Page 28 of The Scent of Intuition (Miracles on Harley Street #2)

C hromius trotted ahead, his leash taut between Alfie’s fingers, when suddenly, through the break in the trees, Alfie saw a carriage approaching. His heart leaped into his throat as he recognized Bea inside, deep in conversation with Prince Stan. The prince’s refined profile contrasted sharply with Bea’s animated expression, her eyes focused and bright. Alfie’s grip tightened on Chromius’ leash, knuckles whitening, as a wave of jealousy and sorrow crashed over him.

Hours ago, he’d held her in his arms and now she was in this carriage pursuing her plan with the prince as if he was naught.

Alfie swallowed bile but the bitterness crept up his throat; he couldn’t even speak to Chromius.

His stomach twisted into painful knots, and he felt a profound sense of loss as he watched Bea with the prince.

He should have been in that carriage with her, not standing amidst the linden trees, an outsider looking in on the life he desperately wanted to share with Bea.

And wasn’t he the stupid man who’d handed her the rifle to shoot him by giving her a potion that would make her irresistible to the prince.

How could he face the prince later that day?

There he was, ready to help the prince fight the good fight, but his true calling felt missed, slipping through his fingers like sand.

Alfie tugged gently on Chromius’ leash, signaling the dog to turn back. The weight of what he had just seen pressed heavily on his chest, yet he knew there was nothing he could do about it now. Bea’s place was in that carriage with Prince Stan, but Alfie couldn’t allow himself to become paralyzed by his heartbreak. He had a duty to fulfill, one that transcended his personal desires. Felix’s future depended on uncovering Baron von List’s secrets, and Alfie couldn’t let his friend’s fate hang in uncertainty.

As he walked, the warm air brushed against his face, providing a fleeting comfort amid the turmoil within him. He squared his shoulders, steeling himself for the task ahead. It didn’t feel good, but it was the right course of action. Perhaps in aiding Prince Stan, Alfie might find some semblance of redemption or clarity. The mission was fraught with danger and intrigue, but it was one he had to see through. If there was any chance that the prince could help him—whether through influence, information, or sheer force—then Alfie was determined to seize it. His love for Bea prevented him from getting in her way but his loyalty to Felix compelled him forward, igniting a flicker of purpose within the darkness of his despair.

*

Bea had coated herself with much more love potion than Alfie had advised.

She was burning for Alfie, but she had to find a way to leave England before her parents returned and found a husband for her who’d keep her tied to the Ton forever. And if anyone knew about her wanton misstep with Alfie, she’d be ruined.

And Bea was getting hot.

She was ruined.

But she wanted more.

She was too hot for her taste and eager to escape, for this wasn’t the same sizzling warmth that spread throughout her as when Alfie was close; it was the type of heat that made you cringe when you burned your tongue on too-hot tea.

The sort of burn that hurt for a whole other day.

The prince was going to kiss her. No! This would be akin to a proposal and everything she’d set out to accomplish but didn’t want any more.

Bea put her hand on Stan’s chest and tried to stop him, but he’d shut his eyes and laid his hand over hers on his chest.

Oh no, oh no!

All she could do now was to turn her head away and let him press a kiss on her cheek. At that exact moment, her eyes drifted to the linden trees, and she saw Alfie in the distance. He dropped his head and turned his back to her, his body slumped as if he’d been injured.

“I’m going to tell you, Lady Beatrice,” Stan whispered. “I love it here in London and wish I never had to leave.” Then he withdrew and looked grave as if he were expecting something. Not a kiss, that was for sure.

He hadn’t tried to kiss her; he’d leaned in to whisper a secret.

Why hadn’t the love potion worked? It was made to enhance her essence… didn’t Stan like her?

Of all the men she’d met, neither Stan nor Alfie was like anyone else she’d been taught to know. Technically, neither were in the group of men she’d been trained to learn to understand. Stan wasn’t British aristocracy and didn’t seem to fit into the Ton.

