Page 37 of The Botanist’s Improper Bride

He nodded and allowed her to take him farther away from their parents.

“What brought this on?” she asked, a glint of something that looked almost like hurt in her eyes. “Don’t you want me at Nunhaven? Would you prefer I stay in London?”

Her voice shook, but then she inhaled through her nostrils and schooled her features, wiping away anything that might tell him how she was feeling. He wanted to grab her by the shoulders and ask her to stop showing him the role she played for society and be herself, but he couldn’t do that when they were surrounded by family members.

“I just want you to have choices,” he muttered.

She nodded, but he could tell that she wasn’t viewing the gift he was trying to give her the way he’d intended it to be seen. Something else was going on behind her mask, and he couldn’t tell what it was. Had he done something wrong?

CHAPTER 13

As Seraphina entered the modiste’s shop, the tension eased from her muscles. It was cold outside, but thankfully, the shop was well heated.

“Hopefully, I won’t have to go through this a third time,” she said as Letitia walked in behind her and quickly closed the door.

“You won’t,” her friend replied. “Trevor will carry through on his promise to marry you. He isn’t the sort of man who lets people down. Not to mention that if he left you standing at the altar, Aunt Nancy would tan his hide.”

“I know. I just worry that the amount of attention our wedding generates will unnerve him. He didn’t seem himself on Saturday.”

She still didn’t know what to do with his offer of a financial settlement. It was a kind gesture, and she could tell that he meant well, but part of her couldn’t help worrying that he might be having doubts about their marriage and was viewing his offer as a practical solution for both of them.

“In what way did he seem different?” Letitia asked.

Before Seraphina could answer, Madame Baptiste appeared through a door in the back of the shop.

“Tell me later. But I can promise you, this will be the last wedding dress you ever have to order,” Letitia whispered.

Accepting the change of topic, Seraphina said, “I have to admit, I’m relieved that Father sees the benefit in ordering a second gown. Marrying Trevor in the dress I was supposed to wear for The Dishonorable Phineas Beardsly would be tasteless and disrespectful.”

Letitia clucked her tongue. “Even a man can see that it would be better for you to have another dress.”

Madame Baptiste glided over, her dark eyes curious. “Good morning, ladies. How can I help you this morning?”

Seraphina smiled in greeting. She liked the modiste. The woman was far cleverer than most people gave her credit for. “You may have heard that my wedding fell through?”

Madame Baptiste inclined her head in acknowledgment. “I was sorry for any trouble it might have caused you.”

The corners of Seraphina’s mouth twitched. She couldn’t help noticing that the modiste hadn’t said she was sorry it had fallen through, just that it had caused her trouble. “Thank you. As it happens, I’m now betrothed to a man who suits me better—dear Letitia’s cousin, Trevor.”

The modiste’s eyes widened before she quickly schooled her features. “Lord Fitzgerald, the elusive future Earl of Wembley?”

“Exactly right. The marriage settlement has been arranged, and we’re moving forward with wedding preparations.”

Her face lit up. “You want a new gown.”

Seraphina laughed. “It seems like bad form to wear the same wedding gown twice.”

“Indeed. We’d hate for anyone to say anything improper,” Letitia added, as if they hadn’t both planned for something terribly improper to happen at the first wedding.

Madame Baptiste led them through the dresses and fabrics and over to the corner usually reserved for wedding-quality materials. “Would you like a traditional dress to emphasize your purity, since there has been—how should I put this?—a touch of scandal associated with your name? Or would you prefer to embrace that scandal and choose something more interesting?”

The thought of opting for a color such as red or vibrant pink tempted her more than it should, but this wasn’t the time to rebel against the perfect society mask she’d built over the years.

Reluctantly, she said, “We’d best go for the traditional style.”

As they sorted through the fabrics, holding each one up to Seraphina’s face to see how it suited her complexion, Madame Baptiste said, “Tell me about your intended.”

“He’s as much an academic as an aristocrat,” Seraphina replied, exchanging a wry glance with Letitia.