Chapter Thirty-Seven

B ea stood, frozen with shock and disbelief, as Alfie’s sudden dash toward her culminated in the snatching of the vial from her grasp. Once filled with the harmonious symphony of the wedding, the garden now seemed eerily silent, save for the racing thoughts thundering through her mind. She watched, helpless, as the vial—a symbol of her desperate gambit for freedom—was unceremoniously discarded, its contents seeping into the earth, lost forever. Her parents had procured a cure for her on a journey to Asia that she couldn’t repeat.

They’d brought her a medicine that they promised provided the only chance to tame the beast within her.

Confusion reigned as she tried to grasp the implications of Alfie’s actions. Upset mingled with astonishment; how could he dismiss her plans and fears with a single, swift motion? Yet, amidst this tumult of feelings, a part of her couldn’t deny the protective fervor in his eyes, a fervor that both alarmed and strangely comforted her.

The garden, with its verdant beauty, suddenly felt like a constricting cage, as she became acutely aware of her parents’ eyes upon them, witnesses to Alfie’s brazen act of devotion. The scandal of it all—the sheer impropriety of Alfie’s kiss—left her speechless, her mind a whirlpool of questions with no anchor.

Just as she gathered the frayed edges of her composure, attempting to string together a coherent thought, Stan stepped through the double doors. His arrival, commanding and poised, sliced through the tension like a knife.

“Bea,” he called, his voice a beacon in the stormy sea of her thoughts.

Bea’s heart lurched, torn between duty and desire, her future hanging in the balance. In that moment, she knew the eyes of every soul in attendance were fixed upon her, waiting for her to take the next step in this unforeseen dance of destiny.

“Oh, Alfie, hullo.” Stan had reached the spot in the garden where they stood, Bea’s future teetering between the life she’d been groomed for and the life she’d secretly forged before her parents returned.

“Your Royal Highness.” Her father’s eyes grew wide, and he stood in front of Alfie, his back to him and Bea as if their presence brought him shame.

“Stan, you know my parents?” Bea stepped in front of her father and curtsied. It was an act more informal than her interaction with Stan required since they’d become friends and colleagues—an unmistakable signal to be cautious.

Stan’s eyes met hers for a moment and he gave a faint nod, then bowed and greeted her parents. “We have been formally introduced already, Lady Beatrice. We’ve been working together.”

“Messengers. Supervisors. He’s the better diplomat.” Father raised his eyebrows in appreciation of Stan. Bea’s eyes shot to Stan.

“It’s complicated and I will tell you in time. But I don’t mind the dangerous parts,” Stan said.

“Dangerous?” Alfie wrapped his arm around Bea and pulled her to him.

Bea shook her head. But she didn’t know how to act and where to begin to explain to her parents that she worked with Stan and had fallen in love with Alfie. It was too much to package into words with her fear that her parents never forgave her transgressions. Everything they’d taught her, everything they’d hoped she’d become, she’d twisted into something to suit her own whims and was sure to disappoint them. And this was Pippa’s wedding day, not the moment to break her parents’ hearts.

“Your Royal Highness, it is with—”

But Stan interrupted Bea’s father. “Alfie, we are ready to cut the cake. Bea, Pippa has asked for you.” It seemed as though Stan and Alfie had exchanged unspoken words and reached an understanding.

“Who is this man?” Bea’s mother called in a shrill voice as if she couldn’t fathom the scandal of Alfie’s arm around Bea after he’d kissed her boldly before them.

“Certainly, Lady Wetherby. He’s the best apothecary in England, perhaps even in all of Europe,” Stan said.

Alfie cleared his throat, but his gaze was as dark as Bea had feared it to be when he stood behind her.

“Have I interrupted anything?” Stan’s eyes jumped from Bea’s to Alfie’s and then he narrowed this gaze when he saw the pallor on Mother’s face. “Oh dear, he was asking for your hand and I… oh, I am so sorry I intruded.” Stan inclined his head, unaware he’d misinterpreted the situation. “Lord Wetherby, I assure you that there isn’t a better man in the world for your daughter, and I hope that you will accept my well-wishes if I am the first to congratulate your family.”

Oh dear , Stan thought Alfie was asking for her hand while her parents wanted Stan… oh dear, oh dear…

Father inhaled sharply, and his eyes grew so big it was as if they were about to pop out of his head.

“He ruined your last chance to tame the beast,” Mother cried, fanning herself frantically. It was as if she hadn’t heard Stan speaking at all, or noticed Alfie’s arm around her waist. “There’s no other cure and none we can find for you before you’re too old to marry!”

“Which beast?” Stan asked Alfie over Bea’s head, grimacing as if none of her mother’s outburst made any sense.

“Beatrice, explain yourself,” her mother demanded.

“Allow me.” Alfie stepped forward. “You almost killed her!”

“What happened here?” Stan asked, unable to hide his confusion.

Bea was frozen to the spot on the grass, her heels sinking into the earth as the blades ripped underneath and she wished she could disappear into the earth like a raindrop falling onto dry soil never to be seen again.

“I overheard you. I was upstairs.” Alfie pointed at the balcony on the upper floor. “Cinnabar is a source ore for refining elemental mercury. It’s been used since the ancient Romans made vermillion-red with it, and I’ve used it many times in tinctures to cure syphilis.”

“Who is this?” Father seethed.

“Syphilis?” Stan asked, giving Alfie a grave look.

