Page 28 of A Botanist and A Betrothal (Gentleman Scholars #4)

T hey still hadn’t confronted Mr. Caldwell; before they’d had a chance to do so, he had suddenly left on a business trip, and his daughters had gone to visit an aunt Vesta had never heard of.

“Has it ever happened before that Kimberley and Nancy have gone to visit relatives you never heard of?”

Lincoln’s soft question startled a laugh out of her. “It is exceedingly strange, isn’t it?”

“Exceedingly,” Lincoln said, mirroring her smile.

“It doesn’t inspire us with much confidence in Mr. Caldwell, does it?”

Lincoln shook his head.

“It is convenient that it gives a chance to study this book, though,” he added with a half smile. “I wasn’t comfortable to steal it. Or rather, I felt that “borrowing” it without asking would be akin to stealing it. Taking the plants wasn’t so clearly evident as stealing, to me.”

“I agree, but please explain your reasons so I can feel we’re seeing it the same way.”

Lincoln’s smile made her stomach wobble but she shifted her eyes on the manuscript in front of them so her attention wouldn’t be diverted.

“Plants have the ability of floating in on the wind when they spread their seeds. Birds or insects can transport them as well. So, it could be argued, they can float back out of the property as well. Saving a few specimens is for the greater good. Unless they were indoors and inaccessible to wind or other creatures, they cannot be claimed to be completely exclusive.”

Vesta nodded in agreement. “I appreciate your reasoning.” She also appreciated his high standards of ethics and behaviour; she could sense that it was a code that all the scholars seemed to abide by, and she quite liked it.

Well, perhaps not all scholars—maybe it was just the scholars associated with Roderick Northcott’s Scholarly Institute, since Doctor Horace didn’t seem to live by any sort of code, if his accusations and sabotage were anything to go by.

“I’m surprised at how well those two have taken to botany,” Lincoln commented as he pored over his page of the manuscript while Vesta studied the other page of the book open in front of them. She smiled and looked up, ready to understand what he was saying.

“Have they never worked with you before?” she asked.

“No, most of us have stuck to our own specialties and never really crossed over, except Beaverbrook, who discovered the extraction process. He was focusing on how his tool could benefit those making perfume, but our medical doctor discovered that it would be of good use for extracting potions that could be used in medicine. So, we are starting to see how we can collaborate now—with my plants and Beaverbrook’s tools, perhaps we will come up with an excellent medicine the doctor can use.”

Vesta was thrilled to have a small share in this discovery. Her delight caused her pulse to quicken and her breathing to catch—it might also have had to do with the closeness of this particular scholar, as their shoulders brushed against each other once more.

Vesta’s eyes caught on the note she was struggling to understand again. Suddenly, her breath caught for a very different reason.

“I think this is quite like one of the other lines of that poem you told me about—not the one Mr. Green quoted, but another line.”

“Let me see,” Lincoln said as he huddled closer, frowning where her finger was pointing to the scrawled note.

“How can you even read that?” he asked with a laugh.

“Here, let me show you,” she said, beginning to explain why she thought they were connected. “I think this is talking about a location that’s at the back of the property,” she added.

Lincoln’s breath caught suddenly too, and he stared at her with heat colouring his cheekbones.

“What is it?” she asked with a frown.

Lincoln sighed and ran his hand through his hair, dishevelling it in the process. “I didn’t tell you I found more,” he said.

“More what?” she asked with another frown.

“More of the foxglove,” he said, his voice low, making her strain to hear him despite being right next to him. “At the back of the property, just as you said.”

“Why are you whispering?” she asked, matching his tone.

“Well, we already know there’s a spy in your house,” he explained. “That’s why I didn’t tell you, and that’s why we can’t let anyone know about these clues.”

Their eyes met, and Vesta’s heart clenched with both excitement and fear. He was right—there was no way to know who they could trust, nor what sort of violence could erupt from the discovery.

Before she could get too overwrought, though, Lincoln put his arm around her and cuddled her close, much as a parent would a small child. It wasn’t necessarily in a flirtatious manner, but Vesta couldn’t help the leap of her heart when he did so.

“I’ll make sure nothing happens to you—have no fear,” he assured her.

Vesta allowed her gaze to become ensnared by Lincoln’s and felt a newfound understanding and trust melding between them. She knew they could face whatever came next, as long as they remained side by side.

And then she settled back to work on the clues in the manuscript. They needed to finish this.

"Look at this notation," Vesta said, pointing to a faint scribble in the margin. "At first I thought it was just a doodle, but see how it mirrors the pattern we found in the garden?"

Lincoln leaned closer, his shoulder brushing hers as he studied the page. "You're right. The way these marks are arranged, it's almost like a map."

"Exactly!" Vesta's eyes lit up with enthusiasm. "And look here — these numbers in the corner. They're not page numbers, they don't match the sequence. But if you think of them as measurements..."

"Like the distances between the plant groupings," Lincoln finished, already reaching for his notebook. "May I?"

When Vesta nodded, he carefully copied the mysterious numbers. "The white foxglove was exactly twelve paces from the gentian — just like this notation suggests. But why would someone record these measurements in a botany text?"

"Perhaps they weren't recording botanical information at all," Vesta mused.

She reached for another page, her fingers tracing the faded ink. "See these symbols? They remind me of the ones we found carved in that tree."

Lincoln's pulse quickened. "Which means whoever planted those specimens was following some sort of plan. But was it about the plants themselves, or something else entirely?"

"Both, perhaps?" Vesta suggested. "The unusual soil compositions you found — they couldn't have happened by accident. Someone deliberately created the perfect conditions for these plants to grow together. But why go to such trouble unless..."

"Unless the plants themselves were meant to mark something," Lincoln said slowly. "Or protect something."

He ran a hand through his hair, dishevelling it further. "No wonder Horace and Green were so interested. They must have realized there was more to this than just botanical research."

Vesta bit her lip, thinking. "Should we tell Mr. Caldwell about these markings?"

"Not yet," Lincoln decided. "First, we need to understand exactly what we're dealing with. If these numbers are accurate, there should be another grouping of plants just beyond the old oak grove."

He glanced at her. "Would you be willing to help me check? Though after our last adventure in the woods..."

"Of course I'll help," Vesta said firmly. "We're partners in this, aren't we?"

The way Lincoln's face lit up at her words made her heart flutter.

"Yes," he said softly. "We are."