Page 3 of The Botanist’s Improper Bride

To her extreme disappointment, nothing seemed out of place.

The queasiness in her stomach pulsed, and her nerves knitted tighter together, making her worry that when she got out, her legs might not support her weight.

The carriage stopped outside the church, and far too quickly, the door was pulled open. Her father disembarked first and reached back to help her down. By some miracle, her legs remained firm beneath her.

He sent her the smallest of smiles. “You look just like your mother.”

She turned away.

Perhaps he had meant that as a compliment, but considering how he had always treated her because of that resemblance, she couldn’t find any joy in it. In his eyes, she was an unwanted reminder of his beloved late wife. Something best left in the past as soon as possible.

The church doors were open, the smell of freshly cut flowers wafting on the breeze. As they climbed the stairs, Beardsly’s father, Viscount Harrington, rushed down the aisle toward them. His plump face was ruddy, and his thinning gray-brown hair stuck up in the back, as if he had run his hand through it.

“I’m so sorry,” he said, glancing furtively from side to side.

Instinctively, Seraphina leaned sideways to look around him. When she surveyed the area in front of the altar and found it free of anyone, her stomach lurched and her heart lifted. Did she dare hope that her plan had worked after all?

“What on earth for?” Mr. Dalton asked.

Viscount Harrington shifted his weight from one foot to the other, obviously uncomfortable. “We’ve just received a letter from Phineas.”

“A letter,” her father repeated in apparent confusion. “Oughtn’t he be here?”

“Of course he should,” the viscount snapped. “But we were too late to intercept him. It’s a terrible business.”

Too late to intercept him?

It was all Seraphina could do to keep the smile off her face. Good lord, had it actually worked?

“I beg your pardon.” Her father released her arm and scowled at the viscount. “Please explain what on earth you’re talking about.”

Harrington shoved a folded letter at him. “Read this.”

Her father unfolded the paper, and Seraphina moved closer so she could read the letter over his shoulder. With every word, her soul lightened.

Apparently, Beardsly had realized that he and Seraphina were not well-suited, and he had decided he did not wish to marry her. He was, according to the letter, on a ship bound for Italy, where he intended to see out the rest of the year.

Her father shot her a suspicious glance, as if he somehow knew this was her fault, but then he grabbed Harrington by the arm and dragged him down the aisle and through a side door into the vestry. Seraphina rushed to follow and, once they were through, he shut the door behind them and rounded on the viscount.

“This is unacceptable,” he hissed. “Seraphina’s reputation will be damaged beyond repair!”

Her heart pounded. Would it? If so, maybe that meant she wouldn’t have to marry anyone, and she could just focus on preparing malaria medication for less fortunate communities and continuing her experiments attempting to find the best way to extract the active compounds from willow bark.

Honestly, while she didn’t like the idea of being shunned, the prospect might not be so bad. Provided her father was willing to support her, it could even be a dream come true.

“I apologize for my son’s dishonorable behavior,” the viscount said, his complexion deepening to an even more vibrant shade of scarlet that made Seraphina concerned for his health. “We will do everything we can to ensure that Miss Dalton is not ostracized from the ton. Surely if the viscountess and I demonstrate our support, we can avoid any unnecessary unpleasantness.”

Seraphina bowed her head and tried to look upset even though she was so giddy, she wanted to dance. She’d been so close to being trapped in an undesirable marriage. So close. But somehow, by some miracle, she was saved.

Hopefully, the viscount and his wife would fail, and her reputation would be so tarnished that she couldn’t be married off again easily.

In an effort to seem as distraught as they expected her to be, she channeled the vast well of emotions she might have experienced today if things had turned out differently. Tears sprang to her eyes, and she blinked, letting them streak down her cheeks and drip to the floor.

She stood there like that while her father and the viscount went back and forth with suggestions to mitigate the potentially devastating societal effects of being jilted.

Eventually, when she didn’t think she could stand it for a moment longer, she raised her eyes and said in a trembling voice, “This is all too much. Are we certain he’s gone?”

The viscount’s mouth twisted, but he nodded. “I’m afraid so. My men tracked him to the port, where we were informed a ship had set sail a few hours prior.”