Chapter Thirty-Six

B ea felt as though life had received its second wind when she left the ballroom in search of Alfie. Stan had paid her the best compliment, enlisted her for a greater cause of justice and diplomacy, and Bea couldn’t wait to tell Alfie. But she knew she had to face her parents first. She finally came into her own and felt useful.

Bea walked through the grand hall, the echo of voices drawing her to an alcove off to the side. Her parents’ familiar tones were unmistakable, but it was the third voice that made her pause—a voice filled with a haughty elegance, unmistakably that of Baron von List, the man whom Stan had wanted her to target as her first mission. And he was hiding in a corner with a woman Bea couldn’t see. She couldn’t make out their words, but the intensity of the conversation piqued her curiosity and ignited a spark of suspicion.

Steeling herself, Bea approached with measured caution, staying close to the shadows cast by the ornate columns. But to her surprise, it was her mother with the baron. The sight of her mother, animated and engaged, only deepened her sense of unease. What could they possibly be discussing? As she stepped closer, her mother’s gaze shifted, locking onto her with a mix of surprise and concern. The baron, noticing the change in demeanor, turned to see Bea and immediately excused himself, gliding away with an air of practiced suave lies.

The sudden departure left Bea standing at the edge of the conversation, her mind whirling with questions and a gnawing sense of betrayal. What secrets were being kept from her, and why did her presence cause such a swift exit? The fragments of doubt and suspicion coalesced into a determined resolve as she faced her parents, ready to uncover the truth behind the clandestine meeting.

“Mother?”

Her mother cast a look toward the curtains of the tall windows in the hall and Father emerged. “Father?”

Her parents stood with expressions carefully composed, betraying none of the affection she had hoped to see. It was as if she had interrupted them in the middle of an important task, an unwelcome intrusion rather than the return home to a beloved daughter.

Her mother’s smile was tight, her father’s nod curt. Both exuded an air of polite detachment. Bea searched their faces for some sign of warmth or understanding, but found only cold professionalism. In their eyes, she was not the daughter they had raised, but a nuisance who could not fulfill the one thing they needed most—an advantageous connection within the Ton. She could practically feel their disappointment, an invisible weight pressing down on her shoulders.

The silence stretched uncomfortably, each second amplifying the distance between them. Bea fought to suppress the rising tide of emotions, the hurt and frustration that threatened to spill over. She squared her shoulders, determined to maintain her composure, even as she felt her heart breaking.

Bea stood there, feeling more alone than ever, as the reality of her parents’ priorities crystallized before her.

“Your match with the prince will become you.” Her mother finally nodded with a flicker of approval as if she’d made peace with the delay of the union.

“I take it Henry and Violet made the introduction?” Father asked.

Bea furrowed her brows. “You knew?”

Her parents cast each other a look and then her mother put a hand on her shoulder. “Stan needs your help and said you’ve already done very well.”

“What did you discuss with Baron von List?” Bea asked, unable to hide the suspicion coloring her voice.

“We passed on a message,” Mother said.

“A threat he can take to his allies.” Her father spat as if the baron disgusted him. “Didn’t Stan tell you? We’ve been working to unravel List’s schemes for a while.”

“And your union with Stan will help achieve our goals, darling. I’m sure of it. And then we can open the port in Singapore for more precious goods.”

At that moment, her mother lost Bea’s trust. “You’re using me as an instrument for your business?”

“Darling, you must take your position in society,” Father said as if it went without saying that she would marry to further his cause. Bea’s life, her love, her heart—it was all a bargaining chip in Society.

No more!

“I’m not a parcel you can sell, Father. I can be useful in ways other than a wife.”

Her mother blinked incredulously. “Yet, you haven’t even accomplished that tiny milestone of a betrothal. Even Pippa has!”

“Once we cure the beast, Stan will offer for her,” Father said. “Leave the rest to me.”

“You’re offering him a dowry, paying him to take me, and then what?” Bea couldn’t hide the exasperation in her voice. She didn’t want any of it and she felt the need to please her parents crack and break off like brittle paint.

*

Alfie had left Stan in search of Bea and ran back to the ballroom. Amid the splendor of a wedding that was not his own, Alfie had never felt more out of place. In the shadow of the ballroom, Alfie was surrounded by all the reasons he couldn’t be with Bea. She was the granddaughter of one of the wealthiest men in England, at her ancestral estate the size of a small town, with her father, an earl, and her mother, a countess. Though the wedding guests around him were wrapped in the light-hearted revelry befitting such a joyous occasion, inside Alfie, a battle raged.

Every nerve in his body screamed for him to claim Bea, to declare his love boldly. Where was she?

Alfie had to leave the music behind and found a balcony. He closed the double doors behind him, and the nightly darkness gave way to the bright lights from the wedding. Instead of the bouquets of white flowers, he now looked at the landscape, shrouded in blackness just as his heart.

He stood among riches where he didn’t belong, and it was as plain and as ancient as the rolling hills that cradled it. Downstairs and around the balcony, flowers bloomed with reckless vibrancy in the gardens, and he could smell the nonsensical mixture. They were arranged by color in a garden focused on the shapes and sizes of the blooms rather than their properties. Even though the people who seemingly tended to the garden had created something beautiful, Alfie knew that the rose bushes had taken root next to vines that would allow for an elixir that mixed harmoniously. If he ever created a garden, he’d sort the plants by medicinal properties and seasons of the best harvest. In this garden, the cacophony of scents irritated him as much as their fragrance—a heady mix that clashed with the storm brewing in his heart.

As he stood on the dark balcony, he thought he’d heard Bea’s voice in the gardens below.

