by Susanne Lord
“This is our son, John.” She blinked rapidly against tears. “He will be two months next week. How will I ever thank you for sailing to India in Will’s place? I could not have endured parting with him.”
“I know it,” Seth said. “I was happy to do so for you both, Charlotte.”
Mrs. Repton aimed her brilliant smile at Mina, and she couldn’t help but smile back. “I had the most precarious time with John while enceinte. I am sure I would not have been blessed with him if Will had sailed.”
“Oh.” The woman’s honest confession caught her by surprise. “I’m so glad you are both well. He is a beautiful baby.”
“Yes, beautiful and perfect and as silent as his father, which is a lovely quality in a baby. Perhaps our next will take after me and squall for attention on the hour,” Mrs. Repton said.
Mina laughed. “For your sake, I hope not.”
Will slung an arm around his wife and baby, and steered them to the door, but Charlotte kept chattering. “Yes, do come in. I have the loveliest tea waiting—and coffee for you, Seth. I have not forgotten.”
The butler bowed with a smile, and a maid wheeled in a teacart with an openly curious expression. As fine as the house was, this was a cheerful home.
Mrs. Repton handed the baby to her husband and poured them their tea and coffee.
“This is your lad, then, eh?” Seth intercepted the boy and turned him about to examine him.
Seth wasn’t shy with babies, either. The sight started a horrible yearning in her.
“Shame he takes after you, Will, and not your wife.” Seth handed the baby back to his father. “But I’m thinking he’s a handsome lad nonetheless.”
Will beamed, cradling the baby in his arms. “Thank you. By God, Seth, tell me everything that happened.”
And for the next half hour, Seth did. Mr. Repton could barely sit still in his excited curiosity. But Seth sat oddly still in his chair, his hands clasped as he told the story.
What more was preoccupying him? This should have been such a happy day for him.
“Will?” Seth rose to his feet. “Would you mind if we spoke away from the ladies?”
Mr. Repton gave his son to his wife, and Mrs. Repton lured her attention back to the tea as the men left the parlor. But Mina couldn’t stop herself from stealing a glance into the hall to see Seth again. As if he could sense her worry, Seth looked at her.
But there was no answering wink or smile. Seth merely dropped his gaze and followed Will Repton down the hall.
* * *
“I’ve got an accounting of every quid of that two thousand, Will.”
“I don’t care about any of that.” Will gestured him into one of the chairs by the fire.
Seth sat and studied the room. A library. The books all matched, covered with forest-green leather and gold writing. Might even have Shakespeare among them, as many books as there were. A fine home for a man with a family.
And none of that was his business.
Seth pulled out his letter case with the receipts of his spending.
“I still can’t believe Aimee’s alive and here,” Will said. “She’s going to have the most amazing future.”
“I’m glad to hear that, Will. But I’m needing to talk about the remaining funds.”
Will leaned forward and gripped his arm, his eyes bright. “All that remains is yours. For you and Georgiana.”
“No, there was a couple hundred that was left.”
Will’s eyes searched his, a bemused smile on his face. “You have no idea, do you? What you’ve given me? What finding Aimee alive has meant to me?”
“But the money—”
“Means nothing.” His voice broke. “Christ, it means nothing at all. You allowed me to stay with Charlotte when she needed me. I was here for the birth of my son. It was the greatest gift any man’s ever given me, so I’ll be damned if I’ll hear another word from you about that money, ever.”
Will’s intense stare pinned him to his seat and all Seth could manage was a nod. Was that it? Had he just been freed from years of debt?
Will swiped a stray tear from his cheek and cleared his throat roughly. “Tell me what’s next for you. Who is this Miss Adams? She’s a beauty.”
And just like that, his grief was back. “She is.”
Will raised a brow. “And?”
The question clamped his heart like a vise. “And nothing. I’m in no position to wed.”
“It’s none of my business, but you have that land up in Derbyshire. I assumed you planned to marry and raise a family.”
