Page 20 of A Touch of Charm (Miracles on Harley Street #3)

A ndre didn’t want to be the next bad choice in Thea’s life. The weight of her past, the quiet pain that lingered in her words, was enough to make him tread carefully. Yet care wasn’t something he could give sparingly, not to Thea—or her family.

After their conversation in the orangery the previous night, Andre couldn’t sleep and stayed with Stan, who’d been shivering beneath the thin covering, his skin pale and clammy. Andre knew hesitation had no place there. The fever had worsened, and the wound—raw and angry looking—had deepened its hold. Any delay was a risk he could not allow.

Thea came to look after her brother in the morning when Andre stepped out to get the post, and more ice for Stan’s wound. Returning to Cloverdale, he went to call on Stan.

“I sent a message to the others. Soon, we will have a backup at Cloverdale House and the practice. I’m not going to let Thea out of sight,” Andre told his friend when he woke up.

“Did Alex send word? Is he coming?” Stan asked. Beads of sweat from the fever ran down his forehead, but he shivered through the cold chills.

“Indeed, there’s a letter for you.” Andre handed him the note and watched Stan scan the words.

“He’ll be here soon,” Stan said with palpable relief and plopped his head back on the pillow.

There was a commotion outside and within a few seconds, Thea and Mary appeared with solemn faces.

“How is he?” Thea had been so strong, so composed, but the strain in her eyes had betrayed her fear. She bore it well, as though she’d carried far heavier burdens before. But Andre could see now—this, Stan’s suffering, her family’s shadow—it wasn’t a weight she should carry alone.

“I’m here for whatever you both need,” Andre said when he watched Stan hand Thea their brother’s note.

For Thea’s sake, for her peace more than her gratitude, Andre resolved to look after Stan with all his might. Whatever it took, he’d give her one less thing to fear, even if it meant risking being too close, being another piece of her life she might one day regret. Sometimes, doing the right thing wasn’t about avoiding mistakes but about showing up when needed most.

And today, Thea needed him, whether she realized it or not.

“Nurse Shira will be here momentarily,” Andre said when he glanced at the clock.

“We are going shopping,” Thea declared when Andre eyed the notes for the Bavarian and French lords who would need his care, too.

“I beg your pardon?”

“She’s right. There’ll be a ball for Alex’s engagement. We need to be a united front,” Stan said, his teeth clattering under the cold chills.

Andre cleared his throat. “You are planning for a ball while he has a dangerous fever, and Baron von List is out there threatening your—”

But Thea didn’t let Andre finish. “I can’t spend another day in the same dress. It’s time for a change. Let’s go!” Thea didn’t let go of the doorknob and stood in Andre’s way. For a moment, she was so close that… no, he wouldn’t.

“She’s right. Balls, dances, all of our finery—it’s no different from the armor we need in a battle.” Stan waved as if Thea had to go sharpen her swords indeed, even if they were made of lace and silk. “We all need to be ready!” Stan’s gaze met Thea’s, and Andre knew that all he could do was to follow her and ensure her safety. There was no changing her mind.

“Will you be alright?” Thea asked one more time.

Stan nodded and pulled the blanket up to his chin.

On their way out, Nurse Shira already had clean towels ready and gave the servants instructions for an ice bath for Stan’s feet. He was in good hands.

“I’ll go wherever you go,” he said and saw Mary slip through the door that Thea had blocked but kept ajar. The little girl was giddy with excitement about the outing.

“I hired a hackney carriage.”

“We call it a hired hack in London,” Andre chuckled and flicked the rim of his hat that he’d just put on and buttoned his coat. “After you.” He opened the door and helped Thea in. Mary followed, and he lifted her into the carriage.

A few minutes later, Andre stepped out of Bond Street’s bustling flow into the cool, inviting interior of Madame Duchon’s, the best dressmaker and millinery shop with an attached haberdashery. The shop’s bell tinkled softly above his head, a delicate chime that announced his entrance without disrupting the serene atmosphere inside. He pushed the door open so that Thea and Mary could enter ahead of him. Once inside, the rich scent of polished wood and lavender sachets enveloped him, a welcome contrast to the sooty London air outside.

“Oh my!” Mary clapped her hands together and swayed toward a shimmering pink fabric hanging over the back of a chair.

Thea, in contrast, nodded appreciatively.

Gleaming mahogany shelves lined the walls, each meticulously organized with bolts of the finest silks, satins, and velvets. Their vibrant hues—emerald green, royal blue, and deep crimson—seemed to beckon them closer. Glass-fronted cabinets displayed an array of ribbons, lace trims, and buttons, all arranged with an eye for aesthetic perfection. He hoped this would do for the princess, whether she admitted to her title or not, because she had an air of refinement that Andre was confident not even the finest silks could do justice to.

The floorboards beneath his polished boots creaked softly as he moved deeper into the store, their sound muffled by an exquisite Aubusson carpet stretching the room’s length. Near the rear of the shop, a window seat bathed in afternoon sunlight offered a tranquil spot for customers to peruse sample books. The light filtered through the lace curtains, casting intricate patterns on the hardwood floor, and it struck Andre that all of this was rather too feminine for his comfort.

