Page 34 of The Sound of Seduction (Miracles on Harley Street #4)

T he evening shadows stretched long across the walls of Cloverdale House as Wendy left Andre’s treatment room, having prepared everything for the next day.

Her steps unhurried though a quiet unrest prickled beneath her calm.

The silence of the house, save for the creak of floorboards and the distant rustle of trees beyond the windows, felt profound.

Andre had departed earlier that day, leaving a curious quiet in his wake.

Wendy wandered toward the former breakfast room, now a space transformed into an office for Pippa.

She had peeked in before when the light still streamed golden through the windows, but now the scene was marked by the glow of a single oil lamp, its flicker casting long shadows over the disarrayed plans that cluttered the table.

Pippa leaned over a wide roll of paper, her fingers skimming its surface with a sense of purpose that made Wendy’s throat tighten.

She didn’t look up immediately. Her spectacles sat askew, and her hair, usually tucked neatly into a knot, had loosened into stray wisps that framed her face.

A pot of tea sat abandoned, the tea’s surface dark with flecks from where it had gone undisturbed for hours.

Her slippers barely whispered over the floorboards as she stepped inside. “Are you converting all the rooms to chambers for patients?” she asked, her voice steady though a thread of steel ran beneath the words. Where would Stan go once he was well? And where would that leave her?

Her ties to Nick, the practice, and her work at Cloverdale House tugged at her.

Pippa startled, straightening too quickly as a flush of color rose to her cheeks.

“Oh, Wendy!” She fumbled with a teacup and saucer, placing them rather indelicately on along the border of the blueprint.

Her smile was bright, too bright, as though she’d been caught rifling through someone’s private letters.

Wendy’s gaze swept the table. The rolls of paper unfurled here and there revealed tantalizing glimpses of plans.

Details leaped out—angled corners, marked measurements, an elegant curve that suggested something too grand to be mere practicality.

Yet nothing immediately declared itself as a patient’s chamber.

“Why shouldn’t I know what you’re planning?” she asked, clasping her hands in front of her skirts, holding them there to disguise the tiny, restless motion of her fingers. The question hung in the air, soft but insistent.

Pippa didn’t answer at once. Instead, she fiddled with her lace cuffs, her eyes darting briefly to the papers before landing on her sister-in-law with a practiced look of nonchalance. “Of course you’ll know. Just not yet,” she said with an airy laugh that tugged Wendy’s defenses taut.

The lamp flickered again, catching the gleam of the tea’s surface as Pippa adjusted the saucer.

Wendy took in the scene—the slightly crumpled edge of a blueprint now bearing the faintest ring of condensation, the guarded brightness in Pippa’s tone, the deliberate ease of her movements.

Something important was hidden here, something meant to be meaningful—but who was it intended for?

Wendy had always found secrecy unsettling.

Wendy’s breath caught, not from surprise but the old ache of standing just outside the frame of grand plans—useful, necessary, but never central.

“How much longer do you think you need to remain here?” Wendy asked gently as she approached.

Pippa glanced up, blinking as though surfacing from deep concentration. She adjusted her spectacles and straightened in her seat. “Nick said he’d see to a matter at the practice and return to collect us,” she replied, her tone breezy but the furrow of her brow giving away her wearied focus.

Wendy moved closer, noting the neat—or perhaps nearly chaotic—array of parchment rolls, sketches, and neatly scribbled calculations. Pippa pushed at a particularly rebellious scroll to keep it from curling.

“What are these?” Wendy asked, nodding toward the plans.

“The architect’s designs,” Pippa sighed, her tone betraying a mixture of frustration and fondness. With a shuffle of papers, she pulled a new sheet forward. “And this,” she added, nudging it toward Wendy, “is the report on today’s excavation.”

Wendy took the proffered paper but found her attention drawn to Pippa’s growing frustration. “Is something amiss?”

“Not precisely,” Pippa said with a sigh, frowning at the sketch before pushing it aside. She studied Wendy with a most serious expression, as though about to announce a grave situation. “It’s… well, it’s hedgehogs.”

“Hedgehogs?” Wendy echoed, her brow lifting in amused surprise.

Pippa nodded solemnly, adjusting her spectacles as though preparing to deliver an important lecture. “Yes. A whole family, right in the middle of where we planned to connect the orangery to the carriage house. Two adults and—” she paused for theatrical effect—“five tiny babies.”

“Five?” Wendy asked, clasping her hands together, her tone caught between curiosity and delight.

