Violet (Flower Trilogy) (20 page)

‘‘Do I need what?’’ Looking perplexed, he scratched his head. ‘‘Your mother sent me to find you.’’

‘‘Why?’’ Violet asked.

‘‘Lord Lakefield has arrived for supper. With a guest. Lord something-or-other. I failed to catch the name.’’

‘‘A man? A titled man?’’ Rose stood and slipped the book to Violet behind her back. ‘‘Gemini! We’d better go change our gowns!’’

An hour later, Chrystabel set down her goblet. ‘‘Violet tells me that Jewel is going home tomorrow.’’

‘‘Yes.’’ Ford sprinkled salt on his spinach tanzy and put the spoon back in its little dish. ‘‘I hope she also told you I’ve invited her to an event at Gresham College.’’

‘‘She has,’’ Chrystabel said, ‘‘and she’ll be delighted to attend. Monday evening, is it?’’

A tiny gasp escaped Violet’s lips. She’d never given Ford an answer, and she’d wanted to do that for herself. She nudged her mother’s foot under the table, but Mum pretended not to notice.

‘‘Yes, Monday.’’ Ford took an experimental bite of the rich spinach omelette, then smiled. ‘‘I trust you’ll be in London by then? You must give me the direction of your town house.’’

‘‘We’re in St. James’s Square,’’ Mum answered again for Violet. ‘‘In the northeast corner, the house of light gray stone.’’

‘‘Excellent. The celebration begins at ten, so I’ll be by at half past nine.’’

‘‘Half pastime?’’ Father murmured.

No one paid him any attention.

Violet stabbed a stewed prawn with her fork. If her mother and Ford didn’t stop planning her life like she wasn’t there, she would likely scream.

Seated between her sisters across the table, Lord Randal Nesbitt gave her a sympathetic smile—a smile almost as charming as Ford’s. It just lacked that hint of the devil that lit Ford’s eyes.

Apparently noticing the glance that passed between her and his friend, Ford reached for her hand beneath the table.

Faith, what if someone noticed?

But it felt good. It reminded her of their stolen kisses.

Feigning nonchalance, she straightened her spectacles and smiled back at Rand. He was nice. He hadn’t even mentioned her spectacles. She wondered if that was because Ford had already told him about them, or if he was just the polite type.

‘‘Pastime?’’ Violet’s father repeated. He turned to his wife. ‘‘What is this all about?’’

She flicked a grain of brown rice off his cravat.

‘‘Darling, I told you we’re going to London, remember?’’

‘‘I thought that was to order more gowns for Violet since she’s finally taking interest.’’ Father stirred some of the butter sauce from the prawns into his rice.

‘‘From that Madame Blowfont woman.’’

‘‘Beaumont,’’ Rose clarified loudly, sprinkling cinnamon on her own rice.

Egad, did Ford have to know that she’d never cared for clothes?
Nobody would ever call Violet Ashcroft
typical
, she heard him say in her head—and her family was only confirming it. She wished she could slide under the table. And then melt into the floor.

Especially when she caught Ford stifling a grin, telling her that he was enjoying this discussion.

Mum tried to come to her rescue. ‘‘Gowns?’’ Her laugh was so convincing, Violet was almost convinced herself. ‘‘Of course she needs new gowns, but everyone knows that my daughter’s only interest is in philosophy.’’ She focused on Ford’s friend. ‘‘You must forgive my husband. He’s a bit hard of hearing and often misunderstands.’’

‘‘What?’’ Father asked, proving her point.

‘‘Nothing, my love.’’ Chrystabel’s musical laughter tinkled through the room, a sound of relief if Violet didn’t miss her guess. ‘‘See what I mean?’’

Ford squeezed Violet’s hand, and she cast him a warning glance.

‘‘Violet did have a new ball gown made,’’ Rowan said in defense of his father.

Rose flashed her dimples at Ford’s guest. ‘‘What brings you to visit, Lord Randal?’’ she asked, even though he’d already told them all to just call him Rand. She’d been staring at the man all evening. Not that Violet blamed her. Like Ford, he wore no wig, and he had the most gorgeous mane of long, dark blond hair. Besides that devastating smile, he was tall and lean, with a poet’s face and eyes of steely gray—

the most intense eyes Violet had ever seen. When he looked at a person, he really
looked
at her, as though he could see right into her soul.

He was looking at Rose now, and she seemed to practically swoon under his gaze.

Eating single-handed, Ford used his fork to cut a rather awkward bite of the tanzy. ‘‘I’ve asked Rand to translate that book for me, Rose. He’s Professor of Linguistics at Oxford—a renowned specialist in ancient languages.’’

‘‘Languages?’’ Visibly perking up, Rose actually batted her long eyelashes, reminding Violet of Jewel.

