Page 25
He retraced his steps up the staircase, along the corridor to his bedchamber, and over to his wardrobe, where he unbuttoned the brown coat and switched it for the green one. As he did up the new coat, he pondered what he could give Seraphina.
He could stop at a florist on the way, but surely anything he picked up would look as if he hadn’t tried very hard or had only thought about it at the last minute—which was true, but hardly the image he wanted to present.
Glancing at his desk, he thought about the waterlilies he’d studied last night. That reminded him of the other dried flowers he’d collected among the pages of his academic texts over the years. Whenever something captured his curiosity, he sketched the flower, recorded its details, and pressed it between the pages of a book to preserve.
Growing excited, he hurried to the library, where he went directly to the bookshelf containing his textbooks and began stacking them on the desk. One by one, he carefully shook out the pages, gathering the delicate dried flowers that fluttered onto the desk and arranging them within a framed herbarium page.
They didn’t quite look right. But then, he didn’t usually bother with trying to make his specimens pretty. He mulled it over for a few seconds, tilting his head one way and then another, before hunting in his mother’s sewing basket for a length of pale pink ribbon, which he glued around the interior of the frame.
There. A feminine touch.
That done, he added notes beneath each flower in his neatest script and waited for it to dry.
Perfect. He hoped.
After all, what did he know about this sort of thing?
Ready to leave, he summoned the carriage, eager to visit Seraphina before she was inundated with other suitors.
Unfortunately, when he arrived, there were three men already present and a maid hovering in the corner. One gentleman was fair-haired and probably, Trevor thought irritably, considered handsome. The second was stocky and ruddy-faced, and the third was tall and wore a smirk that implied he was better than everyone else.
Seraphina smiled at Trevor. “Good morning, my lord. I’m so pleased that you came to call upon me.”
Now, he might not be an expert at interpreting facial expressions, but he was pretty sure her joy was real, and that warmed something in his chest.
He bowed. “It’s lovely to see you, Miss Dalton. I, uh, brought you a token of my respect.”
Surely he wasn’t supposed to admit to having affection for her in public? Respect seemed a safer choice.
Walking over to her, he handed over the framed herbarium specimen and studied her expression anxiously.
“The flowers are supposed to be alive, not dead,” the golden-haired man muttered loudly enough for everyone to hear him.
Trevor’s stomach dropped. Had he gotten it wrong?
But Seraphina shot the man a nasty glare before smiling at Trevor once again. “I love it. Won’t you tell me what they are?”
“This one”—he pointed to the bell-shaped purple bloom—“is a Fritillaria meleagris. I found it when I was walking in an isolated meadow many years ago. The one next to it is Cephalanthera rubra. It’s very rare, and this one was part of the plant that was especially cultivated. There’s also a wild daffodil, scientific name Narcissus pseudonarcissus, and a few other more common wildflowers from my ramblings in the gardens and countryside.”
“How fascinating.” She looked as if she meant it.
The tall gentleman scoffed. “I wrote a poem in your honor. Would you like me to perform it for you?”
A flash of irritation passed across her features, but it disappeared quickly, and she agreed, placing the frame gently on the tea table to her right.
“I await your recital eagerly,” she said, sounding not at all eager.
It was the exact kind of subtlety Trevor admired but struggled with.
The man stood, withdrew a sheet of paper from his pocket, and began.
“She walks in beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
And all that’s best of dark and bright
Meet in her aspect and her eyes.”
