Both his father and Miss Harper’s father were expecting their heirs to put forth their best efforts in good faith, but that wasn’t why Eli was out here in the snow, risking life and limb to throw carrots at an ill-humored stallion.
With unsteady fingers, he straightened his cravat and smoothed his lapels. He wasn’t here for his father, who considered Miss Harper’s feelings on the question of marriage to be just as irrelevant as Eli’s.
He was out here tempting fate becausehecared about Miss Harper’s feelings. He wouldn’t make this any harder on her than he had to. Although Eli would rather be anywhere but a horse farm, Miss Harper adored these beasts above all else.
So here he was.
Where wasshe?
From an inner jacket pocket, he pulled out a pencil and a new notebook. He’d started to record scientific observations about the flora of Cressmouth.
So far, the entries bore little resemblance to his detailed studies of healing plants in the Chelsea Physic Garden. Instead, it had become a diary of horseflesh. Although Eli had no desire to ride any of the bloods, he could admit Duke was indeed an impressive animal.
Eli kept a list of the geldings, mares, and yearlings, and had documented Miss Harper’s comments on the care and feeding of her charges in wintry climes.
What he would do with such information was murky at best. If wishes came true, he would never need to enter a stable again. But Eli felt useless when he wasn’t researching. He was so used to annotating and cross-checking and curating observations for review that he didn’t know what to do without a notebook and pencil in his hands.
At this moment, one of the most respected chemists in London was awaiting Eli’s final plans for an important project. He was to have submitted them this week.
Eli’s frustrated sigh crystallized in the winter air before being carried off by the wind.
Botany had been his obsession for as long as he could remember. Everything he did was for the betterment of humanity as a whole.
Father’s approval was always short-lived at best, but if Eli succeeded here with Miss Harper, the marquess had promised to fund an entire year of research. If he failed, the chance was lost forever.
He could not let that happen.
Eli was a hair’s breadth from an important medical breakthrough that would save countless lives.
He would doanythingto save lives. Even agree to the marquess’s terms. Any personal sacrifice was worth the cost, if the value to others was greater.
Not that he was making much progress today. Eli had been losing sensation in his extremities for the past half an hour, and there was still no sign of Miss Harper.
He scooped the fallen carrot bits up from the frozen ground. Perhaps nottoofrozen. He’d witnessed the horses bury their nostrils beneath the snow and lift their heads, chewing. Thick, resilient fronds ofphleum pratensethrived despite the cold. It deserved further study. He tossed the carrot absently over the fence, and made notes in his book as he walked back to the house.
When he entered, Miss Harper was lugging a leather trunk down the corridor.
“Thereyou are,” she said, as if he hadn’t been waiting outside for her since dawn. “This arrived for you.”
He took the unfamiliar trunk from her in confusion. “It’s not mine.”
“Of course it’s not,” she said. “It’s full ofpracticalclothing for up to a fortnight in Cressmouth. I’m not certain the riding boots will fit, but try them on and see. Once you’re wearing something suitable, we can head out to the stables.”
Rather than carry the trunk into his guest chamber, Eli set it down in the middle of the corridor and unlatched the lid.
Two pairs of riding boots, with and without spurs, lay next to three tall stacks of neatly folded men’s attire.
Unlike Eli’s normal habit of grabbing whatever would be most comfortable for a day spent crouching around plants, this treasure trove appeared to have been nicked from the wardrobe of Beau Brummel himself.
Expensive silks of every color, buttery soft doeskin breeches, bright white shirts and neckcloths, jackets for every possible occasion. These clothes weren’t for an unassuming scholar, but for a rakish dandy.
He unfolded the topmost item. It was a beautifully crafted waistcoat, lined with cashmere luxurious enough to keep the wearer warm in any weather.
“Where did all of this come from?”
“The Duke of Nottingvale.” She waved a hand as if this detail were neither here nor there.
He dropped the waistcoat.