Seth shrugged, and miserable as he was, the move was jerky. “Can’t afford to. I learned yesterday most of the seeds I collected weren’t viable. I had more than a few, even shipped some meant to germinate on the sail in Wardian cases.”
Will’s gaze narrowed and his head tilted as if he’d misheard. “But…wait, I don’t understand.” He stood and moved to his bookcase, searching for something. “There’s to be an auction at Chiswick next month. By the Penderton and Monroe nursery. I have the catalog here. I assumed most were yours. I plan to bid on a couple orchids myself, but my father warns me I’ll lose to Cavendish. The duke is mad for his flowers.”
“Those aren’t mine. I didn’t have enough viable plants to auction, and the orchids had already been named. The Skinners, my cultivators, tell me the survivors sold for a hundred quid.”
But Will was intent on finding that catalog. “Charlotte?” He called into the hall. “Would you come here?” He sank to his haunches to check a low shelf. “The auction is to be held on the opening day of the Horticultural Society’s Spring Show.”
Mrs. Repton floated into the library with John in her arms, and Mina followed.
Seth tensed, rising from his seat as the ladies entered, and tried again. “Those prizes aren’t mine, Will.”
But Will wasn’t listening, talking to his wife. “I had a catalog for the Chiswick exhibition and the auction next month.”
Mina looked at Seth with a question in her eyes.
Damn awkward to explain his failure in front of Mina all over again.
Charlotte rocked her baby in her arms. “Yes, I filed that for you, in the decoupage box.”
Will stared at the bookcase. “The what box?”
“The box decorated with the flowers,” Charlotte said.
The bookcase held about a dozen flower-covered boxes. Will stared at the collection, his arms hanging at his side.
Seth rubbed his temples and waited. “Will, the auction could be flowers from the Barnes Expedition. He’d returned from Venezuela about the same time last year.”
“This one, Charlotte?” Will held up a box pasted with tulips, and Charlotte shook her head.
“The tulips are for the spring receipts,” Charlotte explained. “The one with the loose petals is for bric-a-brac, but the one with mixed bouquets has the catalog. Mixed blossoms for miscellany. It is labeled, Will. Do you see?” She moved to stand beside her husband and pointed to the word scripted carefully, almost invisibly, in a petal of a flower. “There. ‘Miscellaneous.’”
“Thank you, sweetheart.” Will smiled, his eyes lingering a time on Charlotte’s beaming face.
Damned if Will didn’t color a little, too. Seemed not much had changed with Will and Charlotte. The man was still all mops and brooms with his wife.
Will dug through his flower box. “I’m usually more organized, Seth. But this is a new, uh, system. Charlotte’s an artist.”
“Real clever,” Seth murmured. He rubbed his hands together and waited, keeping Mina in the corner of his eye. She stood, quiet and composed, her back straight and her slim shoulders squared to the room.
Will had it all wrong, but Seth was interested in seeing the catalog nonetheless.
“I’ve already seen the lots for sale,” Will said,
rifling through the box. “They’re at Chiswick’s glasshouse already. My father’s been told to keep them under lock and key, with all the interest surrounding them. There’s that blue orchid with yellow lateral sepals that’s extraordinary. The one with the banded column and mottled petals.” He found the catalog and leafed to a page. “I want this one for Charlotte—ivory petals, a smoky-blue anther cap—but Cavendish says he won’t be outbid. All origins, Brazil. The list is a long one.” He handed it over. “Here, you can see. I thought they had to be yours.”
Seth took the catalog.
And his stomach turned over.
The page contained an illustration of an orchid. His illustration.
“They lied.” His voice sounded hollow in his ears.
“Seth?”
Mina’s voice was faint. His mind was empty. But the betrayal was deafening…and drowning. “They lied.” He flipped the pages, one illustration after the next. His orchids. His blooms from all the seeds he’d collected. All his drawings.
They’d lied to him, and… Christ. “They told me the seeds rotted.”
“Who told you that?” Will asked.
“Jack Skinner. The nurserymen, the Skinners. My… They were my mates. Since we were lads. What are these numbers?”
