Page 32 of A Botanist and A Betrothal (Gentleman Scholars #4)
V esta frowned at her reflection. She had lost weight. Her appetite had fled along with her fiancé. It was melodramatic to say the least, but it was true.
It had been five weeks since Lincoln had left the area. He had faithfully written to her every day, sending a collection of his notes every third day. She thrilled every time she received them. But for the most part they were filled with scientific commentary rather than any professions of warm feelings toward her.
Vesta was beginning to feel as though she had a correspondence rather than a betrothal.
Life with the Caldwells was no longer something she could bear. She had begun to investigate other options for her future. Mr. Caldwell hadn’t noticed that she was reading the advertisement section of his newspapers once he was finished with them.
Just that morning she had found a position that seemed likely for her. Paid companion to a Lady Falstaff. It didn’t say how much the pay would be, but it didn’t matter to Vesta as long as it included room and board. She could no longer remain living in this house, with so little control over her own future.
She was in her room trying to compose a letter of application when there was a light knock on her door.
“Beg pardon, Miss, but there’s a caller for you.”
Two new maids had recently taken up residence. This was one of them. Mr. Caldwell hadn’t pressed charges against Maisie, but he had dismissed her without a reference. Surely, she had been paid sufficiently for her spying on his household, he had told her as he had her escorted from the property.
Vesta only felt a little bit sorry for her.
“Who is it, Lydia?” Vesta asked.
“Begging your pardon, Miss, but I don’t rightly know.”
Vesta sighed but didn’t admonish the girl. A more experienced servant would have known to ask, but it wasn’t the girl’s fault she hadn’t been trained properly. Vesta wasn’t going to be sticking around long enough to do it herself, so she didn’t bother saying anything more.
“I’ll be right there.”
“He’s in the receiving room, Miss.”
Vesta’s heart sank. Had Sir Edmund returned? It had been a relief when she hadn’t seen or heard from him these past six weeks. She glanced in the mirror to ensure she was presentable but didn’t bother primping further. She had no interest in encouraging anyone.
“Vesta, there you are.”
Lincoln’s delighted, and delightful, voice welcomed her into the room, and Vesta found her feet rooted to the floor in her shock. To her further shock, she burst into tears.
“Vesta, my dear, what has happened?” Lincoln rushed forward and put his arm around her, leading her further into the room. “Is it your mother?”
"I didn't think you'd come," she mumbled into the lapel of his coat, breathing in the familiar scent of paper and herbs that clung to his clothing.
"You didn't think I'd come?" Lincoln repeated, sounding both puzzled and pained.
His hands tightened on her shoulders. "But I told you it was just a short delay. I'm sorry if I wasn't clear."
Vesta tried to regain her control, forcing herself to step back though every fiber of her being protested the loss of contact. "I'm sorry to weep all over you. It was just a surprise to see you."
"I was hoping it would be a good surprise," Lincoln said, his voice soft and uncertain in a way she'd never heard before.
One hand lifted as though to brush away her tears, then dropped back to his side. "But I know, I only have myself to blame."
He led her gently toward the settee, keeping hold of her hand as though afraid she might slip away if he released her. The simple touch sent warmth spreading through her entire body.
"I should have told you I was coming but we were so excited about the Royal Society's quick response and invitation to return that we set out for Town immediately." His words tumbled out rapidly, reminding her of how he spoke when particularly enthusiastic about a scientific discovery. "I had planned all along to stop here on the way back and I had meant to send a message, but it all happened so quickly that I didn't stop to do so."
Vesta had finally regained control of herself and straightened, though she couldn't quite bring herself to withdraw her hand from his.
"That's fine. You don't owe me an explanation of your behaviour," she said, the stiffness in her voice belying the way her heart raced at his proximity.
"I'd very much like to owe you an explanation," Lincoln said, his eyes searching her face with the same intensity he usually reserved for examining rare specimens. "I'd like to owe you everything."
Vesta's breath caught in her throat. She watched as Lincoln's free hand clenched and unclenched at his side, betraying his nervousness.
"I know my unreliability these last weeks might have put you off wanting to entrust yourself to me," he continued, his voice growing hoarse. "But I can promise you now that I can finally provide for us. We may not end up being as wealthy as Mr. Caldwell, but we should at least be comfortable in a home of our own."
"Surely you know that wealth isn't a serious concern of mine. I didn't think it was yours, either," Vesta finally said, hardly daring to hope what his words might mean.
"Maybe not extreme wealth, but in my family, it will be the only way they'll be able to accept that my pursuits have been worthy." His thumb traced absent patterns on her palm, sending shivers up her arm.
"Oh, Lincoln, can't they see how important your work is, still?"
Lincoln's smile was sheepish, but his eyes never left her face. "I haven't told them yet, to be honest. I was hoping to tell them everything when I could go there with you on my arm."
The world seemed to stop spinning for a moment. Vesta felt as though all the air had been drawn from the room.
"I know we haven't spoken of love, and perhaps you don't wish to be burdened with my feelings," Lincoln continued, his voice dropping to barely more than a whisper, "but Vesta, I have to tell you that I have fallen in love with you. I didn't think I believed in such a nebulous thing. But I've found that nothing is nearly as delightful if you aren't at my side. Not even scientific discovery."
Her heart thundering in her chest, Vesta watched as Lincoln slid from the settee to one knee before her, still holding her hand as though it were the most precious specimen he'd ever encountered.
"Miss Vesta Lowell," he said, his voice trembling slightly, "will you do me the very great honour of becoming my wife, my scientific assistant, and if we're particularly fortunate, the mother of my children?"
"Oh Lincoln, of --"
The word 'course' never made it past her lips. Lincoln surged forward, one hand threading into her hair as his mouth found hers. The kiss was tentative at first, like a hypothesis waiting to be proven, but when Vesta's hands clutched at his lapels, drawing him closer, it deepened into something that defied scientific classification entirely.
When they finally broke apart, both breathing heavily, Lincoln rested his forehead against hers.
"I should apologize for taking such liberties," he murmured, though he made no move to release her.
"I think," Vesta said, her voice unsteady but happy, "that this is one experiment we should definitely repeat."