Ford squeezed her hand again, and she stifled a laugh.

She stuffed a prawn in her mouth to hide it, licking orange-flavored butter sauce off her lips.

‘‘I am conversant in a few languages myself,’’ Rose announced. ’Twas the first time Violet had ever heard her sister voluntarily admit her abilities to a man. Still staring at Ford’s friend, Rose reached for the salt and started blindly sprinkling some on her roast chicken.

‘‘Perhaps we can work on the translation together?’’

Rand lifted his goblet. ‘‘Perhaps.’’ His voice matched his looks, smooth and rich. ‘‘Ford tells me you’ve already examined the book.’’

‘‘Well, yes. But not for very long.’’ Rose was still spooning salt. ‘‘Perhaps together—’’

‘‘Rose,’’ Lily interrupted. ‘‘Do you not think you’re overdoing the seasoning?’’

Rose looked down and froze, the tiny spoon halfway between the cellar and her food.

Violet gave her a brittle smile. ‘‘You would not want to eat too much
hard salt things and spices
.’’

‘‘What?’’ Father asked.

Mum just looked perplexed.

‘‘I’m afraid you’re right.’’ Dumping the salt back into its little dish, Rose released a languid sigh. ‘‘I am experiencing short breathings, my heart is trembling . . . am I turning green as a weasel?’’

‘‘Have ever you seen a green weasel?’’ Rand asked no one in particular.

The children both giggled.

‘‘No,’’ Ford said, shifting his hidden hand to lace fingers with Violet. ‘‘I haven’t.’’

Lily looked down. ‘‘Beatrix, how did you get in here?’’ She leaned to scoop up a small striped cat and settle it in her lap.

‘‘Lily,’’ Mum said. ‘‘Not when we have company.’’

‘‘She’s lonely.’’ Lily stroked the animal’s fur, then reluctantly set her back on the carpet. ‘‘She had a bad day.’’

Rand cocked his head. ‘‘Pray tell, how does a cat have a bad day?’’

On his other side, Rose touched him on the arm, a clear bid for his attention. ‘‘Our Lily claims she can feel her animals’ emotions. She collects poor injured creatures. Cats, birds, rabbits, the odd squirrel. She’s turned an old barn into a menagerie, or rather an infirmary for damaged beasts. She even has a mouse.’’

‘‘His leg was broken, poor thing,’’ Lily said.

Ford scooted his chair closer to Violet’s, and she felt her blood stirring up to venery. But a quick scan of the table assured her no one was paying attention.

To the contrary, they were all staring at Rand, who in turn was staring at Lily.

Violet noticed a distinct softening in that intense gaze. ‘‘Cats and mice together?’’ he asked.

Lily, bless her, seemed unaffected by his charms. ‘‘I have only three cats at the moment, and I’ve had them since they were kittens. When creatures are raised side by side, they can learn to be brothers and sisters. Even cats and mice.’’

‘‘How very interesting,’’ Rand said.

‘‘Lily dreams of building an animal home,’’ Rose announced.

‘‘A what?’’

‘‘An animal home,’’ Lily repeated softly. Like Violet, she’d never shared her dream outside the family.

Reaching a hand beneath the table, she slipped the cat a bit of chicken while measuring Rand’s reaction with her steady blue gaze. ‘‘A nice clean building where hurt or abandoned creatures can be brought to live. People who work there will care for them until they are healthy enough to return to the wild or they find a home with a family.’’

Rather than disapproving, Rand nodded slowly.

‘‘ ’Tis a very nice idea. Innovative.’’

Along with her sister, Violet breathed a sigh of relief. She rather liked Ford’s friend. ‘‘Our grandfather encouraged us to be innovative,’’ she told him, trying to ignore Ford’s thumb tracing circles on her palm.

‘‘Or rather to follow our dreams. And, as he put it, leave our marks on the world.’’

‘‘And what is your dream, my lady?’’

‘‘Please call me Violet,’’ she reminded him, stalling for time. Although she’d told Ford her dream and he hadn’t laughed, ’twas still difficult to share with another.

Then Ford moved their joined hands to rest on his thigh, and the shock of that loosened her tongue. ‘‘I wish to write a book about philosophy,’’ she blurted, shoving her spectacles higher on her nose. ‘‘My own ideas. And use my inheritance to publish it some day and distribute it far and wide. Of course,’’ she hastened to add, ‘‘I have a lot of studying and thinking to do before then.’’

Rand didn’t laugh. ‘‘Of course. An admirable dream, Violet.’’ He turned to Rose. ‘‘And your dream, my lady?’’

Rose didn’t tell him to drop the my lady. ‘‘I . . . I dream of falling in love,’’ she said, and prettily lowered her lashes.

