Page 44 of The Botanist’s Improper Bride

That bastard.

Mr. Emerson had engineered this. She didn’t know how, but he must have arranged for her to be out of the way so she wouldn’t be able to support Trevor, then he’d manipulated the conversation so that Trevor would get involved, all so that he could make a scathing remark and humiliate a sweet, kind man in public.

It was diabolical.

“He did this on purpose,” she snarled.

Lady Wembley reared back, eyes wide and cautious, as though Seraphina was a wild animal that might bite her at any moment. “We can’t know that.”

“Oh, but I do. And when I finish with him, he’s going to wish that he kept far, far away from⁠—”

“Sera,” Lady Wembley said, cutting her off. “There’s nothing I would love more than to see you take Mr. Emerson to task, but it’s more important for us to remove Trevor from the situation. He hates to be seen as incompetent. If we leave, we avoid drawing further attention to him.”

Seraphina deflated. “You’re right.”

She hated to admit it, but Lady Wembley had more experience dealing with Trevor’s social difficulties than she did.

Gazing up at Trevor, she was pleased to see that his eyes were focused again, following their back-and-forth conversation, and the tension brackets at the corners of his mouth had faded.

“I’m so sorry you had to tolerate such hideous behavior because of me,” she told him, wishing she could hug him tightly, but she knew that would be grossly inappropriate.

His warm brown eyes met hers before flickering away. “It’s not your fault.”

But it was.

The only reason he’d come to London was because of her. Everything that happened here resulted from that decision.

Lady Wembley took Trevor’s other arm, and they marched toward the exit, but they had made it only four steps before a young lady in a frothy white dress skipped into their path, beaming at Trevor like he was the second coming.

“Lord Fitzgerald, I believe you promised me the next dance,” she declared, performing a playful curtsy.

Seraphina narrowed her eyes. “Trevor isn’t feeling well. Unfortunately, we need to return home.”

The girl pouted. “But I was so excited to dance with such an elusive gentleman.” She batted her eyes at him. “Surely you can spare a few minutes for one single dance?”

Trevor blinked rapidly, as if coming out of a stupor. His mouth twisted into a semblance of a smile that anyone with half a brain could tell was fake. “I’m sure I can manage one dance.”

Seraphina tightened her hold on him. “It isn’t necessary.” She spoke quietly, her mouth only inches from his ear. “You’re in no shape to perform for a crowd.”

He’d managed a country dance with her earlier, and it had been lovely, but even that had taken his full concentration, and he wasn’t operating at anywhere near his best.

Unfortunately, for some reason, her words only seemed to make him more determined.

He straightened his spine and raised his chin. “A single dance.”

The girl giggled and offered him her hand. He disentangled himself from Seraphina and his mother and took it. Seraphina watched, her heart in her throat, as he led the girl to join the other couples preparing to dance.

When the music of a quadrille started, her stomach churned, and she had to hold onto Lady Wembley to prevent herself from rushing over and pulling him away. Trevor might be naturally athletic, and he’d been practicing his dancing, but she doubted his footwork was deft enough for a quadrille.

Sure enough, as the dancing began, he did his best to follow the moves of those around him, but it was obvious he was struggling to match their steps. He didn’t let that stop him from trying, and Seraphina’s heart filled with pride that even though he was completely out of his element, he refused to give in.

Nearby, a masculine voice drawled, “Lord Fitzgerald certainly brings an admirable level of enthusiasm to the ballroom. One could never accuse him of failing to try.”

Seraphina spun around, her insides a boiling mass of fury. “I have always considered effort to be an indicator of good character,” she spat at Mr. Emerson, who was watching the display with visible amusement. “One who tries their hardest is to be applauded. Especially when compared to those who prefer words to actions.”

Mr. Emerson chuckled. “Come along, Miss Dalton. You must admit, sometimes words might be preferable to actions.”

“Only if those words are kind.” Something Mr. Emerson’s never were.