Page 2 of A Botanist and A Betrothal (Gentleman Scholars #4)

W hy can’t they leave me alone?

Vesta Lowell stomped her feet even as she admonished herself to be quiet. She didn’t want to draw attention to the fact that she had finished her chores.

I’m truly not a servant despite how they have been treating me. I might be the stepsister, but this isn’t some cruel fairy tale.

Vesta let herself out the side door of the house on silent tiptoes. The servants’ entrance. It really was like a fairy tale, and not the good kind. The scary kind where wolves chase young maidens with very little hope in sight. This was her life, as fanciful as it might sound.

Just this morning, Kimberley had commanded her to re-trim her bonnet after deliberately crushing the ribbons. "Since you're so clever with your hands," she'd said with false sweetness, "surely you can fix this before church tomorrow."

And Nancy had laughed, adding, "If you can tear yourself away from those dusty old books long enough."

The worst part was they knew she couldn't refuse. Mr. Caldwell had made it clear — if she wanted to continue living in his house, she would make herself useful. "Unlike some," he'd say with a pointed look at his own daughters, "you weren't raised to be ornamental."

Kimberley's shrill laugh still rang in her ears. "La! You should have seen her face, Nancy!" Even after years of instruction from their governess, neither sister had managed to shed their father's merchant-class patterns of speech. "Ain't it fine how useful our little bluestocking can be?"

"Better than those fancy airs she puts on," Nancy had agreed, sprawling unladylike across the settee and helping herself to a third piece of cake. "Acting like she's still quality, when everyone knows her papa left them nothing but debts and dusty books."

Vesta had kept her spine straight and her face carefully blank as she worked. A true lady, her mother had always said, maintained her dignity regardless of circumstances. Though she doubted her mother had ever imagined circumstances quite like these.

A sigh overtook her as Vesta made her way from the house.

She had been truly foolish when she thought coming with her mother to Mr. Caldwell's home was going to be a good move for them. But she had been a child. How was she to know her new stepfather wasn’t going to love her nor were his daughters going to treat her as their sister.

It had taken her a very long time to stop hoping.

Perhaps the marriage and subsequent change of location had been a good move for her mother, but certainly not for Vesta. Not that she had been given much of a choice. She had been too young to make her own way when her widowed mother married the wealthy businessman.

Not that she knew how to make her own way even now, Vesta reminded herself with a silent groan.

They had all seemed so nice, kind even, when Vesta's mother had introduced them. Kimberley had even shown her the library, though now Vesta realized it was only to emphasize how much grander their home was than the modest house she'd shared with her parents. Nancy had offered to share her ribbons and laces, but those offers had quickly turned into demands that Vesta mend and refresh their old trimmings rather than receive new ones of her own.

The change had been gradual but decisive. First, the invitations to join them for tea had dwindled. Then came the subtle suggestions that perhaps she could help the housekeeper with this or that small task. Before long, she was essentially another servant, but one who couldn't even claim wages or a half-day off.

Now the new Mrs. Caldwell could barely tolerate hearing about Vesta’s struggles. Not that she told her much. Vesta’s mother had her own concerns and barely bothered with anything, merely being grateful that Vesta was helping around the house when she herself couldn’t manage it.

Vesta scurried towards the copse of trees, hoping no one from the house would see her. She had finally finished all the tasks that had been assigned to her and didn’t want any more. Mr. Caldwell’s daughters didn’t have to help the servants with the chores, surely she shouldn’t have to do so much either.

On the other hand, Vesta didn’t want to cause trouble for her mother, nor risk banishment for herself. It was a conundrum.

If her father hadn’t died, how different her life would have been. But the baron had done so, leaving his wife and young daughter isolated and unable to manage.

The difference between her current life and her upbringing felt especially stark during meals. While Kimberley and Nancy shovelled food into their mouths between bursts of gossip, often speaking with their mouths full, Vesta maintained the table manners that had been ingrained since childhood.

Small bites, quiet chewing, delicate sips of wine when it was allowed. Her stepsisters mocked her for it, of course. "Putting on airs," they called it. But these small remnants of her former life were all she had left of who she truly was.

Sometimes she caught her mother watching her during these moments, a haunted look in her eyes. But the new Mrs. Caldwell never intervened, not anymore. Not since the last time she'd tried to defend her daughter and Mr. Caldwell had threatened to cut off her laudanum supply.

