed in.

“We’re looking for Lyc-… ahem… Lyca—”

“Lycaenidae,” Thea said from behind Mary.

Andre hadn’t seen her coming—in the literal sense because he’d been squatting and focusing on Mary, but also in the figurative sense because his heart lurched when she smiled at him. She wore a straw bonnet, too, tied under her chin with a pink ribbon.

Do not look at her lips.

Speak.

Say hello, at least.

“Thank you for the madeleines. They were delicious,” Thea said.

“You’re welcome.” What Andre meant to say was something entirely different. I’d bring you fresh pastries every morning and lay the world at your feet if allowed.

But he was frozen, mesmerized by Thea’s dark eyes sparkling in the shadow. She’d bring light even to the simple pruned hedges behind the castle that wasn’t hers; that’s how brightly she shone. And suddenly, all the gloom was lifted from Andre’s chest, and he took heart. He was there now. And he’d cherish any moments he was allowed to share with her.

It would suffice for someone like him.

“Do you have many patients waiting today?” Thea asked politely.

“One here at Cloverdale House. And then nobody else on Harley Street until tomorrow.”

Thea smiled and blinked as if it were as difficult for her to break their eye contact as it was for him. “We are looking for butterfly eggs. Today’s lesson is the metamorphosis of insects,” Thea explained.

“With all this blackthorn, Miss Thea said we might find some Polyommatus . They have shiny blue-and-purple wings,” Mary declared cheerfully and walked along the hedge, inspecting the undersides of the tiny leaves.

“These hedges are a treasure trove,” Thea said when she and Andre strolled leisurely behind Mary, who was mumbling to herself.

“They’re just green to me, nothing special,” Andre lied, still convinced he was no more than one of those unmovable hedges.

“On the contrary,” Thea started. “They seem inconspicuous, but they are the cradle for life. The butterfly eggs blend in seamlessly, but the blackthorn provides the ideal protection to keep them safe. Sadly, mother butterflies never see their hatchlings, thus the blackthorn protect them instead.”

Andre thought she was adorable in her philosophical diatribe of insect nurseries, and he felt meager next to her, just the cradle for something that would hatch and leave—just as he feared that Thea would leave. She had more important things to do in her life, princes to wed, diplomatic relations to foster, as Stan had explained. She’d leave him behind like the butterflies in the hedges when they emerged from their chrysalis.

“Without the perfect blackthorn leaves, the caterpillars would starve when they hatch. And the entire agricultural system could collapse.”

“The entire agricultural system? Because of some butterflies?” Andre stopped on the gravel path.

“If the caterpillars cannot pupefy and remain protected under the leaves, they won’t become butterflies. And without butterfly pollination, there’d be no fruit trees. Many plants we eat depend on pollination—”

“Butterflies are beautiful, but the fruit trees also require bees and the support of the wind for pollination.”

Thea inclined her head. “Wind is strong but moody. A little gust makes them fly higher, but a storm can kill them. And perhaps some trees would rather have butterflies than bees?” Thea gave a playful smile over her shoulder.

She was flirting.

Don’t engage.

A storm like her father’s wrath if Andre laid a hand on the princess.

Just then, the wind blew stronger, and the rim of Thea’s bonnet flapped backward. The ribbon holding it to her chin slipped off, and the bonnet nearly flew away, but Andre caught it.

Instinctively, he put one hand on the back of Thea’s head and the other under her chin, ensuring that the bonnet stayed put to protect her from the sun but, more importantly, that the ribbon didn’t strangle her. Not that it was strong enough, but he wouldn’t let any discomfort come to her under his watch.

“Thank you,” she beamed.

He held her gaze, for it was too beautiful to look away. Under the brightness of her gaze, Andre felt he might be growing the courage of the stray leaves pricking up from the hedges no matter how carefully they were pruned. He wanted to rebel against everything he’d chastised himself for and kiss her.

“How long have you lived in London?” Thea asked as they walked on, following Mary, who’d carefully stuffed more leaves into her jar.

“About two years now. I was born in Florence but attended school in Vienna. My father had a post at the faculty of medicine there.”

“Is that why you became a doctor?”

