Richmond was only twelve miles from the city, but the city traffic made the journey a long one. Still, as slow as they traveled in Mr. Repton’s luxurious carriage, Seth spoke little. But really, that was all right. It was almost too much to look at him, let alone have him speak. The sight of him seemed a dream.
He was in England and safe, and he’d found Georgiana.
And in her little bedroom, with Seth, that seemed a dream, too. Mina shifted to feel the slight tenderness between her legs again, wanting the sensation to never leave. But he would leave. His cottage was up north. What reason did he have to stay? And she couldn’t ask him to.
Hot tears threatened to overspill her eyes, and she blinked them away in a panic. Today, she would be happy. Her heart had returned, and Seth was safe, and they were on their way to a happy reunion with his friend.
Seth held her hand upon his lap, his thumb rubbing the back of it absently as they rode. He sat beside her rather than across, and whether he knew that it was unmannerly or not, she didn’t care.
She squeezed his hand to gain his attention. So oddly quiet, and he seemed to be tensing the nearer they drew to Mr. Repton’s house. The carriage moved faster now that they’d left London.
“I’ve not been out of the city since my return,” she said. “Richmond seems a very fine area.”
“A very fine area.” His eyes left the view of the gated lawns and tall, shady trees beyond the window. “But Repton married a countess’s sister, so his situation’s an easy one, I’m thinking.”
A countess? Her boots were scuffed and her gloves cotton. “I didn’t realize. I’m not dressed—”
He lifted her hand and kissed the pads of her fingers. Those wonderful eyes crinkled at her and quelled her panic. “Her name’s Charlotte. A fine lady, like you. You’ll get on well, I’m thinking.”
Seth was often right about people, so her nervousness eased a bit. Still, she checked the pins in her hair. “My dress is so plain. I hope I’ll not embarrass you.”
His slow inspection scorched her from tip to toe. “That wouldn’t ever be possible, pretty.”
Her brain stalled under his admiring gaze. “You are still a terrible flirt,” she whispered.
“Never flirted with you, Minnie.” He leaned close and nuzzled her neck. “I’m not flirting now, either, when I tell you I can smell myself on you.”
Her heart leaped into her throat. Dear God.
“I love your blush, Minnie,” he murmured, lifting his head. “I want to be the only man to make you—” Something flickered across his face, and he sat up straight.
They were different here. In England. The joy of their reunion had been so short-lived. Georgiana was alive. He was home; he was safe. And yet, the news from his business partners seemed to have crushed something within him. There was so little bluster about him now. Fewer smiles. He hadn’t winked at her once.
He even looked different. The brilliant green of the trees beyond the window framed his profile. He was such a beautiful man. His hair was so short now that the proud lines of his nose and brow and jaw were all the more pronounced.
But there was one thing that hadn’t changed. He still wasn’t safe.
Love didn’t matter. At least, not enough.
She brushed aside that unhappy truth. Today was a happy day. Besides, she’d promised not to raise the topic of his money until tomorrow. Seth had been so disappointed. She hadn’t truly understood how much he had counted upon his botanical discoveries to fund his future. But even without that money, surely he could find a way to survive? He would have the money he gave her—and he would take it. She just had to find the means to return it.
With the hundred he’d earned, and the two she’d return, he could start a small flock, plant a garden, sell his vegetables. Three hundred pounds was a great deal of money. It would be enough for him and even…even the right sort of wife.
She would just ignore the lancing pain that idea wrought. Because three hundred pounds would not be enough for a wife with six sisters and a nephew prone to illness. They might be fine for a year, maybe two. But beyond that, she would be a terrible burden, and together, they would feel the uncertainty of their future all the more acutely.
All too soon, the carriage was slowing and turning onto a gravel drive. The house was all brilliant-white stone and grand elegance, set back from its sprawling lawn and fountain. But cheery flowers bloomed in window boxes, and a glass hothouse like a fairy-tale castle sparkled in the back garden. “What a beautiful house.”
Seth sat very still, looking out the window. “It is. A fine house.”
The door opened, but he didn’t step out immediately. He cleared his throat and tugged his coat into place. “Well. I suppose we’re here.”
She squeezed his hand, and he turned to her in question. “He’s going to be so happy to see you.”
His eyes cleared and, at last, he smiled. With a quick buss of her cheek, he jumped out of the carriage. She reached for his hand, but Seth caught her at the waist and lifted her gently out. He likely had never handed a woman out before.
The front door flew open and a man leaped down the stairs, smiling hugely. “Seth! By God, you know how to surprise a man.”
Will Repton’s hug nearly toppled Seth.
“Now there’s a welcome.” Seth chuckled and pushed him back to look at him at arm’s length. “What surprise? You sent a carriage to fetch me.”
“I mean Georgiana and Aimee showing up at my door. You might’ve sent me a letter.”
Seth’s grin fell. “Ah, hell—we did send one, Will. I’m sorry. We wouldn’t have surprised you like that—”
Mr. Repton waved off his apology. “It was the best surprise of my life. The most wonderful surprise.” He wiped his eyes and turned to her, smiling. “Pardon me, miss. I’m Will.”
Mr. Repton was an inordinately handsome man, but she smiled easily back. Seth must have inured her to masculine beauty.
Seth offered his arm and she stepped forward. “Will, this is Miss Adams. She helped me in Bombay.”
Evidently that was explanation enough. Mr. Repton grabbed her hand before Seth could finish the introduction. “Good to meet you, Miss Adams.”
“I’m pleased to meet you, too. And so very glad Georgiana and Aimee have returned safely.”
“Thank God for that.” Mr. Repton’s eyes shone again, brilliant with tears. But they were tears of joy. He pinched them away and composed himself.
Seth patted him on the back and sent Mr. Repton stumbling forward a step. “Now, how’s that wife of yours?”
Mr. Repton smiled hugely. “Come in and meet—there they are.”
Framed in the door stood the most beautiful woman Mina had ever seen. She had gleaming, black curls and big, blue eyes as pure as violets. But extraordinary as she was, her smile was warm and she was bouncing on her toes to greet them—even with an infant in her arms.
“Oh, Seth!” she cried as she came down the steps. “How I’ve longed to see you. And, Miss Adams, is it? Welcome. You cannot know the joy you’ve brought to our house. With all the excitement, Will has not let me rest at all—”
“Talking.” Mr. Repton’s face flushed. “We’ve been awake talking.”
Seth smiled warmly as Mrs. Repton reached them. “Look at you, Charlotte. And with your little lamb, there.”
“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.