Page 43 of The Botanist’s Improper Bride

He spun, about to apologize again, when he glanced into the ballroom and noticed a group of matrons making their way toward the balcony.

“You need to go,” he hissed.

Startled, she followed his gaze and paled, then rushed into the ballroom, barely evading the older women who joined him seconds later, chatting about who their daughters were each dancing with.

He couldn’t escape.

There was nowhere for him to go here where he could be on his own.

He backed into the corner, trying his hardest to breathe. It was like he was trapped in a nightmare, and no matter what he did, it kept getting worse.

CHAPTER 15

“My dress is fine,” Seraphina snapped, yanking her skirt away from the woman who knelt at her feet. “The stitches only need to hold until I get home.”

“No, no, it has to be perfect,” the woman insisted.

“There’s no chance of it being perfect,” Seraphina said. There was something almost frantic about the way the woman was trying to keep her in the dressing room, and that made her nervous. Something was going on, and she didn’t know what.

“But I made a mess of the knot. If you just give me another two minutes⁠—”

“I’m returning to my betrothed now.”

Seraphina didn’t wait for her reply, but simply left.

As soon as she entered the ballroom, she could sense that something had happened. Whispers rippled through the crowd like waves lapping at a shore, and some people were overtly staring at the door that led through to the balcony.

With a sinking sensation in her gut, Seraphina skirted around the clusters of guests and padded toward the balcony. Three society mamas were standing on one side of the balcony, and on the other, plastered against the railing as if he wanted to meld into it and disappear, was Trevor.

Her fiancé’s usually warm complexion was waxy, his cheeks drained of color, and he was rocking from side to side, his hands fluttering near his hips, his entire body practically vibrating with discomfort.

Her heart clenched. This was her fault. She should never have left his side.

Slowly, as if approaching a frightened horse, she crossed the balcony to Trevor.

“Are you all right?”

His lips pressed tightly together, and his fingers fidgeted with the bottom of his coat. His eyes briefly met hers, but he didn’t reply. She wasn’t sure he was able to. He looked too consumed by his own thoughts.

His distress tweaked at her memories. She vaguely recalled him getting like this when he had fallen into the pond and embarrassed himself in front of her and Letitia when they were younger.

She needed to get him out of here. Back then, Lady Wembley had hustled him away to his bedchamber and ordered a cup of tea, so perhaps that’s what she needed to do.

Speaking of Lady Wembley, where was she?

Seraphina retreated to the balcony door, stretched onto her tiptoes, and surveyed the ballroom. Since Lady Wembley was a relatively tall woman, it wasn’t difficult to spot her. She had just emerged from the refreshments room and was also looking around, presumably searching for them.

Backtracking to Trevor, Seraphina wound her arm through his and tugged him toward the door. “Don’t worry about talking to anyone. Just stay with me, and we’ll get you out of here.”

It could have been her imagination, but she thought he nodded.

They met Lady Wembley halfway across the room.

“What happened?” Seraphina asked quietly.

“I didn’t see it, but from what Lady Blackwell told me, Trevor engaged in conversation with Mr. Tenant but got carried away on one of his botanical tangents. Mr. Emerson, who was with Mr. Tenant at the time, made an unkind remark about how Trevor’s idea of conversation might be more suitable to a lecture hall.”

A low burning started in Seraphina’s gut, getting hotter as it scorched up her chest and seared the back of her throat.