Page 13 of The Botanist’s Improper Bride

Since they had returned to London at the start of the season, Mr. Blackwell and his wife had been practically joined at the hip.

His smile widened. “She’s dancing with her brother-in-law, so I came here because I knew I’d find the most delightful diversion. Would either of you like to dance?”

Letitia stepped backward, so Seraphina took his hand and couldn’t help smiling back at him as he whisked her into a cotillion.

“In my opinion, you’re well rid of Beardsly,” he said, apropos of nothing. “Pleasant enough fellow, but there isn’t an original thought in his head, and you… You’re a devious little thing. Much smarter than people give you credit for.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she said lightly.

He chuckled. “If you insist.”

They didn’t speak about anything deeper. Each time they came together, Mr. Blackwell shared an inane observation, and she commented on their companions’ outfits. There was something very entertaining about it, as if they were both putting on an act and found each other amusing.

She’d always liked Mr. Blackwell. He was a little silly, but very charismatic. One of those rare souls who was genuinely fun to spend time with.

When the dance ended, they found Mr. Blackwell’s friend, Mr. Chisholm, attempting to talk Letitia into taking a spin about the ballroom.

The instant Letitia’s eyes locked with Seraphina’s, she exclaimed, “Oh, look, here’s Miss Dalton. She loves to dance. I’m sure she would be delighted to take a turn around the ballroom with you.”

Seraphina shot her friend a bemused glance, but then she dutifully exchanged one escort for another and danced with Mr. Chisholm.

Where Mr. Blackwell was a charming rogue, Mr. Chisholm was a blatant flirt. She knew better than to assume he was trying to court her, though. More likely, he hoped that since her reputation had taken a hit, she might be interested in throwing caution to the wind and engaging in a moonlight tryst.

Once the dance ended, she escaped with Letitia to a corner of the room where the older chaperones sat, and they drank refreshments and tried to avoid notice. Seraphina liked dancing well enough, but she had no desire for any of the gentlemen present to think she was encouraging them to pursue her.

They seemed to have decided that she wasn’t completely ruined, and she feared that it wouldn’t be long before another prospective husband made his intentions clear.

It was there that her father found her. He had insisted on accompanying her tonight so he could assess the damage to their family’s name for himself.

“Time to return home,” he said, standing over her with an unusual expression that she couldn’t interpret. He didn’t appear angry, but perhaps stressed.

She stood, bid goodbye to Letitia, and accompanied him to find their hosts and exchange pleasantries before leaving.

A cool breeze rustled her skirt around her legs as they crossed from the house to the carriage, and she shivered, goose bumps rippling up her exposed upper arms. They climbed into the carriage, and she fully expected her father to explain why he looked concerned, but he remained silent for the entire journey home.

The quiet unnerved her.

Mr. Dalton wasn’t a chatterbox, but it was unusual for him to not at least ask after the gentlemen she had danced with.

When they arrived home, she started to stand, but he touched her elbow and guided her back onto the bench.

“Wait,” he said, turning to face her, his eyes glittering in the moonlight that streamed through the window. “There’s something important that I need to discuss with you.”

“Oh? And what is that?”

He drew in a deep breath. “Mr. Emerson approached me tonight. He asked if I would consider him as a prospective husband for you.”

“What?” She pressed her fist to her mouth, certain she must’ve heard him wrong.

“Mr. Emerson wants to marry you.”

“Good lord. He’s worse than Phineas Beardsly!” Her chest felt suddenly tight, and she shook her head, unable to stop herself from saying more. “He’s a gossip, Father, and he’s mean-spirited.”

“It’s not as if you have many other options,” he snapped. “Emerson has done what he can to protect your reputation, and we owe him for that. Public opinion is currently on your side, but that may not last.”

Suddenly, she realized why Mr. Emerson had chosen to protect her. Not out of the goodness of his heart—that idea was laughable—but because he wanted her as his wife, and if she were a social outcast, he could hardly marry her and maintain his sterling reputation.

Now, she was available, her name relatively untarnished, and she was indebted to him. Maybe he even thought she’d be obliged to accept his proposal.