Page 12 of The Scent of Intuition
“That’s jam,” her friend pointed out. Apparently, she also thought he was concocting something incorrect for his breakfast.
“I know. Strawberry. Brought fresh in a barrel from Somerset,” Stan said, now swirling his teaspoon in a bowl of clotted cream and custard with the strawberry jam instead of layering them on the toast.
The mixture turned into a frothy pink mass. Disgusting.
Then, he brought the spoon with the connection to his mouth and closed his eyes to savor it.
Bea wasn’t sure if she’d cringed visibly, but when the prince saw her, he chuckled.
“Where I’m from, we pair foods differently than the English. My apologies if my habits offend you.”
“Not at all, Your Highness.” Bea inclined her head as was polite and busied herself with the napkin’s folds in her lap lest he see disgust on her face.
“Just Stan, please. I don’t dwell on formality, Lady Beatrice.” As she looked up, he wiped his hands on his napkin and put one hand to his heart. “Sometimes, I miss the simple breakfasts I grew up with at Bran Castle. I had a governess with deep roots in the agriculture of the nearby Bra?ov, so there was always freshbrânza de vaci.” He pronounced the Romanian with the distinct ease of a polyglot. She’d heard the language before; it was close to Latin.
“Is it a type of marmalade with custard?” Bea asked.
“No,” he chuckled. “It’s cow’s milk cheese, a very soft and creamy kind. I’ve had similar in Greece, Bulgaria, Poland, and even in Austria, Lady Beatrice. Just not in England.”
“You have reservations toward our country?” Bea wished she hadn’t asked when Violet shot her a look filled with daggers—sharp ones.
“I always value fresh cheese and fruit over the hypocrisy of etiquette. When a person means to be respectful, there are ways other than platitudes to show that.”
His earnestness was refreshing after all the men she’d met at Almack’s, and Bea couldn’t help but trust this prince already.
“Bea. My friends merely call me Bea.” Heat rushed to her face and neck.
He smiled and ate his odd mixture with a visible appetite.
“Bra?ov is in Transylvania,” Violet explained.
“I know. It’s surrounded by the Southern Carpathians,” Bea said, reaching for a slice of the buttered toast.
Stan gave her an appreciative nod.
Violet, however, signaled “no” with her head, which meant as much as “don’t bore him with your recitation of geographical trivia.”
“Stan is the fourth son of a noble family with deep roots in European aristocracy,” Violet said with the gravitas of a matchmaking matron and not the young woman she was. “From what I’ve gathered, the prince has devoted himself to studying international relations, languages, and military tactics, proving himself to be both a scholar and a capable officer. Is that right, Your Highness?”
“You flatter me, Violet.” He reached for a slice of toast, too. “But it’s true. I’ve only recently arrived in England.”
“So you were on the continent during the Napoleonic war?” Bea asked. “How exciting!” She clapped her hands together and immediately regretted it when she felt Violet’s triumphant stare. “I mean, it was surely dangerous.”
The young man chuckled, the sound rich and inviting, and Bea felt a flicker of intrigue. “I suppose there’s an adventure to be had in every new experience,” he mused, his eyes meeting hers across the table. “Though I must confess, my own preferences lean toward simpler fare.”
As they conversed, Bea learned that he was on a short stay in England, a mysterious detail that lent an exotic allure to his already intriguing persona because he was going to depart soon.
Please take me with you. Anywhere as far away from London as possible.
His observations on English customs, delivered with a blend of wit and genuine curiosity, drew Bea into a conversation that felt as comfortable as it was captivating.
Violet, watching the exchange with a knowing smile, seemed pleased with the unfolding dynamics. Here, under the guise of a simple breakfast, was the beginning of a connection that promised to chart an unexpected course.
“The region of Bra?ov is caught between powerful forces,” Stan explained over breakfast. Me too, Bea thought to herself. “The Austrians, with their relentless ambition, seek to exploitthe gold mines nestled deep within the Carpathian Mountains, draining the land of its natural wealth. Meanwhile, the looming presence of the Ottoman Empire casts long shadows over the region, an ever-present threat that seems to press in from all sides.”
“Thus Bran Castle stands as a solitary sentinel amidst this turmoil?” Bea asked, and the prince gave her another nod, this time laced with a smile.
Bea felt a kinship with that castle—surrounded, besieged by external pressures, yet standing tall. Her own heart was a territory coveted by the ambitions and desires of others, each moment a battle for autonomy. Just as the mountains hemmed in the region, her choices seemed constrained by duty and expectation. But amid that encirclement, there was a strength within her, a resolve as enduring as the stone of a fortress. She knew she must navigate the treacherous landscape with care, seeking a path that honored both her heart and her obligations. And yet, even though she owned a collection of atlases for physical topography, they didn’t show her the path forward when it involved landscapes of the heart.
