Page 11 of A Botanist and A Betrothal (Gentleman Scholars #4)
L incoln tried hard not to stare, but it was a challenge as Vesta was a very beautiful woman. The quarterly allowance reminder from his grandfather lay heavy in his coat pocket, its final warning impossible to ignore. If his research didn't yield results soon, he'd be cut off entirely — and what sort of life could he offer Vesta then?
He hadn't noticed her beauty before, much to his shame. People weren't nearly as interesting to him as plants. Oh, he had seen she was pretty enough, of course. He did have eyes in his head, after all. But lately, every small detail about her demanded his attention, making it harder to maintain his scholarly distance.
The way the sun was glinting off her yellow curls was very appealing. Yellow probably wasn't the right word to describe a woman's hair. As a botanist, he should have a more detailed way of saying it. It was actually quite similar to Linum usitatissimum when it had gone to seed. Would a woman mind having her hair compared to flax?
When it came to females of his own species, Lincoln found his brain often stuttered to a halt.
This one caused that unfortunate effect more than others. The brush of her skirts against the grass as she walked beside him, the way she bit her lower lip when considering a specimen, even the soft sound of her breath when she leaned close to examine a leaf — all of it conspired to distract him from their supposed purpose.
He was shocked to discover that her attentive curiosity was more than appealing; it did strange things to his equilibrium. Lincoln suspected his heart was getting involved. That was a mistake he was trying desperately to avoid.
Everything hinged on his work with the white foxglove. If he couldn't extract the properties that he suspected were present, not only would he lose his chance at scientific recognition, but he would be unable to support a wife and family. And with his grandfather's patience wearing thin, Lincoln didn’t know what he was going to do.
Lincoln was determined not to grow too attached to the woman, but he certainly enjoyed her company, and her interest in his studies bordered on the intoxicating. The way her eyes lit up when he explained a botanical concept made him forget, for dangerous moments, that this was meant to be a practical arrangement.
Grandfather Westbrook was a haughty gentleman who would gladly brag about his own accomplishments, but he would frown upon Lincoln doing so, especially when it came to his science. But with Vesta’s wide, shining eyes staring at him, he found himself explaining the intricate patterns of the leaf structures, how the unusual serration along the edges differed from common foxglove varieties.
He detailed his theories about the soil composition that might have led to the mutation, and how the slightly silvery cast to the leaves suggested potential medicinal properties that could revolutionize cardiac treatments. When he caught himself delving into the details of cellular structures he'd observed under his microscope, he brought his dialogue to a sudden stop, worried he was boring her.
“And what else are we looking for?” Vesta asked eagerly.
“Are you completely certain you wish to know?” Lincoln asked, feeling anxious.
“But of course,” Vesta replied immediately. “This is fascinating! I can’t believe I never knew any of this before.”
Lincoln nodded and continued to describe the properties he hoped the foxglove contained, explaining to her how the one ingredient he suspected was highest in that particular plant was potentially toxic but, if extracted carefully and treated properly, could actually, if not reverse, at least treat heart disease in fellow humans.
“But what causes heart disease in the first place?” Vesta asked with a crease forming between her eyebrows as though she were concentrating on his every word.
“Well, that’s a good question,” Lincoln replied. He laughed lightly, feeling a bit ashamed. “I haven’t actually studied a great deal about human anatomy. As a devoted botanist, my focus has always been on plants. Humans tend to elude me.”
Vesta nodded and sighed. “They elude me too.”
The connection between them tightened, their shared confession hanging in the air between them.
Lincoln caught a glimpse of genuine understanding in her eyes that made his chest constrict. Here was someone else who preferred the logical patterns of nature to the chaos of society's expectations. The realization that she truly comprehended him was far more dangerous than mere physical attraction.
Lincoln turned away from her to hide his reaction, pretending to examine a nearby plant while his pulse thundered in his ears. This wasn't part of their arrangement — this genuine rapport that threatened to unravel his carefully maintained distance.
He didn’t want to get attached to her. He had a hard enough time making friends, he couldn’t imagine a beautiful young woman was going to return his affections. Better to keep it a practical arrangement.
