Chapter Seventeen

A lfie had come days later than promised to collect some orange blossom petals. Hopefully, he wasn’t too late, and the blossoms hadn’t lost their scent.

He’d been to the orangery at Cloverdale House only twice before, once to harvest the ipecac and the second time in a great hurry to show Bea how to administer it. This time, he had a chance to admire the neat rows of plants. It was so early in the morning that he didn’t expect anyone to see him. He’d collect a few blossoms, and take them back to make the neroli oil. It would end up being a typical Wednesday even with the unusual start. Thus, he pulled the side door open and entered.

“Alfie!” Pippa appeared from behind a tall, potted tree, scrambling to thrust her spectacles back onto her face.

“I didn’t know you’d be here.” Nick appeared behind her, tucking his shirt into his breeches. “We were… um… harvesting… I mean, Pippa was… I was helping.”

Oh, please! The sun’s barely up. Don’t pretend that I don’t know what you’re doing.

“Bea asked me to harvest some orange blossoms, but I couldn’t get here before this morning.” Alfie cast Nick a man-to-man look, but Nick shrugged, put his arm around Pippa, and gently kissed her hair. That must be love if a man is happy to kiss the woman’s hair atop her head, Alfie thought.

“Well, it’s good to see you because we needed to speak with you,” Pippa said, seemingly unashamed that her buttons were misaligned.

“Why me?” They couldn’t have known that he’d kissed Bea.

Unless she’d told Pippa.

And Pippa had told Nick.

Uh-oh!

Nick opened the buttons of his shirt sleeves and began to roll them up slowly as if readying himself for a fight.

Alfie deflated. He deserved a punch in the gut for kissing Pippa’s cousin.

Well, he wouldn’t even duck away.

But Nick had a unique skill in aiming for the face, and Alfie wasn’t willing to take a punch for that kiss. It had been glorious, and the beauty loved it; he knew that. Women didn’t moan when they were bored; they did moan with pleasure as Bea had when he’d kissed her.

“So!” Nick said, and Alfie took a step back and squared up.

“Let me, please!” Pippa stepped in front of him.

Oh no, now he couldn’t duck. If a woman felt the need to deliver a punch, all Alfie could do was take it in stride. He dropped his head. Chances were that Pippa didn’t know to aim upward for the chin and might hit his forehead. Perhaps his eye.

It wouldn’t be the first time he’d had a black eye; it was a manly rite of passage, and he’d earned it when he’d tupped… never mind . That had been long ago.

These days, it was unbecoming to welcome his clients to the apothecary with a black eye, but he could explain it away. What he couldn’t explain was his bruised heart.

“It’s about the wedding, Alfie,” Pippa started.

“None of it would have been possible without your help.” Nick beamed, his arm snaking around Pippa’s waist again.

“You found each other; I really cannot take any credit,” Alfie said, trying not to look at Nick’s hand on Pippa’s waist.

“I disagree.” Nick kissed Pippa’s head again. It was starting to be odd. Alfie had never seen Nick smitten with a woman, and it was just too bizarre to witness their public displays of affection. Especially now, when he’d expected a bruising. Where was it? And what was going on?

Perhaps the secluded passages between the tall plants in Pippa’s private orangery were not exactly public. And considering that he and Nick had grown up together, there wasn’t much that distinguished them from being brothers. But still…

“We have the special license, but we would like you to be one of our witnesses,” Pippa said as she folded her hands and looked at him solemnly.

He was already the best man and wouldn’t miss their union for anything.

“It would be my honor,” Alfie finally said, reaching to pat Nick on the upper arm. But his friend wouldn’t have any of it and let go of Pippa to give Alfie a tight, brotherly hug. The glass bottles in his basket tinkled together like little bells.

“It means you’ll sign the papers and be my best man,” Nick said.

Yes, it was an honor indeed. It was a special privilege in the lives of his dear friend Nick and the woman he loved.

And I kissed her cousin. Alfie’s heart dropped.

But they didn’t appear to know about that. Nick explained that he’d come to help Pippa collect a few things for her coachmen to transport to the new townhouse she’d bought, one within walking distance from the practice, which was why they’d been “harvesting” in the orangery. They left him with an empty terracotta jar in which to collect orange blossom petals and left to speak to the coachmen while he remained in the orangery. It would take a long time to convert Cloverdale House into the rehabilitation hospital Pippa and Violet had planned, he mused, but it would be worthwhile.

Alfie had always harbored the utmost respect for all soldiers, not merely British ones. He didn’t subscribe to the usual heroism of sacrificing one’s body or health for international conflicts. No, those were better solved with treaties and ink on paper rather than blood spilled in the fields. But all soldiers were brave, facing unimaginable danger for a cause greater than any of them alone. That was something Alfie respected.

If the rehabilitation center came into being, he’d be the primary supplier of ointments, tinctures, and any medicines needed unless he risked his reputation, and they lost the practice. The rehabilitation center could not function without them, and Pippa’s generous plans would falter. He was hopeful that he could provide more than the usual laudanum to dull the patients’ pain, and instead create more proactive and effective medicines to cure and treat their injuries and ailments. He’d maintain the plants at the orangery in Pippa’s absence, and with her help, they’d create their own steady supply of medicinal plants.

