Page 13 of A Botanist and A Betrothal (Gentleman Scholars #4)

L incoln made his way to the back of the property where the greenhouse stood. His gait was awkward, having just climbed down from the horse he was unused to riding regularly.

He was already growing tired of the ride from the Scholarly Institute to the Caldwell property. He wasn’t used to making such excursions every single day.

While he was tired physically, though, he was also invigorated by both the scientific pursuit of all the fascinating specimens on the property and the stimulating company of Miss Vesta Lowell. He wasn’t sure if he ought to admit how much he was enjoying the young woman’s company.

It was maybe a good thing. Perhaps not. He was undecided. He was certain Lucy Northcott’s romantic heart would be thrilled to know how much Lincoln enjoyed the company of his betrothed. But always at the back of his mind niggled the question of what he would do if Vesta decided he didn’t suit her.

And then there was the worry about how distracting her presence was. Enjoying her company too much was going to interfere with his science.

Picking up his pace to shake off the muscle aches, Lincoln hoped the movement would also push the unwelcome thoughts to the back of his mind.

He was nearly to the greenhouse when he realized the door was ajar. Nerves shimmied through him, and a frown creased his forehead. He tried to shake off his disquiet.

Perhaps the gardeners had been by, but it wasn’t anyone he recognized when he stepped through the door and saw someone staring at the various plants collected within.

"Can I help you?" he called out, trying not to sound as supercilious as his Grandfather Westbrook, but the irritation he felt finding a stranger in his domain put starch into his spine and tone.

"Hello there," the stranger replied easily, not seeming to be uncomfortable about being found where he didn’t belong.

Lincoln pulled himself up short.

How was he to know who belonged and who didn’t? He chastised himself for becoming possessive of the building so quickly. Perhaps this was an acquaintance of Mr. Caldwell. How was he to know?

The gentleman stepped toward him with his hand extended in greeting. "I am Scott Green," he said with a grin. "I know it’s a silly name for someone so interested in plants as me."

Lincoln tried to smile past the awkwardness pressing into his chest.

People were not his strength, as he had discussed with Vesta on numerous occasions. He wished she was there with him.

"Are you here to see the gardeners or Mr. Caldwell?" Lincoln asked, hearing the hesitance in his voice and cringing over it.

"Actually, I’m here to see you, if you’re Doctor Welby," the man said easily, with his hand still extended, waiting for Lincoln to shake it.

Despite his reluctance, Lincoln had to observe the social niceties he had been raised with. He stepped closer to the other man. "How do you do? I am Doctor Welby."

"Very good, very good," Mr. Green replied, rubbing his hands together. "I’ve heard you have discovered some rare species. I was hoping to observe your studies."

"You heard that, did you?" Lincoln asked, with anger creeping into his tone despite his best efforts to remain as relaxed as possible.

"Yes, Mr. Caldwell is an old friend. He was telling me you found something here he hopes will turn out to be important." Mr. Green’s gaze remained steady, as though he hadn’t a single concern about what he was saying.

Lincoln forced himself to relax, at least incrementally. Instinctively he didn’t trust the man, but he didn’t think he was lying. Though he had no way to know for certain.

This was his own fault. He hadn’t sworn Caldwell to secrecy, so he couldn’t be angry over the man speaking about his own property, but Lincoln would have thought he’d have the sense to know it was a private matter.

Since Caldwell had no respect for science, he supposed it was too much to expect him to know better. Even Lincoln’s own family wouldn’t have been able to keep something to themselves that they thought was merely interesting. He should have asked his host for confidentiality.

Lincoln had no intention of showing the man the foxglove, but there were other rare and interesting specimens he could show this Mr. Green.

"What introduced you to botany?" he asked as he made an attempt to usher the unwelcome stranger out of the greenhouse.

The other gentleman frowned over Lincoln’s gesture to leave the space.

"Oh, I thought we could look around in here," he said, obviously reluctant to leave the greenhouse.

"Oh, no," Lincoln said. "These are just regular prunings and graftings, nothing of extensive interest."

"Are you quite certain?" Mr. Green asked with narrowed eyes.

"Quite," Lincoln replied firmly, ignoring the niggle of his conscience over his lack of honesty.