“I don’t think it’s necessary, Mother.” Alfie could hear her more clearly now.

“Darling, we found a healer with much experience in this, and it is the only way.” Her mother’s voice was soft but adamant.

“We are trying to say that you cannot marry and surprise your husband with those episodes. If he thought you’d tricked him into marriage, he could call for an annulment, and you’d be cast aside.”

Alfie leaned over the plaster-coated balusters and felt the cool hardness as much as the harsh words from Bea’s parents.

“Darling, please.” Her mother handed her something that appeared to be a metal flask, but Alfie wasn’t sure, for all he could see was a metallic reflection from the lights that emanated from the ballroom.

“If you take this, you have a fair chance with the prince,” her father said.

“I don’t want a chance with him, Father,” Bea said, the fear audible in her voice. She wasn’t happy her parents had returned, Alfie knew that. She’d told him so during their afternoon together. But now he could hear in her voice that she was terrified of them. “I love another.”

“As long as you don’t tell him, it shall be all right,” her father said without even acknowledging that Bea had declared her heart.

Alfie’s internal conflict was abruptly eclipsed by a more immediate danger. Bea’s mother uncorked the flask.

“This is cinnabar, and it is a very strong cure.” From his perch on the balcony, Alfie saw the metal flask. His heart dropped. He knew the truth of that so-called medicine; it was poison, a danger cloaked in the guise of care.

As Bea’s slender fingers wrapped around the vial, he watched, every sense heightened. The beauty of the setting—the lush green of the garden, the delicate arrangements of flowers, the music that floated on the air—all of it dulled to a mere backdrop against the peril Bea faced.

In that moment, Alfie’s resolve crystallized. His love for Bea, the depth of his feelings, demanded action.

“Please drink—” but Alfie didn’t hear the rest of Bea’s father’s words.

He left the balcony and dashed down the ancient stone stairs, his heart pounding in his chest as though it sought to escape. The grandeur of the castle blurred into a streak of indistinct shapes and shadows. With each step, his urgency grew, his boots slipping on the worn edges of the steps.

After mere seconds that felt like hours, he hoped he wasn’t too late.

“Bea!” he called. “Bea!”

Bursting through the double doors, he emerged into the garden and saw Bea standing between her parents, the metal flask in hand and close to her lips. She was a vision of innocence and grace, her hand trembling as it clasped the vial, its contents a sinister shadow amidst the splendor of the gardens and the golden glow cast upon them from the ballroom.

“Bea!” The garden around him was a blur, the fragrance of the blooming flowers a distant note beneath the pounding of his heart. As he neared, the world seemed to narrow to the space between them, every step charged with the weight of his resolve. The closer he got, the clearer he saw the confusion in her eyes, the slight tremor of her hand. Alfie’s mind raced with the gravity of what was to come, the act that would expose the poison for what it was, an act that would irrevocably alter the course of their lives.

With a final, desperate burst of speed, Alfie closed the distance, reaching out to snatch the vial from her grasp. The motion was swift, decisive, leaving no room for hesitation or doubt.

“Don’t!” Alfie threw it into the darkness. By the sound of it, bushes stopped its fall with dense foliage. Alfie cupped Bea’s cheeks and examined her. A pallor, stark like the moon above wrung his heart. “Please tell me that you didn’t drink any of it!” He pressed his mouth to hers, desperate, for he couldn’t bear to live a day without her.

But Bea barely returned the kiss, her arms hung limp from her sides.

Had he come too late?

He deepened the kiss and dropped his hands to her back, pulling her toward him lest she faint from weakness of the poison.

“Alfie!” She mumbled onto his mouth. “Alfie?”

He broke the kiss, breathless. He didn’t taste the poison on his own lips or smell it on her breath, but couldn’t be sure. He needed to know.

“What has gotten into you?” Bea asked, licking her lips as she turned to her parents with the look of a schoolgirl caught in the act of stealing the headmistress’ quill.

Alfie’s breath caught in his throat as he took in the scene, time stretching into an agonizing eternity. The music and laughter of the ball inside seemed to fade into oblivion, leaving only the sound of his own heart racing in tandem with the realization of what he’d done.

“Didn’t you drink the cinnabar?” he asked, for her well-being was the only thing that mattered to him now.

“No,” she waved toward the bushes behind her. “How dare you throw away my only chance at a cure?” An estranged look in her face gave way to a redness that wasn’t at all a blush but sheer anger. He’d never seen Bea like this before.

“Who is this rogue?” Her mother exclaimed in a high voice that made Alfie wince.

“Young man, this is between my daughter and us. That was a rare and highly-concentrated mixture you just tossed away!” Her father was a little shorter than Alfie and still managed to cast him a superciliary glance that instantly reminded Alfie that his station was far below him—nonexistent, to be precise.

“You didn’t drink it?” Alfie asked Bea who’d stepped away from him.

“No, I told you. How could you do this to me?” Hurt flickered in her gaze.

“I thought you’d been poisoned, and I wanted to… I don’t know, cinnabar is dangerous… I cannot imagine a life without you, Bea. If anything happened to you, I would rather die than suffer the pain of losing you.”

The air tensed among the assembled and Bea’s mother’s countenance was dark with suspicion. But Alfie could only watch Bea, waiting for her to trust him, to believe in the sincerity of his warning.

When Bea hesitated, her mother’s impatience grew palpable. Alfie did what he must. In choosing Bea’s wellbeing over his safety, he’d crossed a line from which there could be no return.

The garden, with its intoxicating blend of aromas, the castle with its centuries of legacy—all faded into a backdrop for a moment defined by sacrifice and love.