Discovery of Desire (24 page)

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.

“Mr. Mayhew will be here soon, Mina.” Mary had borrowed Emma's best indigo dress and was combing Sebastian's hair, who endured his mother's grooming with a cross look on his little face. “I hope the coffee is to his liking. I'm not used to preparing it.”

“Shall I try a bit?” Mina tried to sound authoritative, though she didn't know the flavors of coffee any better than Mary did.

“Would you?” Distractedly, Mary smoothed Sebastian's shirt and patted him on his way, freeing him to dash to his toy ball. Mary faced her and waited, her hands twisting in her skirt.

Mina sipped and nodded approvingly. “Very good.” As far as she could tell.

“Better than the tea we drink?” Mary asked.

“Anything would be better than the twigs-and-tea-dust we drink,” Emma grumbled from her seat on the sofa, where she was sewing her piecework.

Mary arranged the tea tray for the third time. “Remember, this sugar is for Mr. Mayhew. No one else put sugar in your tea,” she commanded.

“Don't fret so, Mary.” Emma laid a sisterly hand on Mary's shoulder. “Mr. Mayhew is excessively kind. I know you believe him an angel sent from above, but he is just a man.” She grinned. “A man who looks like a
god
.”

Mina could barely attend to Mary and Emma's chatter. Yesterday, Seth had looked so devastated by his cultivators' betrayal—his friends' betrayal—that she had yet to decide on a new argument to best persuade him to take back his money.

He had been brought so low, his pride so battered, she did not want to add to his hurt.

“Remember,” she said to Emma and Mary, “after his coffee, you must excuse yourselves and leave us alone, so I can speak to him about the money.”

Mary nodded firmly and Emma sighed. The topic was an uncomfortable one, so she did not press for their assurances.

But Emma rarely shied from uncomfortable topics. “He will undoubtedly need that money now, for his own attorney.” She shook her head. “How could anyone swindle such a kind, generous, and attractive man as Mr. Mayhew? After all his hard work and the years of traveling and risking his life?”

“I do not know,” she murmured.

“You
will
help him, won't you, Mina?” Emma asked. “Mr. Mayhew needs someone as managing as you.”

“I'm not managing, Emma.”

“That is no insult. You
are
managing.” Emma severed the thread of her needle and tested the seam of her sewing. “Thank goodness you did not wed Thomas. Two such managing people”—she shuddered—“I can't imagine a more excruciating marriage.”

Mina's jaw dropped. “You said we were perfect for each other.”

She rolled her eyes heavenward. “What else was I to say? We were in
Bombay
.” She flipped her fabric over. “Mary, would you pass me that bobbin of green? Besides,” Emma continued, her stare pointed, “it was plain you loved Mr. Mayhew from the first.”

Why were little sisters always so provoking?

Mary handed Emma her thread, eyeing the tea tray lest something had shifted in the past second. “If that is true, Mina, no one would expect you to accept Mr. Grant.”

Confused, Mina stared at Mary. “I should have thought you'd expect me to,” she said quietly.

Mary stilled and, at last, raised her eyes to her. “Don't be so afraid, Mina. You aren't destined to share my fate. Besides”—she smiled a little—“love makes you brave. It makes you stronger than you ever imagined you could be.” Her eyes drifted to her son playing on his pallet by the hearth before she straightened the cups once again.

Wordless, Mina could only watch her nephew, innocently playing by the fire. He would never know all his mother had done for him.

Yes, love had made Mary brave indeed.

A knock sounded on the door, and Sebastian turned wide eyes to it. They were not accustomed to company. She had to smile as her nephew pushed to his feet, clasping his hands with excitement.

Seth.
There was a clamp on her lungs and a rolling sensation in her stomach. Her normally steady pulse began to throb.

But of course it would. Her heart was nearing.

With a hurried smoothing of her skirts, she dashed to open the door. “Good morning.” Her eyes caught on the figure behind Seth and the breath fled her body. “
Thomas?
”

Thomas doffed his hat and bowed. “Forgive this surprise, Mina. I couldn't wait a moment more to see you. I just learned how to find you from Mayhew today.”

