Page 58 of The Sound of Seduction (Miracles on Harley Street #4)

T he library was dimly lit, the soft glow of a single lamp casting long shadows across the floor-to-ceiling shelves.

The muffled sounds of the ball filtered through the walls, cheerful music and the occasional burst of laughter, a strange contrast to the hushed tension in the room.

Stan closed the door behind him with a quiet click, the air heavy with the faint scents of old leather and ink.

Around him, the others waited, Pippa, Nick, Felix, Alfie, and Alex.

Their varied expressions mirroring the storm of emotions churning in his chest.

Pippa was the first to speak, her hands clasped tightly in front of her.

“Will she be all right?” Her voice trembled, though she tried for a steadiness she clearly didn’t possess.

Her worry was written in every line of her face, her usual composure slipping just enough to show the raw concern beneath.

“She’s with her husband and Wendy,” Stan replied, his tone clipped, betraying the wariness he always carried in moments like these. “They’ll have to wait now,” Andre said. Andre had stepped away with Thea and Lady Ashford while the friends caught a breath before returning to the bustle of the ball.

Alex, standing with one shoulder leaning against the desk, straightened and reached into his coat.

“I found this next to the potted fern in the entrance hall when you were all upstairs.” He held out a small glass vial, empty, the faintest smear of residue inside catching the light. “List was gone already.”

Stan’s fingers closed around the cool glass, the chill biting into his skin like a mark of failure. His stomach dropped as he recognized the vial. For a moment, he could almost feel the slight weight of it as it had been slipped into his pocket days ago. By List. At the practice.

Nick stepped closer, taking the vial from him and raising it to his nose. His brows furrowed. “This is belladonna.” His voice was calm but grim. “I noticed one of my vials missing.”

Stan’s jaw tightened, the suffocating guilt pressing hard against his chest. “He must have taken it the day he came to see you,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck, his arms folding tightly as though bracing against a chill. “I should have seen this coming.”

“You did see it coming,” Alex said firmly. His eyes locked with Stan’s, a touch of quiet reproach there. “But you couldn’t have known where he’d strike as much as you can’t tell where a cannon ball will land.”

Stan inhaled sharply, like he was trying to breathe through ash. “This is all my fault.”

Alfie, seated cross-legged on the carpet like a boy, waved the remark off with an exaggerated sweep of his hand. “It’s not! Don’t be absurd. I made the first poison in the first place.”

Stan’s head snapped up, anger flashing in his eyes—not at Alfie, but at himself.

“No. You carefully dosed something that didn’t put anyone at risk.

He, in turn, chose to empty an entire vial of poison into Violet’s drink.

He tried to kill.” His voice was taut, layered with frustration and held-back fury—not for the crime alone, but for failing to shield his friends from List’s schemes.

“Stan,” Alfie said, his tone softer now. “He’s not merely targeting you, and yet you act as though you bear the brunt of responsibility for every despicable thing he’s done. You’re not alone in this.” There was no censure in his words, only a quiet insistence that penetrated Stan’s defenses.

“No one here is guilty of anything,” Stan added, his voice catching on the anger bubbling within him.

“Are you jesting? This group of people is the most upstanding, courageous, and trustworthy I’ve known.

” He hesitated for half a beat. “But I understand. If there’s blame, I take my share just as much. ”

“List is dangerous. Father warned us,” Alex said as if these three little words could encompass the viciousness that was List.

Stan opened his mouth, words poised on the cusp of an argument, but then he stilled, his voice faltering as his gaze dropped to the floor. “I wish I hadn’t brought all this into your lives,” he said slowly, almost haltingly. “If I left. If I went far away, luring him away…”

“You’ll do no such thing.” The cutting interruption came from Felix, who had entered unnoticed, his quiet presence taking up a sudden and immovable space in the room.

His face betrayed little, but his eyes held a solemnity that stopped Stan cold.

“He won’t choose you over the rest of us.

He hates too widely, and too deeply. And besides, you’ve already proven you’re more than worthy of standing alongside us, not apart. ”

“We are stronger together,” Nick said and Alfie nodded.

Stan didn’t reply, couldn’t reply, as he took in the unwavering conviction in Felix’s words.

Nick stepped forward next. “And it’s not just us who need you.

You’ve proven invaluable to us. And if I may say it, you’re the kind of royal who keeps things from fraying when tension is highest. You give us a voice against List.”