Will stared. “Those are the put-up prices. They’ll not be sold for less.” Will shared a look with his wife, his voice subdued. “At Chiswick, the bidding usually ends at ten times that, Seth. Ten times—at the least.”
His hands shook until he fisted them. The numbers seemed to float off the page at him. 30…85…60…15…110—
110. For the seeds of the snowy, bell-shaped flowers he’d climbed into the treetops for in the Mato Grosso and nearly died harvesting. And seventy-five for the violet-plumed flowers above the Nhamundá River. He’d come face-to-face with a red-skulled Cacajao monkey climbing to reach her.
The room was quiet until Will asked, “What of your contract?”
“Wasn’t any contract.” Seth’s voice came out rusty. They’d lied. He closed the auction book. “No contract. I don’t… I’ve got no claim on ’em.”
“You do,” Mina said quietly. “Of course you do. You found them, Seth.”
“Right,” Will said. “No one would believe you gave the Skinners your prizes without any compensation. You’d have proof they’re yours. Wouldn’t you?”
Proof? He had cargo receipts for the eighteen cases of Cattleya and Oncidium species, and his trunks with the seeds. But that wasn’t proof. They were only listed as botanical cargo. “I don’t—my journals, I think.” He raised his head. “My journals have illustrations. Those in the catalog are all copies I’d done.”
“Good.”
“And I’ve got extra seeds. Other seeds.”
Will’s head shot up. “Others?”
Anger blazed to life in Seth’s chest. They’d lied. Took what he did and lied to him, right to his face.
“Seth?” Mina’s soft voice hushed his fury. “You have the seeds?”
He nodded. “I packed them all different ways. Some in drying papers, some in waxed. In glass, and mixed in ashes to keep the mold and pests from them.” He shook his head. “But they’re months older now.”
“If they germinate and match what’s sold, there’s your claim,” Will said. “We’ll get you an attorney. We’ll get Ben”—he turned to explain to Mina—“my brother-in-law is Ben Paxton. He’s the best cultivator in England and has a tropical stove up north, a palm house. And he’s got two or three houses just for striking seeds, as well. If anyone can get those seeds to sprout and root, it’s him.”
Seth was getting muddled. He ought to write this down. “Wait, Will.” He pulled out his Shakespeare book, embarrassed to let Will see his small notebook in his fine room of green leather books. He’d never shown it to anyone but Mina. And he was embarrassed now to let Mina see him writing Will’s instructions down.
“You’re thinking an attorney first?” Seth asked quietly.
“I’ll send word to Ben in Hanover Square. He’s down from Windmere, with Lucy and the children. He’ll want to help.”
“This isn’t your worry, Will.”
“Of course it is.” Will shook his head, smiling. “Christ…you’re my friend, and you left England and all your prizes with those cheats to bring Aimee Bourianne back to me. There’s nothing I won’t do for you now.”
Mina sat beside him. When she covered his hand with her small one, he forced himself to look at her. “Let him help,” she whispered. “No one can do this alone.”
Sweet Minnie. He looked into her eyes and saw what he always saw there. She was on his side.
He nodded and wrote down what Will said about a solicitor and the seeds. But nothing would change the fact that the Skinners had lied to him. And they had…because they could.
It had been damn easy.
Seth shook his head clear of those thoughts. He had to think straight, nail down the parts that mattered.
“We’ll have to report the theft,” Will said. “And enlist impartial witnesses to the sowing of the seeds, don’t you think? So there’s no suspicion of tampering?”
Seth considered that and kept writing. “Yes, I suppose. We’d want witnesses.” It was a good notion. A smart one. One he wouldn’t have thought of…
No, he wouldn’t have thought of that.
He put down his pencil. Even if he had a claim to those flowers, he hadn’t known enough to sign a damn contract. A man ought to think of such things.
Mina deserved a man who would.
