Chapter Nineteen

A nother day had passed, and the practice had been a flurry of activity but not the usual sort. Sample flower arrangements, wines for the ball following the wedding, and embossed invitations had come and gone alongside a blur of patients and other deliveries. The only constant was the image in Alfie’s mind of the moment in the orangery when Bea had turned away from him and run away. A flicker of hurt had washed over her features, and he hadn’t seen her again. There hadn’t been an opportunity to seek her out, and he couldn’t approach her father and ask if he may court her. First, because her father was somewhere in Singapore or someplace else and out of reach. Second, her father would never give permission if he knew Bea stood a chance of a marrying a prince.

But neither of those concerns mattered if he didn’t get permission from Bea first.

Still, Pippa had been right. History didn’t allow him to rewind time, so there was no alternative but to go forward. He hadn’t decided how to accomplish that yet. He had to tell her he loved her… but could he tell her he’d known her all this time—since their days in India?

He wished he could not merely offer his heart, but also present a solution to their greatest problem, their differing class status. One could say “love was love” and that was all that mattered, yet the issue of gentry joining aristocracy was not a small one. He knew he had to be cautious, and absolutely sure, that it was what Bea wanted.

And that’s where doubt gnawed at his resolve because she had asked for a love potion to use for the prince.

He wanted to tell her of his feelings but if she was determined to woo—or worse, seduce—the prince, then Alfie had no right to attempt to change her mind. Especially if he loved her; he had to respect her desires for her decisions—even if they hurt him.

He was stuck and that made him angry… at himself or the world, he wasn’t sure.

Alfie walked out of his apothecary door during a lull in business, and saw a swish of a white apron disappearing into the back corridor, followed by an unsettling gasp. Wendy.

He’d known her since she was a girl, and even though he’d tried to alert Nick to the fact that his little sister was a grown woman, Nick only shook his head and didn’t want to hear the truth. Perhaps she could find out for him?

“What’s the matter?” Alfie asked in a hushed voice when he found her pressing her back against the kitchen wall, hands in fists, and her thumbs pressed to her mouth.

She reached out and grabbed his waistcoat to pull him out of sight of the door.

Sneaking around, hm!

Her shoulders lifted in tension, and Alfie ducked under the slant of the stairs leading up so he could get a good look at her.

Her pupils were enlarged, her hair stuck up, and she looked rather unraveled, which was entirely uncharacteristic.

She shook her head and held his eye contact.

Yes, I’ll be quiet.

Then, the voices from the kitchen came into focus.

“You were right about my intuition, but it’s guiding me to where I cannot navigate.” Bea sighed. “It’s just that I cannot stop thinking about him.” Bea’s voice came as an exhale of desperation. “My chest feels constricted when I think about him, but when I’m near him, it beats so wildly that I fear it’ll jump out of my body and into his arms.”

“Because that is where you wish to be?” Pippa asked gently.

Fabric rustled. He could imagine Bea nodding.

“Did you tell him how you feel?” Pippa asked.

More fabric rustled. Alfie wondered why Wendy was interested in Bea’s and Pippa’s private conversation but then thought better since there must be a reason why and how Wendy always knew everything. Sneaking around explained it all. She was a natural investigator of human nature and its secrets.

At that thought, Alfie’s chest constricted, and he inhaled but couldn’t sigh.

“If you want the prince to take you with him to his castle and away from here, as much as I would miss you, dear cousin, you’ll have to tell him how you feel.”

“I don’t think he cares,” Bea whispered as if it were a revelation. “And he has to leave in four days.”

Wendy gasped and put both hands and not just her thumbs over her mouth. She looked at Alfie, her eyes red-rimmed, and then she ran away, up the stairs, and a door slammed shut. He didn’t know what had gotten into her, but he was already upset and preoccupied with his own thoughts.

Alfie didn’t know what to make of this news, but he had to deal with his own pain. He walked slowly down the hall and back to his apothecary, tugged at his cravat to loosen it, and buried his face in his hands.

Bea wanted the prince, not a mere apothecary.

He’d never see her again; if he did, she’d be a princess accompanying her royal husband on a diplomatic mission.

Alfie gripped the edge of his wooden counter and squeezed until his knuckles turned white and his fingers burned.

Impossible.

Yes, he’d start to keep his eyes open for more than just a fling over the summer or an affair in the gardens.

No, I don’t want just flings anymore.

Bitterness crept up his throat and spread in his mouth.

He had never been like this about any woman. Not even back at university. But all his previous encounters were forgotten now that he knew the veiled girl in India was Bea. She had been an unknown he couldn’t chase, and now she was a known he mustn’t.

He brought a hand to his forehead. Not feverish.

Selective amnesia was a condition he’d heard much of and not one he had any cures for—not that he wanted one, really—though it was known to happen after a blow to the head.

But a blow to the heart?

No matter what, it was the future that counted and not the past.

