Page 1 of The Scent of Intuition
Prologue
“Why do Ihave to give him the poison?” Bea asked, her voice a hushed yet firm demand in the stillness of the orangery.
Because he was the apothecary, and she was the lady administering the poison.Alfie rubbed his forehead.
“Because nobody suspects you,” Alfie replied, his tone intentionally both respectful and urgent.
“Why? Because I’m not noticeable?”
Oh, she was more than noticeable—a beam in every room, a diamond of the first water indeed. Alfie swallowed hard, the hairs on his neck prickling, as Bea stepped closer to the raised bed in the orangery—their makeshift counter—and closer to him. Glad he wore a longer coat to hide the evidence of his physical reaction to her, Alfie tried to remember it was improper to stare at a lady, no matter the lack of chaperones or her beauty, except that this particular lady mattered to him a great deal.
“You’re unforgettable,” he murmured, his voice barely audible over the nightly hum of the crickets in the park just outside.
She smiled at his response and exhaled just so that a rose gold strand of her hair fell to her forehead. He forgot to breathe. How could she stand so close that he could tuck her hair behind her ears and yet be so far above him in station that he didn’t dare?
Alfie Collins had never found himself in quite such a predicament before. Normally, his routine as an apothecary involved the sort of mundane tasks befitting his profession—stocking herbs, organizing vials, and perfecting the elaborate art of customer care, all behind his polished counter, under the bright gas light in his shop at 87 Harley Street. Yet there he was, entangled in a matter of clandestine affairs, in an orangery, using a raised bed with flowers as a makeshift table. He found himself right where he didn’t wish to be, doing what he would rather not be doing. Yet, the woman beside him was absolutely the most beautiful member of the gentler sex that he had ever seen. And he’d seen plenty.
Alfie stood spellbound in the shadow-draped orangery at Cloverdale House, where secrets fluttered like moths against the cool windows. Candlelight cast a halo around Lady Beatrice Wetherby—Bea, as her cousin called her—as she navigated the taut atmosphere with the elegance of a seasoned general rather than the delicacy expected of an earl’s daughter. That night, she was not merely nobility; she was a mastermind cloaked in silk, wielding a teaspoon as one might a saber.
Alfie’s heart thrummed in his chest. Observing her, he marveled at the steady resolve in her actions, her focus sharp as she prepared to administer the ipecac to her uncle, the Duke of Sussex. The idea was simple: the ipecac should purge another more lethal poison from his body, one that made him hallucinate and made his mind weak. That way he’d be sober enough to let Alfie’s friend, Nick, marry Bea’s cousin, Pippa. But nothing about putting the plan into action was simple.
Even so, Alfie was grateful that the plan brought him closer to Bea because there were so many special things about her that he couldn’t quite name them all. Though he couldn’t help but try.
She’s brilliant and brazen.
A mixture of awe and worry knotted his stomach when he handed over the vial of ipecac, knowing that using it could burn them both.
But as she took it with a daring glint in her eye, he realized he always did have a taste for the spicy ones.
“Why must we resort to this and not something less…” Alfie murmured quietly.
“Effective?” Bea responded, raising a brow.
“Less dangerous.” Alfie’s words sliced through the hush in the vast room. His expertise as an apothecary had acquainted him with the intricacies of countless remedies, but none so fraught with personal risk as this one.
Alfie tested her resolve and hated himself for it, but if she hesitated and got caught, the consequences would be damning. He may not be the one to administer the poison to a duke, but he’d provided it along with the instructions. For a commoner like him, the law wouldn’t allow any excuses.
Her emerald eyes, fierce and unwavering, locked onto his.
“We’re doing this for my beloved cousin Pippa, and your dear friend Nick,” Bea replied, her voice a fusion of warmth and steel. “Nick can’t marry her without her father’s consent.” Her determination was palpable, a testament to her indomitable will. Her titled cousin had fallen in love with Nick’s best friend, a mere oculist—though the best eye surgeon in Britain—and Pippa’s father, the duke, needed a nudge to consent, in the form of a little concoction Alfie had prepared.
“You know we must do this, Alfie. After all, you’re a romantic,” Bea teased Alfie as he showed her how to measure the ipecac extract he’d created and mix it into coffee. Her eyes moved to the vial and a set of additional distractions for the duke: a small chocolate praline and a fruit tart.
Still, the ipecac’s scent, earthy and pungent, began to permeate the air, an olfactory herald of the scheme’s progression. Understanding the importance of disguise, Alfie leaned closer, his voice a conspiratorial murmur.
“We’ll need to mask the bitterness. Perhaps with sugar or rum? Something robust enough to hide its aftertaste.”
Bea nodded, her lips curving in a momentary smile that belied the gravity of their undertaking. “Quite right. I assumed as much, and so I brought along some chocolate mixed with sugar.” Retrieving a small tin of finely ground cocoa and sugar from her pocket, she expertly blended it with the medicine in preparation for the meeting. The rich, heady aroma of chocolate soon overpowered the ipecac’s harshness, creating a deceptive and enticing concoction. “There. See?” Bea seemed pleased with herself.
“Do you always carry cocoa around with you?” The idea seemed quite preposterous.
“You won’t tell anyone, will you? It’s my weakness. I do love a cup of hot cocoa, so once a month or so I take a bit from the kitchen to keep on hand.”
Alfie marveled at Bea’s quick wit and resourcefulness, her ability to find light even in the darkest situations. He ached to voice his admiration, to declare his burgeoning feelings, yet the chasm of their social standings yawned wide between them.
“Will he be all right after?” Bea asked, concern lacing her tone. The duke, still blissfully unaware, was, after all, human.
“He’ll think he’s been through a tempest come morning but will be none the wiser for it.”