Now, the purple and pink rays of the morning cast a lovely glow over all the plants in the orangery. Alfie moved to the little orange trees that stood, ironically, like soldiers at attention in a row. The waxy white blooms shone against the pruned green leaves. Carefully, he cut the blossoms below the sepals to ensure the same branch could regrow at the same spot. Then, he plucked the white petals off, placed them in the jar he set down on the raised bed of orchids and little pineapple palms.

“ P-i-i-p-a-a-a-h !” A voice sounded from outside. Then, the courtyard cobblestones leading away from the orangery betrayed rushing footsteps. “Pippa! Are you here?” And then he saw Bea as she threw the glass door open and rushed into the orangery. “Oh!”

Alfie nearly dropped the jar with the precious petals at the sight of her. She was even more beautiful in the morning than later in the day.

*

“I didn’t expect you here,” Bea croaked when Alfie rose from the crouched position he’d been in between the little orange trees in a line of pots. She covered her cheeks with her hands, unwilling to let Alfie view her reddened cheeks. Even though he’d healed her only a few days ago and knew all about her affliction—indeed, he’d diagnosed it for her—she didn’t want him to see her this way. Not after he’d kissed her.

She wanted to be beautiful for him. But in spite of her disfigurement, she didn’t want to leave him now that she knew he was here. The door shut with a click behind her, and she stepped forward, careful to remain in the shadows and not reveal her reddened face.

“I’ve been here for a little while, almost finished.” Alfie shook a small terracotta jar, and a few white petals bounced out lightly in the air. “Please accept my sincere apologies for the tardiness of my visit. I meant to come days ago.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“I couldn’t be here before but I am now. “I’ve been here less than a half hour. To harvest the blossoms of course.” He shook something off his hands and rolled his white shirt sleeves back down, covering the muscular arms with the slight veins that Bea could see even from her spot in the shadows ten feet away.

She didn’t know how to respond. In truth, she’d been distracted by the way the tendons in his arms had moved under his skin and hadn’t actually listened to his response. She felt her face heat even more than it did from the beast.

“There was too much work; I didn’t want you to think that I’d forgotten, but—”

“No, please!” She held a hand out, and the light illuminated it while she was careful to remain in the shadows so he couldn’t see how flushed she was. “It’s all right. Thank you for coming to harvest the blossoms.”

“My pleasure. But I won’t take any more lest there remain no oranges to harvest.” He turned the lid of his jar. “Now Bea, about the neroli oil. It’s very potent.” Alfie took a few steps toward her.

“I’ll come to pick it up.” She turned her back to him, afraid that he’d come closer and see her inner beast on her reddened outside. “Thank you.”

She pushed the door open and ran away.

He mustn’t see me like this. Not again.

Of all the people in the world, for some reason, Alfie’s opinion of her mattered more than any other’s. She wanted him to appreciate her and see her as beautiful even though she didn’t know what to make of the feelings surging within her.

Tears pricked her eyes as she rushed back into the house and through the corridor when— bam! —she collided with something. Or some one , since whomever she’d collided with called out. “Oh!”

Pippa! She scrambled back in surprise.

“Bea!” Pippa frowned and rubbed her arm vigorously. “Why are you awake? Were you outside? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Bea was eager to go back to her chamber and cry in her bed upstairs—far away from the orangery and its heady, flowery fragrances.

“Bea?” Pippa had followed her upstairs and knocked, but then she’d just entered anyway. Perhaps some things would never change, and she and Pippa would always be like sisters. Though Pippa was all grown up and almost a bride who’d move to a different house in London.

“Don’t look at me,” Bea mumbled into the pillows, closing her arms over her head.

“I won’t. But I do need to speak with you,” Pippa said in a voice that was too calm, clashing with the upheaval in Bea’s chest. She pressed something into Bea’s hand. Her journal! “I noticed this. You left it at the breakfast table.”

“ Hmpf !” Bea frowned into her pillow. She’d dropped it onto the table on her way out to the orangery, never imagining that anyone—except one of the servants—would see it. She peered at Pippa from under her elbow. “Did you look at it?”

“I didn’t read it, but I’d like to know what’s so important that you keep it with you most of the time otherwise.”

Bea sighed. “It’s a record of my diet and cosmetics.” And my memories of the young man in India with eyes who looked exactly like Alfie’s.

Wait! Could it be that she’d recognized more in Alfie than a newly-forged bond? Was it more than a coincidence that Alfie’s eyes were like the young man’s?

“Why are you recording everything you eat and put on your body?” Pippa asked.

“Alfie told me to.” Bea released the pressure on the pillow. Sobbing required a lot of extra air; everybody knew that.

“Why?”

“To find out what triggers my beast to break out.”

“He knows?”

Bea lifted her head and nodded at Pippa.

For a prolonged minute, Pippa stared at Bea. She did that when she had to formulate a thought that required finesse. “What do you want to say?” Bea asked.

“How is it possible that you hide from me, but he was allowed to see you when you were red and blotchy?”

