Page 22 of A Touch of Charm (Miracles on Harley Street #3)
A ndre tensed.
Thea looked in the direction of the shop’s front.
They rushed back, and Mary clutched her wooden cat amidst the chaos.
Shelves lay overturned, glass shards sparkling like dangerous stars on the tiled floor. Rolls of fabric lay strewn across the counter, their vibrant colors spilling from the shelves to the counter and the floor in a messy heap. Ribbons of every shade and width spilled from their spools, forming a mismatched rainbow that snaked through the shop.
“What happened?” Thea asked when she nearly stepped on some buttons that glittered from unexpected places, having spilled from their containers and scattered.
“I found Lady Whiskers,” Mary approached her and raised her arms.
Despite the elegant gown that made Thea look like the princess she was, she bent down and picked Mary up as if nothing mattered as much as her care for the little girl.
At the center of the chaos, a woman lay on the floor, his face contorted in agony, her leg twisted at an unnatural angle. The ladder she’d been using lay beside her, its wood splintered.
Andre’s mind sharpened into focus. He needed to act fast. Dropping to the woman’s side, he assessed the situation with quick, practiced movements.
“Madame, can you hear me?” Andre asked, his tone calm and authoritative.
She moaned in response, her eyes squeezed shut against the pain. She pulled her leg inward, unwilling to allow a man to touch her.
“I’m a doctor. Dr. Andre Fernando, let me help you.”
She relaxed instantly, opened her eyes, and let him look at her leg. It wasn’t hard to see that it was her ankle sprain. She’d landed on her foot when she fell from the ladder. Considering how the ladder’s rungs had broken off, it hadn’t taken much to break. The swelling on her lower leg started showing, and a slight bruise was staining her skin blue. “This is going to look much worse before it’ll heal. But it’s not as bad as it looks,” Andre concluded when he saw that she grimaced. “Is there any sturdy fabric that you can spare?” Andre asked Madame Duchon. “I need long strips, like bandages.” He showed the length and width with his hands. The woman nodded. Andre directed, not taking his eyes off his patient. “What’s your name?”
“Margaret Brown, Doctor.” She leaned backward when Andre straightened her leg.
“Well, Margaret, you were lucky because this will heal independently. But you should not put much weight on the ankle for two or three weeks. I’ll wrap it in a splint for you, alright?”
She nodded.
With deliberate swiftness, Andre broke off a piece of the ladder splintered on the tiled floor beside him. The crash had reduced it to fragments, yet Andre saw utility in the wreckage even amid the chaos. He rubbed the jagged edge of the wood against the broken remnants of the ladder, smoothing out any sharp protrusions. Then, he wrapped the splintered end in fabric torn from a nearby roll. This would prevent any loose splinters from causing further injury.
He pushed back a damp strand of hair clinging to his brow, his hands smudged with the evidence of effort. For a moment, his gaze shifted toward Thea, hesitant yet filled with a quiet yearning—not just for her recognition, but for her to see his strength, his skill, the way his hands could heal, and understand him as someone capable of more than protecting her. He wanted to be so much more for her.
Everything.
Just then, Madame Duchon arrived, her arms full of a neat stack of mismatched fabrics. Though their colors clashed, they were all the right size for bandages. Andre glanced up and nodded quickly. “Thank you, Madame,” he said, his voice steady despite the situation’s urgency.
He secured the proffered fabrics around Margaret’s ankle, creating a makeshift but effective bandage. His hands moved with the precision of someone who had done this countless times before, each motion purposeful and efficient. Margaret winced slightly but held still. He felt her trust, and it was precious. A patient who put their injury into his hands always received his utmost attention and care.
Once satisfied with the immobilized ankle, Andre turned his attention to the longer part of the ladder. He got up and examined it briefly, judging its strength and length, then snapped it over his knee with a decisive motion. He again wrapped the top end in fabric, ensuring it would be comfortable to grip.
“Use this as a crutch,” Andre instructed, handing Margaret the newly fashioned aid and helping her up. Margaret seemed to take the makeshift crutch with gratitude and hesitation.
He paused for the briefest moment, straightening his posture as if to make himself more noticeable, before glancing toward Thea with a look that lingered just a second too long. Andre reached into his inner waistcoat pocket and produced a card elegantly engraved with his name and the address of his practice. He handed it to Madame Duchon, who accepted it with a nod of understanding.