“Yes, it’s also used for exorcisms in traditional Chinese medicine.” Alfie gave Bea’s parents a look more dangerous than the vial they’d brought. “It’s a lethal poison and you could have killed your daughter with it.”

“Poison?” Bea’s mother stuttered. “The healer said it never fails to take effect and that the beast… Bea would—”

“Your daughter is not a beast, nor does she have one. It’s a simple correlation of what she eats.” Alfie straightened his back and took a wide stance. “I analyzed her journal and charted the occurrences. Her breakouts have nothing to do with the balls, nor her temper. I’ve never met a person with a kinder nature and a sweeter heart than Bea. How could you lock her away and punish her for something that’s not her fault?”

“Beatrice, what is this man speaking about?” her mother asked.

“She kept a record—” Alfie started, but the earl raised his hand.

“She asked my daughter. Not you.”

“Yes, Father.” Bea kept her back ramrod straight, but she lowered her gaze, and her voice quivered. “I kept a journal with everything I exposed myself to, food, scents, soaps, everything at Cloverdale House.”

“Don’t tell me that you handed such an intimate record to this man?” Her mother fanned herself even faster, as if she were ready to take flight.

“What did your analysis of the record show?” Stan asked, not paying attention to Bea’s parents.

“That there’s a pattern of the onset for every breakout within a short delay of approximately two to four hours after she eats pineapple,” Alfie explained.

“Pineapple?” Her mother spat. “It’s the finest of all fruits, and serving it behooves my daughter. She will not refrain from offering pineapple once she marries.”

“She doesn’t need to stop serving it. She could have her own orchard if she wanted,” Alfie said, “but when she eats it, she breaks out in hives and suffers a painful and itchy rash.”

“That’s the cost of life and luxury you wouldn’t understand,” her mother snuffed at Alfie.

“But it could get worse, and she might suffer more grave consequences if she’s repeatedly exposed to it.” Alfie announced.

“Really?” Bea asked, “But I love pineapple!”

“And so you should. You’re a hostess of the Ton,” Mother said. “My daughter was raised to maintain a certain station in society.”

“That doesn’t matter if eating it could make her tongue swell to the point of suffocating her.” Alfie’s anger pierced his voice. “And even if it doesn’t, she suffers the breakouts. And you’ve forced her to remain locked up for weeks. How could you make her feel ashamed instead of consoling her? You weren’t here for her, your own daughter! Do you know how lonely she’s been? Don’t you care about her feelings more than her appearance in society?”

Bea’s father cleared his throat and seemed as if he were about to say something when Stan interrupted him. “What do you mean ‘locked away’?”

“Every time Bea had the hives as a reaction to eating the pineapple, she was forced to remain in her chambers until they passed. And she suffered so badly then that she starved herself. Or you starved her,” Alfie almost shouted at her parents. He reached into the back of his breeches and retrieved the journal. “Look here.” He turned to a page with several entries. “Her handwriting was different; she didn’t push the fountain pen onto the paper as on the days she ate more. She was lightheaded and faint. And then there wasn’t an entry that day between four o’clock and eight the next day.” Alfie turned to another page. “And here, she had tea in the evening. For dinner,” Alfie snarled. “And then nothing until afternoon tea at Lady Violet’s house the next day.”

He turned to another page. “There was pineapple marmalade. Four hours later, she started to grow red-faced and flushed. Later that evening, she was covered in hives. It happened again after she tasted the wedding cake samples.”

“Your Highness, I must apologize for my daughter’s lack of judgment. I was unaware that she’d hand a stranger her diary, let alone that she had no better sense than to record her meals.” Her mother made no effort to hide how her daughter embarrassed her.

“That’s brilliant,” Stan said to Alfie, paying no heed to her mother’s words. “You mean that you analyzed the pattern in her exposure to certain foods, and the correlation of pineapple and her hives emerged as the causality for her condition?”

“I assure you, Your Highness, that her condition is curable with a small dose of cinnabar, and that would make for a most satisfactory bride,” Father muttered.

“Satisfactory bride?” Alfie seethed. He grabbed Bea’s hand, interlaced his fingers with hers, and held on tightly. “She won’t be satisfactory after she’s dead from the poison you want her to swallow after the fruit you expect her to consume—that could also kill her!”

“Nobody asked you,” Father said.

“ I am asking.” Stan crossed his arms. “Bea?”

Bea nodded and leaned against Alfie, drawing his arm over her shoulder with their fingers still linked, and nestled into Alfie’s embrace.

“She’s the most beautiful, brilliant, and refined woman I’ve ever known, and I’ve traveled the world. You won’t find anyone with a sweeter heart and a sharper wit, or speedier understanding of the most complex issues.” Alfie placed a kiss on the top of her head, his nose brushing the coppery gold of her hair.

“I second that. She has a better grasp of European diplomacy than I do,” Stan confirmed.

Her father shook his head in disbelief. “Beatrice? Diplomacy?”

“Yes, she knows the borders of the empires and understands where the foci of friction lie. She’s a most valuable asset…” Stan stopped as if he’d misspoken.

“Asset?” Her father said.

“I’ve helped Stan with a little observation work,” Bea said, returning the tight grip of Alfie’s hand. “And I shall continue to help him.”

He looked at her now, blazing conviction in his eyes. And she nodded at him.

“Thank you for standing by me.”

“I will not give my permission, Beatrice,” her father said.

“I haven’t asked for it,” Bea said quite firmly.

That was it, it all came down to station. There was no reasoning with the Ton. He’d known it all along.

Alfie growled and turned away.