Page 8 of The Scent of Intuition
She held the sheer fabric up and turned her head to see how long it draped over her back. It was lovely, oh so pretty. Bea sighed, dramatically.
“What is it, Bea? What’s wrong?”
“Oh Pippa, honestly. Though it’s lonely at times, at least while my parents are away, I am free, for a bit, and can act of my own accord. Once they return, Mother is certain to persuade Father that I should marry before I turn two and twenty.” Bea didn’t dare think about the matches she might be forced into.
“Your time will come Bea, and you too will find your perfect love,” Pippa replied in a singsong voice.
“But first, you will have a lovely wedding, Pippa,” Bea said, though when she turned around, Pippa had already left the room, the door still open to the hall, giving Bea the chance to admire herself with the veil just a little longer.
Truth be told, she didn’t need any of the pomp and circumstance of a long courtship and elegant balls to announce an engagement. She’d much rather have the sort of love where the man of her dreams couldn’t keep his hands off her, and his kisses made her shudder with pleasure and the need for more.
And she was running out of time to find such a man if he existed outside of her dreams indeed. As soon as her parents returned, well, it was best not to think about it.
Bea eyed herself in her dressing mirror and shuffled on her seat, reminding herself of her goal of finding a husband before her parents returned from Singapore, where her father was a diplomat.
She knew his mission involved extensive negotiations with local leaders and coordination with colonial administrators to secure British influence in the newly established colony, and wasn’t resentful at all. Her mother had gone with him this time, and she often sent letters and even the newest atlas that finally showed Singapore as a founded state in February. They’d been gone since Bea was sixteen; she hadn’t seen them for over three years. Which meant her mother hadn’t seen Bea reject twenty-four suitors from the finest families in her first season the year before. But Bea was also aware of the truth.
Her mother had no idea how disinterested Bea had become in the Ton, and the season.
Bea exhaled and looked in the mirror only to see her mother’s eyes staring back at her. The same cool scrutiny and strict expectations shot at her.
She walked over to her escritoire, where she kept her stationery, ink, and atlas. She flipped through the pages and found Singapore. Her history books and atlases were friendly companions when Bea was locked away with the vicious red rash—the one they calledthe beast.She’d filled her mind with images of places she longed to visit and the various conflicts of other nations.
Whenever she could find descriptions of disputes, she studied their interests. Father dismissed her as naïve for even considering the opposing views to British imperial interests. “It’s not a matter for girls to think about,” he would say. “Don’t worry your pretty little head about politics and diplomacy.” Meanwhile, her mother told her she was developing a double chin from studying the books and maps for too long, ordeveloping frown lines on her forehead when she thought too hard.
Bea knew her time at Cousin Pippa’s was growing short. It had been wonderful. She was able to read and study and always enjoyed hearing the latest opinions on matters that the papers only rudimentarily reported on.
When her parents had set sail, Bea had moved to Cloverdale House to live with Cousin Pippa and her father, Lord William Pemberton, the Duke of Sussex. And Bea had been happy there. The large estate was surrounded by beautiful gardens that had been opened up as a park for the public. It was an idyllic setting.
Bea swallowed a lump. She wasn’t usually so down. But now that Pippa was getting married and planned to convert the estate into a rehabilitation center, Bea had to find somewhere else to live. She didn’t want to get in the way of the newlyweds or become a permanent nuisance for the patients, once the rehabilitation center opened.
All things considered, Bea had been a house guest for too long. Since her parents had left, three seasons had come and gone, and there hadn’t been a single suitor that actually stirred anything within her heart.
Not that there hadn’t been suitors. As those closest to her liked to remind her, there’d been twenty-four of record. They had all blended into a blur of uninteresting candidates her mother would approve of. None of them captured Bea’s interest, much less her heart. There was simply nothing to recommend them to her. No wit. No intelligence. No spark.
None of them had been worth even the grace of a courtship. First sons, second sons, titles and riches that would make any woman swoon at their mention alone, in combination with the castles, estates, and promises of a lifetime in society they offered—all left Bea cold. She didn’t want any of it, because she already had it. What she didn’t have was true love and the tingling thatViolet had when she spoke about her husband, Henry, Earl of Langley.
So, where would she get a husband from before her parents returned?
One who’d satisfy criteria one and two?
The handsome apothecary came to mind, Alfie Collins. Someone like that would be…oh,Bea sighed from deep within.
She’d ask Violet for ideas. If anyone knew how to orchestrate acoup d’état, it was Violet, the newly minted Countess of Langley.
Chapter Four
A few hours later, at 87 Harley Street, London.
The day haddragged on, but Alfie’s mind wasn’t in his apothecary. He sorted the paper packets of chamomile, calendula, and fennel teas into the wooden drawer by the strongbox under the counter, where he kept the day’s earnings. Though he’d recorded every transaction, he didn’t truly take note.
Instead, his mind wandered to the stunning woman he’d encountered at the ball—or outside the ballroom, to be more precise.LadyBeatrice. Even though they only worked together briefly to administer the ipecac to Pippa’s father, the clandestine operation had quite an impact on him. He couldn’t explain it nor rationalize it. Why he was so depressed that it was over—when their mission had been such a success? Alfie found himself unable to return to his usual life—the boring one without her in it—but there was nothing he could do about it.
It made no sense, of course, but it didn’t need to, for the feeling to be real.
Alfie had been a lucky man, able to have every woman he’d ever fancied in any way that he’d wanted her. Yet, each woman now faded into a distant shadow in his memory, outshone by the sparkle in Bea’s eyes and the quirky asymmetry of her smile. Bea had an innate beauty that had altered something within him, like that whispered tilt of dawn or dusk, when the skies blendseamlessly into one another, and time itself seems to pause in reverence.
It was ironic, truly, as Alfie’s medical education had trained him to appreciate symmetry, yet with Bea, he realized that all he ever knew fell short of the perfection she embodied. He was in awe of her. In fact, Bea was so perfect in every way that this tiny quirk endeared her to him even more. He’d noticed it the first time Pippa had introduced her, but at the ball last night, he had the enormous pleasure of watching it build slowly: Her smile. It started first in the corner of her left side, rose to a slight dimple, and then the other caught up, bringing out her rows of immaculate white teeth. Her lips, painted by nature’s own delicate brush, promised tender kisses and passionate declarations that could soothe the weariest of souls. She had a million intelligent thoughts but seemed to suppress them, unwilling to share, yet casting an expectant gaze as if she waited to see if he could guess.