Twenty
“Mr. Mayhew will be here soon, Mina.” Mary had borrowed Emma’s best indigo dress and was combing Sebastian’s hair, who endured his mother’s grooming with a cross look on his little face. “I hope the coffee is to his liking. I’m not used to preparing it.”
“Shall I try a bit?” Mina tried to sound authoritative, though she didn’t know the flavors of coffee any better than Mary did.
“Would you?” Distractedly, Mary smoothed Sebastian’s shirt and patted him on his way, freeing him to dash to his toy ball. Mary faced her and waited, her hands twisting in her skirt.
Mina sipped and nodded approvingly. “Very good.” As far as she could tell.
“Better than the tea we drink?” Mary asked.
“Anything would be better than the twigs-and-tea-dust we drink,” Emma grumbled from her seat on the sofa, where she was sewing her piecework.
Mary arranged the tea tray for the third time. “Remember, this sugar is for Mr. Mayhew. No one else put sugar in your tea,” she commanded.
“Don’t fret so, Mary.” Emma laid a sisterly hand on Mary’s shoulder. “Mr. Mayhew is excessively kind. I know you believe him an angel sent from above, but he is just a man.” She grinned. “A man who looks like a god.”
Mina could barely attend to Mary and Emma’s chatter. Yesterday, Seth had looked so devastated by his cultivators’ betrayal—his friends’ betrayal—that she had yet to decide on a new argument to best persuade him to take back his money.
He had been brought so low, his pride so battered, she did not want to add to his hurt.
“Remember,” she said to Emma and Mary, “after his coffee, you must excuse yourselves and leave us alone, so I can speak to him about the money.”
Mary nodded firmly and Emma sighed. The topic was an uncomfortable one, so she did not press for their assurances.
But Emma rarely shied from uncomfortable topics. “He will undoubtedly need that money now, for his own attorney.” She shook her head. “How could anyone swindle such a kind, generous, and attractive man as Mr. Mayhew? After all his hard work and the years of traveling and risking his life?”
“I do not know,” she murmured.
“You will help him, won’t you, Mina?” Emma asked. “Mr. Mayhew needs someone as managing as you.”
“I’m not managing, Emma.”
“That is no insult. You are managing.” Emma severed the thread of her needle and tested the seam of her sewing. “Thank goodness you did not wed Thomas. Two such managing people”—she shuddered—“I can’t imagine a more excruciating marriage.”
Mina’s jaw dropped. “You said we were perfect for each other.”
She rolled her eyes heavenward. “What else was I to say? We were in Bombay.” She flipped her fabric over. “Mary, would you pass me that bobbin of green? Besides,” Emma continued, her stare pointed, “it was plain you loved Mr. Mayhew from the first.”
Why were little sisters always so provoking?
Mary handed Emma her thread, eyeing the tea tray lest something had shifted in the past second. “If that is true, Mina, no one would expect you to accept Mr. Grant.”
Confused, Mina stared at Mary. “I should have thought you’d expect me to,” she said quietly.
Mary stilled and, at last, raised her eyes to her. “Don’t be so afraid, Mina. You aren’t destined to share my fate. Besides”—she smiled a little—“love makes you brave. It makes you stronger than you ever imagined you could be.” Her eyes drifted to her son playing on his pallet by the hearth before she straightened the cups once again.
Wordless, Mina could only watch her nephew, innocently playing by the fire. He would never know all his mother had done for him.
Yes, love had made Mary brave indeed.
A knock sounded on the door, and Sebastian turned wide eyes to it. They were not accustomed to company. She had to smile as her nephew pushed to his feet, clasping his hands with excitement.
Seth. There was a clamp on her lungs and a rolling sensation in her stomach. Her normally steady pulse began to throb.
But of course it would. Her heart was nearing.
With a hurried smoothing of her skirts, she dashed to open the door. “Good morning.” Her eyes caught on the figure behind Seth and the breath fled her body. “Thomas?”
Thomas doffed his hat and bowed. “Forgive this surprise, Mina. I couldn’t wait a moment more to see you. I just learned how to find you from Mayhew today.”