“You have to tell me how pretty I am!” Mary called from behind Thea, already wearing a wide-brimmed straw hat with fabric flowers and some beads on a wire as fake berries. She threw a beige lace shawl over her shoulder and took Andre’s hand when she was close enough. “Would you like to dance with me, my prince?” Mary’s tiny hand clasped his. Her innocent eyes sparkled with uncontainable joy, starkly contrasting his chest’s sudden tightness.

He swallowed hard, feeling the dryness in his throat as he looked at her earnest face. She pulled him forward with surprising strength, and his feet almost instinctively fell into step with hers. Every muscle in his body tensed, yet a tender smile began to form beneath the surface tension.

He knew Thea was watching him.

It was all rather silly but in good fun.

“You are an excellent dancer, just like my princess,” Mary said, seemingly pleased with herself. Andre had done better, he thought. Before he had to leave his family in Florence, he’d taken lessons with his younger sister. There had been small society balls that his parents attended, and he’d joined them after he turned seventeen.

“Eh-ahem.” A woman in a dark brown dress with a strict bun and spectacles pursed her lips. “I am Madame Duchon,” she declared, positioning herself behind the polished counter. Her posture was as impeccable as her attire. She acknowledged Andre with a warm yet composed smile, her eyes sparkling with professional curiosity. “How may I assist you today?” Her voice was smooth and cultured, and every syllable was pronounced with care.

Thea stepped forward, but Mary let go of Andre before speaking and approached the lady behind the counter. “My governess needs a dress for a princess! Look how pretty she is!”

*

Thea stood in the dressing room of the elegant shop, the sound of her heartbeat loud in her ears because she didn’t know if she’d be safe. What if one of List’s people found them? Surely Andre would be close but if they hurt him, too?

Thea’s unease clashed with the décor of the lovely room. Plush velvet chairs, their legs carved with intricate designs, were positioned around the room, offering comfort to patrons as they tried on the latest fashions. Richly embroidered drapes framed the tall windows, which provided a view of the bustling street below. The scent of chocolate and rosewater lingered in the air, adding to the familiar sense of luxury and refinement—but not safety.

The room was obviously designed to cater to the fashionable elite of London. Although she felt mousey in her governess dress, Thea feared being discovered if she gave away how much she knew about the differences between mulberry silk thread counts and the damask designs on the left shelf. She could tell the tiara on the velvet display stand had glass stones set in brass rather than diamonds in gold like hers at home, but she’d left it behind and tried not to be her true self.

No, that wasn’t true.

She wanted to be her true self, not merely the girl carrying the princess title, but the person who’d earned the honor associated with it.

Despite the beauty surrounding her, Thea couldn’t breathe. For once in her life, she had the chance to remain unrecognized however slight. It wasn’t a privilege she ever had when shopping in Vienna, where the anonymity of the Hohenzollerns was impossible.

The walls were framed by mahogany paneling, adorned with delicate floral wallpaper in soft pinks and greens. A large, gilded mirror stood against one wall, reflecting the light from a crystal chandelier, which cast a warm, inviting glow over the room. But Thea shivered inside.

The seamstress pulled a stool over and wore a pincushion, readying the gown Thea had agreed to try on. She felt a pang of loss as she looked down at her sensible woolen dress and thick white stockings. They had been her armor, her disguise, allowing her to blend in and live a life of relative freedom.

“I’m Margaret,” the seamstress said quietly, carrying a magnificent ball gown of deep-emerald silk. Her skilled hands moved with practiced ease as she laid the dress out on a chaise longue, the fabric shimmering in the light. She turned to Thea with a warm smile, and her eyes were kind and understanding.

“Let’s get you ready, Miss—” Margaret said gently, her voice soothing.

“Just Miss Thea, please.” Thea couldn’t allow her surname to be used, von Hohenzollern-Sigmaringen. Her throat tightened as she unbuttoned her woolen dress. She slipped it off her shoulders and let it fall to the floor, revealing the simple undergarments she wore beneath. The thick white stockings followed, leaving her bare legged and vulnerable. Each piece she shed felt like a piece of her freedom slipping away.

Margaret handed her a petticoat, its layers of soft cotton and lace rustling as she held it out for Thea to step into. As Thea climbed into the layers of tulle, she felt the cushioning surround her, creating a barrier between her and the world outside. It was as if a cleft were forming, separating her from the control she had fought so hard to seize over her own life. The fabric felt familiar but confining, a paradox she couldn’t quite reconcile.

Next came the short stays, a beautifully crafted piece with delicate embroidery. Margaret stretched it out so Thea could slip in. “Take a deep breath, Miss Thea,” she instructed.