“I trust that you will give Margaret seated work and not cut her wages?” he asked sternly when Madame Duchon grimaced in the poor seamstress’s direction. “Since her injury occurred in your shop,” Andre pressed on until the owner nodded.
But the shop owner tsked just when Andre wanted to turn to Thea and Mary, ready to leave.
“Not so fast!”
*
Thea should have seen it coming.
She cradled Mary gently in her arms, the little girl clutching her wooden toy cat as if it were a lifeline. The elaborate folds of the ballgown Thea still wore rustled softly as she moved through the shop, starkly contrasting the chaos left in the wake of the accident. She could feel Mary’s small body trembling against her, the child’s wide eyes darting around the room, still filled with fright.
Madame Duchon, the shop owner, surveyed the mess with a cold, calculating gaze. Her lips pressed into a thin line as she took in the overturned fabric rolls, the scattered ribbons, and the broken ladder. They knew that look; it was the look of someone assessing damage, not just to property but also to pride and order.
“Who will be held responsible for this mess?” Madame Duchon’s voice cut through the quiet, sharp and unforgiving.
Before Thea could respond, Mary’s small voice piped up, trembling yet earnest. “It was my toy cat,” she stammered, holding the wooden feline out to offer it up for judgment.
Thea’s heart ached for the girl, who had only been playing moments before the disaster struck. She tightened her hold on Mary, feeling the weight of responsibility settle heavily on her shoulders. Looking at Madame Duchon, she saw the woman’s frown deepen, her eyes narrowing not at the child but at her.
The accusation hung in the air, unspoken but unmistakable. This was not about a toy cat; Madame Duchon was looking for someone to blame, and her gaze had landed squarely on Thea.
“A mother usually pays for her daughter’s expenses. This is going to cost you, Miss… eh…”
Thea squared her shoulders and stepped closer to Andre, shifting Mary into his arms. He took her instantly, and the girl nestled against his strong body.
“She’s not my mother!” Mary said, burying her face in Andre’s shoulder. “Thea’s my governess.”
Madame Duchon raised her chin. “And is he your father?”
Andre’s eyes shot to Thea, and she felt his piercing gaze.
“I’m so sorry about the mess, Madame,” Thea said, calm and measured despite the unease tightening in her chest. “I shall ensure that this will all be paid.”
“No, wait! The ladder didn’t give way unexpectedly. It was already too rotten and shouldn’t have been used, which is why Margaret was injured,” Andre added.
“I can pay for it,” Thea whispered.
“But you shouldn’t have to if you didn’t break it,” Andre said, taking a wide stance.
“So you’re giving me the fault for all this?” Madame Duchon’s frown remained, her tone clipped but losing some of its harsh edge. “This shop is my livelihood. Such chaos cannot be tolerated.”
She walked to the counter, retrieved a piece of paper and a pencil, and started to write something down. “ Un, deux, trois … oh!” She scribbled something, then put the end of the pencil in her mouth and assessed Thea from head to toe. “Five rolls of fabric, the gown you’re wearing, at least ten yards of silk ribbon, and the ladder—”
“The ladder was already broken!” Andre seemed annoyed, but his tone was measured. They realized that he was a man who knew all too well how the wealthy were treated, and it was plain to see that Madame Duchon considered Thea and him easy prey. Thea had often been to fine shops in Vienna with her mother, and these in London seemed no different. Once they got a whiff of good-natured people who could pay, they’d multiply the bills several times over.
“Send me the bill at Cloverdale House on Abbottsberry Road,” Thea said. “For the dress, too.” She picked up the front and turned to the door.
“Not the dress, no.” Madame Duchon crossed her arms, creasing the paper she’d written on.
“I beg your pardon?” Thea pursed her lips.
“You’re the doctor’s mistress and have the nerve to come and let him outfit you while the mother likely thinks that you are taking her on a stroll.”
The air felt sharp, cutting into Thea’s chest like the edge of a blade. Her grip tightened on the dress, the fine fabric scrunched beneath her trembling fingers. She saw Andre from the corner of her eye. His jaw twitched, his gaze darkening like a storm brewing on the horizon. Yet she didn’t look to him for rescue.
“How dare you accuse me of that?” she said, her voice low but with a dangerous edge that even she didn’t recognize at first.
Madame Duchon sucked her cheeks in. “So you lied? The girl is yours, and you truly live at Cloverdale House? Then it’s him with the illegitimate child?” She snuffed in Andre’s direction, dismissively.
