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Seeds of disease germinating from person to person made rather a lot of sense to her, in truth. It would also go some way toward explaining why some people were unaffected in a sickly household, for like the crops in the fields, some seeds simply did not grow, even in an identical environment to the plants all around them. The same was true of blights, where some small quantity of crops survived while the rest perished.

“You are being mean, Rini,” her uncle said with a laugh, calling her by the nickname that her mother had given her. “You should not antagonize a man of my years; it may kill me.”

She rolled her eyes. “You are five-and-fifty, Uncle, not five-and-ninety. I would counter that my antagonizing you will help you to live longer, for it is well documented that just the right amount of vexation strengthens the heart.”

“Is that so?” He laughed his merry laugh, a lovely sound that Marina would never tire of.

Indeed, she loved nothing more than being here in the garden workshop with him, surrounded by drying herbs and their earthy, strange aromas, the space filled with the music of rustling pages, the scratch of a quill making notes, the clink of jars and bottles, and the steady crackle of the stove where she made her concoctions.

“I am sure I have the research somewhere,” she replied, grinning.

Bernard returned his attention to the book he was reading and prodded his spectacles up to the bridge of his nose, muttering under his breath, “Germs indeed.”

Content that there would be no mention of yesterday, Marina got up from her work stool and wandered over to the crammed shelves, the wood bending under the weight of so many oils and powders and herbs and miscellaneous goods.

Perhaps a neutral powder after all…

She gingerly nudged jars aside to try and find the one she wanted.

Just then, Bernard cleared his throat. “So, how was the garden party yesterday?”

“Fine. They have excellent gardens at Huntfield. Indeed, I saw an oleander that I had not seen before,” Marina replied hastily, almost knocking down a cluster of pots in her alarm.

“Any… gentlemen of merit?”

“Only plants,” she answered, her cheeks warming.

Her uncle might have been a fatherly figure, but they were more like professor and student than father and daughter. She did not care for this new subject of society and marriage and seeking out a husband, intruding into their peaceful lives.

“What about that duke who wrote to me?” Bernard persevered, his tone nowhere near as nonchalant as he probably thought. “He seemed keen on you being there.”

“I did not see him,” she replied, her stomach knotting. She hated to lie, especially to her uncle.

What else can I say? That I was proposed to and I said no? She could not bear to see his dismay.

A weary, quiet sigh drifted over to the shelves. “My dearest Rini, you cannot give up so soon. That is not your way. Imagine if your favored scholars and physicians and scientists had given up halfway through their theories and experiments; we would not have nearly as many advancements as we do today.”

“But this is not a scientific discovery that history will be written about,” she replied, turning. “This is… just marriage. Something that most people do.”

Something that would probably be the end of my studies… she neglected to add, for her Uncle Bernard, eccentric that he was, did not understand that everyone else was not like him. No one in society encouraged women to put so much weight upon education and personal interests.

“My dear, I know it is not a priority for you, but… I am not always going to be here,” Bernard said, his voice catching. “And when I am gone, this estate and everything I possess will fall to one of my sister’s sons. There will be provision for you, of course, but⁠—”

“Do not speak of such awful things,” she interrupted, her heart sore. “You are healthy and strong and sound of mind, and we are going to have each other for decades more, just like this.”

She had already lost her parents; she refused to believe that she could ever lose her uncle too. Indeed, there were three books in the library that had been very hard to come by, pertaining to the physical possibility of resurrection. Just in case.

Although, she did not have much faith in what she had read.

“It would be such a burden off my mind, Rini,” Bernard said, and he sounded so sad that she could not bear it.

She puffed out a breath. “I did not say that I had given up quite yet, Uncle.” She paused. “I will… try again, at least until the Season’s end.”

She would have said anything to put his mind at ease… anything except, I accepted the Duke of Knotgill’s hand in marriage yesterday, and you need never worry about me again because I shall be an idle duchess, banned from her life’s work, arranging parties instead of figuring out how to heal burns so that they do not scar, or be the one who discovers what happens to us after we die.

“I am sorry that that first meeting with the duke turned out to be a sham,” he said, his tone a little brighter. “I am truly surprised he did not seek you out at the garden party; he sounded very curious about you, and very insistent that you be there.”

Her face burned hotter, and she prayed her uncle could not see the deceit painted in red across her cheeks. “Wherever did you come by that invitation?”