Page 10 of A Botanist and A Betrothal (Gentleman Scholars #4)

V esta watched Lincoln from a distance, curious about his dedication to his work.

She traced her finger along the edge of a foxglove leaf, careful not to actually touch it as Lincoln had warned. Her morning lessons with him had become the brightest part of her days, though she tried not to dwell on what that might mean. It was one thing to enjoy learning about plants; it was quite another to enjoy the way his eyes lit up when she asked a particularly astute question.

"Never touch the foxglove directly," he had warned her that first morning, his hand hovering protectively near hers. "Even a small amount can affect the heart."

How ironically appropriate, she thought now. Everything about this arrangement was affecting her heart in ways she hadn't anticipated.

Her notebook lay open beside her, filled with careful sketches and observations from their lessons. Lincoln had praised her eye for detail, seeming genuinely impressed by her practical knowledge of growing things. It was a novel sensation, being taken seriously. Being seen.

But there was something odd about the gardens that had been nagging at her. Perhaps it was all their talk of soil conditions and optimal growing environments, but she was beginning to notice things that didn't quite make sense. Plants that shouldn't thrive together were doing exactly that. Specimens she'd never seen before seemed to appear overnight.

When she'd mentioned it to Lincoln yesterday, he'd gotten that intense look he sometimes had when examining a particularly interesting specimen. "You've noticed that too?" he'd asked, and something in his voice made her wonder if there was more to his interest in the property than just the white foxglove.

A burst of raucous laughter from the house made her shoulders tense. Kimberley and Nancy were entertaining callers again, no doubt trying to capitalize on their new connection to the Westbrook family. Their behavior since the betrothal announcement had been almost unbearable.

"Just think," Kimberley had crowed at breakfast, "when Vesta marries Doctor Welby, we'll be connected to a Marquess! We simply must have new dresses made."

"And new calling cards," Nancy had added. "Do you think we could add a little coronet to them? Just a tiny one?"

Vesta had caught Lincoln's eye across the table, expecting to see disgust or resignation. Instead, she'd found him watching her with something like admiration, as though her ability to endure such company was itself a kind of strength.

Now she opened her notebook to a fresh page, determined to focus on her studies rather than her complicated feelings about her betrothed. Lincoln had asked her to catalogue the different varieties of plants in this section of the garden, paying particular attention to any unusual combinations.

"Think of it as a puzzle," he'd suggested, and something in the way he'd said it made her wonder if he was speaking of more than just plants.

Watching him did strange things to her equilibrium.

He looked too big and strong and strapping to be so gentle and delicate with the flowers. It did something almost delicious to her midsection as she watched him lightly stroke the flower’s leaves, studying it closely as if he’d never seen such a plant before.

Vesta bit her lip as she watched him, wondering what it would be like to be on the receiving end of his gentle touch. She had never considered such a thing before and flushed at the very thought, pushing the idea from her mind with a great deal of effort.

He was handsome, no argument, but she needed to keep her wits about her, not turn into a silly widgeon mooning about with her first tendre . It was her entire future, her life, at stake.

Lincoln picked up his notebook and pencil, and then, with his tongue tucked between his teeth, he hunched over, suddenly looking like a little schoolboy, scribbling furiously, probably taking notes of what he observed. She couldn’t tell what he was writing from this distance.

Curiosity flared brighter and she itched to read his notes, ask him about his studies, share in them even.

She didn’t want to interrupt, and she wasn’t even sure what she wanted to say to him, if she wanted to say anything at all, but she couldn’t seem to stay away. She felt ridiculous, like a moth drawn to a candle.

It wasn’t as though she had nothing else to do. Her stepsisters still had chores for her, enough to last her most of the day, but she had been so preoccupied with her thoughts that she seemed to fly through the tasks given to her. Every assignment she had been given that day somehow allowed her to watch for him through a window here and there.

Now that she had finished her list of assignments, she found herself wandering toward the last place she had seen him from the window, hoping to observe more closely and perhaps even participate.

Participate? Unlikely. Vesta was ashamed to note how little she possibly knew on the topic of, well, anything, but especially science. How could she be of any assistance to the educated gentleman?

Shame threatened to swamp her.

Vesta went out to the garden anyway, as though drawn by an invisible force. Would the scientists have an explanation for such a pull? She couldn’t stay away, but she didn’t approach him. Not at first, anyway.

Keeping her distance with a pretence of tending to the roses in the garden closer to the house, yet curiosity kept her watching him, at least from the corner of her eye.

Resentment swelled within her, though, even as she fought a rising draw to the man.

If he had never wandered onto Mr. Caldwell’s land, she would not have found herself in the predicament of being engaged to a stranger.

But was there truly a different alternative, especially a better one?

Mr. Caldwell was never going to release her dowry for her to go up for the Season despite it being her right to have it. Even if he had done that, releasing the funds that were truly hers or at least belonged to her future husband, he certainly wasn’t going to provide any extra funds for the needed expenses of the Season.

It was really an empty promise from her aunt, this invitation to go up to Town and be presented. Not that her aunt could have known that.

Mr. Caldwell was known to have deep pockets. Why would anyone think he would begrudge his stepdaughter a few new gowns? If they knew him, they might suspect, but Vesta’s late father’s sister had never visited, so she knew only whatever Vesta’s mother shared in her letters.

Vesta had taken to writing to her relatives, too, but she confined her missives to comments on whatever was mentioned in the recipient’s letters and her own personal news, never admitting to the awkwardness in which she lived. Perhaps she shouldn’t have been so circumspect.

