Page 1 of A Touch of Charm
Chapter One
1818. Silvercrest Manor, a country estate two hours from London…
On the nightof his friend’s wedding, Andre wasen garde, like a parent watching their child on a swing. Because of his experience in life, his mind wandered to the dangers he wanted to prevent rather than the enjoyment of the festivities at hand.
“Why are you on the sidelines?” Alfie, the groom, asked in a conspiratorial tone—they were among close friends after all—with a polite nod to Prince Stan, but his gaze remained on Andre.
Because I am not supposed to dance with any of the aristocratic ladies; I’m not good enough for them.
“Just keeping the Prince here company,” Andre smiled, hoping Alfie didn’t catch on. “It’s a beautiful celebration.” Andre bowed to Bea, the bride who was approaching them. She returned a warm smile and a slight blush, just as the perfect daughter of an earl ought.
“He’s looking at us. Baron von List hasn’t let me out of his sight all night,” Prince Stan remarked, a hint of friendly mischief in his tone when he arched a brow and gestured in the direction of a man watching them from afar. Stan, too, was an anomaly in this crowd; his princely bearing matched with a warmth that belied his station. But for Andre, Stan was a friend.
And Andre cherished his friendship too much to jeopardize telling Stan the truth about his heritage.
“As long as he’s just looking,” Alfie said with palpable disdain.
“He’s probably plotting his next—” But before Andre could finish the sentence, the bride had come within earshot and hooked her arm into Alfie’s as if their love celebrated on their wedding day made them invincible.
The most precious kind of love.
And Andre felt deep in the pit of his stomach that he’d do anything in his power to protect his friends.
Andre’s gaze sharpened, focusing on the baron. Knowing the man’s reputation all too well, a chill settled over him. “I see him,” Andre replied, his voice dropping to an indistinct murmur. “We should be wary.” Baron von List, a Prussian baron with criminal tendencies and an appetite for brutality, preyed on the weak and subverted money from those who needed it. Andre despised violence above all else. Since Baron von List was often the instigator of violence and pain, Andre despised the man, especially his smug face and cold, calculating eyes.
“He’s an entitled Prussian aristocrat who inflicts pain to get rich,” Stan said.
Everything I stand against.All Andre wanted was to hide his noble lineage—it had to remain a secret—so that he could continue to heal people. He didn’t need riches as long as he had his friends, and he knew he was doing well in life. As an apprentice in India, he’d only slept in a small tent for a week while tending to patients in the rice fields—and their appreciative smiles and a bowl of water were all he’d needed for thanks.
“Baron von List would siphon the blood from the dead if it served him.”
Andre nodded in agreement with Stan.
“He’s disgusting even when dressed impeccably in all of his finery,” Stan said. Andre knew the baron as well as Stan. “There’s nothing but blackness that even List’s sleek blond hair couldn’t hide from his character.”
Dr. Andre Fernando was a man of science and facts and believed that hard work paved the way to honor—not titles. He firmly believed that only a select few members of the nobility had genuinely earned the honors passed down through heritage, and the man staring at him was not one of them.
“He came uninvited,” Alfie said as he crossed his arms.
Stan nodded, a shadow crossing his features. “His presence sours the evening for me. Shall we make our escape back to London?”
Andre hesitated, glancing once more at his friends. Duty weighed heavy on his shoulders, yet a sense of belonging to his friends tugged at him. “There could be emergencies. One of us ought to be there.”
“Oh, Andre, you’ll miss the festivities,” Alfie protested with a frown, but it was plain to see that the apothecary agreed. Alfie was the groom and should enjoy the celebration. Having a ball after the wedding was unusual, but his match was just as unusual. Particular was the better word.
Romantic, Andre thought with a pang in his heart.
“The patients need one of us to be there at all times,” Andre added when Alfie’s mien fell. They were more than friends and colleagues; the doctors on Harley Street were a family. “I know you left the apothecary well-stocked, and I will ensure you can enjoy a few more days with your bride.”
Andre bowed to Bea and reached for her hand to kiss her knuckles. He was glad to show his respect to the new addition to their family of friends. Of course, she wasn’t a doctor nor an apothecary, but she and her cousin Pippa founded the rehabilitation center that Andre helped to start. And where he might be needed.
“But I can’t abandon the patients,” Alfie protested.
“You can’t leave your bride alone on your honeymoon. I will ensure that none of the patients feel abandoned.” Andre put a hand on his heart. It was the truth—whether or not he told Alfie—the doctors on Harley Street would prioritize their patients over all else, and Andre was no exception.
No further words were necessary; Andre was the one who could most easily leave and not be missed for the remainder of the celebrations.
“You’ll tell me everything when you return to London,” Andre said, thinking wistfully that Alfie would return to the practice at 87 Harley Street, but it wouldn’t be his home anymore. He’d move into the townhouse prepared for him and his bride, Bea. Although Andre was happy for his friends and glad they found love, he felt a pang of sadness that the practice was emptying like a nest. One by one, the doctors were taking flight.
