Chapter Six

A little later that day at 87 Harley Street…

A lfie had tried to take a nap before dinner, willing himself not to dwell on missing his opportunity that day to harvest the orange blossoms. It would be too tempting… she’d be too tempting.

But as Alfie lay in bed, sleep eluded him anyway. Every time he closed his eyes, he was transported back to the memories of his apprenticeship in India. He could almost feel the weight of the straw basket in his hands, the small vials inside it clinking softly with each step. His master had entrusted him with the task of bringing daily tea and salves to the daughter of an English diplomat, with strict instructions not to speak to her and to keep his head shawl on, even indoors where the sun didn’t burn.

The memory was vivid: the girl sitting alone by the window with an open atlas on the small table and her silhouette framed by the delicate veil she wore. Her hands, peeking out from beneath the fabric, were slender and youthful—no more than seventeen or eighteen years old, just a few years younger than Alfie himself at the time.

Something about her, an intrinsic grace and elegance, captivated him completely. She moved her hands with a silent poise that spoke volumes, an allure that seized his heart even though they never exchanged a word.

Each day, as he placed the basket down and observed her from a distance, he felt a pull toward her. There was a moment, fleeting yet eternal, when their eyes nearly met through the thin barrier of her veil. In that instant, Alfie imagined he saw a spark—a glimmer of recognition, perhaps even a shared longing. It was a simple, unspoken connection that etched itself deeply into his soul.

Those brief encounters became the highlight of his days. He’d linger a little longer than necessary, hoping for another stolen glance, another silent acknowledgment. Her presence filled a void he hadn’t known existed, a tender ache that lingered long after he’d left her quarters.

In the stillness of his room now, he could almost smell the fragrant tea leaves, hear the soft rustle of her robes, and feel the heady rush of young love—a love unspoken, unfulfilled, but thoroughly unforgettable. That sense of yearning stayed with him, a bittersweet reminder of a heart once stolen, never fully returned.

Nick burst into Alfie’s bed chamber, wearing cream-white breeches, new Hessian boots, a starched shirt, a silk waistcoat, and black tails. “How do I look?”

“Like a penguin,” Alfie groaned, sitting up in his bed in nothing but his sleep shirt.

“I’m not going to the menagerie; I’m getting married.” Nick beamed. “In just a few days.”

Alfie’s bedchamber stood in stark contrast to Nick’s exuberant entrance and perfect looks. The room, bathed in the soft light of dawn filtering through heavy damask curtains, was in scholarly disarray. Dark wooden paneling lined the walls, adorned with shelves crammed full of leather-bound volumes and scientific equipment—remnants of Alfie’s rigorous academic pursuits at the university in Vienna.

The room’s centerpiece was a large four-poster bed draped in rich burgundy velvet, where Alfie had been sprawled moments before. On one side, an imposing mahogany wardrobe stood slightly ajar, revealing neatly hung clothes next to a pile of hastily thrown-off garments. The air carried a faint scent of parchment, ink, and a hint of cologne.

Beside the washstand was the door to the shared bathroom.

Nick’s arrival injected the room with a burst of energy. Chromius, Nick’s mutt, trotted into the room following his master, his tail wagging in excitement as if he approved of Nick’s attire. Chromius stopped to nuzzle Alfie’s outstretched hand, seeking attention and a morning scratch. Yet, Nick’s buzzing excitement truly filled the space as he examined himself in the tall standing mirror near the window, its gilded frame reflecting both his polished appearance and Alfie’s groggy dishevelment.

Alfie, still shaking off the fog of restless sleep, moved to face his friend, their contrasting states a vivid tableau of exciting life in the grand chamber.

“I believe I already congratulated you. Isn’t it too early to get dressed now?” Alfie got up from his bed and walked to his washbowl, splashing some cold water on his face. Alfie was still preoccupied with Bea… she’d be at the wedding, too. Not sleeping while in bed was oftentimes worse than studying all night, as he used to at university. Alchemy, chemistry, and physiology were some of the most difficult exams at the university in Vienna and yet nothing had prepared him for the way he felt presently.

“What’s with you? You look terrible,” Nick said, stepping in front of Alfie’s wall mirror and fumbling with the cravat. “Help me with this.”

Alfie came to Nick’s side. “Ballroom knot?”

“No, she wants it tight.” Nick squared his shoulders and dropped his hands so Alfie could tie his cravat. “Can you teach me?”

