Page 79 of The Botanist’s Improper Bride

“Come on, old chap.” Sylvestor steered Trevor toward his carriage. “We can’t have them waiting there without us.”

Trevor allowed himself to be ushered inside and sat, his knee bouncing as he watched the city pass by. He could hardly believe this was happening. He was the sort of man who spent his days examining plants and writing scholarly articles, not hying off with a beautiful woman to marry in secret.

If not for Seraphina, he wouldn’t have thought himself capable of such reckless behavior. He couldn’t deny that he liked the effect she had on him.

When they arrived at the church, he took a moment to study the exterior. It was a squat, unremarkable building. Nothing like St. George’s, where they’d planned to have their ceremony.

He liked it more. Small and unusual suited him better than large and lavish did.

The Carrutherses’ carriage was parked outside, and when he and Sylvestor disembarked, their driver opened the carriage door. His wife-to-be descended, and Trevor nearly swallowed his tongue.

Clad in a pale, lacy confection that nipped in at her waist and flared out farther down, Seraphina was dazzling. Her hair had been pinned up at the back, but it cascaded over her left shoulder, drawing attention to the bare skin of her neck and upper chest.

He went to her in a daze and offered her his arm. “You look…” He couldn’t find the right word. Mesmerizing? Entrancing? Lovely? None of them were enough to describe what he felt when he gazed at her. “You’re perfect.”

She took his arm and sent him a soft smile—the one he knew was real. “You’re very handsome too.”

His face burned, and he cleared his throat. “Shall we get married?”

“Immediately.”

He walked her into the church, where the vicar was waiting. Trevor had sent word ahead to expect a bridal party, along with a donation and a request for secrecy.

The vicar greeted them, guided them to the altar, and led them through a simple ceremony.

Trevor stole glances at Seraphina, scarcely daring to believe his luck. A month ago, he’d thought her beyond his reach, but now, they were marrying. Not only that, but she genuinely seemed to care for him.

Once or twice, she caught his eyes and beamed, as if she were equally thrilled. He didn’t understand why she felt that way, but he’d remember these brief moments of connection and treasure them for the rest of his life.

At the end of the ceremony, they signed the register, making the wedding official. That done, they escorted Letitia home and then took Sylvestor’s carriage to Wembley House. He waved at them through the window as he pulled away, no doubt already excited to break the news to Marianne.

Meanwhile, Trevor linked arms with Seraphina and stared at the front entrance.

It was time to tell his parents.

Emotions buzzed under his skin like agitated wasps as he walked her to the door, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on any of them. He wasn’t sure how his parents would react, and that unsettled him, but it didn’t make him any less certain of his course of action.

“Do you regret it?” Seraphina asked quietly.

“No.” He squared his shoulders. “I’ve rarely been this sure of anything.”

They entered, and he asked the butler to fetch his parents. His father arrived first, smoothing down a flyaway wisp of hair from the top of his thinning head as he rounded the corner. He paused and cocked his head slightly, rapidly taking everything in.

“Oh.” He glanced from Trevor to Seraphina. “I see.”

“What do you see, Walter?” his mother boomed as she strode in from the parlor.

“They’ve married,” Lord Wembley said.

Trevor nodded. “We have.”

His mother’s lips parted, and her hand went to her chest. “Married? As in, the deed is done?”

Seraphina stepped forward, nudging Trevor along with her. “I’m sorry to have rushed ahead like this, but my father was pressuring me to marry Mr. Emerson, and I was afraid that if we waited, he’d find a way to make me do it.”

Trevor smiled at her fondly. It was so like her to take the blame when he’d been the one to turn up with a special license. “It was my idea, Mother.”

Lady Wembley was shaking her head so slowly that Trevor doubted she was aware of doing it. “I’d heard rumors about Mr. Emerson, but I didn’t give them any credence. Why on earth would your father countenance such a proposal when you’d already secured a betrothal to a future earl?”