Page 15 of A Botanist and A Betrothal (Gentleman Scholars #4)

L incoln examined the blossom of the Epigogium aphyllum , grateful for the distraction it provided from his current circumstances. The rare and secretive plant was sturdier than the nebulous agreement he had made with Mr. Caldwell and his stepdaughter. Its presence here, like so many other unusual specimens he'd found, raised more questions than answers.

Never having expected to become betrothed, Lincoln wasn't sure what to do with a fiancée. She was easy to talk to and even easier to look at. But he was trying very hard not to get attached to her or to be distracted by her lovely and elusive presence. Their morning lessons had become the highlight of his days, though he told himself it was purely scientific enthusiasm.

He caught a flash of movement from the corner of his eye - Vesta approaching through the morning mist, her hair catching the early light. The precise shade fascinated his botanical mind: something between the pale yellow of Primula vulgaris and the rich gold of late summer wheat.

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.

Vesta had been pacing near the terrace since dawn, working up the courage to approach. After yesterday's revelations about Mr. Green and Sir Edmund, she wasn't entirely sure where she stood with Lincoln. His quick defense of her had warmed her heart, but she'd seen the flicker of doubt in his eyes when discussing the sabotage.

"Good morning," she called softly, clutching her notebook like a shield. "I thought we might continue mapping the unusual plant combinations we found yesterday?"

Lincoln straightened, brushing soil from his hands. "I'd like that very much." He gestured to the specimen before him. "Have you ever seen a Ghost orchid before? It's quite rare - rather like you, appearing and disappearing at will."

A blush coloured Vesta's cheeks at the comparison, though she told herself he meant it purely scientifically. "Is it one of the specimens that shouldn't be able to grow here?"

"Precisely." Lincoln's expression brightened with scholarly enthusiasm. "Look how it's thriving alongside the Melampyrum cristatum . The soil requirements are completely different, yet here they are..."

"The Cypripedium calceolus prefers alkaline soil, while the Gentiana pneumonanthe typically requires acidic conditions," Lincoln explained, his voice warming with enthusiasm. "Yet here they are, thriving together."

Vesta bent closer to examine the plants, careful to maintain a proper distance from Lincoln despite their shared excitement. "Could someone have deliberately altered the soil composition?"

"It's possible," he said, pulling out his soil testing equipment. "Though that would require considerable botanical knowledge."

"And patience," Vesta added, already sketching the specimens in her notebook.

"These plants have clearly been established for some time." She glanced toward the house, then lowered her voice. "Do you think it could be connected to the treasure hunt somehow? The unusual combinations forming a pattern?"

Lincoln followed her gaze to where Kimberley and Nancy watched from an upstairs window. They quickly ducked out of sight when they realized they'd been spotted.

"Your stepsisters seem very interested in our work lately," he observed carefully.

Vesta's expression clouded slightly. "Yes, it's rather unlike them. They usually avoid anything to do with plants or science."

She hesitated, then added, "I've caught them whispering together more than usual too. And they keep finding excuses to visit the greenhouse when you're not here."

The information should have increased his suspicions, but instead, Lincoln found himself admiring her honesty in sharing it. If she were involved in some scheme against him, why point out potentially suspicious behavior?

"We should document everything systematically," he said, pulling out a fresh sheet of paper and turning the subject. "Map the locations of all the unusual combinations. Perhaps there's a pattern we're missing when looking at individual specimens."

As they worked side by side, Lincoln found himself repeatedly distracted by small details about her - the precise way she held her pencil, how she unconsciously tucked escaped curls behind her ear, the soft sound of her breathing when she concentrated.

"What do you make of this?" she asked suddenly, pointing to a cluster of plants near the edge of the formal gardens. "The arrangement almost looks deliberate, like musical notes on a staff."

Lincoln looked where she indicated, and his breath caught. She was right – the placement did resemble musical notation. Just like the markings they'd found carved into that tree trunk.

"Vesta," he said slowly, "how much do you know about music?"

She laughed softly. "Very little, I'm afraid. Papa tried to have me taught, but I was hopeless at the pianoforte. Though I did enjoy learning to read music – it reminded me of mathematical patterns."

The casual mention of her father, combined with her quick grasp of patterns, made Lincoln's chest tighten again. Every interaction with her seemed to reveal new depths, new connections he hadn't anticipated.

"Would you be willing to help me with an experiment?" he asked.

"Of course." Her immediate agreement, with no questions asked, both warmed and worried him. Trust should be earned slowly, not given so freely.

They spent the remainder of the morning taking careful measurements of the plant positions, converting them to musical notation. Lincoln found himself increasingly certain they'd stumbled onto something significant, though he couldn't yet say what.

"We should show this to Sidney," he mused. "The mapmaker has an ear for music – he might see something we're missing."

"You trust him?" Vesta asked, then immediately flushed. "I'm sorry, that was impertinent."

"No," Lincoln said quietly. "It's a fair question. And yes, I do trust him. We've known each other since school days."

He hesitated, then added, "I hope someday you'll know them all well enough to trust them too."

The words hung between them, heavy with implication.

They hadn't spoken much about their future, about what would happen after their arranged marriage. But watching her work beside him, seeing her quick mind and careful observations, Lincoln found himself increasingly hoping for more than just a marriage of convenience.

"I'd like that," Vesta said softly, not meeting his eyes. "To be part of your scientific community, I mean. To learn and contribute."

"You already are contributing," Lincoln said firmly. "These observations today — I would have missed half of them without you."

She looked up then, a flush of pleasure coloring her cheeks, and Lincoln nearly forgot himself. He wanted to pull her close, to kiss her right there among the mysterious plants and mathematical patterns. Instead, he cleared his throat and took a careful step back.

"We should get these notes somewhere safe," he said. "After Mr. Green's visit yesterday, I don't want to risk leaving anything important in the greenhouse."

Vesta nodded, gathering their papers efficiently. "We could hide them in my father's old books," she suggested. "No one ever touches those but me."

The casual way she offered her private sanctuary for their shared work made Lincoln's resolve waver again. How was he supposed to maintain scholarly distance when she kept drawing him in with these small intimacies?

As they walked back toward the house, the afternoon sun casting long shadows across the garden, Lincoln found himself exceedingly aware of her presence beside him. Every brush of her skirts against his legs, every soft sound of her footsteps, seemed designed to distract him from proper scientific observation.

Yet somehow, her presence also sharpened his focus. With her quiet questions and careful observations, she helped him see things he might have missed alone. Like these plants - he would never have noticed the musical pattern without her different perspective.

The question was: could he trust that perspective? Could he trust his growing feelings for her?

As they approached the house, they could see Kimberley and Nancy watching from the upstairs window again, their heads bent together in whispered conversation. Whatever schemes were still brewing in this household, Lincoln knew one thing with growing certainty - he didn't want to face them without Vesta by his side.

Whether they discovered a cure to the heart disease that plagued some of his friend’s patients or merely documented unusual botanical phenomena, they would do it together. As partners.

He just hoped he could keep his heart from getting too battered in the process.