And Alfie was—Bea sighed—a commoner, but couldn’t be more uncommonly brilliant, handsome, and kind.

Her insides twitched.

“Why don’t you like me?” She knocked on the side of the open carriage to signal the driver to halt. “Don’t misunderstand, I don’t wish to be rude. I’m only curious. I’ve done nothing but indicate that you could have me. Something many men would wish for themselves.” Bea smiled ruefully. “Here I’m quite a catch and jumped straight into your net.”

The carriage slowed, and Bea leaned forward. Looking over her shoulder, she saw Alfie’s back. He was walking with Chromius in the other direction.

Stan pressed his lips into a knowing smile, and looked at Bea, then followed the trail of her gaze. “Like you, Lady Beatrice, I need to keep up appearances. But there’s no chance to fool the heart, now is there?”

“You mean… there’s someone else?” Bea stuttered. Again, she could have felt hurt, but the only part that stung was that he was right. She’d set her cap on him to keep up appearances while pretending she could fool her heart. But it had been in vain, and she wasn’t fool enough to continue the ruse.

Stan nodded. He instantly looked different. If she didn’t know any better, he looked like a young boy who’d been vexed.

Her heart lurched.

She’d seen that exact look on Alfie when she took the potion and left.

The carriage had come to a stop, and Bea rose to climb out when Stan blocked her way.

“Please don’t tell anyone. She doesn’t even know yet.”

She blinked, for she was frozen with fear and couldn’t even manage a nod. Then Stan pushed the door open, and Bea ran.

She ran as fast as she could, her dress catching between her legs. She had to tell Alfie what she wanted and how she felt.

Her lungs burned as she gasped for breath, tears spreading over her temples as the wind brushed them out of her eyes.

Where had Alfie gone?

She reached the row of linden trees, but they all looked alike once she’d gotten closer. There was no sign of Alfie or Chromius. She looked around and brought both hands to her head in desperation.

And the tears came, pouring down her cheeks as she ran from tree to tree.

She couldn’t call him; he was not there. Too many people knew her in this area, and she didn’t want to run screaming the apothecary’s name. What else could the Ton accept him to be for her but a man offering his service?

Nobody could ever understand that she’d offered him her heart. She hadn’t even told him.

Bea stood alone, her lungs constricted at the thought of Alfie turning his back on her.

The vibrant greens of the grass and trees seemed almost surreal under the high noon sun, ignorant of Bea’s pain. What appeared to be a vivid backdrop to the leisurely promenades of ladies and gentlemen, their laughter and chatter weaving into the fabric of the day, was jarring to Bea. Didn’t the world stop its activity when Alfie wasn’t there for her?

It struck her, then, how seamlessly he had become a part of her world. In mere days, Alfie had transformed from a stranger to someone she sought out, not out of necessity but from a desire that fluttered softly within her chest. His laughter had become a melody she yearned to hear, his approval a balm to her uncertainties.

The carriage approached, and Stan waved at her. “Are you coming back in?”

Bea held her hand to her forehead to shade her eyes, but there was no sign of Alfie. She was too far from Cloverdale House to walk back.

“Yes.” She hesitated at the carriage door and looked over her shoulder again to see if Alfie had reappeared. She couldn’t see him, and the longing in her heart became painful. She hesitated to grasp the polished handle of the carriage door, though Stan offered his hand. A delicate shiver cascaded down her spine, betraying her outward calm, when she accepted his help back into the carriage, then sat back next to him.

“Is it Mr. Collins, then?” Stan asked.

Bea nodded, folding her hands on her lap. As the carriage passed through Green Park, the light dappling through the trees cast intricate patterns upon the path ahead, mirroring the complex weave of emotions threading through her heart. Bea realized she no longer pictured her days without Alfie’s companionship, without the spontaneous conversations that filled her with warmth, without the silent understandings that said more than words ever could.

“You like him?” Stan asked in a low voice.