“Thomas,” she repeated.

She looked from him into Seth's bleak eyes.

“Heavens,” Emma said from behind her. “Thomas, what are you doing here? That is… Do come in.”

She backed away from the door, allowing the men to enter. Her pulse began to race as she introduced Thomas to Mary and Sebastian. Seth stood silent.

Thomas was here. He was
here
. Had he come to demand she return to India? She'd returned his bond. He had no right.

“Please have a seat.” Mary gestured for them to join her on the sofa. “Mina? Won't you sit?”

Her legs seemed to have lost the capacity to move, but the men would not sit if she did not. With a jolt, she turned for a chair and sank onto it.

“I hope I find you well, Mina?” Thomas asked. “And all your sisters?”

“Indeed,” she breathed. “Yes. We are well.”

Mary poured the coffee and tea, prodding her with a speaking look.

“I”—Mina swallowed to loosen her throat—“I did not expect to see you in England, Thomas. Is your family well?”

The glass of his lenses obscured his eyes. “Yes, they are very well, thank you.”

Panic crawled up her back and she had to clench her teeth against demanding answers, against screaming.
We do not suit! You love another woman! Seth told me you loved—

She looked to Seth, but his gaze was on his coffee, and she needed him to look at her or…or she was alone. And she was afraid.

“Is the coffee to your liking, Mr. Mayhew?” Mary asked.

He lifted his head and graced her with one of his lazy smiles. “Best I've ever had. Thank you, Mary.”

Mary's hands fluttered to her lap and back up to wrap her arms. “There is more. And sugar.” She pushed the sugar bowl closer to him. “I hope—Mr. Grant, I hope your sail was pleasant.”

Thomas nodded. “Tolerable. Wouldn't you say, Seth?”

Seth's eyes were on Mina, grave and steady. “Yes.”

They had sailed together? Is that what Seth meant to tell her yesterday? How could he not have told her?

An awkward silence fell over the room, and she couldn't bear a second more. “I'll put on another kettle.” She rose on unsteady legs and hurried from the room, not acknowledging the men standing for her departure. In the kitchen, she crowded the hob, needing the fire's warmth.

And then the truth revealed itself. She had to cover her lips from crying out. Seth had
brought
Thomas.

For her.

“I should have told you, Minnie.” Seth had entered silently behind her.

“I was surprised to see him.”

“I know it.”

She was afraid to look at him but could feel his gaze on her. One of Sebastian's biscuits sat forgotten on a chair and she placed it carefully on the table. “I don't know why he's here. I can't go back to India.” She laughed without humor. “Can you imagine another sail? Well, yes—
you
could, I suppose. But I can't—”
I can't…I can't leave you, leave my sisters, can't…

“You're not going back, Minnie.”

Her heart didn't ease with his words. “Did you bring him here to England?”

“No, I didn't”—he took a long breath—“I didn't bring him. I hoped—well, I'm thinking you already know what I hoped, but I didn't plan what happened.” He paused. “He's the better man, Minnie.”

A silent sob wracked her, convulsing her shoulders. Tears stung beneath her lids, and she kept her eyes on the table.

“He's come to marry you as he should've done the moment you met. And he'll take care of Emma and Mary and Sebastian. He promised me he would.”

She leaned hard on the table, bracing against his words.

“He's a good man. You know that. He's got a hope about things and that's nice, that's better. That's”—he cleared his throat—“that's the man you need. Steady, sensible. Not just sensible, but smart. And he's safe.”

She closed her eyes. Hadn't she said all this before? And believed it?

Love didn't matter. She'd said it again and again.

“You know all the reasons you can't marry me. You'd be unhappy.” Seth kept talking and she forced herself to listen, though she couldn't look at him. “Once I had to sail again to earn our living. That's what my life is, Minnie. An explorer's life. You'd be unhappy. If you were cold and hungry, or our children were, you'd be unhappy.”

She nodded, but she didn't know why or what she was doing. Love didn't matter. It didn't—“I would have taken care of you.”

