Page 27 of A Botanist and A Betrothal (Gentleman Scholars #4)
L incoln waited in the salon for Vesta to join him. He paced nervously. Was she going to agree to continue working with him? Would she consider leaving this place with him?
How was she even going to react to his suggesting such? She hadn’t accepted his proposal the day before. As far as he knew, nothing had changed. Was he deluding himself by thinking he could repeat his offer and the answer would be different?
A true scientist never deluded himself.
His pacing continued.
Lincoln knew they were both fearful about trusting one another, considering everything that had happened in the last few days, but what else did they have? They had made a commitment, and he was honour-bound to keep his word.
Besides everything, he had quite grown fond of her. His palms became damp with nerves as he heard her footsteps in the hallway.
“You came back.” She greeted him with a grin. “I was worried you would never return after yesterday’s experiences.”
Lincoln laughed. “Not to say that my home is any safer.”
Vesta laughed too, but to Lincoln’s ears, it sounded nervous. She gave a little shrug and said, “Well, you might be safer with a constable than an unknown assailant chasing after you through the woods.”
Lincoln smiled at her. “At least I had you with me.”
She snorted, much to both her horror and his intense amusement.
“As if I would be of any assistance in a dire situation,” she said with a roll of her eyes.
“I have to say,” Lincoln said, “having you to protect made me feel much braver than I would have on my own.”
“Really?” she asked, wrinkling her nose in an adorable manner that made him want to pull her into his arms in a most unscholarly impulse.
“Really,” he said. “I didn’t have my own fears to think about when I had yours to deal with,” he added with a smile.
“How are you feeling today, by the way?” he asked her.
“Oh, I’m perfectly well,” she replied.
“I didn’t mean your health—I meant your feelings.”
She frowned at him. “Do scholars concern themselves with feelings?” she asked.
Lincoln chuckled. “You have a point there,” he said. “Not usually, but I can’t help but concern myself with yours.”
Her cheeks turned pink, and her eyes cast themselves down in a bashful manner. Inexplicably, Lincoln was drawn even more toward her by the display of modesty. He gave his head a shake. They had other things to contemplate than just their courtship.
She didn’t answer him right away, so he prompted, “I meant about your maid. You seemed quite upset about the matter yesterday.”
“Well, of course I was,” she replied, sounding exasperated by his question. “I’ve trusted Maisie for years, and this is how she repaid my trust—by selling our secrets. I was quite devastated.”
“Rightly so,” Lincoln replied immediately. “I’m so sorry you had to deal with that.”
Vesta laughed a little. “I’m so sorry you had to deal with that,” she countered. “It was you who was being sold out to whoever was offering her the money.”
Lincoln nodded. “Have you had a chance to speak to Mr. Caldwell about it?”
Vesta shook her head and shrugged. “I’m not so brave,” she added with a sigh.
Lincoln quickly grabbed her hand. “Do not trouble yourself, my dear. You are not to be blamed. None of this is your fault.”
“Are you really sure of that?” Vesta asked, surprise evident in her tone.
“I am,” he replied firmly, surprising even himself with his assurance. “I know I was quite ambivalent when things first started happening, wondering if you could somehow have knowledge of the matter.”
Lincoln clasped her hands in an effort to convey his earnestness. “But I have come to know you—at least as well as can be known in a few days—and I believe you. I trust that your feelings have been genuine when you’ve been surprised and scared. If you knew what was going on, neither of those reactions could have been genuine.”
Vesta laughed a little at that. “Well, I’m glad my fear had some good effect at the very least.”
Lincoln squeezed her hand, dismayed over how that was coming across. “Please forgive me. I meant you no disservice.”
Vesta waved her hand as though to dismiss his words. “No, no, I was not offended. I was, in fact, trying a poorly planned jest. Now, tell me, Lincoln, what should we do? It seems you’re not safe at home, you’re not safe here, your research is in jeopardy, and I seem to be the problem.”
“No, Vesta, you’re not the problem. You are connected, and perhaps you’re not safe either. You’re not the only common denominator—it’s this property, wouldn’t you say? Both of us might be safer if we were to relocate.”
Her wide eyes searched his face as though to ascertain any hidden meaning to his words. “Would you come away with me?” Lincoln asked her, searching her face in return.
“Don’t you think we ought to get to the bottom of this before we do anything even more drastic?” Vesta asked, her voice tremulous and her eyes wide.
Lincoln sighed. “I don’t know how we can get to the answers we need. We don’t know who we can trust.”
Vesta nodded firmly. “We need to speak with Mr. Caldwell once more.”
She bit her lip, pulling her hand from his grasp so that she could pace restlessly. “This time, we need to try very hard to make sure he doesn’t feel we’re accusing him of anything. Then we might be able to get some straight answers from him and get some solutions or make some decisions.”
She turned back to Lincoln. “I truly don’t believe he is wicked, just selfish and brutish and focused on wealth. I do believe he’ll try to be honest with us if we don’t try to back him into a corner.”
Vesta laughed a little and raised her hands helplessly. “But we need more information, wouldn’t you say?”
Lincoln laughed and nodded, regaining his tight grip on her hands when she stopped fluttering them. “We’re going to make a good scholar out of you yet,” he said.
Vesta’s grin demonstrated her delight with his observation. “Very well, then. Let us review what we know so far,” Lincoln said.
Vesta nodded again. “We know there are unique plants growing on this land in unique circumstances,” she began. “So, we would like to study that further if we can do so without being accosted.”
Lincoln laughed and nodded, turning to a side table with paper and pencil. He quickly began taking notes on a fresh piece of foolscap. “What else do we know?”
“We know that Mr. Green and Doctor Horace knew about the poem that is connected to the treasure hunt, and they couldn’t have found that out from my maid because I didn’t tell her that.” Vesta again began pacing but kept her voice low so as to not be overheard.
“So, either they knew it some other way, or somehow Mr. Caldwell knew and told them. But that isn’t connected to us—they only got involved with bribing my maid when they found out we were working here.”
Vesta frowned. “But how? How did they know about any of this? We need to find out once and for all how or even if Mr. Caldwell knows them.”
Lincoln kept scribbling as she spoke.
Vesta continued. “If we really believe Mr. Caldwell isn’t involved, we could just do our best to keep Green and Horace from the property. We could try to figure out what Mr. Caldwell knows about the treasure hunt, but if he knows nothing and we tell him, he will expect a share of whatever might end up being found.”
Lincoln nodded as he wrote down the notes. “What do you think, my dear? Might it be worth it to gain his assistance?”
Vesta appeared troubled by the question, nibbling on her lip in indecision and staring out the window. “That part isn’t just your and my decision, is it?” she said with a frown. “Your friends might not want anybody else involved.”
Lincoln couldn’t argue with her statement. “Perhaps we can ask him about this book,” he said, gesturing to the manuscript they had found connecting the plant with the treasure hunt. “So we’re agreed then—we will remain partners in this, in both of these investigations for now, and see what we can find out from Mr. Caldwell?”
“Of course,” Vesta replied immediately, putting out her hand to shake on it. “I’m not looking forward to telling him about his precious daughters’ involvement, but it’s time to lay it all out for him.”
Her wide grin only added to the fluttering in Lincoln’s midsection as he accepted her hand in a business-like shake. It was neither sensible nor scholarly but the sensation of her small, delicate hand in his sturdier and much larger one made him feel as though he could conquer their multitude of problems.