Vesta would have managed after Papa died. Better than Mama at any rate, she argued with herself as she allowed the woods to swallow her from the view of the house. She might have been young but if her mother had allowed her to take over the management of their affairs, she was certain she would have done better than the lost and grieving widow.

She surely couldn’t have done worse.

Despite her mother’s claims that she loved the brash Mr. Caldwell, Vesta couldn’t imagine that the sweet and gentle woman would have aligned herself with the awful man if not for the fact that she had run through their funds.

But thinking about that now was less than helpful.

Here was where they were and here was where she would have to remain, at least until Mr. Caldwell agreed to release her dowry.

One of her aunts had finally agreed to sponsor her.

Agreed was the wrong way to phrase it. It implied that Vesta had been begging. She would far rather take a position as governess or paid companion. She had no interest in ever again being beholden to a man for her future.

But Mrs. Caldwell had been begging. She might not want to admit that she wasn’t completely satisfied with where her life had taken her, but she was determined that Vesta’s life would turn out differently. More like the previous life they had enjoyed when her father was alive.

One would think Mr. Caldwell would be delighted to have her off his hands and off his property. But she supposed then he would have to employ another servant to do the work she had been coerced into doing. Surely, he could afford it, though. He was forever bragging about the extent of his wealth.

Such low class behaviour. Papa would have been aghast were he to hear it. Vesta almost snickered at the thought of how her father’s nostrils would pinch together in disdain in the presence of such a man as Mr. Caldwell.

Perhaps it had been the contrast that had drawn her mother.

Baron Schofield had been so quiet and gentle. And then he had slipped away into a very quiet illness that took his life. Mr. Caldwell was nothing like Papa. Vesta couldn’t imagine him ever succumbing to any illness. He was too brash. He would bluster his way through any situation.

She couldn’t help but admire that particular trait, if nothing else.

And yet he didn’t want to release her dowry.

They were the only funds her mother had left when she wed the man. Surely it wasn’t that much in comparison to his great wealth. Mere pence, to be sure.

But her aunt wouldn’t sponsor her without a dowry.

“How else am I to get anyone to look at the girl?” had been her exact words in the letter she had written to Vesta’s mother. Vesta still squirmed with discomfort when she thought of it.

Suddenly, off to the side in the field beyond the gardens, she saw someone, distracting her from her unhelpful thoughts. She quickly drew closer to a tree, hoping no one would notice her, fearful of being thought to be shirking her duties.

Vesta peered through the leaves to get a clearer picture of what she had seen. It appeared to be a man examining the foliage. A gentleman from the fine nature of his clothing.

Was that one of the scholars?

The scientists who had moved into the village with Mr. Roderick Northcott and his wife fascinated her with their immense learning and intriguing studies. Vesta hung on every word that was spoken about them in the village. Everyone was always abuzz about the scholars ever since they moved into the Aldred estate.

Last Sunday, she'd overheard Kimberley and Nancy tittering about how odd they all were, especially "that plant-obsessed one who's always grubbing about in the dirt." But Vesta had seen nothing odd about it — in fact, she'd been secretly thrilled when she spotted him examining specimens in the churchyard after services.

She'd even started her own small collection of pressed flowers and leaves, hidden away in her father's old book of poems. Her stepsisters would surely mock her if they knew, but she couldn't help herself. There was something wonderfully orderly about botanical classification, so different from the chaos of her daily life.

She would never have the nerve to actually speak to one of them, even if she were to be introduced, but she was avidly interested in any of the gossip that might be shared. Vesta always read whatever she could get her hands on that was even remotely connected to whatever she heard the scholars were studying.

Not that Mr. Caldwell’s library was terribly extensive, but she did the best she could. If only the other girls were interested in learning, then their father would be sure to buy more books.

Her precious books were her only real possessions now. Everything else of value — her mother's jewellery, her father's silver, even her own better clothes that she'd never had the chance to wear — had been sold off piece by piece.

Mama had spent everything they’d had so recklessly after her Papa died. Now that Vesta had a better understanding, she couldn’t even fathom how it had happened. She suspected her poor mother had been taken advantage of by someone. At times she even wondered if Mr. Caldwell had a hand in their demise. Not that he would have had any need for their small fortune.