No.
No.
She wouldn't.
How
would she? Even Seth would not rose color this.

His breath hitched and when he spoke, his voice was ragged. “I know it. The moment I saw you, I knew it. And you'd do a job of it, too, Minnie.” His voice had plummeted so she stared at his lips to truly hear. “But I can't take care of you. I'm not…ready.”

He wouldn't look at her.
I'm not ready.
What had it cost him to say that to her? But she'd said the same to him.

And she'd said it first.

Shame engulfed her, hot as flames. She was cruel. She was a coward.

He turned his back to face the door. “I'm joining an expedition into Brazil. I thought it an opportune time to sign on with a crew.”

Brazil?
“No. No, what of the auction and your prizes? You can't leave.”

“I didn't sign a contract. Didn't think I even had a need to. That's not—that's not a man who can take care of a family. Seems I can only take care of myself.”

No, no, no.
He couldn't leave, not again. “What of your land? And your stone cottage? And the hedgerow?”

Something like pain flashed across his face. “It'll keep a few years more.”

“You have to stay. You can't keep sailing and I…I couldn't bear to have you so far away. Please. For Georgiana and Aimee, stay. For me.”

He grabbed a fistful of his cropped hair but didn't turn. “Don't ask me to stay, Minnie. I can't.”

“Seth—?”

“You have to marry Tom. He came all this way for you and you'll not be leaving England. He's kept a position with East India. You'll manage your own house. You and your children will never want for anything. Even if he dies on you, you'll be taken care of—”

“
Please.
Don't sail.”

Seth's jaw tightened and he shook his head, making for the door. “There's no help for it, Minnie.”

He had her heart. She had to protect him. He couldn't go. “
Wait!
”

He stilled, his arms hanging at his side.

“Wait…wait,” she breathed. “Don't. You can't sail anymore.” She caught her breath and rushed on. “If you stay…I'll marry Thomas. I promise I will. But only if you stay. Only if you take back your money.”

He turned to look at her, and she nearly sobbed at the shame in his eyes. And the betrayal.

She had done that to him.

“I…please,” she whispered. “I don't know what else to do to make you stay.”

The door inched open and Thomas leaned through the door cautiously. “Mayhew?” He waited for Seth to look at him. “Perhaps it's best if I speak to Mina now. Would you pardon us?”

Seth straightened to his full height and turned stiffly back to her. His eyes burned into hers, grave and resolved, but she refused to buckle.

Until he set her quartz pebble on the table and spoke his next words.

“You can't be on my side anymore, Minnie.”

She sank onto the chair before her nerveless legs could fail. She could not speak to stop him from walking out.

“Mina?” Thomas asked. “Are you all right?”

“He's going?” She could barely choke out the words. She looked at Thomas, trying to find an answer there. “Did you…did you persuade him to sail?”

“Sail?”

“He's going to sail. To Brazil.”

Thomas frowned. “I didn't—he never said anything about that.” He eyed her warily. “Mina?”

She forced herself to focus on Thomas's words.

He sat across from her. “I know I've surprised you. I'm sorry. But I think you must know why I'm here.”

She sat very still, her heartbeat loud in her ears. “No, Thomas. I don't.”

He blinked behind his spectacles.

“And I can't believe you know why
you're
here, either,” she said. “You don't want to marry me.”

Thomas stiffened. “I promised you my protection and then abandoned you. I treated you abominably. The only excuse I offer is that—”

“You're in love with someone else.”

Thomas had the grace not to deny it. “Mina, I'll be a good husband to you. I'll treat you as I should have. I'll never knowingly be cruel or hurtful.”

“No. No, I know you wouldn't. You're a good man, but—”

“I've come to fulfill my obligation to you, and I vow, I will keep you and your sisters safe. I'm done with India. I think I've been done for a long time now. And my family misses me. I missed them, and so I can”—he clenched his eyes shut—“do what I am
supposed
to do. Leave the past behind and move forward and marry. Will you marry me, Mina?”

And there it was. A marriage offer.