Page 2 of The Scent of Intuition
Her grin at his reply, fleeting and mischievous, was a balm to his worries, but tinder to his heart.
*
Lady Beatrice Wetherbywas willing to do anything for her cousin, Pippa. After years of living in her shadows, Philippa Mae Pemberton—Pippa to her—had finally found love and Bea was not going to let anything get between Pippa’s and Nick’shappiness. Not even her uncle’s disgruntled reluctance to let Pippa have his consent.
Granted, Bea hadn’t anticipated that the way to her cousin’s future bliss would be a conspiratorial administration to poison her uncle, but if that’s what it took, Bea accepted the solace of the age-old wisdom that the end justified the means.
Then again, “no good deed goes unpunished” also rang true.
Especially deeds that included Bea being found alone in the orangery at night with a man as handsome as the apothecary, Alfie Collins.
She had to act fast.
Bea steadied her breath. The flickering candlelight cast intriguing shadows, making the room enchanting and conspiratorial. She turned to Alfie, noticing the intensity in his eyes as he watched her.
“Tell me exactly how much to use,” Bea said with the measuring spoon in her right hand. Then she dipped her right index finger in the mixture and lifted her hand to her mouth. But before she could lick it off, she noticed that Alfie’s mouth fell open, and he narrowed his eyes as she brought her finger to her lips.
“Ouff, this is bitter.” She tried not to grimace in front of the handsome man but batting her eyes wasn’t enough to forget the taste of the ipecac.
Alfie cleared his throat and got to work, blending the concoction in what appeared to be deep concentration.
For the next minute or two, Bea focused on the task at hand, measuring the ipecac extract Alfie had prepared and mixing it into the coffee. She looked up at him, seeing his eyes sparkling with mischief.
“That’s enough. Even if you don’t like your uncle, don’t use more than one spoon,” Alfie said, a hint of a smile on his lips.
Her heart fluttered at his gaze, but she quickly pushed the feeling aside.
In Cousin Pippa’s orangery, where the scent of orange blossoms mingled with the dampness of wet leaves, Bea found the intoxicating scent of the dashing apothecary by her side much more alluring than even the flowers. She hadn’t felt this way since her one and only trip abroad when her parents had taken her to India. There, she’d tried exciting foods, strong spices, and deliciously warming teas. But even the combination of all of those paled in comparison to how Alfie made her feel. There was something about him that sent an exciting shiver through her, unlike anything she’d ever experienced since that long-ago journey.
Warmth radiated from the man, turning to a raging fire deep in her stomach. Perhaps if she helped Cousin Pippa find her happily ever after, she could forge a way to have one of her own?
Chapter One
London 1819.
The night ofthe ball at the Earl and Countess of Langley’s, after the Duke of Sussex—effectively sobered from the drugs his sixth wife had administered, thanks to the purge provided by a hot, chocolatey drink full of an ipecac mixture Bea had given him—gave his blessings for Pippa and Nick’s marriage…
Bea was alone.
This was new, especially at a ball.
She’d never stood on the sidelines of a ballroom, much less on the sidelines of Society. Usually, Bea was the belle of the ball. Up until that moment, whenever she’d entered a room, all eyes had been on her, scrutinizing her every upswept curl, the stitching of her dress, and the manner of her stride.
And she’d reveled in it as long as there was no sign of the mysterious “beast”, the unpredictable and unsightly rashes that sometimes plagued her skin and made her hide in her room. But when Bea could, she owned the attention as much as her cousin didn’t. They’d grown up like that, Bea taking the attention and Pippa withdrawing. Over the years, Bea had become accustomed to it.
Not that night, however.
For her cousin Pippa had blossomed.
She’d arrived with several friends to support her and had landed a coup unlike any Society had seen since the winter ballat St. James—when a family who’d hidden that they were Jewish won the competition for official jeweler for the Crown.
Bea touched the diamond collar on her neck and thought about the kind jeweler who’d designed it for her to match the diadem she wore in her hair. He’d been jeweler for the Crown ever since stepping into the light, but threats of losing their livelihoods loomed for anyone who didn’t fit in but depended on the Ton. And though Bea fit in—in every conceivable way—she didn’t feel terribly welcome. It seemed that fitting in and actually belonging were poles apart.
Earlier, in the golden light of the ballroom, Bea had watched as Pippa floated across the floor, ensconced in Nick’s assured presence. It had been a sight to behold, rendering even the most cynical hearts hopeful that there was love for everyone.
Violet, the Duchess of Langley, and the hostess of the evening’s soiree, sidled up to Bea in the hall, her eyes twinkling with mischief. “It seems our Pippa has finally managed to do more than just trip over her own feet,” she whispered, a smile playing at the corners of her mouth.
Bea smiled with pride. “She didn’t stumble into love. They were destined for each other.”
