Page 16 of The Scent of Intuition
“Rather charming, I suppose.” Bea knew exactly what Violet’s mission was, but she wasn’t sure she knew enough about the prince to openly set her cap on him. She’d prefer to continue discussing the maps Henry and Stan were studying.
“I asked my staff to keep an eye on Stan, and he’s healthy.” Violet drew her eyes open and nodded. “Very.”
Oh dear.“I’m not looking for breeding stock.”
“Yes, yes, I know. You’re only looking for a husband who can sweep you off your feet and take you to faraway places.” Violet gestured as if the thought alone were sheer exaggeration. “He seems capable enough.”
“To physically carry me?” Bea frowned. It didn’t sound romantic in the literal sense.
“Just imagine, you could be a princess!” Violet stood up and swirled in her morning dress as if last night’s ball hadn’t ended yet. “You’d live in a castle.”
“He said he hasn’t been there in a long time.”
“Even better! Then you’ll travel around the world with a royal escort!” Violet looked out the window dreamily. “Just imagine.”
“The distance between England and Transylvania can hardly be consideredaround the world.” Although Bea had to admit that traversing the Mediterranean Sea, or the countries spanning from Portugal and Spain via France to the Kingdom of Bavaria, then Italy, Austria, Hungary, and finally, Transylvaniadidseem rather intriguing. And that’s what she wanted just asmuch as meeting her criteria for a husband—getting away. The farther, the better.
“You look flushed.” Violet arched a brow and eyed Bea suspiciously.
Heat had risen to her face and had not subsided. It was probably the effect of the dashing prince and hopefully not a herald of the beast. Now would be a bad time for her condition to appear, especially if she decided to pursue the prince.
He was rather well-built and well-mannered, and his smile was warm and kind. There were worse matches for girls like her among the Ton, and besides, there were hardly any princes available in England.
“Thisismy chance,” Bea mumbled, though not with any certainty.
“But he is leaving in a fortnight,” Violet warned. “You need to secure the match in a very short time.”
“It gives me no time at all!”
Why did you even introduce him to me when the objective is impossible?
“You were considered a diamond of the first water, Bea, until you rejected twenty-four suitors. Still, if anyone can catch a prince in less than two weeks, it’s you! He could solve all of your problems.”
Violet’s words were encouraging at best or a set-up for disappointment at worst. Bea would have to forge her own destiny to choose which way to go. But how was she to navigate between her heart and her mind, especially when—in the end—every one of her thoughts somehow circled back to Alfie.
Thus, the thought stewed in Bea’s mind for hours after she returned home, as she considered every aspect. She’d tried to read every magazine that she could find, evenLa Belle Assemblée,throughout the afternoon, but her mind returned to the prince every time—not romantically, as it did with Alfie—but out of curiosity. What she’d overheard when she saw him in the earl’s study piqued her interest. She couldn’t help but wonder which maps Henry and the prince had studied all night. Trying to distract herself, she’d taken out her embroidery frame, threaded an extra-long piece of green yarn, and began stitching. In and out, the needle went as she stitched tiny green leaves in a circular arrangement.
She couldn’t merely express her interest and declare that the prince may court her. Perhaps that would work with a mere baronet or the second son of an earl, but a prince, even if he wasn’t in line for a throne, demanded a different sort of finesse.
Bea had honed the skill of letting suitors down easily. But making it easy for them to court her was something she’d never tried.
She set the needle down when the thread was short enough to make a final knot and switch colors. The more she thought about being courted by the prince, the more appealing the idea became. Especially when she imagined the expression on her mother’s face if she found out that Bea had married a prince, left, and was on a diplomatic mission on her way to… well, somewhere. Anywhere but London was good. Anywhere but England, was even better.
The farther she could get away from the Ton, the freer she imagined herself.
She certainly hadn’t ever wanted to be the best or the prettiest, or the one with the worst secret among the nation’s most selfish, vile-tongued, and viciously gossiping aristocrats in Europe—but that’s what the Ton had become for her since they’d been so mean to Cousin Pippa.
Red-hot anger flooded her veins.
Hopefully, the Ton would learn its lesson. Perhaps its members had at the ball last night.
Bea fanned herself. It was hot, and she felt the warmth spreading to her neck and she thought about how Violet had mentioned she looked flushed. And yet, now she could feel the burning itch that heralded the emergence of the beast. She’d tried to ignore it in the hopes that it was just her imagination, but not even Bea missed the signs.
Bea touched her cheeks, then her forehead. She could feel the bumps. The beast was emerging. It usually took a week, sometimes two. And even then, pustules lingered and took longer to heal.
“Not again, not today,” she said to no one in particular and set down her embroidery as she rushed to her vanity table, then hesitated before daring to look at herself in the mirror.
The telltale red bumps had appeared all over her face, neck, and décolletage. Bea buried her face in her hands.