What if she finally decided she didn’t want to wed with him? She was within her right and he would respect her decision.
To distract himself from the negative thoughts, his gaze wandered around the small glen they were in with a frown. His attention caught on what looked like a carving of some sort in the base of a half-hidden tree.
“How perfectly odd,” he said as he walked towards it with Vesta close on his heels.
“What did you find?” she asked.
“I couldn’t rightly say,” he replied, glancing back to her with a gesture toward the tree, “but let’s find out.”
They quickly approached the tree and discovered what appeared to be the shape of an ancient scroll, for lack of a better word.
“It appears as though an animal has been digging here,” Vesta commented. “Otherwise, this would have remained hidden.”
“Why would somebody carve such a shape in such a hidden manner out here in the woods? This is a very old tree. It’s hard to tell how long it has been here, but that would have been challenging with no guarantee of anyone ever seeing it,” Lincoln asked, even as his breath caught when he saw the symbol next to the scroll shape. It matched something he had seen in Lady Evangeline’s papers.
“The treasure,” he whispered.
“What?” Vesta asked, incredulous.
“Oh, pardon me,” Lincoln said, embarrassed, glancing around to ensure they were still alone in the glade. “I might have misspoken,” he added before asking hesitantly, “Can you keep a secret?”
“Of course,” Vesta replied, seemingly affronted at the question.
“My apologies. I don’t mean to question your word. I just meant, if you choose not to wed with me, can I trust that you will not share this information with your family?”
“Again, I say, of course,” Vesta said with a little laugh.
“Thank you, my dear,” Lincoln said. “I have a secret to share with you that isn’t entirely mine, which is why I asked.”
Lincoln now had Vesta’s full attention, even as he wondered at the wisdom of telling her. He wasn’t creative enough to make something up that wasn’t connected with the truth.
He had no certainty that this find had anything to do with the scholars’ treasure hunt, and he knew the other fellows wouldn’t appreciate adding one more person to their hunt. But she was his fiancée, and it was only because of her that he had come across it. So, if it did turn out to be associated with the treasure hunt, it was only right and proper that she be included.
“You know I am involved in the Scholarly Society, right?”
Vesta nodded eagerly. “Yes, yes, with Roderick Northcott and the others. I don’t rightly recall all of their names, but there were several that have been living together at the old Aldred Estate.”
“Yes, that’s right,” Lincoln said. “Well, our friend Mr. Smythe, the mathematician, married Lady Evangeline. Her late husband had discovered or purchased—some such, we aren’t rightly certain on that front—he had some paperwork.” Lincoln waved his hand as though to dismiss the importance of where the clues had come from.
“We found it in her late husband’s papers, some clues for a possible treasure, and the scholars have been pursuing it for some months, coming across various additional clues. Recently, there was a poem that Mr. Darby’s new wife had come across in an old book, and the paper she found had this exact same symbol. It’s not to say that it’s so unique, but it’s unique enough that I wonder if there is some association.”
Lincoln frowned down at the carving, wondering how there could possibly be a connection to the treasure here so near the Scholarly Society. Was one of the fellows playing a prank on him? They would surely not go so far as to involve others, especially not getting them to trespass upon Mr. Caldwell’s property, searching for the same treasure they were trying to find. A headache pressed against his eyebrows from the inside.
“Really?” Vesta breathed the word as though fearing to say it out loud. “How can I help?” she asked almost immediately after.
Lincoln’s chest tightened and expanded as pride, fear, and affection fought for supremacy within his chest. He dismissed the idea of a prank and returned his focus to his fiancée.
“Thank you for your offer, my dear. I will greatly appreciate your help in this and all matters if you find it interests you. But if you wouldn’t mind keeping this a secret, as I said, I would really appreciate it. I know it could be argued that Mr. Caldwell has an interest in it, but I would say he has already extracted enough from us at this point, wouldn’t you?”
The expression on her face made Lincoln feel that he had said the wrong thing. Her face tightened, and she appeared as though he had struck her.