Page 48 of The Botanist’s Improper Bride

When the baron pulled away, his eyes were gleaming. “I bought you a gift.”

“Why? It’s not a special occasion.”

Sylvestor rolled his eyes and thrust a box into his hands. “Just take it.”

Confused, Trevor opened the box to reveal a fine gold quizzing glass. He picked it up carefully and used it to examine his palm.

“It has the most intense magnification currently available,” Sylvestor told him. “Thought it might help you better inspect your plants.”

Trevor’s throat tightened. What a thoughtful gift. He tucked it into his pocket to examine later. “Thank you. That’s very kind of you.” He swallowed and drew in a deep breath. “I must ask, how bad is the gossip if you believe I need a consolation gift?”

Sylvestor sank back onto the chaise longue. “It isn’t good.”

Trevor sat and considered pouring himself a cup of tea, but he worried that his hands would shake, so he settled for grabbing a biscuit he didn’t intend to eat. “Tell me. Be blunt. I can take it.”

The baron sighed and smoothed his palms down his trousers. “Your reputation as being eccentric helps. It makes what happened less shocking to the ton.”

“That doesn’t sound so terrible.”

He couldn’t help feeling like there was something Sylvestor was leaving out.

His friend smiled faintly. “I’m afraid that you’ve also made it into the Regent’s betting book.”

“I beg your pardon?” That couldn’t possibly be right.

“Mr. Emerson must have tired of hearing about the bets against him and has entered his own bet into the ledger.”

Dread curled in Trevor’s gut. “And what is his wager?”

“That you may be betrothed to Miss Dalton, but you won’t actually marry her.”

Closing his eyes, Trevor pinched the bridge of his nose. “Oh God.”

Surely, after last night, every gentleman in the ton must be willing to agree with Mr. Emerson on the likelihood of that.

“But you oughtn’t let it get you down,” Sylvestor plowed on. “Marianne tells me that all the ladies of the ton can talk about today is how staunchly she stood by your side.”

Trevor’s insides fluttered. He had no idea whether that would reflect well on her, but surely being stalwart couldn’t be looked down upon. He only hoped that she was willing to continue standing by his side no matter what came next and that she wouldn’t be swayed by Mr. Emerson and his golden tongue.

He leaned forward. “I want to know everything you’ve heard.”

CHAPTER 17

“You’re so lucky your father doesn’t know what you’re doing,” Letitia said as the carriage turned the corner, carrying them closer to Wembley House.

Seraphina laughed. “Father doesn’t care what I do as long as the wedding goes ahead. We’ve chosen a date, so he has nothing to worry himself over.”

If she sounded bitter about that, then so be it. She couldn’t help feeling like she’d lost him when her mother died. He’d withdrawn into himself and hadn’t been the same since.

The carriage slowed, and she glanced out the window, noting that it was still raining lightly, a gray cast over everything because of the thick clouds clustered above. It wasn’t cold, though—just the kind of wet that seeped into everything.

When the driver opened the door, they hurried up the stairs to the front entrance, then knocked loudly, eager to be out of the inclement weather. The door swung open to reveal the butler, whose usually stern expression flickered in an understated display of shock.

He bowed. “Good morning, Miss Carruthers and Miss Dalton. How may I help you?”

“We’re here to visit with Lady Wembley,” Letitia lied.

“Of course.” He looked relieved to have been presented with a suitable explanation. “Please come this way. I’ll find her for you.”