“Yes,” Pippa confirmed, her tone grave, as if the tiny creatures had personally thwarted her grand architectural vision. “Happily nesting in the very path we intended to clear. They’ve undone all forward progress, those prickly little sweethearts.”

Wendy angled her head, smiling fondly at Pippa’s dramatics. “Do tell, what shall be done about such formidable opponents?”

Pippa huffed softly, gathering her composure.

“The adults are clever and hardy—no doubt they’ll find a new home soon enough.

But the little ones…” She trailed off, the line of concern creeping back to her brow.

“They are so small, Wendy. Little bundles of quills and fur who’ve no concept of avoiding harm.

And the nights, though not frigid, are hardly kind to such defenseless newborns. ”

Wendy bit back a laugh, though her smile couldn’t be helped. “And so, five tiny hedgehogs have outmaneuvered the architect and delayed the grand designs of Cloverdale House?”

“They may soon be under your purview,” but Pippa paused and seemed to bite her tongue. Whatever did she mean?

With a resigned shrug, Pippa tossed her pencil lightly onto the table. “They cannot possibly understand the inconvenience, poor dears. I suppose we’ll delay the work. For their sake, of course.”

“For their sake, of course,” Wendy repeated, attempting a tone as serious as Pippa’s, though her lips twitched with amusement. “And what shall become of them now, these interlopers?”

Pippa hesitated, fidgeting with the corner of a parchment roll. “I-I may have requested that the workers guard their nest.” She glanced up with a shy smile, her cheeks tinged pink. “Just until they’re big enough to manage on their own.”

Wendy pressed a hand to her mouth to stifle her laugh before leaning forward warmly. “Pippa, do you mean to say that the progress of construction halts entirely at the mercy of five hoglets?”

“Well,” Pippa said with a trace of defiance, though her smile clung to the corners of her mouth. “They’ve lived here as long as we have, I dare say. Perhaps longer. It’s only right to consider such longstanding tenants before proceeding with any eviction.”

Wendy couldn’t stop the giggle that spilled at that. “You’ve a softer heart than you care to admit, Pippa. And a most noble ambition—even the hedgehogs of Cloverdale are shielded under your stewardship.”

“They hardly asked to be born in the middle of my plans,” Pippa replied, crossing her arms with mock indignation. Her eyes, however, sparkled with humor.

“Indeed,” Wendy said, nodding thoughtfully. “I should think history will remember this moment—how Cloverdale House came to a halt for the smallest and prickliest of residents.”

Pippa laughed at last, shaking her head and straightening the plans before her. “It isn’t ideal,” she admitted ruefully. “But neither is the work of disturbing what’s already well-settled. And besides…” she smiled, a little sheepishly now, “they are rather delightful.”

“I’d love to see them,” Wendy said warmly, wondering not for the first time how Pippa balanced her exquisite plans with such endearing sentiment. Certainly, Cloverdale House was all the better for it.

“I can take you outside right now if you’d like,” Pippa said, pushing her chair back and standing with a small stretch. “There should be a worker keeping watch over the nest, lest a predator decide to have a late supper.”

“Or early breakfast?” Wendy’s eyes lit with interest as she set the excavation report down.

“Yes, of course. They are nocturnal.” Pippa furrowed her brows and hooked her hand into Wendy’s arms.

“You are quite serious about this, aren’t you, Pippa?”

“Entirely,” Pippa replied, adjusting her spectacles with mock gravitas before gesturing toward the doorway. “Come, Wendy. Let me show you.”

Chuckling, Wendy stepped past her, and the pair made their way through the quiet halls of Cloverdale House. The oil lamps along the walls lent a warm glow to their path, while their footsteps echoed softly against the wooden floors.

When they stepped outside, the cool night air greeted them with a gentle hush, carrying the faint scent of earth and greenery.

The crescent moon hung low, casting a silvery light on the neatly tended grounds.

Fireflies blinked lazily in the distance, dots of luminescence dancing just above the hedges.

“Do you think they have any idea how much trouble and expenses they’ve caused you?” Wendy teased, clasping her hands behind her back as they strolled toward the orangery.

“Not one whit,” Pippa replied, a faint smile tugging at her lips. “Though I daresay I would expect no less from nocturnal creatures. They are far too busy scampering about and causing mischief under the moon’s watchful eye to concern themselves with anything so tiresome as construction plans.”

“Scampering and causing mischief?” Wendy repeated, unable to suppress a grin. “You make them sound like tiny rogues of the garden.”