Bea blinked at Stan and narrowed her gaze. “Not quite,” she tasted the words because she’d never uttered them. “Like is not right. I like you.” She acknowledged the tender tendrils of affection taking root within her, a connection she couldn’t—and no longer wished to—deny. Somehow, Alfie had, in bold and subtle ways, claimed a place in her heart.

“So you love him?” Stan didn’t sound upset nor was he impatient as most men of the Ton were, especially when Bea hadn’t agreed to allow them to court her yet. Well, she’d never allowed anyone.

“You could be a little more upset you know.” It hit her as strongly as the revelation that she didn’t wish for his affection even though he appeared like the perfect match for her. But what seemed perfect from the outside often felt different on the inside. And Bea’s heart beat for the apothecary.

Stan inhaled slowly and twisted his upper body to her to speak with her directly. “Lady Beatrice, you are the perfect woman, as Violet said. She sang your praises, and I wholeheartedly agree with her.”

Bea matched his polite smile. They agreed the external factors would have been ideal but neither of them wished for more than friendship.

“I’m not upset that you don’t want me to be yours.”

He shook his head. “My life is perilous right now, and I am not able to keep a woman safe.”

“Safety is not what I was looking for.”

“What were you looking for with me?”

“Everything. You seemed to have everything to offer that I could ever wish for in a man but then I discovered my feelings for someone I have known a while.”

A slow smile built on his face, and sincerity was in his gaze, which she had only seen a few times. It wasn’t desire, lust, or love—it was friendship. “You are very generous, Lady Beatrice. I hope to be worthy of your compliments.”

“How did you know I was in love with someone else?” she asked.

“I had a suspicion when you climbed into the carriage today. Most women use this as an opportunity to fuel a courtship.”

Bea jerked her head back.

“Yes, and then you looked at me exactly like that when I wanted to whisper in your ear. Horrified.” Stan gave a wistful smile. “I would never take a kiss if it weren’t given freely, Lady Beatrice.”

She dropped her gaze to her gloved hands and plucked at the lace on the cuffs. “It’s not right, you know. Nobody should take what isn’t given freely.”

“That’s exactly why I am in London.”

“Is it about your country? And what the Austrians are trying to take?”

“Yes.” Stan’s smile faded, and he stared into the distance.

“The Habsburgs must give you a constant reason to fear, right? Or are you from the area under the Ottoman Empire’s rule?”

Stan’s eyes shot to Bea.

She continued, “Last I heard, the Austrians were interested in the regions of Transylvania, Banat, Cri?ana, and Maramure?, areas rich in resources, including forests, agricultural lands, and minerals.”

“You know our geography?”

“Only from the atlas I studied. But there’s so much gold in the Carpathian Mountains, especially in regions like Transylvania, right?”

“Yes.” Stan’s eyes widened, and Bea thought they were rather shapely, dark, and intelligent. He was an intriguing man, and she was eager to be his friend. But it was Alfie she ached for.

Bea sighed. “I’ve had much time to perfect all the skills my mother deemed necessary for a lady of the Ton. I also read a lot of atlases and maps, and things about the gold mines in places like Ro?ia Montan?. Have you ever been there?”

“Yes, it’s under Hungarian rule now.”

“They rarely do anything without the Austrians, I’m afraid.”

“You know about the Prussians and the Czar’s intention with Transylvania under the rule of the Holy Roman Empire?”

Bea nodded. She was sorry that the regions were in such conflict and that so many parts of Europe were controlled by people like Baron von List, a Prussian whom the Earl of Langley, Violet’s husband, despised—for good reason.

The prince studied her speculatively. “Speaking of the Holy Roman Empire, tell me, Lady Beatrice. Would you, perchance, speak Latin?”

“I studied it, yes. Nobody truly speaks it, I suppose. They call it the Holy Roman Empire, but the language is Italian, even in Rome. I speak a little German and French.”

Stan blinked. “Then forgive me if it’s not what you initially set out to achieve, but I have a proposition for you.”