“Thank you, sir,” she said.
“And your study of wallflowers was quite…thorough.” The praise was backhanded and patronizing. “It is unusual for a lady so fair to possess a hint of intellect as well.”
A hint of intellect is more than you possess, you condescending prig.
With great restraint, Evie did not take the bait.
“I enjoyed your demonstration of the Selaginella lepidophylla,” she said.
Whetham had shown the audience a desiccated Selaginella—known colloquially as a resurrection plant. The brittle brown tangle had appeared quite dead…until he placed it in a bowl of water. With the faintest quiver, the clenched ball had softened. As if by magic, its branchlets unfurled, revealing tiny leaves that turned plump and green. Revived, the plant had resembled a small, lush fern. As astounding as the phenomenon had been, Evie thought that Whetham had presented it like a parlor trick. He’d basked in the crowd’s amazement but offered none of the true science behind the plant’s resurgence.
“It went over well, didn’t it?” Whetham’s smile was smug. “Nothing captivates an audience more than a mystery.”
“Resurrection isn’t a mystery. It is a process,” Evie said. “If one observes the steps, one will understand the phenomenon.”
“Yet science can be so dry. Miracles draw far more interest.” Whetham’s expression turned sly. “In point of fact, I was talking to our esteemed president—Mr. Brixley and I go back to our Eton days. We both agreed that increased public attention would benefit our society greatly. To that end, I offered to write up my presentation for the next journal and received his hearty endorsement. All for the good of the society, of course.”
His revelation punctured her hopes like a thorn.
“Of course.” Evie forced herself to add, “My congratulations.”
“Thank you. As I said, your presentation was charming. I daresay the earl lent you a few pointers, eh?”
Whetham turned to James, his manner ingratiating. “Your reputation for eloquence precedes you, my lord, and your lady’s efforts bear your polish. Quite generous of you to help her make a splash.”
The pressure rose in Evie’s veins. It was bad enough that he should inveigle his way into the journal—that he should displace her study with his trifling exhibition. But to imply that her success was due solely to James… Rejoinders proliferated like weeds in her brain, none of them fit for public consumption. As she struggled to find a suitable response, James spoke.
“My wife needs no polish.”
His eyes were cold—so chilling that Whetham took a step back.
“She rests on her own merits, and her accomplishments are entirely her own.”
“I meant no offense, my lord.” Whetham licked his lips. “I misspoke, that is all.”
“One ought to be careful in one’s choice of words. Especially when they insult a lady and diminish her achievements. Do we understand one another?”
“Completely. I beg your pardon again for the misunderstanding.” Sweat beaded on Whetham’s forehead, his gaze darting. “Ah—there is a crony I must speak to. If you’ll excuse me.”
He fled as if the hounds of hell were on his tail.
“You put the fear of God in him,” Evie said in awe.
“The pompous worm deserved it.” James brushed a speck of lint off his sleeve. “I know you could have handled the situation yourself, but you should not have to deal with such irritants on your special occasion.”
Is it any wonder that I adore this man?
“What would you like to do next, love?” James smiled at her. “Should we have a tête-à-tête with Brixley? It should not be difficult to convince him that your study far outweighs Whetham’s parlor trick in terms of scientific merit and deserves to be published in the next journal.”
Happiness dazzled her. Suddenly, she knew what she wanted—what truly mattered. While she valued achievement and scientific inquiry, her deepest desire was to be seen. She longed to be understood and loved for who she was.
Now I have that. Which means…I have everything.
She slipped her hand into James’s.
“That can wait,” she whispered. “Right now, I want a private celebration with you.”
His eyes smoldered. “I’ll summon the carriage.”
