Page 8 of A Botanist and A Betrothal (Gentleman Scholars #4)

D awn painted the garden in shades of pearl and gold as Vesta made her way along the path, an old notebook and pencil clutched to her chest. Her heart thundered with each step — partly from worry about being discovered, partly from the novelty of this clandestine meeting. She had never done anything so daring in her life.

Lincoln was already there, kneeling beside a patch of herbs with his own notebook open. He looked up at her approach, and the smile that crossed his face made her breath catch.

"You came," he said softly, as though he'd half-expected her to change her mind.

"Of course." Vesta gestured to the notebook she carried. "Though I'm afraid this is rather shabby. It's left over from my school days."

"Perfect." He patted the stone bench beside him. "The best scientists start with observation. Shall we begin with what you already know?"

For the next hour, Vesta found herself drawn into a world she'd never imagined. Lincoln listened intently as she described the patterns she'd noticed in the garden — which plants thrived together, which withered, how the morning light affected different beds. He took notes, asking careful questions that made her see her own knowledge in a new light.

"You have an excellent eye," he said, showing her how to sketch a leaf's veining pattern. His hand brushed hers as he guided her pencil, and Vesta felt warmth bloom in her cheeks. "That's precisely the kind of detailed observation needed for scientific study."

"I never thought—" She paused, struggling to articulate the feeling. "I never thought anyone would take my ideas seriously."

Lincoln's expression softened. "Perhaps that's something we can change together."

He hesitated, then added, "If you still wish to proceed with our arrangement."

Vesta looked down at the page where their sketches mingled — her practical observations alongside his scientific notations. It felt like a glimpse of what their future might hold.

"I think," she said carefully, "that I would like to try."

The morning bell rang in the distance, making them both start.

“I suppose I ought to get about my duties,” Vesta said, reluctant to leave off the fascinating studies.

Lincoln quickly gathered their notebooks. "Tonight then?" he asked. "For the announcement?"

