Page 56 of The Scent of Intuition
“Who is the myrtle oil for?” Bea asked.
“I cannot say.”
“Oh, it’s not a surprise, is it?”
“No.”
She frowned most adorably, pouting a little.
So kissably sweet.
“I’ll just pick twenty leaves and a few twigs if you don’t mind.” The tree had at least a thousand little leaves, and Alfie only needed a few.
“We have so much here, Alfie. If you think it can be useful, please take what you like.”
He flinched at that.
“I often wish I could do something with my station, my privilege. Oh, I admire you so!” Bea’s hand shot to her mouth, and she clasped her lips shut, turned her back to him, and walked toward the large potted tree.
She admired him?
“My work or me?” Alfie wished he could have suppressed the urge to ask a lady that; it was beyond improper, and yet thequestion burned in his chest. He’d had such an overwhelming sense of knowing her that he couldn’t stop asking.
Bea faced him but she was several steps away. “Both?”
“Are you asking me?” Alfie took a step toward her, but only one.
“I don’t know much about your work as an apothecary. I met some ayurvedic healers when I was sixteen, but they didn’t speak with me.”
It couldn’t be… did she remember?
“Where did you meet them?” he asked carefully, trying not to let his mind join his heart in that elusive space where he hoped for more than he ought to have with Bea. But if they had a past, or at least a shared encounter… would anything change?
“I…ahem… nobody must know but you already do. I’ve never told anyone where we were when I was sixteen. My parents searched for a cure for my beast.” She frowned. “Or rash, as you call it.”
“In Delhi? With Master Varier?”
Bea’s eyes found his and her pupils grew wider as her mouth fell open. “Who told you?”
“Nobody.” But it all made sense now. He shouldn’t have recognized her veiled in his apothecary, but he’d seen her that way in India and now he followed his intuition. There was no doubt in his mind that he’d seen her like this before. “I was there.”
Bea jerked her head back. “Where?”
“At the British Residency, the British Resident in Delhi was Sir David Ochterlony.”
“Did you work for the East India Company?”
“No, for Master Varier. I was an apprentice.” And considering how many people there were in India, it wasn’t just a coincidence that he’d seen Bea before. It was fate.
She cleared her throat, furrowed her brow, and crossed her arms. Alfie was unperturbed because the tension in his stomach had ebbed away, replaced by the serene certainty of newfound knowledge.
“I was two-and-twenty, and I had completed my apprenticeship. Felix was there, too. He worked in the town. I continued to work with Master Varier until I had enough to pay for the passage to England.”
“What does that have to do with Sir Ochterlony?”
“He had guests. A family from London with a daughter who always sat by the north-facing windows, away from the sun. She was always veiled.”
Bea narrowed her eyes. “Did anyone tell you this?”