Despite the visitor dragging his feet, Lincoln finally got him to one of the clearings where some interesting specimens lived—the ones he had shown Vesta the other day that so rarely grew together.

"You didn’t tell me what your background is in botany," Lincoln prodded.

"Oh, I’m not a renowned scientist like yourself," Mr. Green countered, clearly trying to curry favour with Lincoln. "It’s just an interest of mine, and when Caldwell mentioned your discovery, I thought I would stop by."

"Well, one of the things we intend to study is how these two plants came to be neighbours," Lincoln explained.

Mr. Green stared without comprehension at the two plants Lincoln was indicating. The man’s lack of understanding or even decided interest told Lincoln everything he needed to know.

This man was no botanist; he was unlikely to even be a scientist from what Lincoln could see. So, what was he doing there? Suspicion swirled in an uncomfortable bile in his stomach.

Lincoln wished he could storm into the house and confront Caldwell, but that was unlikely to lead to any sort of success. He would have to deal with this on his own.

"How do you intend to figure that out?" the man asked with a frown.

Lincoln was relieved that it was at least a mildly intelligent question.

"I have various instruments with which to examine the soil and the leaves, as well as mixing agents to understand what makes these plants different from their counterparts."

"What do you mean, counterparts?" the other man asked.

"Well, you know, the other plants that would normally not grow together. Why are these particular individual specimens thriving together in this soil?” he asked by way of explanation. “I’m most interested in the soil consistency. Normally, as you no doubt know," he said dryly, "this plant prefers acidic soil and this plant prefers basic soil,” he said, gesturing between the two plants. “So, I’m interested to know what this soil is made of."

"Hmm," Mr. Green said, clearly trying to appear interested, even as his eyes appeared to be glazing over with his lack thereof.

Suddenly, to Lincoln’s shock, Mr. Green stared intently at Lincoln and said: “In shadows deep where secrets sleep.”

It was the opening lines of Greta’s poem, the one he’d been describing to Vesta, the one the scholars were certain was connected to the treasure they sought. Mr. Green’s gaze was avid with curiosity, avarice even, clearly awaiting a reaction.

Obviously, though, the man wasn’t prepared to be confronting a grandson of the Marquis of Westbrook. Lincoln stared at him as though he were a toad beneath his notice.

"Was that supposed to mean something?" Lincoln asked, haughtiness dripping from his words, but for once happy with that occurrence rather than embarrassed by his heritage shining through in his voice.

"Does it not ring any bells for you?" Mr. Green asked, staring shrewdly at the scientist.

"I thought you knew I’m a botanist, not a poet," Lincoln countered. "I have no clear understanding of such matters, but I can introduce you to some literature scholars if that is more your interest," he offered, trying to sound polite when his impulse was to threaten or offer violence, an unusual impulse for him, to be sure.

"Lincoln, are you out here?" came Vesta’s voice from a distance, almost out of nowhere.

Suddenly, Lincoln was swept with the chivalrous urge to protect his woman.

His woman? What a ridiculous thought. Had he suddenly become a neanderthal?

She was far from his possession, and yet he still felt protective towards her. He most definitely did not want to introduce her to this intruder. Lincoln wasn’t even sure what he was protecting her from, but the impulse was strong.

"Oh, hello. Are you another one of the scholars?" Vesta asked, stepping closer, putting her hand out to be introduced.

"This is Mr. Scott Green," Lincoln said. "He said he was a guest of your stepfather."

Vesta frowned, causing tension to mount within Lincoln. Obviously, Vesta was unfamiliar with the stranger. Lincoln knew he was right to be concerned.

"Perhaps we ought to make sure Mr. Caldwell knows of Mr. Green’s arrival, in case he is waiting for him elsewhere." Lincoln hoped Vesta would take the hint.

Vesta stared into Lincoln’s eyes for a brief moment as though to read his thoughts before nodding and smiling gently toward the stranger.

"I will return in just a moment," Vesta said, and hurried away before the intruder could stop her.

Lincoln was pleased with both her absence and her quick thinking. He could only hope Caldwell would react appropriately.

He hoped his smile was sufficiently bland as he turned back to Mr. Green to await that gentleman’s reaction.