Her father would have expected her to be presented in Society, but he was dead. He wasn’t there to witness the travesty that had become her life. Foolish of her to be angry with him for leaving her. Surely, he hadn’t wished to do so.

Perhaps she ought to embrace this engagement as something her father would have supported. Or perhaps Doctor Welby could be convinced to introduce her to his family, and they could present her.

Vesta scoffed at the idea. Why would they do that?

If her own stepfather wouldn’t come up to scratch for her expenses, why would strangers do so, especially if she were rejecting their family member?

Resentment swelled once again within her chest. She really had no choice.

If Doctor Welby wasn’t a complete lout, she would have to marry him. It was certainly better than remaining here as the unwelcome stepsister.

She had been living in limbo these last couple of years. At the age of twenty summers, she really could have left Mr. Caldwell’s home at least a couple years ago. It wasn’t even a comfortable limbo. She really ought to be jumping at this chance.

Yes, she did worry about what would become of her mother with her gone, but in his own way, Mr. Caldwell treated his wife decently, at least far better than he did the woman’s daughter. Not that Vesta was an expert on love, but in his own, crass way, Vesta supposed the man loved his wife. Or at least tolerated her enough not to mistreat her.

Care. She supposed that was the right word for it. Mr. Caldwell treated his wife with sufficient care and respect. It didn’t extend to the woman’s daughter, but he did treat Mrs. Caldwell as she deserved.

Vesta never had understood why she hadn’t been welcomed into the household. She ought to have been. There was nothing really wrong with her. It wasn’t her fault she was a fatherless child.

As her thoughts tangled with one another, she crept closer to the botanist and his activities, curiosity and intrigue overcoming her resentment.

“Hello there,” Lincoln greeted. “How are you on this fine sunny afternoon?”

Vesta couldn’t hold on to her resentment towards the scientist.

It wasn’t his fault her stepfather was so ridiculous as to strike this bargain. How was he to have known asking for access to the plants would lead to this? Besides, she was the one who had prompted him to approach Mr. Caldwell for permission to work with the plants. She knew the awful man and hadn’t anticipated such a development.

Vesta lifted her chin and determined to at least get to know the gentleman scientist as she had agreed. She dipped a light curtsy to him and stepped closer.

“I am well, thank you for asking. And you?”

“I am over the moon,” he said.

“Really?” she asked, shocked at his exuberant reply. “That’s delightful,” she said hesitantly, causing him to laugh.

“Come and see,” he said, beckoning her closer to the plant she had seen him hovering over while she was dusting in the upstairs salon.

“What is it?” she asked.

“It’s a Melampyrum cristatum .” At her sceptical expression he laughed and translated. “Crested cow-wheat. I’ve never seen one before, but I had heard of them. I’m shocked at the number of rare plants found on this property. Do you know if Mr. Caldwell has owned this land for long?”

Vesta frowned. “I’ve lived here for ten years,” she said. “I arrived with my mother after their marriage. I couldn’t really tell you much before that.”

“All right,” Lincoln said. “In those ten years, do you know if he has brought soil here from somewhere else?”

“No,” Vesta said with a frown. “Why would he do something like that?”

Lincoln laughed again. “Exactly my question. But you see these two plants?” He gestured between the one he had shown her first and the one next to it. “They have never been recorded near one another. Not that I’ve ever read about, in any case.”

Vesta frowned in concentration and leaned closer, examining the plants much as she had seen Lincoln do.

“Why is that so strange? Is there a reason they would not normally coexist?” she asked, surprised when he nodded eagerly at her question, seemingly pleased by her curiosity.

Vesta was pleased in return. Her curiosity had always gotten her in trouble in the past, it had never been something to be praised in her experience.

“They tend to like very different soils. This one likes more acidic soil and this one the complete opposite,” Lincoln gestured between the two as he spoke.

Vesta was certain he was simplifying his explanation for her sake, and she appreciated it. Her respect for the scholar grew, and she also grew in her determination to spend time with the man and really give their arrangement a chance.

Anticipation swelled in her chest at the thought of both pursuits.

As Lincoln continued explaining the peculiarities of the plants, voices from the other side of the hedge made them both freeze.

"...must be here somewhere," a rough male voice said. "I could swear Caldwell’s old maps showed..."

"Quiet, you fool!" Another voice hissed. "Do you want the whole household to hear?"

Lincoln's hand found her elbow, drawing her closer to him and deeper into the shadow of a large rhododendron. The warmth of his touch sent a different kind of shiver through her, one that had nothing to do with fear.

The voices moved away, but questions bloomed in Vesta's mind like spring flowers. Old maps? What could Mr. Caldwell have promised these men? And why did they need to be so secretive about it?

She glanced up at Lincoln, finding his expression thoughtful as he stared after the unseen speakers. "The unusual plant combinations," he murmured, almost to himself. "The imported species. There's something more happening here than just a rare white foxglove."

"What do you mean?" Vesta asked, unconsciously leaning closer.

His eyes met hers, and for a moment she saw uncertainty there. Then he seemed to come to a decision. "Would you be willing to help me with something?" he asked. "Something beyond our usual botanical studies?"

Vesta felt that delicious flutter in her stomach again. "What kind of something?"

"A mystery," he said softly. "One that might explain why your stepfather was so eager to arrange our betrothal."

She should have felt resentful at the reminder of their arrangement. Instead, she felt a thrill of excitement. This was something they could investigate together, as partners rather than just betrothed strangers.

"Yes," she said. "I'll help."