“Yes, I know, it’s not the most exciting of the scientific disciplines.” He made a wry face. “But I’ve always had more of an interest in the land than Father or Wynton, for whom the estates were merely ways to squeeze out guineas for their personal pleasures. I enjoy learning about plants, soils, and yields. And I find the gardens a relaxing place in which to cultivate flowers and fruit. It’s endlessly interesting to experiment with what does well in what environment.”
There was, reflected Charlotte, so much they didn’t know about each other.
“You remember the old abandoned conservatory attached to the east wing of the manor house?” he asked.
Repressing a shiver, she nodded. It had been a cold, dreary place in her youth, with cracked windows, dank stone, and creatures that slithered through cracked terra-cotta pots and rusted gardening tools.
“I’ve restored it,” he said. “I occasionally attend the meetings of a scientific society in Leeds, and a number of us have been sharing specimens from different areas in the north of England and Scotland. I’ve become particularly interested in evergreens . . .”
As if the current conundrum needed to sprout yet another curling vine!thought Charlotte. That her brother had an interest in botany seemed an awfully odd coincidence. Whether it was one that possessed hidden thorns remained to be seen.
“Indeed, through one of my fellow club members, I’ve been corresponding for the last few years with Professor Murray, a botanist at the University of St Andrews. He was kind enough to send somePinus sylvestrisspecimens from the Highlands, which I’m testing on the upper slopes of one of my lesser estates near the Scottish border. And through him, I was put in contact with a botanist in the American city of New York, who—”
Her brother must have caught the sudden change in her expression, for he gave an embarrassed cough. “But enough about all my scrabbling in the soil. I’m boring you to perdition.”
“O-On the contrary,” assured Charlotte.
“Please continue,” urged Wrexford. “Your sister is extremely tolerant of my fascination with anything scientific. I’m quite sure that she’ll humor us.”
Wolcott waited for Charlotte’s confirming nod before allowing an uncertain smile. “If you’re sure . . .”
“Do go on, Hartley,” murmured Alison.
“Well, then, I admit it was quite an honor to exchange letters with such a notable expert in the field—though, of course, my area of interest must have struck him as awfully mundane. Nonetheless, he was generous-minded enough to arrange for specimens ofQuercus velutina,Quercus rubra,andQuercus macrocarpafrom New England to be sent to me.”
“Quercus?”questioned Charlotte.
“Oak trees—three hardy species of American oak trees,” he explained. “I’m hoping such stock will thrive in our northern climate, too, and perhaps provide a stock of excellent timber for shipbuilding. Something that would be both patriotic and profitable.”
“A very excellent and admirable idea, Wolcott,” said Wrexford. “If more of us aristocrats used our heads as more than just perches for our fancy hats, Britain would be much the better for it.”
“That same thought has occurred to me.” He sighed. “The strictures that limit what a highborn gentleman can do with his talents make no sense to me. Most of us are packed off to the finest universities in the land, and then find ourselves forbidden to apply our knowledge in any meaningful endeavor. It’s a terrible waste.”
“Your ideas sound almost as radical as those of your sister,” murmured the dowager.
“I understood your frustrations, Charlotte,” he said. “And applauded your courage in refusing to let your wings be clipped.”
“Courage is woven into every fiber of your sister’s being,” said Wrexford. A hint of humor touched his lips. “After all, she agreed to marry me.”
The dowager smiled through a mouthful of brandy. “Which shows Charlotte’s intelligence is just as strong a thread. Your bark is far worse than your bite.”
As soon as Wolcott’s chuckle died away, the earl said, “But getting back to botany, I, too, have a botanist friend in New York. Dr. Hosack—”
“Ah, Dr. Hosack!” exclaimed her brother. “My correspondent speaks very highly of him. He studied in Scotland as a young man, and I’ve been told that it was our botanic gardens in the north that inspired him to create the very first one in America. Apparently, it’s quite magnificent.”
“Yes, he’s recognized as a leading expert in plant medicine,” replied Wrexford.
Wolcott’s eyes lit with enthusiasm. “Indeed, indeed! That’s what my correspondent tells me.” A pause. “He, too, has quite a reputation for medicinal expertise, though he’s far too modest to have mentioned it to me.”
“Would your correspondent perchance be Josiah Becton?” asked Wrexford.
Charlotte held her breath.
“Why, yes! How did you guess?”
* * *
“There is currently an international symposium on botanical medicine taking place at the Royal Botanic Gardens at Kew—” began Wrexford.
