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 do anything to 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 not too frozen. He’d witnessed the horses bury their nostrils beneath the snow and lift their heads, chewing. Thick, resilient fronds of phleum pratense thrived 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.
“There you 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 of practical clothing 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.
“You want me to wear the Duke of Nottingvale’s clothes?” he choked out in disbelief. The more he thought about it, the less sense it made. “Why would the Duke of Nottingvale send you his clothes?”
“They’re not his, precisely. They were prototypes for a fashion venture that will become all the crack in the spring. The hems are designed for ease of taking out or letting in, so I guessed at your size and asked the tailor to adjust the seams accordingly.”
This explanation raised more questions than it answered.
“You asked… the tailor?”
“He’s betrothed to the duke’s sister.” She tilted her head and squinted at Eli. “You’re built less like an idle gentleman and more like a farmhand.”
“Yes. Well.” Eli wasn’t any of those things. He cleared his throat. “When I was younger, I sneaked off to join the laborers. I hoped my physical exertion would build muscles like theirs. My father wanted me to race competitively, but who ever heard