Vesta nodded, already dreading the evening ahead. But as she hurried back to the house, she found herself clutching the notebook to her chest like a treasure, her mind full of leaf patterns and the way Lincoln's eyes had lit up when she'd shared her observations.

~~~~

Vesta adjusted the neckline of her dress, steeling herself for the evening's announcement. She could hardly believe they were going to go along with Mr. Caldwell's preposterous proposition. Her life was spiralling out of control, and yet her hands barely trembled as she put one last pin in her hair.

It was the most she had ever fussed over her appearance in her entire life, except maybe that first time she was to meet Mr. Caldwell and his daughters. But that had been Mama's fussing.

The morning's conversation in the garden with Lincoln still played through her mind. His earnest explanations about the plants, the gentle way he'd pointed out the foxglove without letting her touch it, the surprising depth of understanding in his eyes when she'd mentioned her practical knowledge of growing things. It felt like a dream compared to the reality she now faced.

Vesta hated to think about that first meeting with the Caldwells, but this day felt very similar. A shiver ran through her. No, Lincoln was a very different man from Mr. Caldwell.

Wasn't he?

She had asked all the questions she needed to ask. Or so she hoped.

Unfortunately, they had few answers to some of the most important questions like how they would live. She was supposed to have a dowry. She was sure it wasn't large, but it was something. It would give her a sense of worth or value.

A sigh escaped her as she pondered her future. He had been willing to give up his science if she had refused the betrothal. Or so he said. She still wasn't completely sure if she could trust that promise.

"I won't be giving up science entirely, just this pursuit. You needn't look so horrified," he had said to her gently with a slight, almost laugh, as they sat together in the garden. The memory of his voice, warm with amusement yet tinged with understanding, made her heart flutter traitorously in her chest.

They had agreed to a betrothal; they would remain engaged for a time while Lincoln began his research. They wouldn’t wed immediately. Perhaps not at all. Vesta hoped Mr. Caldwell would allow Lincoln to proceed immediately upon their agreement. She wasn’t willing to wed a total stranger.

Vesta was certain Mr. Caldwell would not appreciate that fine point. They hadn’t spoken with him yet about their conditions. They hadn’t spoken with her stepfather at all, only talking together. She thought they had spoken for hours, but it might have been just minutes. It was hard to tell. The time had flown.

A shiver began in the centre of her being at the thought of confronting her stepfather with the conditions, but she knew Lincoln would be there at her side.

It was strange that she considered him by his first name.

She had never known any gentleman by their first name, not even Mr. Caldwell, her stepfather, and yet already she was thinking of him as Lincoln, this Doctor Welby, offspring of the powerful Westbrook family.

Another shiver shimmied through her at the thought.

Her stepsisters would be avid with jealousy. Nausea swirled after the shivers as Vesta contemplated what her stepsisters might try to do, but Doctor Welby had claimed his family could handle it.

Vesta wasn’t so sure—he hadn’t met the girls yet, after all. But he was a man; that was for him to decide, she supposed. And considering he was a man of science, he might not even realize what a force the Caldwell girls could be.

Behind the fear, nausea, and anxiety bubbled a sense of relief.

She could tell that Lincoln could be a friend. Already she trusted him. It was strange because she no longer trusted anyone.

There was just something about him—perhaps his steady gaze, the way he listened to her, or his gentle touch when he reached out to the plants that he was so interested in. Oh, not the foxglove—Lincoln had told her that touching those was dangerous.

A deep breath, and she stepped from her room, surprised to find Lincoln at the bottom of the stairs, waiting for her, his hand outstretched and a gentle smile on his face. They would speak with Mr. Caldwell together and then announce the news to the rest of the family.

“Conditions? What do you mean you have conditions?” Mr. Caldwell scoffed after they had been seated uncomfortably in front of his desk. “It isn’t for you to make conditions over me.”

Lincoln stood his ground, impressing Vesta with his courage. He held her trembling hand in his strong clasp, not wincing over the tightness of Vesta's grip in her nervous state.

“Vesta and I have agreed to an engagement under certain conditions,” Lincoln repeated in a calm, steady voice. “We will pursue marriage together if we decide we suit, but one of the conditions is that we require her dowry to be released to us upon our marriage, as I am not yet in a position to support a wife.”

Mr. Caldwell’s sneer intensified, but he didn’t interrupt. It was as though he were stunned into silence by the sheer audacity of someone trying to set conditions upon his behaviour or intentions.

“Vesta needs to be able to have some time to study my science to consider if she is willing to partner with me—a mad scientist, one could say. A woman shouldn’t be asked to endure such a life without at least witnessing it to a certain degree. That is another of our conditions.” Lincoln continued speaking in a calm reasonable voice that still sent a shiver through Vesta.

Lincoln glanced toward Vesta as though to include her in the conversation or perhaps to check to ensure she hadn’t passed out from her anxiety. That thought, contrarily, bolstered Vesta as she was filled with amusement over the mental picture.

“Time must be given for us to get to know one another, at least a bit, and for her to properly understand my life’s work. If you agree to those two conditions, then we agree to a betrothal.”

Vesta held her breath as Mr. Caldwell blustered. “I wanted you to marry immediately! You can’t access those plants you love so much if you don’t marry!”

Lincoln stood his ground even as Vesta quailed. “It seems we will have to trust one another, Mr. Caldwell. I could argue that I won’t marry without the plants.”

Mr. Caldwell barely acknowledged his words. “And you, girl, demanding your dowry when I’ve found you a husband! You shouldn’t need the dowry.”

