Page 6

Unable to contain himself, Trevor stood and paced the ten steps to the wall, then turned and paced back again.

How dare Beardsly insult Miss Dalton so horrifically?

He was bloody fortunate she’d agreed to wed him in the first place. Her father might not be titled, but every gentleman in search of a wife had been eager to come to an arrangement with her. And that… that… scoundrel had humiliated her.

Trevor seethed.

He continued to pace back and forth, fisting and unfisting his hands, wishing with uncharacteristic bloodthirstiness for the chance to punch Beardsly square in the jaw.

He wasn’t a violent person, but this was beyond the pale.

It was incomprehensible to him that someone could abandon such a kind, wickedly clever woman.

Beardsly had better not show his face anywhere near Trevor.

That was when his gaze landed on the letter from his mother, where he had left it earlier. From there, he glanced at the letter from Sylvestor, and his heart started to pound with something other than fury.

Hold on.

Seraphina was no longer betrothed. She wasn’t someone else’s fiancée or wife. She remained unmarried.

Seraphina wasn’t lost to him.

The one female he believed he could tolerate marriage with and whom he thought might not scorn him as other ladies did—and she wasn’t wed.

He might actually be able to marry her.

He quickly dropped onto his chair, reached for a quill and the inkpot, and scrawled a reply to Letitia, asking how Seraphina was handling the situation and whether she would be open to an alternative suit. After that, he wrote to his mother, asking her to prepare a room for him at their London home.

But then he stopped. What was he doing? Even if she was no longer attached to Beardsly, Seraphina was a diamond of the ton. She navigated the waters of society expertly, in a way he never could. She might be the only lady he could countenance marrying, but considering she had been engaged to another man, she clearly didn’t feel the same way.

He slumped, staring at the drying ink. If he did this, was he going to make a fool of himself? And was he really going to hie off to London just as the waterlilies were beginning to bloom?

If so, he would lose weeks of precious data, and he wouldn’t be able to continue his study until next year, which was the point in time when he’d promised himself he’d return his focus to the productivity of his family’s land.

Groaning, he propped his elbows on the desk and cradled his head in his hands. He’d been keeping such painstakingly careful and detailed records. It would hurt to disregard that work and put aside a study that he’d been so excited for.

This timing was terrible.

He scrunched the letter to his mother, balled it up, and tossed it into the empty fireplace. The second he did, Seraphina’s lovely face flashed through his mind.

If he remained at Nunhaven in order to complete his study, it would save him a year of time and mean that the work he had done so far wasn’t pointless, but marriage was for life.

Eventually, he would have to marry. He accepted that. He’d always assumed that his mother would probably end up arranging something with a family who were desperate enough to land a title that they wouldn’t care about his quirks.

But if he married someone he actually liked and respected, the quality of his existence for years to come would be markedly improved. Not to mention that, frankly, he loathed the idea of anyone other than him placing their hands on Seraphina.

Damn it.

He went to the fireplace, snatched out the letter, and tried to smooth it. Then he called for O’Brien. He had a lot to organize before he left.

CHAPTER 3

“Can you turn up the flame in the lamp please?” Seraphina asked as she bent over the reflux funnel, tilting her head to get a better look at what was going on inside.

“Are you sure?” Letitia reached for the knob. “It will increase the pressure of the gas in the funnel. It could be dangerous.”

“Just turn it up a little.”