Page 91 of The Scent of Intuition
“I take it Henry and Violet made the introduction?” Father asked.
Bea furrowed her brows. “You knew?”
Her parents cast each other a look and then her mother put a hand on her shoulder. “Stan needs your help and said you’ve already done very well.”
“What did you discuss with Baron von List?” Bea asked, unable to hide the suspicion coloring her voice.
“We passed on a message,” Mother said.
“A threat he can take to his allies.” Her father spat as if the baron disgusted him. “Didn’t Stan tell you? We’ve been working to unravel List’s schemes for a while.”
“And your union with Stan will help achieve our goals, darling. I’m sure of it. And then we can open the port in Singapore for more precious goods.”
At that moment, her mother lost Bea’s trust. “You’re using me as an instrument for your business?”
“Darling, you must take your position in society,” Father said as if it went without saying that she would marry to further his cause. Bea’s life, her love, her heart—it was all a bargaining chip in Society.
No more!
“I’m not a parcel you can sell, Father. I can be useful in ways other than a wife.”
Her mother blinked incredulously. “Yet, you haven’t even accomplished that tiny milestone of a betrothal. Even Pippa has!”
“Once we cure the beast, Stan will offer for her,” Father said. “Leave the rest to me.”
“You’re offering him a dowry, paying him to take me, and then what?” Bea couldn’t hide the exasperation in her voice. She didn’t want any of it and she felt the need to please her parents crack and break off like brittle paint.
*
Alfie had leftStan in search of Bea and ran back to the ballroom. Amid the splendor of a wedding that was not his own, Alfie had never felt more out of place. In the shadow of the ballroom, Alfie was surrounded by all the reasons he couldn’t be with Bea. She was the granddaughter of one of the wealthiest men in England, at her ancestral estate the size of a small town, with her father, an earl, and her mother, a countess. Though the wedding guests around him were wrapped in the light-hearted revelry befitting such a joyous occasion, inside Alfie, a battle raged.
Every nerve in his body screamed for him to claim Bea, to declare his love boldly. Where was she?
Alfie had to leave the music behind and found a balcony. He closed the double doors behind him, and the nightly darkness gave way to the bright lights from the wedding. Instead of the bouquets of white flowers, he now looked at the landscape, shrouded in blackness just as his heart.
He stood among riches where he didn’t belong, and it was as plain and as ancient as the rolling hills that cradled it. Downstairs and around the balcony, flowers bloomed with reckless vibrancy in the gardens, and he could smell the nonsensical mixture. They were arranged by color in a garden focused on the shapes and sizes of the blooms rather than their properties. Even though the people who seemingly tended to the garden had created something beautiful, Alfie knew that the rose bushes had taken root next to vines that would allow for an elixir that mixed harmoniously. If he ever created a garden, he’d sort the plants by medicinal properties and seasons of the best harvest. In this garden, the cacophony of scents irritated him as much as their fragrance—a heady mix that clashed with the storm brewing in his heart.
As he stood on the dark balcony, he thought he’d heard Bea’s voice in the gardens below.
“I don’t think it’s necessary, Mother.” Alfie could hear her more clearly now.
“Darling, we found a healer with much experience in this, and it is the only way.” Her mother’s voice was soft but adamant.
“We are trying to say that you cannot marry and surprise your husband with those episodes. If he thought you’d tricked him into marriage, he could call for an annulment, and you’d be cast aside.”
Alfie leaned over the plaster-coated balusters and felt the cool hardness as much as the harsh words from Bea’s parents.
“Darling, please.” Her mother handed her something that appeared to be a metal flask, but Alfie wasn’t sure, for all he could see was a metallic reflection from the lights that emanated from the ballroom.
“If you take this, you have a fair chance with the prince,” her father said.
“I don’t want a chance with him, Father,” Bea said, the fear audible in her voice. She wasn’t happy her parents had returned, Alfie knew that. She’d told him so during their afternoon together. But now he could hear in her voice that she was terrified of them. “I love another.”
“As long as you don’t tell him, it shall be all right,” her father said without even acknowledging that Bea had declared her heart.
Alfie’s internal conflict was abruptly eclipsed by a more immediate danger. Bea’s mother uncorked the flask.
“This is cinnabar, and it is a very strong cure.” From his perch on the balcony, Alfie saw the metal flask. His heart dropped. He knew the truth of that so-called medicine; it was poison, a danger cloaked in the guise of care.