Stan turned as Alex laid a hand on his arm. “What does this mean?” Alex asked hoarsely, searching Stan’s face. “What are they saying?”

He looked at his brother for what felt an eternity. Somewhere, a decision crystallized as if it had been there all along. With them. Nick, Alfie, Andre, Felix, and especially Wendy.

“It means my place is here.” His voice was steady, his decision certain. Stan turned to Pippa. “You’ve mentioned connecting the house to Cloverdale has been difficult. Do you think… might I work out an arrangement to take it on?”

Pippa didn’t answer at first, merely dipping her head slowly, gracefully, an enigmatic smile tugging at her lips.

Nick’s brow creased. “Why the house next to Cloverdale?”

“Because I’ll need an embassy,” Stan said simply. “Father will sign the documents. I’ll remain in England as Transylvania’s ambassador.”

Alex straightened, his expression resolute, though his voice carried a quiet gravity. “Then we’ll serve our home in different ways. You here, me in Vienna. But it will be strange, Stan, not having you at my side.”

Stan met his brother’s gaze, his own steady and unwavering.

“It will. But this is how we make a difference, Alex. Together, even across Europe. You’ll carry our name in Vienna, and I’ll do the same here.

We’ll show the world what Transylvania stands for and that List shan’t strike down what’s good and right in the world. ”

“We’ll stand against him.” Alex nodded slowly, his jaw firm. “For our family. For our friends. For our people.”

“And for each other,” Stan added, his voice low but certain. “We’ll always be brothers, Alex. No matter the distance.”

A faint smile touched Alex’s lips, though his eyes remained serious. “Then let’s make them proud. Together.”

“An ambassador of peace, justice, and fairness,” Felix added quietly.

A murmur of agreement rippled through the room, but it was the shared looks, the deep resonance of unspoken unity filling the air, that stayed with Stan. The battle ahead seemed endless, but tonight, in the flicker of lamplight surrounded by determined faces, he felt the faint flicker of hope.

It was a miracle that he’d found his purpose among the Doctors on Harley Street that would shine a light on the path ahead—a fellowship born not of duty but of choice. They would stand against List.

Together.

*

An hour later, Wendy remained by the hearth, her hands clasped tightly in front of her as she glanced at Langley, who was kneeling beside Violet.

The fear of losing his beloved wife and their unborn child transformed this man, usually so strong and tall, causing Wendy’s heart to shatter.

His whispered words—soft and earnest—were meant only for his wife, yet Wendy couldn’t help but overhear fragments.

Langley finally turned toward her, standing with a weariness that seemed to age him. “Miss Folsham,” he said, the depth of his gratitude evident in his eyes, “without you, I… I don’t know what might have happened tonight. You saved my family. You saved me.”

Wendy’s chest tightened, but she curtsied slightly, the movement awkward under such solemn words. “I only did what anyone would if something was to be done.”

“Not anyone,” Langley murmured. He glanced at Violet sleeping and put a hand on her forehead, his expression darkening.

“List and his Baroness—poisoning her—it’s despicable.

He would see me without an heir, the title lost to the Crown.

And with his scheming, blackmail, and criminal inclination, he’d have it placed neatly in his grasp.

” His fists clenched. “Wherever he steps, trouble follows. I should have known it would come to my family someday.”

Wendy swallowed hard, the truth of Langley’s words clear in her mind. Trouble had been von List’s calling card since she first heard his name. Tonight was only further proof of how dangerous he was.

The door opened quietly, and Stan entered.

His shirt was slightly rumpled, his coat carried under his arm and wet stained—he’d probably had a servant try to remove the stains after he held Violet when she tried to rid herself of the poison.

He looked at Violet and Langley, his gaze somber before settling briefly on Wendy.

“How is she?” His voice was low, his usual commanding tone softened by grief.

Langley sighed. “Stable, for now. She had some chills earlier, but she’s better now thanks to you and Miss Folsham.”

“I didn’t do much.” Stan nodded, though the stiffness in his jaw betrayed no relief. He turned to Wendy. “And how are you?”

“I am well,” she said, even as her exhaustion lingered in every part of her body. “It is the Countess who needs your concern.”

He gave a short nod. “May I at least escort you home?”

The silence stretched as he took one last look at Violet. She exhaled shakily, a quiet melancholy settling over her as she stared at the flickering flames. The trouble wasn’t finished. Not yet. Not with List still at large.