Page 94 of The Scent of Intuition
“Yes, it’s also used for exorcisms in traditional Chinese medicine.” Alfie gave Bea’s parents a look more dangerous than the vial they’d brought. “It’s a lethal poison and you could have killed your daughter with it.”
“Poison?” Bea’s mother stuttered. “The healer said it never fails to take effect and that the beast… Bea would—”
“Your daughter is not a beast, nor does she have one. It’s a simple correlation of what she eats.” Alfie straightened his back and took a wide stance. “I analyzed her journal and charted the occurrences. Her breakouts have nothing to do with the balls, nor her temper. I’ve never met a person with a kinder nature and a sweeter heart than Bea. How could you lock her away and punish her for something that’s not her fault?”
“Beatrice, what is this man speaking about?” her mother asked.
“She kept a record—” Alfie started, but the earl raised his hand.
“She asked my daughter. Not you.”
“Yes, Father.” Bea kept her back ramrod straight, but she lowered her gaze, and her voice quivered. “I kept a journal with everything I exposed myself to, food, scents, soaps, everything at Cloverdale House.”
“Don’t tell me that you handed such an intimate record to this man?” Her mother fanned herself even faster, as if she were ready to take flight.
“What did your analysis of the record show?” Stan asked, not paying attention to Bea’s parents.
“That there’s a pattern of the onset for every breakout within a short delay of approximately two to four hours after she eats pineapple,” Alfie explained.
“Pineapple?” Her mother spat. “It’s the finest of all fruits, and serving it behooves my daughter. She will not refrain from offering pineapple once she marries.”
“She doesn’t need to stop serving it. She could have her own orchard if she wanted,” Alfie said, “but when she eats it, she breaks out in hives and suffers a painful and itchy rash.”
“That’s the cost of life and luxury you wouldn’t understand,” her mother snuffed at Alfie.
“But it could get worse, and she might suffer more grave consequences if she’s repeatedly exposed to it.” Alfie announced.
“Really?” Bea asked, “But I love pineapple!”
“And so you should. You’re a hostess of the Ton,” Mother said. “My daughter was raised to maintain a certain station in society.”
“That doesn’t matter if eating it could make her tongue swell to the point of suffocating her.” Alfie’s anger pierced his voice. “And even if it doesn’t, she suffers the breakouts. And you’ve forced her to remain locked up for weeks. How could you makeher feel ashamed instead of consoling her? You weren’t here for her, your own daughter! Do you know how lonely she’s been? Don’t you care about her feelings more than her appearance in society?”
Bea’s father cleared his throat and seemed as if he were about to say something when Stan interrupted him. “What do you mean ‘locked away’?”
“Every time Bea had the hives as a reaction to eating the pineapple, she was forced to remain in her chambers until they passed. And she suffered so badly then that she starved herself. Oryoustarved her,” Alfie almost shouted at her parents. He reached into the back of his breeches and retrieved the journal. “Look here.” He turned to a page with several entries. “Her handwriting was different; she didn’t push the fountain pen onto the paper as on the days she ate more. She was lightheaded and faint. And then there wasn’t an entry that day between four o’clock and eight the next day.” Alfie turned to another page. “And here, she had tea in the evening. For dinner,” Alfie snarled. “And then nothing until afternoon tea at Lady Violet’s house the next day.”
He turned to another page. “There was pineapple marmalade. Four hours later, she started to grow red-faced and flushed. Later that evening, she was covered in hives. It happened again after she tasted the wedding cake samples.”
“Your Highness, I must apologize for my daughter’s lack of judgment. I was unaware that she’d hand a stranger her diary, let alone that she had no better sense than to record her meals.” Her mother made no effort to hide how her daughter embarrassed her.
“That’s brilliant,” Stan said to Alfie, paying no heed to her mother’s words. “You mean that you analyzed the pattern in her exposure to certain foods, and the correlation of pineapple and her hives emerged as the causality for her condition?”
“I assure you, Your Highness, that her condition is curable with a small dose of cinnabar, and that would make for a most satisfactory bride,” Father muttered.
“Satisfactory bride?” Alfie seethed. He grabbed Bea’s hand, interlaced his fingers with hers, and held on tightly. “She won’t be satisfactory after she’s dead from the poison you want her to swallow after the fruit you expect her to consume—that could also kill her!”
“Nobody asked you,” Father said.
“Iam asking.” Stan crossed his arms. “Bea?”
Bea nodded and leaned against Alfie, drawing his arm over her shoulder with their fingers still linked, and nestled into Alfie’s embrace.
“She’s the most beautiful, brilliant, and refined woman I’ve ever known, and I’ve traveled the world. You won’t find anyone with a sweeter heart and a sharper wit, or speedier understanding of the most complex issues.” Alfie placed a kiss on the top of her head, his nose brushing the coppery gold of her hair.
“I second that. She has a better grasp of European diplomacy than I do,” Stan confirmed.
Her father shook his head in disbelief. “Beatrice? Diplomacy?”
