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The Botanist’s Improper Bride

Page 85

by Jayne Rivers

The words ricocheted around her mind. She felt like she was watching from outside her own body as Trevor dismissed the man and turned to her, his expression as serious as ever.

“We have this under control.” His voice sounded as if it were coming to her through water, thick and distorted. “All we need to do is persuade the magistrate that there isn’t enough evidence for a proper trial. If we do that, it will all go away.”

“But what if he tries blackmailing the magistrate like he blackmailed my father and me?”

“The magistrate is clean. I had Mr. Vane look into him.”

She set her cutlery down, her hands shaking so badly, she feared she’d break something otherwise. “I hope you’re right.”

If everything they’d been working on came together nicely, then there was a chance she could walk away from this, but if even the slightest thing went wrong, she might end up behind bars, and women of her class didn’t do well in prison.

Not to mention that she wouldn’t be the only one living with the consequences. Her arrest would reflect terribly on Trevor, and he already had a difficult time interacting with many of his peers. How could she have agreed to anything that might make matters worse for him?

She rose from the table and meandered to the stairs, her footsteps thumping in her ears. Bessie—whom she’d asked Trevor to hire away from her father—met her outside her new bedchamber.

“You can do this,” she said, whisking Seraphina inside and going directly to the wardrobe. “You’ve put on a performance almost every day of your life. If anyone knows how to sway the magistrate, it’s you.”

Seraphina didn’t reply, as she was too busy trying to recall exactly what she needed to do and say once she got in front of the magistrate. Mr. Vane had made her repeat the words last night until they’d lodged in her head and played over and over throughout the long, sleepless hours. There weren’t many of them, but it was vital that she didn’t get them wrong.

She numbly allowed Bessie to move her limbs around, divesting her of her morning dress and changing her into something more somber and appropriate. The dress wasn’t boring, though. It was pale—to remind the magistrate of her youth—and had a few touches of frivolity because, in her experience, men reacted more favorably toward women who fit into their narrow ideas of femininity.

The charges against her were enough of a challenge to those stereotypical ideals without her presenting in a way that made the magistrate defensive.

She had to walk into that room and win. There was no other option. If she failed, she hated to think of how Trevor might suffer as a consequence.

“Am I being terribly selfish?” she asked.

Bessie paused. “Sorry, miss? I mean, my lady. I keep forgetting your new title.”

“Was it selfish of me to marry Trevor, knowing that this might happen?”

It certainly felt selfish.

“You told Lord Fitzgerald everything, and he procured a special license anyway.” Bessie sighed wistfully. “Terribly romantic. So no, I wouldn’t say it was selfish.”

“I hope you’re right.”

She seemed to be hoping for a lot this week, and only some of her hopes were working out.

When she was suitably attired, she went downstairs, where Lord and Lady Wembley were waiting.

“Trevor hasn’t returned yet?” she asked, looking around for him.

Lady Wembley’s mouth pinched. “Unfortunately not. You can’t afford to delay, however. If you’re late, it might upset the magistrate.”

“My son will meet you there,” Lord Wembley told her quietly. “He won’t let you down.”

“We can’t accompany you, though,” his wife added, tugging fretfully at her handkerchief. “If we were seen there…” She drew herself up and tried to smile. “One of our footmen will go with you to keep you safe.”

That was something, at least.

Even though Seraphina’s chest felt hollow at the prospect of marching into such a place without any powerful support, she knew she couldn’t give up now. She’d started her career in medicinal chemistry to honor her mother’s memory and she had to see it through, come what may.

A tall, burly footman stepped forward.

She dipped her head. “Thank you.”

“Just doing my duty, my lady.”