Page 30 of A Botanist and A Betrothal (Gentleman Scholars #4)

V esta paced in front of Mr. Caldwell’s closed office door.

It was finally time. They had put it off much too long. Mr. Caldwell was finally back from his business trip and they needed to confront him. She almost couldn’t wait for Lincoln to arrive to finally do so.

But of course, she didn’t have the courage to do it without her fiancé by her side.

“My apologies, Vesta,” Lincoln said quietly as he reached the top of the stairs. “While I’m getting used to riding so much, it is still far from my favourite activity. And the horse seemed to agree with me this morning.”

Despite her misgivings about the upcoming confrontation, Vesta laughed at Lincoln’s words. They helped put her at ease and she was able to straighten her shoulders, lift her chin, and nod her readiness to Lincoln.

With a nod of his own, Lincoln rapped on the solid door. To her shock, Lincoln didn’t wait for a reply but instead, opened the door and stepped inside.

“What do you two want?” Mr. Caldwell asked, not getting to his feet nor welcoming them into the room.

“We have some details to sort out with you,” Lincoln said in an easy tone that was in stark contrast to the nerves he had admitted to her.

“What sort of details?” Mr. Caldwell demanded.

“Details about contracts, let us say. As a businessman, I’m sure you would agree that getting everything in writing is a sound practice.”

“Hmph.” Mr. Caldwell wasn’t going to admit to anything, but Vesta could tell he didn’t want to argue such a point.

“We have some concerns about the extent of our access to your property, as well as other people’s access. And we also need to confirm the details of Vesta’s dowry so that we can move ahead with our marriage plans.”

A shiver made its way down Vesta’s spine at his mention of their marriage. They hadn’t spoken about it further between themselves, but she was thrilled that he was keeping it at the forefront. She had thought they were only confronting her stepfather about the intruders.

Mr. Caldwell’s expression was arrested, as though he were uncertain which matter to confront first.

“What do you mean about other people’s access to my property? As far as I know, you’re the only one who’s been traipsing through my fields making a nuisance of yourself.”

“Well, as we told you last week, there have been intruders at the greenhouse who have damaged my research twice already.”

“Twice!”

“And someone paid one of your maids to search Vesta’s rooms and keep them apprised of our progress.”

“Never say so.” Vesta believed the cranky older man’s astonishment was real. She found it oddly reassuring. “Was anything stolen?”

“Some of the plants were taken.”

“Plants?” Mr. Caldwell was shocked. “Why would anyone take plants?”

“There is a good chance they are very valuable, as I mentioned to you in the past.” Lincoln’s frown was one of confusion and Vesta had to bite her lip to prevent her amusement from being evident. Obviously Mr. Caldwell never believed anyone but a crazy scientist could take an interest in plants.

“I thought you were having me on,” Mr. Caldwell admitted. “So, someone really did break into the greenhouse?”

“Didn’t the gardener tell you?” Lincoln asked, frowning.

“I don’t consult with him myself,” Mr. Caldwell blustered. “I’m far too busy for something like that. But the steward might have mentioned something, but I wasn’t minding him.”

Now Mr. Caldwell turned his shrewd, searching gaze between the two of them.

“Has this put you off the girl, then?”

Vesta’s heart stuttered in her chest, and she thought for a moment that she might actually cast up her accounts on the library rug. Lincoln reached out and gripped her hand, and her heart resumed its normal function, except a little faster than usual.

“I have serious misgivings about our safety,” Lincoln said, not directly answering her question. “I have been threatened with arrest for my research here. We’ve also been chased through your woods by unknown assailants.”

“Arrest? Chased? Surely, you’re jesting.”

“I wish I were,” Lincoln said. “But there is someone who is very determined that we not do this research. I’m not sure if it’s specific to the foxglove or the treasure hunt.”

Mr. Caldwell finally guffawed. “Treasure hunt,” he repeated. “I wouldn’t think a learned man like yourself would be after something so fanciful.”

“So, you do or do not know anything about it?”

“Well, now, I’ve caught wind of someone thinking there’s something going on here, but I thought it was all foolishness. Are you telling me it’s not? And somehow, it’s connected to your shrubs?”

To Vesta’s shock, Lincoln laughed.

“Something like that, yes.”

“And you’ve been threatened with arrest, and someone attacked you on my property?” Now Mr. Caldwell was getting angry again, his face flushing an unhealthy looking colour and his voice was becoming belligerent once more. “Does my wife know about this?” He nearly bellowed this last question.

“We haven’t discussed it with her,” Lincoln said.

“See that you don’t,” Mr. Caldwell growled. “She’s troubled enough as it is.”

He stared at Lincoln and then his gaze shifted between the two of them.

“So, are you here to break your betrothal, then?”

“No, Mr. Caldwell, we would merely like to arrange for a written agreement about our access to the land as well as Vesta’s dowry so that we can proceed with the rest of our research. Since it doesn’t seem to be safe for us here, we’d like to remove some of the specimens from the property, but under our verbal agreement, that cannot take place until after we are wed.”