Interesting question. And not one Bea had an answer for. Plus, she’d let him see it before the kiss. Since then, something had changed. Bea sat up and crossed her arms to hug herself.

“It’s just that you must trust him a great deal if you didn’t merely expose your fury to him but are also keeping a detailed record to discuss with him what could have triggered it,” Pippa said. She furrowed her brow.

“Medical information,” Bea mumbled.

“Aha! It’s a test!”

“What kind of test?”

“A vision test, like the one Nick gave me. He knew immediately that I’m shortsighted and merely had to examine my eyes to determine exactly how much.”

“So?” Bea didn’t think much of that. Nick was an oculist, and it was his calling to measure people’s vision and make up the loss of correct lens curvature with lenses.

“So? Don’t you realize? He saw me for who I was before even I did. He’d cured my clumsiness before I ever knew it could be cured,” Pippa said, and Bea could hear in her tone that she was marveling at her handsome future husband’s brilliance.

“You’re in love, Pippa. I’m happy for you. But I don’t expect to ever marry for love like you.”

“Perhaps you’ll have a chance.”

“With Stan? No.” And it wasn’t love he could offer her… so did he fail her criteria? Could the fact that he could take her far away outweigh the lack of love?

“Why not?” Pippa sat back and eyed Bea as if she’d sprouted an orange tree on her head. Was it that absurd that she’d marry Stan?

“He’s too aware of his value. If he offers for my hand—and I will say yes, of course—then it’s a transaction to fuse my connections in London and his royal bloodline.”

“That’s not very romantic.” Pippa grimaced. “It’s transactional.”

“No.” Bea straightened her back, her eyes cast low. “It’s a logical continuation of my destiny.”

Pippa remained silent again. Looking deeply into her eyes, she gazed at Bea as if she didn’t see the red-hot blotches. Perhaps she could see something with her glasses that Mother never had, for her eyes only ever skimmed the surface of Bea’s skin, worrying that the hives would leave scars and reduce Bea’s value as a noble bride.

“Perhaps you need glasses,” Pippa said.

“My eyes are fine.”

“Figuratively speaking, cousin. You must look at life through another lens and sharpen your senses.”

“Why should I?” Bea mocked Pippa’s idealistic response. “It’s a husband I’m looking for. Quickly, before my parents return. The duller my senses the better, because it’s not love I’ll have.”

“You’re on a hunt for love, not merely a husband.”

Bea sighed. “Pray tell, dear cousin, how am I supposed to sharpen my senses in this quest then?”

“Use your intuition,” Pippa said, giving her a sisterly hug and an added squeeze. “Why did you run away from the orangery if Alfie already knew about the hives?”

Bea withdrew from the hug and folded her hands in her lap. It was a good question. “I was lightheaded and suddenly felt the urge to run away.”

Pippa pursed her lips and gave Bea the same grave look Violet had given her at the breakfast with Stan. Except that Pippa’s intention seemed driven in another direction. “What made you feel that way?”

“I’m not certain,” Bea said but then the scent came back as if she could still smell it. A combination of sweetness, something like musk, the flowers, and the freshness.

“Think,” Pippa leaned forward and nudged her. “I know you know, deep down, and just don’t want to admit it to yourself.” Then she gave Bea a gentle pat and left.

Befuddled by her own feelings, Bea sat on the edge of her bed, her pulse echoing in her ears. The room felt smaller, the walls closing in around her as she struggled to understand the tumult within. She clutched the embroidered pillow, tracing the delicate patterns with trembling fingers. Her thoughts drifted back to Alfie. His smile, always so genuine, played at the corners of her mind.

She shut her eyes and could almost feel his presence beside her, the warmth of his hand just inches away. The memory of their kiss and then the way he’d looked at her just minutes ago in the orangery, his eyes lingering on hers a moment longer than necessary. A shiver ran through her, not from the cold but from the realization that had been dawning slowly, like the morning sun breaking through the mist.

The scent of the orange blossoms and the early morning crispness in the orangery filled her senses, intertwining with the memory of Alfie’s cologne—woody and refreshing. It was the same scent that had enveloped her when he leaned in close before their kiss, making her shiver and forget the world around them. Bea’s heart raced faster. She could see now what Pippa had tried to reveal.

A pang of longing swept through her. She remembered the way Alfie had looked at her in the hallway outside the ballroom, his eyes full of a softness she hadn’t dared to interpret until now. Every shared glance, every fleeting touch—they all painted a picture she had been too blind to see.

Bea stood, crossing to the window. Daybreak stretched out before her, serene and unchanging, yet everything felt different.

She pressed her forehead against the cool glass, her breath fogging up a small circle. The realization settled over her like a warm blanket on a chilly evening.

I fell in love with Alfie.

The truth settled in her chest, both terrifying and exhilarating as the thought of him brought a smile to her lips, and for the first time, she allowed herself to imagine a future where there were more than stolen moments.

How had she missed it? The way his presence made her heart flutter, or the comfort she found in his laughter. There was no denying it. She was in love, undeniably, irrevocably in love with Alfie. And now, she had to find the courage to act on it.