Thea complied, inhaling deeply as Margaret pulled the laces of the petticoat tight in the back. A yelp escaped her when she felt the tightness of the stays combined with the bulky petticoat. She’d breathed in to assume her regal stature but felt the pang of losing her freedom as soon as she saw herself in the gilded mirror. Thea held her hair up as it would be pinned into an elaborate upswept coiffure for a ball. And the person she saw was someone she’d wished to outgrow.

And yet, Princess Thea had followed her to London. She wasn’t just Thea. How long could she remain hidden, where even a walk in the park around Cloverdale House had proven dangerous.

The many layers constricted her, forcing her to stand tall and straight. On the outside, she appeared poised and regal, every inch the princess she truly was. But inside, she felt herself crumbling. Each tug of the laces seemed to tighten the grip of her past, the gilded cage of her station closing in around her.

Memories flooded back, unbidden and unwelcome. She remembered standing in front of similar mirrors, dressed in opulent gowns, presented like a polished gem to foreign dignitaries and potential dance partners who would please her father in his business ventures. She had been no more than a political bargaining chip, her desires and dreams secondary to her father’s ambitions and the demands of her title.

Not even secondary, they’d been outright irrelevant.

Margaret finished tying the stays and stepped back, her eyes meeting Thea’s in the mirror. “You look beautiful, Miss Thea,” she said softly, her voice filled with genuine admiration.

Thea managed a small smile, though it didn’t reach her eyes. “Thank you, Margaret,” she replied, her voice barely above a whisper.

Margaret helped her into the ball gown, its rich-emerald silk sliding over the petticoat in a whisper of elegance. Snug across the bust, the fit tapered gracefully before falling into a sweeping silhouette over her hips and legs, ending in a small train that trailed behind. Delicate lace and tiny pearls adorned the bodice, adding a touch of refined artistry to the design. Each movement sent the skirt billowing, a cascade of luxurious fabric rippling like water with every graceful step she took.

As Thea gazed at her reflection, she saw someone who looked like a princess—a vision of grace and beauty staring back at her. The transformation was complete; she embodied the role she had once embraced so effortlessly, a role she thought she’d left far behind. And yet, beneath the layers of silk and lace, she felt like a stranger to herself.

The last time she had worn a gown like this had been at Bran Castle, as the promised bride to Prince Ralph. Those memories stirred something restless inside her—the girl who had been a princess, but also the woman who had run away from that life. They were both still there, shadowing her reflection.

Her hands clenched into fists at her sides, nails pressing into her palms as if pain might ground her. She forced slow, steady breaths, attempting to calm the storm of emotions raging within.

“There, all done,” Margaret said, stepping back with a satisfied smile after adjusting the gown’s hem. “You’re ready for a ball.”

Thea swallowed hard, giving a tight nod. “Yes, I suppose I am,” she replied, though the words felt as empty as the smile on her lips.

She stuck her tongue out for a fleeting second—the smallest act of rebellion against the suffocating perfection of her appearance, a brief reminder of the girl she still hoped to be.

Margaret patted Thea on the shoulder, reassuring her before leaving the room, leaving Thea alone with her thoughts. For a moment, she allowed herself to close her eyes and breathe. The weight of the gown, the tightness of the stays, the elegance of the dressing room—all of it pressed down on her, a reminder of the life she had left behind.

She opened her eyes and stepped toward the mirror, examining her reflection. The gown was undeniably beautiful, a masterpiece of craftsmanship and design. But it also represented everything she had fled from: the expectations, constraints, and lack of agency over her destiny. Yet, once her brother Alex arrived, she couldn’t escape her duties. Somehow, she had to find a way to be as brave as Mary had seen her, following her heart and taking her destiny into her own hands. She had to be the princess Mary saw in her and the woman Andre found worth saving.

Thea took another deep breath, her chest constrained by the stays, but her resolve was hardening. She had come to England seeking freedom and a chance to live on her terms. The ball gown might be a temporary necessity along with a few day dresses, but none of it would define her. She would find a way to balance her past with her future, to forge her identity on her own terms.

But how?

As the shop’s door swung open, letting in fresh air, Thea felt a rush of anticipation. The world outside was waiting, and so was she.

Except that the world melted away when Thea caught Andre’s eyes.

Her heart skipped a beat as her gaze met Andre’s.

The way he looked at her—his eyes softening with admiration and something deeper—made her feel seen in a way she hadn’t been for so long. His gaze traveled over her, taking in the transformation, and yet it was clear that he saw beyond the gown and the trappings of her station. He saw something, it seemed, that he’d lost a long time ago and just rediscovered.

He wasn’t intimidated by her.

Thea dwelled on this observation for a moment longer than she ought, because he’d also not hesitated to speak freely with her that night in the carriage when Stan introduced her as a princess. Most men reacted differently to her, but not Andre.

Andre took a step closer, his movements measured and deliberate, as if drawn to her by an invisible thread. The warmth in his eyes matched his tender smile, making her heart flutter. In that look, she found reassurance, encouragement, and something that resembled deep vulnerability.

And with that, Thea stepped into the light toward him, ready to show more of herself to him.