“In a way, I always thought I was. Even when I was little, about the same age as Mary, he took me to the lectures and even the laboratory. He gave me grapes to practice sutures when he was occupied with his colleagues. I helped him grade exams by the time I was fourteen.”

“You must have learned very much. I am certain he’s proud of you,” Thea said.

“I wish I knew.” Andre felt that familiar clipping sensation in his lungs whenever he spoke of his family. “When I completed my studies, I traveled to India with Alfie Collins and Felix Leafley.”

“I saw their names on the sign at 87 Harley Street,” Thea smiled.

“Yes. When we came to England and learned of the opportunity to open the practice together, I lost track of my family along the way.”

They were forced to lose track of me under Napoleon’s rule.

But he didn’t want to burden the princess with too much sadness. He hated the pity and much preferred to be judged not for his heritage or the terrible timing of his birth but for the accomplishments that were of his own doing.

“You must miss them very much. I am certain they are looking for you.”

“I had to run away to save their lives; it’s a long story,” Andre said, but then he noticed that Thea grew sadder.

“I only ran away for my own selfishness.”

*

He was breathtaking, and Thea wished she could brush the curl off his forehead and draw him in for a kiss to distract him from the pain and loss he’d suffered. If only she were allowed to act on her feelings, to be free like the butterflies, and land where she wanted, for she would surely choose him.

“It’s not my place to say anything,” Andre mumbled, trying to control the anger bubbling up within him.

“Speak freely. I don’t need the royal etiquette here,” Thea said.

“I know you well enough not to wish to speak freely. You deserve all the respect of a princess, whether you are at court or not.”

Thea eyed him curiously for a moment, then smirked and let her mischievous side shine through beneath the facade of the mere princess.

“Then consider this an audience. Now, speak freely,” she started again.

“It’s not selfishness that made you run away, I think. Self-preservation and pursuing a happy life are more basic than that.”

“Basic, such as instincts?”

“Some instincts for self-preservation are fundamental, yes.”

“Such as…”

“The search for companionship, for instance. Humans usually don’t want to be completely alone. Some wish to have large families or simply a dog to walk for company, but complete solitude is rarely welcome. And one can be lonely in a loveless marriage.”

“Do you want a large family?”

That made him laugh. “I am from a very large family. We have members scattered throughout Europe.”

“And you miss them.”

“Every single day.”

“I’m from a large family, too. Two branches, even. It’s exhausting to keep the names in mind sometimes.”

Andre chuckled. “I don’t think I even met most of my extended cousins.”

“Parents never forget their children. My mother always followed our lessons and holiday schedules and attended our music recitals.”

“And your father?” Andre asked.

Thea sighed. “He didn’t forget either, but it was different. He always had expectations that we feared to fall short of. None of us wanted to disappoint him.”

“I doubt you could ever disappoint anyone.”

Thea’s smile faltered. “If I don’t marry whom Father chose for me, I’m afraid I’d disappoint him so gravely that he’d never recover.”

“Doesn’t he merely want what’s best for you?” Andre seemed ignorant of the dynastic responsibilities of a princess.

“He wants to use me for what is best for the kingdom. That’s not the same.”

“Isn’t that the same as what Stan is working to achieve?”

“And if he achieves it after I marry—and I am not saying I will marry Prince Ralph—then I sacrificed my happiness for naught.” She balled her fists. “I always do what’s expected. I am satisfied with every element of what the only princess of Transylvania ought to do, and then I do some more. But every time my father looks at me, he grimaces with pain because I fall short in the one way that counts for him—marriage.”

“That’s so difficult,” Andre said with a frown.

“It’s inevitable. That’s why I’m hiding.

“And yet you can’t wait indefinitely or prolong the engagement?”

“No engagement happened. I am promised to him, but I’ve never agreed to any of it. I’ve never even met him since I was three.”

“Don’t you wish to—”

“No! I… there’s someone else I—” She stopped mid-sentence and blinked profusely, even though they were walking along a shadowy path.

“Someone else caught your affection?”

If only you knew…

“Yes, I think he’s caught my heart.” Her eyes locked with his, and he swallowed hard.

“That man is incredibly lucky.”