Page 93 of A Touch of Charm
Alex furrowed his brows. Stan shifted again.
A pall of silence hung in the air, thick and oppressive, until he coughed, his voice breaking the stillness with an edge of uncertainty. “I—should we—perhaps this isn’t the moment…” His words trailed off, his resolve fading under the weight of her unyielding silence.
“You have a responsibility to me, too,” Thea mumbled. “I’m not a political bargaining chip. I was born to make political alliances but I want to do more. And if Stan can resolve the matter with Baron von List here, I would be sent to Prince Ralph in vain. You mustn’t allow it.”
“It would break your heart?” Alex asked. “That’s what she said the last time I saw her.”
“Yes, it would. Do you want that to happen, or will you represent our family and show that we are—”
“Wait, what did you say?” Alex asked.
“It’s Father’s letter. He said that we should represent him while we are in England,” Stan said.
Thea felt her eyes widen and her pulse rise. “Then do it!”
“He surely meant in diplomacy,” Alex tried, but his tone betrayed that he’d lost this battle.
“He didn’t limit the authority he granted you. And you’re the oldest brother here. Oh, Alex!” Thea rose and darted to his side. She took his hand and gave him a squeeze. “Please don’t turn Andre down when he asks for my hand!”
Alex looked at Stan, but Thea ignored their unspoken brotherly messages. “Please don’t deny me the chance to a life filled with love.”
Alex sighed and then turned to Stan. “And you say he is a good man?”
“Worthy to be one of us, brother,” Stan said.
Thea’s heart swelled with joy. “Then let me speak to him first.”
Chapter Thirty-Three
Despite all herbest efforts, Thea could not find Andre anywhere at Cloverdale House. Was it possible that he had returned to Harley Street without telling her?
She convinced Stan to let her take the carriage there, searching for him and when she opened the door to the practice, there was a flurry of activity. Patients waited in the hall, some women chattered excitedly in the apothecary, which had a door ajar, and a man with a small parcel of ice came down the stairs, holding it to his cheek.
There was ice.
Andre couldn’t be far if he was the one to chisel it off the block in the cellar.
“Princess?” a voice came from the side room. “Can I help you?” It was the nurse Mary had liked so much.
“Miss Wendy Folsham?”
The young woman nodded gently. “Is Prince Stan alright?”
“Oh yes. I’m looking for Andre.”
A hollow ache joined the turmoil in her chest—an ache she despised for its weakness.
Wendy showed Thea the way to Andre’s chambers upstairs. Thea knocked.
“I’m not home,” came Andre’s voice. He’d left without speaking to her.
The anger wanted to bloom, demanded it, but so too did hurt. There was no room in her heart for both, and yet both surged, unwilling to be silenced. She swallowed hard, forcing her chin up, though the trembling of her shoulders betrayed her.
“Me neither,” she called back.
The door opened abruptly. “Thea! What are you doing here?
“I could ask you the same! Where have you been?”