Thea’s heart pounded like war drums in her chest, the heat of anger crawling up her neck. She’d endured accusations before, endured the whispers behind her back, the runaway princess—but this was different. Thea’s breath shuddered out, the weight of who she was pressing against her ribs. All her life, she had hidden, run, swallowed her pride for safety. The old Thea would have turned and fled. But no more.
Her heels clicked sharply against the floor as she strode to Madame Duchon. Composure reigned over her like armor as she straightened, her chin lifting so high it was as though the invisible crown she once wore had materialized again. Her hands uncurled, steady at her sides now, and her voice came out clear and unyielding, cutting through the tension like steel through air.
“I am Princess Josephine Theodora Andrea Hohenzollern-Sigmaringen.” The words fell into the room with the weight of thunder. She allowed a beat to linger, her eyes locked on the seamstress with a resolute flame. “And you have just insulted a member of the royal family on absolutely no basis.”
Her pulse thrummed as she met Madame Duchon’s stunned expression, but she felt lighter, stronger—like standing tall for once against the torrent of whispers and shadows had given her wings. She would no longer hide.
Thea stood in the middle of the disheveled shop, her heart pounding. Madame Duchon’s eyes bore into her with an intensity that made her feel cornered, but it was Madame Duchon who took a step back, only to find the counter blocking her retreat. “How do I know it’s not a lie?” she demanded, her voice trembling with anger and fear. “Imposters!”
Thea felt her pulse quicken, her palms turning clammy. This was the moment she’d dreaded ever since she left her homeland. She had hoped to avoid it, but circumstances had conspired against her. She stepped forward, her spine straightening with determination.
“Madame Duchon, I assure you, you will be paid for the items I ordered,” Thea began, her voice steady despite the turmoil inside her. “And as for me, I have nothing to hide. I am exactly who I said.”
The silence that followed felt like a heavy weight pressing down on the room. Madame Duchon’s eyes widened, her mouth opening and closing as if searching for words that wouldn’t come. Still clutching her toy cat, Mary looked up at Thea with wide, innocent eyes, clearly confused but trusting.
Andre, who had been standing quietly beside Thea, stepped forward, his presence commanding attention. “Madame Duchon, allow me to explain the severity of Margaret’s injury,” he said, calm yet authoritative. “The sprain is located at the ankle joint, where the ligaments are most vulnerable. If left untreated or improperly immobilized, it could lead to complications such as chronic instability or further damage. It was essential to immobilize the ankle to ensure proper healing.”
Madame Duchon’s gaze flickered between Thea and Andre, her skepticism slowly giving way to reluctant acceptance. Andre’s explanation left no room for doubt; his knowledge was evident in every word he spoke.
“Why does the little one say you’re her governess?” Madame Duchon asked as if the question were a sword she’d wield.
“To protect me. My identity,” Thea said. “As did Dr. Fernando until Margaret was hurt.”
Thea watched Madame Duchon’s reaction closely, her emotions swirling with relief and apprehension.
The shop owner took a deep breath, her composure slowly returning. “A princess,” she murmured, still grappling with the revelation. “And a doctor. This day has been full of surprises.”
Thea nodded, her expression softening. “I understand this is difficult to believe, Madame Duchon. But I assure you, we only wish to help. Margaret needed immediate care, and Dr. Fernando did what was necessary. We will take full responsibility for the damages and assist in any way we can to restore order. Let me see that.” With these words, Thea took the paper on which Madame Duchon had written.
“Ah! The fabrics, ten yards, hm?” She scanned the room. “It’s no more than two.”
If they thought she wouldn’t know because she was a princess, she underestimated how hands-on her education had been in Transylvania. She held out her hand with the aplomb of a princess, and after a moment’s hesitation, Madame Duchon put the pencil in her palm. Thea crossed out the ten and replaced it with a two.
“The ribbons came off the spools but are intact, so I’d say two or three hours of clean-up work at a shilling an hour?” That was what the Whites paid her as a governess, and it seemed fair.
Thea glanced at Margaret, who dropped her head.
“No? Half a shilling?”
Margaret shook her head.
Andre cleared his throat and Thea understood. She knew people like Madame Duchon all too well, increasing their business at the cost of fair labor.
“From now on, Madame Duchon, Margaret will receive a fair wage and will not be coerced into climbing rotten ladders. Understood?”