He’d never have a wedding to plan like Nick and Pippa one day. He’d never take his bride cake-tasting like Nick had done with Pippa. If his bride wasn’t Bea, he didn’t want any of it.

He’d imagined his wedding, with the veiled girl, and how he’d carry his bride over the threshold into a newly appointed bedroom with elegant silk sheets and the curtains drawn shut. There would be water pitchers, trays of biscuits, cured meats, sparkling wine, fresh fruit, and anything else they’d need for a few days of sustenance. Because once he could, he’d take a very long time to worship her body as much as he did her heart.

Now, he could imagine every detail as if the future had been painted clearly before him. His bride had long, curly hair in the exact shade of a drop of molten copper falling into gold, swirled to create a rich hue of rose gold. And she had the perfect alabaster skin, rosy cheeks, and a narrow waist that he’d grab just firmly enough to bring her into the ideal position beneath him. When he’d kiss his way from her navel up toward her perky breasts, Alfie’s imagination stumbled as if there’d been jagged rocks in the way. He looked up at the face of his bride and saw Bea. It had always been Bea.

*

In the kitchen at 87 Harley Street, Bea turned the teacup between her hands and stared at the barely-eaten cakes. After several hours of wedding planning, embossed wedding invitations and an open bottle of wine remained on the table.

“The drapes will be delivered to the new house around the corner. I should go soon,” Pippa said.

“Will you ever forgive me for failing to meet you at the dressmaker?” Bea had a bad conscience for leaving her dear cousin alone at the fitting for her wedding dress, but she had such a heavy heart that she’d forgotten. Pippa’s wedding planning from Nick’s practice was as unconventional as their union but it also made perfect sense, because between his patient appointments Nick came in to be with Pippa.

Pippa looked at her with understanding, yet there was a spark of a question in her gaze. “It’s him, isn’t it?” Pippa whispered barely audibly.

Be nodded and deflated. “It’s just that I cannot stop thinking about him. My chest feels constricted when I think about him, but when I’m near him, it beats so wildly that I fear it’ll jump out of my body and into his arms.”

“Because that is where you wish to be?” Understanding colored Pippa’s voice.

Bea clasped her hands over her chest and nodded. She mustn’t feel that way, and she wished she could cure herself of the incessant longing to see him. She’d even contemplated staying in the sun too long and then seeking his help with an ointment against sunburn, a paste to cover the freckles, or perhaps just a scented soap—any excuse to speak with Alfie.

“Did you tell him how you feel?”

“Of course not!” Bea jerked her head back.

“If you want the prince to take you with him to his castle and away from here, as much as I would miss you, dear cousin, you’ll have to tell him how you feel.”

Oh, Pippa thought she meant the prince.

Then why did she drag out the word “prince” so much?

Bea’s heart plummeted even further.

It ought to be the prince; he was everything she needed.

Just not what her heart desired.

“I don’t think he cares, and he has to leave in four days.”

“It doesn’t take very long to follow through once your heart is set on the right person,” Pippa said.

She didn’t want to admit her cousin was right. Instead, she pushed that suggestion away. “Do you remember how we put curtains over our heads and danced in the nursery?” Bea asked Pippa.

“We pretended to be brides and danced to our own song.” She gave her a wistful smile.

Bea felt the tension of the frown on her forehead. “How was it possible that we thought about everything from the dresses to the cakes to the music and even the chandeliers?”

“You planned the chandeliers for your wedding?”

Bea narrowed her gaze. “You haven’t planned the chandeliers for your wedding?” Her expression was a mix of disbelief and intrigue. Perhaps she had plans to travel and strict criteria for a husband, but what did that have to do with her dream wedding? Some women left every little detail for the last minute, but Bea preferred not to leave anything to chance. What good were the flower arrangements, cakes, or even the bride’s dress if the chandeliers didn’t put it all in the best light?

“Sprays of white and yellow ranunculi are complementary to the atmosphere in the ballroom at the estate.” She meant their grandfather’s country home, where she and Pippa had always planned to have their weddings.

“You truly have thought of everything.” Pippa chuckled.

Except for the groom.

“Of course, I did! Venetian glass, white candles reflected in polished brass and carved drip panes shaped like tulips are bunched together at the center with golden brass bows from which crystals fall. The vines of emaille —the divine French enamel—twist around the center, and each chandelier resembles a bouquet of tulips in the morning, with the crystals dripping like dew into the sparkling sun. Fresh flowers draped over the brass branches.”

Pippa raised her eyebrows. “That’s very detailed. But what about your criteria for a husband who will whisk you away to Transylvania?”

Bea’s heart dropped. It was just a broad stroke of the detail in her imagination. She just couldn’t quite picture the groom and his far-away castle in the Southern Carpathian Mountains. She knew exactly that the height of the castle, the trees in the surrounding countryside, and even the distance alone would suffice to let her breathe away from the Ton, away from her reputation. She could be free and herself.

That’s what she wanted. Her freedom by way of a groom who’d sweep her off her feet.

Preferably before her parents returned.