Mr. Caldwell stared at Lincoln and no longer bothered to spare Vesta a glance.

“So, if I put it in writing, you’ll marry the girl. And introduce my daughters to your family?” he added.

“About your daughters, there’s more to tell you before we go any further.” Lincoln spread out a packet of notes across the businessman’s desk. The innkeeper had been surprisingly willing to provide evidence of the clandestine meetings and message exchanges once he realized the gravity of the situation.

“What is this?” Mr. Caldwell demanded.

“This is evidence of Kimberley and Nancy’s involvement in the sabotage to my work.”

"This is preposterous," Mr. Caldwell blustered, but his face had gone an alarming shade of red as he examined the notes in his daughters' distinctive handwriting. "My girls would never be so craven."

"They were," Vesta said quietly. "They arranged meetings between Maisie and Doctor Horace. They provided information about when Lincoln would be working in the greenhouse."

"Information that led directly to the destruction of valuable research," Lincoln added.

He kept his tone measured, professional. "Research that could have brought considerable profit to this estate."

That caught Mr. Caldwell's attention. His shrewd gaze darted between them.

"What sort of profit? We never did get down to brass tacks on that front.” The blustery businessman lost some of his dismay over his daughters in the face of a possible deal.

"The Royal Society has expressed interest in my findings." Lincoln maintained eye contact. "But the sabotage has delayed everything considerably."

"Sabotage assisted by your daughters," Vesta pressed. "They thought it amusing to help destroy Lincoln's work."

Mr. Caldwell's complexion darkened once more.

"Kimberley! Nancy!" His bellow made the windows rattle.

The sisters appeared quickly, their usual smugness faltering at the sight of the evidence spread across their father's desk.

"Explain this," he demanded, pushing one of the notes toward them.

Kimberley's face went white. Nancy started to cry.

"It was just a joke," Kimberley protested. "We didn't think—"

"No, you didn't think," Mr. Caldwell cut her off. "You didn't think about the value of Doctor Welby's research. You didn't think about our family's reputation. You didn't think about your futures."

"But Papa—"

"Enough!" He turned to his stepdaughter. "Vesta, you may go. Doctor Welby, I believe we have business matters to discuss. But later."

His glare pinned his daughters in place. "You two will remain."

As they left the study, they could hear Mr. Caldwell beginning to explain exactly how his daughters had jeopardized his business arrangements. Vesta's hand trembled slightly in Lincoln's.

"They'll be sent away," she said quietly. "Most likely to their aunt in Chestershire."

"You don't sound entirely pleased about that."

"I'm not." She gave a hollow laugh. "They've made my life miserable for years, but I never wished to be the cause of their exile."

"They caused their own exile," Lincoln corrected gently. "Their actions could have ruined important medical research. Your stepfather won't forgive that easily."

“Not when it could affect his pocketbook, you mean,” Vesta said in a wry tone. “You do realize he doesn’t care a single jot about the research part.”

They could still hear Mr. Caldwell's voice, now discussing how the girls would need to make amends for their behavior.

"Starting," they heard him say, "with being properly grateful when Sir Edmund calls again."

Vesta's eyes widened slightly. "He wouldn't..."

"Force a match? Perhaps not. But he'll certainly encourage one." Lincoln squeezed her hand. "Your stepfather is nothing if not practical. A baronet for a son-in-law would soothe his wounded pride."

"And Kimberley might actually suit Sir Edmund," Vesta mused. "She's always been impressed by titles."

The study door opened, and the sisters emerged, both red-eyed but subdued. They hurried past without their usual snide remarks.

"Doctor Welby," Mr. Caldwell called. "A moment of your time."

Lincoln kissed Vesta's hand before releasing it.

"Shall we see about those contracts?" he asked her stepfather as he re-entered the study. It was time to ensure their own future was secured.

Vesta almost protested but managed to keep her tongue silent. Lincoln squeezed her hand once more.

“So you’ll still marry her after all this?”

“That’s right.”

“Very well, then,” Mr. Caldwell said an expression of profound relief flooding his face as he reached for a piece of paper.

“But first, could you also explain your relationship with Doctor Horace?” Lincoln asked.

Mr. Caldwell snorted. “Relationship? We shared a pint in the taproom at the inn in the next village. He was on about plants and treasure too, but I thought he was bosky. I never meant for any harm to come to either of you.”

“The harm has thus far been to the spirit, not the body,” Lincoln said. “But if you could arrange to call them off, that would be appreciated.”

Mr. Caldwell stopped writing for a moment and glared at Lincoln. “How soon will you wed the girl, then?”

Vesta’s heart sank. Her stepfather was still using her as a bargaining chip. It made her question her value to anyone. Lincoln had never actually expressed his feelings toward her. Was he only asserting his engagement to her because he’d given his word as a gentleman?

