Page 42 of The Botanist’s Improper Bride

As they left, someone jostled Trevor, and Seraphina moved sideways to avoid a collision. A moment later, he heard the rending of fabric and looked down. A woman had stepped on the hem of Seraphina’s dress and torn a gash an inch long.

“Oh no,” she exclaimed, clapping her hand to her mouth. “I’m so sorry! That was so clumsy of me.”

Seraphina tugged slightly at the skirt, prompting the woman to step off it, and she bent to examine the damage. “No need for a fuss. It’s only a small tear.”

“But it’s such a lovely gown.” The woman’s eyes grew wet, and when she lowered her hand from her face, her lips were trembling. “I have a deft hand with a needle and thread. Please allow me to accompany you to the dressing room and fix it as a proper apology.”

Trevor felt like a useless lump just standing there, but he didn’t know enough about etiquette to have any idea whether it would be appropriate for him to offer assistance or if the ripped dress was sufficient to injure Seraphina’s reputation if anyone noticed it.

“It’s fine,” Seraphina insisted.

Tears trailed down the woman’s cheeks. “Please. I feel like such an idiot. You must allow me to help.”

People were starting to stare, and from the way Seraphina glanced around, her eyes briefly meeting Trevor’s, she clearly realized that too and didn’t like it any more than he did.

“All right,” she conceded. “I’ll be back soon, my lord.”

He resisted the urge to ask her to stay.

Left to his own devices, Trevor wandered over to the refreshments table and helped himself to a glass of lemonade. As he drank it, he couldn’t help wishing it was something stronger. He knew Seraphina wouldn’t be gone for long, but being alone in the bosom of the ton felt a lot like being the only rabbit in a room full of snakes.

To his right, a group of gentlemen were loudly discussing their latest hunt. He started to circle around them but stopped when one of them laid a hand on his arm.

“I say, Fitzgerald here is the perfect man to help.”

Trevor froze, completely caught off guard. He did recall the man’s identity—Mr. Tenant, who had previously shown interest in courting Seraphina—but he had no idea what the fellow would want with him.

“I, er, am happy to be of service, if I may,” he said awkwardly.

Mr. Tenant nodded. “I’ve heard that pheasants often nest under thorny bramble bushes. Is that true?”

Trevor paused, stunned to have been asked something he could actually answer. “Yes, if you’re referring to Rubus aggregations, that’s correct. They provide excellent coverage for pheasant nests because of how dense they are and the extra layer of protection provided by the prickles.”

“Just what I thought,” Mr. Tenant said. “I⁠—”

“They aren’t actually thorny, though. It’s a common misconception. Thorns are formed from stem tissue and are an intrinsic part of the plant not easily removed, while prickles—which are what Rubus species typically have—are extensions of the epidermis or outermost layer and can usually be broken off without much bother.”

On the opposite side of the group, a man yawned dramatically, then leaned close to the gentleman beside him. “I fear Lord Fitzgerald might have mistaken the ballroom for a lecture hall.”

Trevor’s throat constricted, and his face burned. He stood as if rooted to the spot as his insides seethed, humiliation roiling through him.

Around him, people started whispering. He felt eyes on him like they were insects crawling over his skin. His brain screamed at him to leave, but his body seemed incapable of going anywhere.

He stared at the man who had spoken, finally recognizing him.

Mr. Chester Emerson.

The man who’d wanted to marry Seraphina.

In that moment, Trevor had no idea why anyone would choose him over Mr. Emerson, who was undeniably handsome and obviously a deft hand at dispensing the sort of cruel humor the ton adored. Even if Seraphina didn’t enjoy that humor, surely she could see how much more sophisticated than Trevor Mr. Emerson was.

A person bumped Trevor, and it was as if that small movement broke the spell. He rushed away from the group of men, pushing his way around others until he reached the balcony. A woman turned away from the railing as he lurched through the door. Her hand went to her chest and she made a squeak of protest, immediately backing farther from him.

“My apologies for intruding,” he wheezed, stumbling to the railing and resting his forearms on it for support as he struggled to fill his lungs.

He needed somewhere to regroup and develop a plan to save face, but he had no idea where else to go or what he could do to fix his misstep. If Seraphina had been with him, she would have known what to say or do to deflect Emerson’s sly remark, or perhaps even turn it against him, but Trevor didn’t have her social smarts, and apparently academic cleverness didn’t mean much in a ballroom.

“Sir, what on earth is the meaning of this?” the lady demanded.