But Mama hadn’t realized Mr. Caldwell's idea of "providing" meant only the barest necessities for his stepdaughter. At least Mama was comfortable. Vesta didn’t care for herself so much. The few coins she managed to scrape together she used to maintain her small personal library, though she kept those volumes hidden under a loose floorboard in her room.

She had no need for fancy ribbons and couldn’t afford the sort of gowns she would need for a Season.

If Mr. Caldwell knew she was still purchasing books... but no, she couldn't bear to think about that. He'd made it clear that any hint of "intellectual pursuits" would result in her immediate removal to the position of governess — not in a good household, but to some remote farming family where she'd never make an advantageous match.

It wasn’t that Vesta cared to wed, not after witnessing her mother’s disastrous marriage. And she would actually prefer being a governess. But she was well aware Mr. Caldwell would ensure it was an uncomfortable position of drudgery if he was arranging it as punishment.

"After all," he'd said with that calculating look she'd grown to dread, "we wouldn't want to waste your education entirely."

If only her mother had managed to bear Mr. Caldwell a son. Or if his daughters showed any interest in improving themselves. But Kimberley and Nancy were content to throw money at the problem of their social status, believing fine dresses and expensive trinkets would disguise their lack of accomplishments.

Just last week, they'd embarrassed themselves at the assembly by loudly discussing the cost of their new gowns within earshot of Lady Pembrook. The elderly woman's raised eyebrow had said everything about their breach of etiquette. Yet they remained oblivious, giggling and elbowing each other as they compared the price of their silk ribbons to those of other young ladies.

Vesta had wanted to sink into the floor. Instead, she'd been forced to watch as they scared away yet another potential suitor with their obvious fortune-hunting. "Did you hear?" Kimberley had practically shouted. "His estate brings in five thousand a year!" The gentleman in question had quickly found pressing business elsewhere.

Vesta tried not to think so disloyally of her mother. A baby brother wouldn’t necessarily benefit any of them, and Vesta couldn’t imagine how a boy raised by Mr. Caldwell would turn out. Vesta quickly dismissed any hopeful thoughts of a sibling. She knew her mother had tried to bear another child. She had lost several. She had also lost herself in the process.

Vesta didn’t think the poor woman had really gotten over losing her first husband and then the multiple losses of babies had only served to deepen her melancholy. Now her mother was merely a ghost slipping through the house, passing her by with a wan smile from time to time.

Mama only came out of her despair long enough now and again to write to anyone she thought might help her daughter on her way to a different life. Old friends, distant family members. Letters would come and go.

If only she would actually ask her daughter about her wishes. Vesta didn’t have the fortitude to confront her mother about her goals and wishes.

Vesta sighed even as she leaned around the tree to get a better look at the gentleman staring at the shrubbery. Was there something wrong with the bushes?

This must be the botanist, she realized with a smile.

Vesta knew one of the scholars studied plants and was researching their medicinal value. It had intrigued her and she had read every plant and herb book the library and kitchens had contained. She even understood much of it.

How interesting it would be to discuss the subject with the gentleman. If she were able to gather the gumption from the depths of her lagging spirits.

But he might not be of sound mind, she cautioned herself, as she noted how he seemed to be talking to the shrubbery. Perhaps it wasn’t one of the scholars. It could be someone suffering from an illness of the mind, thinking he had discovered a wood nymph.

The thought amused her before Vesta dismissed it. She was nearly certain she recognized the man as one of the Northcott scholars. She wondered if she should approach and ask if she could be of assistance.

It wasn’t her land to defend or offer, though. She really should keep her distance.

But her curiosity was truly piqued.

Why was the distracted, but still handsome, man staring at that plant as though his life depended on it?

She had tried to learn a bit about the local fauna from some of the books in the Caldwell library, but she didn’t think there was anything particularly noteworthy about those plants. It would be terribly exciting if there were. Perhaps she ought to investigate for herself.

She'd have to be careful though.

Last time she'd shown too much interest in "scholarly pursuits," as Mr. Caldwell called them, he'd threatened to remove what few books remained from her father's collection.

"No gentleman wants a wife who thinks she knows more than he does," he'd declared, while Kimberley and Nancy nodded sagely. As if they'd ever opened anything more challenging than a fashion plate.