“Is it not her money, in reality, Mr. Caldwell? Provided by her father who has passed too soon?”

Again, the surly businessman ignored Lincoln’s words, turning back on him with another sneer.

“Don’t you receive an allowance from your family?” Mr. Caldwell asked Lincoln.

Lincoln shook his head. “I don’t need this arrangement if I accept my family’s allowance,” he said calmly. “That is my grandfather’s condition: give up my science for the money. If I’m making a deal with you, it’s for my science. But for us to live, there needs to be some funds.”

“Well, don’t you intend for your science to result in lucre?” Mr. Caldwell asked with disdain.

“Primarily, I’m interested in the lives it will save, but I do foresee that it should result in financial gain.” Lincoln agreed, his tone still calm, much to Vesta’s shock. “But I don’t even yet know if the plant has the properties that I think it does.”

Lincoln shook his head and actually laughed. Laughed. Vesta nearly fainted.

“Now we’re turning on a vicious circle. I need to know if the plant has the properties I think it does. You expect me to marry Vesta in exchange for the plants, but I can’t marry Vesta if we will starve in a ditch somewhere. We might prosper greatly from the plants. Or they could be worthless.” He paused for a moment. “And without your agreement, we cannot know for certain. I will not marry a woman without a means of housing and feeding her.”

Again, Vesta was shocked by his seeming ready acceptance of either eventuality. She only hoped her mouth wasn’t hanging open as she stared at him.

“Those are our conditions,” Lincoln concluded. “If you agree, we will become betrothed. My word is a gentleman’s; I will not abandon her. But we cannot wed until she understands what she faces.”

“Very well, very well. I can see there’s nothing for it. You will have her dowry if you wed her,” Mr. Caldwell grumbled. "It will still be a pleasure to have you in our family, isn’t that right, Vesta?"

Vesta's shock knew no limits. She had to concentrate not to allow her mouth to fall open.

Despite his blustering, Mr. Caldwell had barely put up any resistance.

Not that they had really presented all the conditions they had discussed in the garden that afternoon, but Lincoln had assured her that most of the conditions were really between the two of them and didn’t need to be presented to her stepfather.

Like the length of their betrothal – why wait once they’d decided – Lincoln had agreed to give her all the time she needed to make her decision, but he was anxious to get on with studying his plants. His word as a gentleman, he would wait on studying the foxglove until they wed if Mr. Caldwell insisted, but he would begin studying other plants on the property right away. Vesta almost got lost in the memory.

“ How quickly would you wish to wed?” she had asked, hating the tremble she could hear in her voice.

“Are you reluctant to leave here?” he had countered with a question of his own.

“Not in the least,” she had replied immediately. “But I am reluctant to live with strangers.”

“Of course,” he had replied immediately, kind concern entering his face, which was a slight comfort to Vesta.

“It’s not that I am in a rush to wed. I don’t know you, either,” he had said finally. “I propose that you take all the time you need to make up your mind. But once you do, I see no reason to prolong matters. I could have my grandfather arrange a special license so we needn’t wait for the banns, if you don’t wish.”

“That quick?” Vesta had asked, a trifle faint at the thought, needing to sit down as a wave of heat lightened her head.

Rather than being sympathetic or apologetic, Lincoln had laughed. “I am eager,” he said. “But only once you are certain.”

It had done much to endear him to her. Vesta was almost ready to agree. But she held off until they spoke with Mr. Caldwell. She refused to marry a stranger, especially so quickly.

Vesta pulled her attention back to the present. Despite the fact that they hadn’t presented their personal conditions to Mr. Caldwell, Vesta had expected more resistance from the curmudgeonly older man.

Taking a deep breath, she accepted the hand Lincoln offered to escort her from the room.

“Seems to me it’s supper time,” Mr. Caldwell said, seemingly putting on a jovial front, much like a cloak of disguise.

Vesta's stomach clenched. Now she had to face her mother and Mr. Caldwell’s daughters.

Lincoln was going to meet her stepsisters. Nerves danced along her spine and through her stomach. The thought of him meeting them made her wish once more that the man had never wandered across their land.

Why did it have to be supper? That was going to be nearly impossible to bear.

Throwing back her shoulders, Vesta reminded herself that she was fully capable. She had borne up under all the treatment she faced since she and her mother came to Mr. Caldwell’s house. What was one more awkward supper to face?

As she expected, Kimberly and Nancy reacted poorly.

“How can she be betrothed before us, Papa? You promised you would prevent it.” Nancy’s whining voice put Vesta’s teeth on edge, but she managed to hold onto her silence.

“No, I didn’t, girls. I promised I would get you something even better.” Mr. Caldwell’s voice when speaking with his daughters was always far different than what Vesta was used to hearing.

“Well, how is this going to help us?” Kimberly asked plaintively.

“You just wait and see,” Mr. Caldwell answered his daughters in a kind tone that was never used with anyone else, with the possible exception of Vesta’s mother.

Vesta again had to fight to keep her tongue between her teeth. She wasn’t ready to argue with Mr. Caldwell’s obvious ambitions.

Speaking of Vesta’s mother, Vesta squirmed under her mother’s assessing gaze. The woman said very little, merely uttering a surprised murmur when Mr. Caldwell announced their news.

“Bring some champagne,” Mr. Caldwell commanded the servants as the meal was finally coming to a close. “We have a celebration to observe.”

Champagne? Vesta’s shock knew no bounds.

She must have made a noise of distress in some way because suddenly Lincoln was squeezing her hand under the table, offering his silent support.

To her surprise, it felt as though her heart turned over in her chest, and she almost pulled her hand from his. Obviously, that organ was a traitor. She could tell it was eager to give itself away.