Page 13 of The Scent of Intuition
The distance between London and Bra?ov seemed like a refuge, but something about it felt wrong and hollow. Why was he so far from the lands he was meant to rule, and could this mysterious prince truly offer her everything her heart desired?
With each shared laugh and exchanged glance, Bea’s initial surprise gave way to a realization. With his intelligent eyes and easy charm, Violet’s guest had transformed a routine morning into a moment brimming with possibility. As they continued to talk, navigating the nuances of English breakfast traditions and their respective cultures’ peculiarities, Bea looked forward to discovering what surprises the day might hold. Perhaps she could check off every criterion of her list and surprise her mother with a betrothal after all?
Chapter Six
A little later that day at 87 Harley Street…
Alfie had triedto take a nap before dinner, willing himself not to dwell on missing his opportunity that day to harvest the orange blossoms. It would be too tempting… she’d be too tempting.
But as Alfie lay in bed, sleep eluded him anyway. Every time he closed his eyes, he was transported back to the memories of his apprenticeship in India. He could almost feel the weight of the straw basket in his hands, the small vials inside it clinking softly with each step. His master had entrusted him with the task of bringing daily tea and salves to the daughter of an English diplomat, with strict instructions not to speak to her and to keep his head shawl on, even indoors where the sun didn’t burn.
The memory was vivid: the girl sitting alone by the window with an open atlas on the small table and her silhouette framed by the delicate veil she wore. Her hands, peeking out from beneath the fabric, were slender and youthful—no more than seventeen or eighteen years old, just a few years younger than Alfie himself at the time.
Something about her, an intrinsic grace and elegance, captivated him completely. She moved her hands with a silent poise that spoke volumes, an allure that seized his heart even though they never exchanged a word.
Each day, as he placed the basket down and observed her from a distance, he felt a pull toward her. There was a moment, fleeting yet eternal, when their eyes nearly met through the thinbarrier of her veil. In that instant, Alfie imagined he saw a spark—a glimmer of recognition, perhaps even a shared longing. It was a simple, unspoken connection that etched itself deeply into his soul.
Those brief encounters became the highlight of his days. He’d linger a little longer than necessary, hoping for another stolen glance, another silent acknowledgment. Her presence filled a void he hadn’t known existed, a tender ache that lingered long after he’d left her quarters.
In the stillness of his room now, he could almost smell the fragrant tea leaves, hear the soft rustle of her robes, and feel the heady rush of young love—a love unspoken, unfulfilled, but thoroughly unforgettable. That sense of yearning stayed with him, a bittersweet reminder of a heart once stolen, never fully returned.
Nick burst into Alfie’s bed chamber, wearing cream-white breeches, new Hessian boots, a starched shirt, a silk waistcoat, and black tails. “How do I look?”
“Like a penguin,” Alfie groaned, sitting up in his bed in nothing but his sleep shirt.
“I’m not going to the menagerie; I’m getting married.” Nick beamed. “In just a few days.”
Alfie’s bedchamber stood in stark contrast to Nick’s exuberant entrance and perfect looks. The room, bathed in the soft light of dawn filtering through heavy damask curtains, was in scholarly disarray. Dark wooden paneling lined the walls, adorned with shelves crammed full of leather-bound volumes and scientific equipment—remnants of Alfie’s rigorous academic pursuits at the university in Vienna.
The room’s centerpiece was a large four-poster bed draped in rich burgundy velvet, where Alfie had been sprawled moments before. On one side, an imposing mahogany wardrobe stood slightly ajar, revealing neatly hung clothes next to a pile ofhastily thrown-off garments. The air carried a faint scent of parchment, ink, and a hint of cologne.
Beside the washstand was the door to the shared bathroom.
Nick’s arrival injected the room with a burst of energy. Chromius, Nick’s mutt, trotted into the room following his master, his tail wagging in excitement as if he approved of Nick’s attire. Chromius stopped to nuzzle Alfie’s outstretched hand, seeking attention and a morning scratch. Yet, Nick’s buzzing excitement truly filled the space as he examined himself in the tall standing mirror near the window, its gilded frame reflecting both his polished appearance and Alfie’s groggy dishevelment.
Alfie, still shaking off the fog of restless sleep, moved to face his friend, their contrasting states a vivid tableau of exciting life in the grand chamber.
“I believe I already congratulated you. Isn’t it too early to get dressed now?” Alfie got up from his bed and walked to his washbowl, splashing some cold water on his face. Alfie was still preoccupied with Bea… she’d be at the wedding, too. Not sleeping while in bed was oftentimes worse than studying all night, as he used to at university. Alchemy, chemistry, and physiology were some of the most difficult exams at the university in Vienna and yet nothing had prepared him for the way he felt presently.
“What’s with you? You look terrible,” Nick said, stepping in front of Alfie’s wall mirror and fumbling with the cravat. “Help me with this.”
Alfie came to Nick’s side. “Ballroom knot?”
“No, she wants it tight.” Nick squared his shoulders and dropped his hands so Alfie could tie his cravat. “Can you teach me?”
Alfie stood behind Nick and took both ends of the cravat in his hands, crossed the ends, and then crossed them again. “This goes through the loop, over, and then you pull this side out.”Alfie tugged at the longer end. “So she’s telling you how to tie your cravat already?”
Nick quirked a brow. “I’m going to miss this, you know.”
“You’ll live not even a two-minute walk away.”
“But I won’t burst into your room anymore.”
“That’s not a bad thing.” Alfie gave a wistful smile. It was actually very bad and sad.
“We’ve lived together since boarding school.”
“Nothing was as small as our room in Vienna, though.”