Alfie stood behind Nick and took both ends of the cravat in his hands, crossed the ends, and then crossed them again. “This goes through the loop, over, and then you pull this side out.” Alfie tugged at the longer end. “So she’s telling you how to tie your cravat already?”

Nick quirked a brow. “I’m going to miss this, you know.”

“You’ll live not even a two-minute walk away.”

“But I won’t burst into your room anymore.”

“That’s not a bad thing.” Alfie gave a wistful smile. It was actually very bad and sad.

“We’ve lived together since boarding school.”

“Nothing was as small as our room in Vienna, though.”

“That’s not true! The crate we transported Chromius in was—”

“It was bigger!” Alfie jested, and they both burst into laughter. “There!” He tugged at both sides of the cravat, and Nick turned to face him. “You look like a groom a high-born lady would have.”

“I’m very lucky to have found Pippa,” Nick said with a mix of sadness and relief as he sighed. “But I’ll still miss you.”

“I’m not going anywhere. You’ll see me at work every day,” Alfie said. And it was true; he’d never do anything to risk the practice or the apothecary. Whether Nick would leave and live with his wife—as any adult man should—or whether Alfie’s heart was being stabbed by the thousands of reasons why he couldn’t go after the woman who’d caught his affection, there was nothing he’d do to risk what they’d all built for the past decade. It was a taboo point, risking the practice. There just was nothing important enough—not even his heart.

“Pippa doesn’t want me to change my work schedule just because I’m marrying a Duke’s daughter.”

“But she’s transforming her castle into a rehabilitation center.” Alfie arched his brows. There’d be much change, whether Nick realized it or not. Commoners like him and Nick couldn’t ascertain what it meant to be a Ton member, especially not a diamond of the first water.

Oh, Bea… Alfie tried not to sigh like a smitten green boy.

“One more thing,” Nick reached into his pocket and produced a small box upholstered in brown velvet with a swirly gold K embroidered on it for Klonimus, the name of the jewelers. “Could you keep this safe and be my best man?”

“I thought Felix was your best man.”

“And Andre. Yes, I need three.”

“That’s unusual.” Alfie flattened his lips and tried to swallow the lump that suddenly formed in his throat.

“We’re unusual. Pippa doesn’t mind. I need you all close to me.”

Alfie’s heart plummeted. Nick was nervous. Understandably. He was about to marry a duke’s daughter in one of the largest English country estates and she was the richest heiress in the country. Plus, she was kind, intelligent, beautiful, and absolutely devoted to him. Picturing Pippa under a veil with a bouquet in her hands made Alfie strangely proud on Nick’s behalf. But then it occurred to him that he’d be right next to them. “Who’s her bridesmaid?”

“Bea and Wendy.”

“Oh no!”

“Wendy will walk me down the aisle; she’s my sister. Will you escort Bea then?”

Escort Bea? In a pretty dress and surrounded by flowers with all their friends and families watching? No!

“It’ll be my honor.”

So this was his punishment. A lifetime of seducing women, lighthearted trysts, and an easy way with the most beautiful of them all ended in a macabre journey down the aisle with the only woman he wanted more than all the others and could never have. He’d offer his arm, walk her down the aisle, and instead of vowing to love her forever, he’d stand a yard to the side and then watch her from the sidelines. It was too cruel.

“I’ll change out of this and come to eat. Felix made lamb with roasted parsnips,” Nick said. “Smells good.”

Alfie’s stomach grumbled. He hadn’t eaten since—come to think of it—he hadn’t eaten since the ball the night before. A realization dawned on him, quiet and profound. His body might not hunger for food, but his soul… his soul was starved for something far more vital. For connection, for the spark that had ignited between him and Bea. The discomfort in his stomach wasn’t from hunger, though; it stemmed from a newfound need, one that craved not just the presence of Bea but the intertwining of their lives.

*

After making his hair presentable, Alfie descended the stairs. He could hear the friendly voices: Andre’s heavy Italian lilt, Felix explaining the spice notes of the marinade he’d cooked up, and Wendy’s laughter. He paused for a moment on the threshold, taking it all in. The table was a patchwork of plates and glasses, mismatched in a way that spoke of many hands contributing what they had. Around it sat the people who had become more than friends; they were his chosen family since he’d lost his own in a tragic accident at sea. Each face in the kitchen turned to greet him with smiles that reached their eyes and tugged at his heart.

There was no formal place setting, no sense of ceremony. Instead, an open chair awaited him, as it always did, a silent testament to his place among them. He moved toward it, the weight of the day’s worries shedding from his shoulders with each step. Laughter and voices, rich with affection, wove through the air, a melody more heartening than any song. He found his sanctuary within the clatter of dishes and the savory scent of the stew simmering on the stove.