Madame Duchon curtsied and nodded.
“I didn’t hear you.”
“Yes, Your Royal Highness.”
Andre stepped forward. “I need to examine Margaret again in a few days. If her posterior tibial tendon is ruptured, she will need more rest.” He turned to Madame Duchon. “It’s the tendon that attaches one of the smaller muscles of the calf to the underside of the foot. It helps support the arch and allows us to turn the foot inward.”
Thea suppressed a grin. “So Margaret might need about four weeks of seated work.”
She crossed out the ribbons.
“And Dr. Fernando’s service offsets the rest of the inconvenience you’ve put a price on here, Madame. Or should I request that he send you a bill?”
“No, Your Royal Highness.”
“Very well. Then I will pay for this dress and ensure that my friends and family never find out that you refused to hear the doctor out and threw a tantrum because a little girl lost a toy cat in your shop. It wouldn’t sit well with the higher classes of customers, I’m sure, to know that your nerves are so easily frayed, would it?”
“No, Your Royal Highness.”
“Then I’m glad it’s been settled. As much as I regret that the fabrics have been unrolled, it seems as though nothing has been damaged, and a little clean-up work is all that’s needed. Poor Margaret will be able to keep track—on paper”—Thea gave her a grave look, and the girl blushed—“to ensure it’s all been done.” Then she turned to Margaret. “Do you earn a commission for pieces you sow?”
“Yes,” Margaret tried to curtsy, but she winced.
Thea reached out and helped to steady her. “I need a whole new outfit. Now that Margaret has my measurements, can you send me three new dresses to Cloverdale House by the end of the week?”
“Oh yes, yes, of course!” Madame Duchon answered hastily.
Thea held her hand up in the air to stop her. “I’d like to clarify that I’m purchasing Margaret’s handiwork. She’s exceptionally talented, and her good work should be rewarded.” Her gaze drifted to Madame Duchon.
“Yes, Your Royal High—”
“Let’s go.” Thea turned to Andre. “I’m finished here.”
Mary’s eyes were so wide, with her mouth agape, that Thea nearly laughed.
The little bell over the door chimed when Andre held it open, and Thea escaped the tension in the shop.
Thea felt a wave of relief wash over her. The confrontation had been intense, but they had managed to navigate it. She glanced at Andre who offered her a reassuring smile. Then, Thea reached for Mary’s hand and gently squeezed her.
“That was…” he said softly, his eyes reflecting pride and admiration. Then his face brightened into a broad smile, donning perfect rows of white teeth.
Thea smiled back, feeling a warmth spread through her chest. “I couldn’t have done it without your support,” she admitted, her voice tinged with gratitude.
Andre waved for a hackney.
A black carriage stopped, and he called to the driver, “Abbotsberry Road. The eastern park gate.” Then he held the door open for Thea. “If you don’t want to be recognized, perhaps it’s best not to stand on the street in a ballgown.”
They quickly lifted Mary into the carriage.
But he winked at her just before she accepted Andre’s hand to climb in herself. “Not that I mind, Your Royal Highness.”
“Will this cost Margaret her position?” Thea asked when they were safely in the carriage.
“Probably after she’s healed, yes. I don’t suspect Madame Duchon will want to risk her reputation as a shop owner until after I declare Margaret healed.”
“For less than a shilling an hour—” Thea shook her head.
“You mean a shilling a day?” Andre said gravely. “But I can ask someone for a new position for Margaret.”
“Oh yes! The old man with the trembling hands?” Mary asked clasping her hands together.
“Yes.”
Thea knew she had forced Madame Duchon into softening the bill, but it was Andre who had truly left a lasting mark amid the chaos. While she floundered with her title and strained diplomacy, his actions had spoken volumes. He’d cared for Margaret with steady hands after the fall, exposed Madame Duchon’s lie about the ladder, and ensured Margaret’s wages until she recovered. And when she did, Andre would see to it personally, making sure Margaret was strong enough to stand again before using his connections to secure her a new job with the old tailor.
His ability to weave kindness and pragmatism together left Thea breathless. Andre wasn’t just calm under pressure—he was magnetic, a figure who commanded attention and respect without asking for it. He had a touch of charm that softened even the harshest moments. It was everything she admired—everything she desired—and yet, Thea forced herself to tear her gaze away before her heart could betray her. Would being near someone like him undo everything she’d built to protect herself, as easily as she’d used her title today?