And yet Prince Stan’s image was not the one in her mind. It was Alfie.

“I want to do as I please, not merely plan it.” The words spilled out before she could understand the depth of their meaning. “I can see him so clearly!” She let go of the teacup and put her hands in the air as if she held something between her hands. His eyes rose before her, along with the warmth of his mouth, his taste, the scent of him, the feel of his rough, shaved skin against her own as she pressed her lips to his. “I just want to grab his face and kiss him. I want to hold him until this… this starvation in my belly goes away.” Surprised at her declaration, Bea blinked. It was as if she’d opened her eyes to the truth for the first time and really seen it.

Bea sighed. She’d opened up more than she’d intended, but this was Pippa after all. She’d always kept her secrets, and if Bea kept this growing and overwhelming feeling locked in her chest any longer, it would burst open like a cabinet overstuffed with sparkling crystalware. Because it felt like that—sparkling rainbows reflected on shiny delicate vessels, and the idea Alfie could fill them with effervescent sweetness was like wine that went to her head. But at the touch of the wrong man, Bea feared the crystals would shatter into lumps of sand on the ground. “Do you know what I mean?”

Pippa pursed her lips and swirled her cake fork in some leftover whipped cream on the plate before her. “Perhaps.”

Bea gripped her hand, and Pippa dropped the fork. “Tell me!”

“When you say you want to feel him because of the deep hunger, is it desire you speak of?”

“How would I know?” Bea asked, after a pause to consider the matter.

Pippa cracked her neck. “I must say, I never imagined to be the one to tell you about making love. It always struck me that you’d be the first one to…”

Bea tightened her grasp on Pippa’s arm. “You’ve already…?” She gave Pippa a once-over. “With Nick?”

Pippa nodded. She blushed. Not in a flattering way, but she turned red like a lobster in boiling water.

“Tell. Me. Everything.”

Cakes were forgotten, the wedding plans had quickly turned to something much more decadent, and Bea’s curiosity prickled with what she now knew to call desire . Time passed—Bea wasn’t sure how much—but the whipped cream had grown soggy, and the sponge cake had dried unappetizingly. She wasn’t hungry anyway, not like that.

“I want it all,” Bea mumbled when Pippa finished her clumsy explanation. “All of that!” Then Bea shook her head as if she had to shoo a fly away, “Not with Nick, of course.”

It hadn’t been long, and apparently, Pippa thought she was still learning from Nick.

Interesting.

Pippa said she felt like she couldn’t take the pleasure, but there was a point to push past, and then it was more spectacular than anything she’d ever imagined.

I want that, too.

And when Pippa said nothing could bring two people closer than to hold one another after reaching their climaxes, Bea was ready to storm out and request precisely that. Of course she wouldn’t; that was not how she’d been brought up. Without a proposal from a titled gentleman, she couldn’t even begin to consider it… and yet, that was exactly why she itched to do the unexpected. She’d had enough of the rules of the Ton that made her lock her feelings up… Alfie did the opposite, unleashing her essence in a way nobody else ever had. She felt as though she’d known him a lifetime and could be more open with him than even Pippa.

And there was the problem. When she thought about where to run and ask, it was merely down the hall to the first door on the right and not to a castle in a faraway country.

But then Pippa took both of Bea’s hands as they’d done as little girls when they shared secrets. When it was just them, just after Pippa’s mother had died and Bea’s parents had sailed off to Singapore.

“It’s precious and strong. Don’t get me wrong, dear, it’s marvelous. But there’s something you need to know.” Pippa pulled Bea closer. “This doesn’t work if you don’t love him. And he must love you, too.”

Must imagine Stan in Alfie’s place. Bea repeated the thought in her mind, hoping it would take root and overgrow the images of what she didn’t dare admit to herself.

Bea’s eyes shot from Pippa’s left to her right and back several times. “The mechanics work.”

“Not the feelings.”

“B-but…”

“Hear me out, please. If you close your eyes and imagine it, it’s more chaste than when you do it. The act can turn into a wild fumbling, and the heat of the moment is overwhelming for all of your senses. So make sure you see yourself with the man who can give you all that and his heart. My darling cousin, you deserve all the pleasures and every level of intimacy, but it has to feel right. You won’t have anywhere to hide in the heat of the act.” Pippa slowed down at the last few words and squeezed Bea’s hands gently for emphasis.

Bea swallowed hard. She closed her eyes and imagined. She’d have a wedding under the sparkling chandeliers and a dress with so many layers that she’d feel like a blossom swirling on the parquet. And when her groom, in a narrowly-tailored frock, picked her up and carried her to a room with elegant bedding and a fire crackling in the hearth, she’d let desire reign free.

She didn’t want to hide.

And as she imagined the scene, her groom held her tightly and gave her a warm smile.

It was Alfie—the prince of her heart and not the prince of a country. She had enough of the exhausting superficiality of the Ton and Society’s rules. She’d follow her own heart and rules from now on. All she had to do was figure out how.