“As soon as she’ll have me,” Lincoln answered with a warm, gentle smile at her that reassured her slightly but not enough to chase away the chill that had settled over her.

“Very well, it’ll take a few weeks to have the banns read, but this should be enough to get your arrest averted, at the very least,” Mr. Caldwell said as he handed Lincoln what he had written.

“And Miss Lowell’s dowry?” Lincoln asked, his cheeks pinkening, but his gaze unwavering.

“Embarrassed to be sitting in a woman’s pocket, are you, Welby?” Mr. Caldwell asked with a mocking laugh. “The money will be transferred as soon as you say your vows.”

“There ought to be settlement papers drawn up in advance,” Lincoln said firmly. “Roderick Northcott will call around to discuss those with you. I have no intention of taking advantage of Vesta any more than I need to, and I would like any children we might have to be provided for.”

Vesta’s breath caught in her throat and she was gratified to see an expression of grudging respect flit across her stepfather’s face.

“Hmph,” Mr. Caldwell muttered unintelligibly but Vesta suspected he was gratified at the thought of being called upon by Mr. Northcott.

Vesta worried she was going to make Lincoln’s hand go numb, she was squeezing it so hard. But she had such conflicting emotions coursing through her, she wasn’t certain which way was up at this point.

Lincoln was reading the paper Mr. Caldwell had given him.

“I’d like to remove some of the specimens to another location. You haven’t allowed for that in here,” he pointed out.

“You haven’t married the girl yet,” Mr. Caldwell argued.

“I’ll be in a much better position to provide for both of us if I can get on with my research.”

“Then you won’t need her dowry?” Mr. Caldwell asked eagerly.

Lincoln actually laughed. Vesta nearly fainted at his reaction. “Vesta’s dowry is for her security. Her and our children. I would prefer not to use it for myself. But it is still owed to her.”

He said it firmly, as though he brooked no argument. Vesta’s admiration for him knew no bounds.

Mr. Caldwell reached his hand out for the paper and hastily scrawled something else on the paper. After reading it, Lincoln nodded and signed it before reaching out his hand to shake Mr. Caldwell’s.

“Thank you,” Lincoln said. “I will get on with arrangements, then.”

Before Vesta could realize what was happening, they were back in the greenhouse gathering Lincoln’s things.

“So, you’re leaving?” she asked, in a daze.

“Yes, Beaverbrook has a laboratory on his property. He’s going to help me extract the substance and test it for the digitalis. Now with your stepfather’s permission to remove the plants, we can get on with our work more thoroughly.”

“Without me,” Vesta said softly.

“I’m sorry, ought I to have insisted that you come with me?”

“No, of course not,” Vesta said immediately, having no wish to push herself where she wasn’t invited.

Lincoln packed the last of his instruments with exaggerated care, clearly stalling.

"Well," he said finally, straightening to face her, "I suppose that's everything."

Vesta twisted her hands together, fighting the urge to help him pack, to slow him down further.

"You'll write?" The question came out smaller than she'd intended.

"Every day," he promised, taking a step toward her.

His fingers twitched at his sides as though wanting to reach for her. "Though letters seem a poor substitute for our morning lessons."

"I'll miss those," Vesta admitted.

The greenhouse suddenly felt too warm, despite the cool morning air streaming through the windows.

"Perhaps I'll practice my botanical drawings while you're away."

"I'd like to see them when I return." Lincoln's voice had dropped lower, and he took another half-step closer. "Vesta, I—"

She looked up at him, heart thundering against her ribs. His eyes had darkened, and for a moment she thought he might—but no, he was a gentleman. Even if his gaze did keep dropping to her lips.

"Three weeks isn't so very long," she said quickly, before she could do something foolish like throw herself into his arms.

"An eternity," he murmured, then seemed to catch himself.

He reached for her hand instead, his thumb brushing across her knuckles in a way that sent shivers up her arm. "I'll send word as soon as I arrive at Beaverbrook's estate."

"Be careful," she whispered. "If Doctor Horace—"

"I'll be fine." His grip tightened on her fingers. "Though I wish..." He trailed off, color rising in his cheeks.

"What do you wish?" The words escaped before she could stop them.

For a moment, the air between them crackled with possibility. Then a door slammed somewhere in the house, making them both jump. Lincoln released her hand reluctantly.

"I wish," he said carefully, "that we had time to properly document that new specimen we found yesterday."

But his eyes said something entirely different, and Vesta found herself wondering if he would remember that look in his eyes when he wrote to her, if he would dream of this moment as she surely would.

"Safe travels," she managed, forcing herself to step back, to maintain proper distance.

He bowed over her hand one final time, his lips barely brushing her skin.

"Three weeks," he promised again, and then he was gone, leaving only the lingering warmth of his touch and the faint scent of paper and herbs that she'd come to associate with him.

Vesta stood in the doorway of the greenhouse long after his carriage had disappeared from view, her hand pressed to her chest where her heart still raced. Three weeks. She could endure three weeks. Even if every minute felt like an eternity.