Page 8 of The Botanist’s Improper Bride

“Good afternoon, Miss Dalton,” he called jovially. “I hope you’re well.”

“Very well, thank you. And yourself?” She hated to ask because there was nothing that notorious gossip Mr. Chester Emerson liked more than to talk about himself, but good manners dictated that she had to.

“Very well.” He spoke in a warm, friendly tone that wasn’t anywhere near as genuine as he wanted her to think. “I must express my deepest sympathies for the situation…” The corners of his mouth turned down. “…with the wedding and all.”

“It was a shock, to be sure.”

His sympathy disappeared as quickly as it had arrived. “At least the rest of us might have a chance to win your hand now.”

“Indeed.”

Fortunately, before she was forced to enjoy more of this stilted conversation, the carriage rumbled forward. Relieved, she shut the door and lurched back to her seat.

“He’s a snake, that one,” Letitia muttered. “Cruel to anyone whom he thinks beneath him.”

“I believe it.”

“It’s as if he forgets that he himself has a father in trade and no land to speak of—not that either of those things is something to be ashamed of, but you’d think he’d recall the circumstances of his birth and behave more kindly, rather than using his impeccable reputation and sharp tongue to cut others.”

“Perhaps he thinks that if he conveniently ‘forgets’ his background, then others in the ton will do the same.”

His presence here bothered Seraphina for some reason. Running into him here didn’t feel coincidental, but he couldn’t possibly have known that she and Letitia would be out and about today, nor where they were going or at what time, so it had to be. It was just that the man unnerved her, so she was reading too much into his presence.

They stopped to drop Letitia off, then continued on to Seraphina’s home. Mark helped her out of the carriage and escorted her inside.

Knowing that she probably smelled of chemicals from the explosion earlier, she asked for a bath to be prepared and was on her way to her room when she passed by her father’s office and his voice stopped her in her tracks.

“Seraphina,” he called just loudly enough to get her attention. “Won’t you come in here?”

She grimaced, checking the front of her dress to make sure that it wasn’t stained and there was no glass left anywhere. She’d prefer to wash before facing him, but if she put him off, he would want to know why.

Reluctantly, she patted her hair, tucking a loose strand behind her ear, and entered his office. Mr. Dalton was a great believer in masculine shades being conducive to productivity, so the room was decorated entirely in dark green and brown, the only source of light coming through the window.

It was awfully gloomy, but if it worked for him, there was no point in suggesting he might like to introduce a little color.

“Where were you?” he asked, cocking his head as if he could sense that something was off with her but couldn’t quite put his finger on what.

“I was out with Miss Carruthers.”

“No one said anything untoward, I hope. You haven’t left the house much since the wedding, so I imagine they are all interested to see how you’re faring.”

Once, she might have thought he was asking because he was concerned about her well-being, but it was more likely that he wanted to know whether he needed to worry about additional damage to their family’s reputation.

“No one bothered me.” She wasn’t about to explain that that was because she had mostly remained in the carriage and hadn’t been anywhere they were likely to encounter members of the ton. “I saw Mr. Emerson. He expressed his sympathy.”

“He was sympathetic?”

“Yes.” That might settle his mind. If Mr. Emerson hadn’t cut her, then others might follow his lead. He wasn’t titled or a member of the nobility, but he was considered an authority on etiquette and fashion. People listened when he spoke.

“That’s a relief. Am I to take the fact that you went out in public as a sign that you’re no longer so distraught?”

Seraphina considered her response carefully. She had hoped that she would be ruined enough not to have to entertain further offers of marriage, but if Emerson painted her as a faultless victim and others followed suit, her father would latch onto the opportunity to see her married off before they had a chance to change their minds.

“I am… recovering,” she said slowly. “But I’m not ready to attend any events yet. It’s terribly embarrassing to have been abandoned. Everyone will think I did something wrong.”

His eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly. “Did you?”

“Father!” she gasped, her hand flying to her chest. “Of course not! Do you think I wanted to be humiliated in such a way?”