As he took his seat, the conversation enveloped him, easy and unforced.

“Have you noticed the teachers this year are beautiful?” Andre nodded appreciatively. “I wish I could go back to school sometimes.”

“After all this time studying, you’d still choose homework over adult life?” Wendy asked with her motherly tone of the only woman at the table. “I suppose the only true adult here is my brother.”

“Hear, hear!” Felix raised his glass. “To Nick, being the first of us to grow up and get married!”

They raised their mismatched glasses and clinked them against each other. After Alfie took a sip of the cheapest wine anyone could ever find and considered pouring it over the vegetables as vinegar, he noticed that Felix was stabbing at the parsnip on his plate.

“Do you have some dispute with that poor parsnip?” Alfie raised an eyebrow. Getting no response, he wondered what had Felix so annoyed. Time for a change of subject.

“So… the viscount came for his digitalis this morning. Seems he didn’t like the taste of it after I’d made it completely palatable, so I gave him the dilution,” Alfie started, recounting the Latin name for the earlier dose of foxglove he’d sold.

“But that’s the smallest dose, isn’t it?” Wendy said. “I thought he told me it was the highest in his parcel as he left today.”

“Did he now? I must have gotten the order wrong then.” Alfie winked at Wendy and shrugged. He stuffed a piece of lamb in his mouth and tore the crust of the bread to soak up the gravy. Until he’d had a taste of Felix’s delicious cooking, he hadn’t realized how hungry he’d been for actual food, not just Bea.

“You cannot manipulate your patients like that!” Felix said, but it didn’t sound like he meant it.

“I needed him to take the smallest dose, and he was intent on taking the largest, which would kill him.”

“Tobacco is ruining his teeth, too. Had to turn him down this afternoon,” Felix said, poking at his uneaten food.

“You turned the viscount down?” Andre raised his voice. “But he’s a goldmine!”

“You mean he needs the medical care, and you couldn’t provide it?” Nick cocked his head as if to remind Andre why they were running this practice.

“Yes, I mean that it’s obvious how many gold fillings, inlays, and crowns he needs, and that he will pay for this work.” Andre raised his brow at Felix. “Turning him down this week could mean we cannot pay rent this month. Have you thought about that?”

Felix dropped his fork. “I have, yes. I don’t have enough gold to treat him tomorrow. Why do you think I already spoke to the Klonimuses twice? And the Pearlers?” They were families of jewelers, close friends of Felix, and his suppliers of gold pellets to melt into crowns, gold foil for fillings, and did everything from sharpening his instruments to providing new ones. In many ways, Felix’s work resembled that of the Crown Jewelers, even though the crowns he forged were on display inside the mouths of the Ton rather than adorning their heads, necks, or fingers.

“Is this about the gold shortage?” Wendy asked.

“You’ve heard?” Felix asked.

“Yes, overheard.”

Ah, yes, Wendy always needs to know everything, Alfie thought. Whenever she was curious, she’d burst in with a stack of freshly pressed towels and offer her help—typically the meddling kind.

“This is a serious problem, Felix. Can I help with anything?” Nick put his fork down, and the room grew silent. Nick was right. Instead of bickering with each other, they should be finding a solution.

“I don’t know. There seems to be a breakpoint in the gold supply chain. If we don’t figure out where the gold goes—because it’s not going where it should—I won’t be able to do more than administer clove oil and henbane and turn my patients away.”

Alfie leaned back, his supper forgotten. The fallout could severely impact their business.

Although it was usually his pleasure to supply Felix with clove oil and henbane to mellow the patients’ toothaches or pain during treatment, he was well aware that nothing he could offer was, in fact, the treatment for the dentist’s patients. The doctors at 87 Harley Street, including Alfie, were symbiotic. He made their work more accessible, the treatment outcomes more predictable, and healing faster with his medicines. Conversely, the patients were his customers, some longstanding if they had chronic conditions. If any of the doctors were missing supplies, Alfie had to help.

Moreover, Felix was the best dentist in London and most devoted to his patients. Taking the material he needed to treat his patients was like taking water from a fish. And if Felix’s supplies ran dry, the doctors could soon suffer a dry spell. The risk was too grave.

“I’ll help you to get to the bottom of this,” Alfie declared.

“How?” Felix didn’t hide the hopefulness in his wary eyes well.

“I will find a way.”