Rand looked surprised, but Violet wasn’t. Rose had never shared a dream with the family, unless one counted dreams of balls and gowns and jewelry.

‘‘Oops!’’ Jewel dropped her spoon and dove to the floor to go after it. ‘‘Pretty kitty,’’ came her voice from beneath the table.

‘‘Jewel . . .’’ Ford warned. But she didn’t come up.

Instead, Rowan slipped off his chair to join her.

An alarmed
meow
came from somewhere below.

‘‘Poor Beatrix. What are they doing to you?’’ Lily leaned down to feed the cat a final bite of chicken, then rubbed its small, furry head with one finger. ‘‘Go out now, Beatrix. I will come to visit you later.’’

Beatrix did, stepping gracefully, her striped tail high in the air.

‘‘She obeyed.’’ Admiration lit Rand’s eyes.

Ford played with Violet’s hand where it rested on his leg, and she felt herself turning red.

‘‘Holy Christ,’’ came Rowan’s voice muffled from below. ‘‘Look, Jewel.’’

The girl’s head popped up. ‘‘Uncle Ford, are you holding hands with Lady Violet under the table?’’

‘‘No!’’ Ford yelped, yanking up his hands, fingers spread to prove his point. ’Twas the second time Violet had seen him blush. Combined with her own scarlet hue, she was sure the truth was obvious.

Lily gasped. Rose smirked. Mum’s mouth curved into a smile.

‘‘What’s that?’’ Father mumbled.

’Twas a long supper.

Later, seated at the small round table in the library, Ford spread his knees apart farther so one rested against Violet’s, then leaned down next to her ear.

‘‘I’m looking forward to Monday,’’ he whispered.

She turned her head slightly, her cheeks prettily flushed, and he hoped that meant she was looking forward to Monday, too. Then her eyes suddenly narrowed. ‘‘I just want you to know,’’ she whispered back,

‘‘that I am almost one-and-twenty, and my mother does not run my life.’’

He wouldn’t challenge that statement for all the gold in England. ‘‘I’m certain the decision was yours alone,’’ he assured her. Shifting closer, he held her gaze. ‘‘I’m just glad you decided to come.’’

‘‘Oh,’’ she said, and then, ‘‘Oh!’’ when his arm curled around to rest on her shoulder. Her hands fluttered up to touch her spectacles, which he’d noticed she sometimes did when she was flustered. But she needn’t have worried—’twas clear as the lenses over her eyes that nobody else was going to notice their closeness or conversation.

Candles burned, warding off the late night darkness.

Loathe to say good-bye to each other, Rowan and Jewel had fallen asleep on a corner of the patterned carpet, half twined where they’d dropped in their play.

Across the table, Rand and Rose huddled together over Ford’s ancient book.

The girl was plainly smitten.

‘‘I’m not sure,’’ she crooned to Rand now, ‘‘but do you not think this might mean ‘mystery’? ’Tis awfully similar to the same word in German.’’

‘‘Possible.’’ Rand flipped a couple of pages, peering at them critically. ‘‘But I don’t see much else that looks to be Germanic.’’

Ford traced geometric figures on Violet’s shoulder, smiling to himself when he felt her shiver.

Playing with the ends of his long hair, Rand flipped back to the original page. ‘‘Do you suppose the five words might be from five different languages? I’ve only been looking for one.’’

Hero worship flashed in Rose’s eyes. ‘‘I hadn’t considered that possibility.’’

‘‘Five words?’’ Ford’s attention was finally wrested from Violet. ‘‘What five words?’’

‘‘The five words of the title,’’ Rose said as if he had lost his head.

Clearly he had.

Rand frowned at the page, running a finger over the text. ‘‘What if this were German, like you were saying, but an older version?’’ A tinge of excitement crept into his voice. ‘‘And this looks Hellenic, perhaps meaning ‘emerald,’ and this may be Slavic—’’

‘‘Mystery and emerald?’’ Ford breathed. His heart threatened to hammer out of his chest.

Rand straightened in his chair. ‘‘It means ‘Mysteries of the Emerald Slab,’ ’’ he said very solemnly.

Ford blinked, feeling blank.

His friend leaned across to punch him on the arm.

‘‘
Secrets of the Emerald Tablet
, you fool.’’ A grin spread on his face. ‘‘You found the book, Lakefield.

’Tis a bloody miracle.’’

All the air seemed sucked from Ford’s lungs. It
was
a bloody miracle. And a marvel, and a wonder, and—

He leapt from the chair and swept the three of them into a fierce hug. Then he kissed Violet smack on the lips, right in front of her gasping sister.

He was still grinning the next day when he showed up at his brother’s castle.

Colin wasn’t grinning when Ford delivered his daughter, along with a still-weak Nurse Lydia they’d stopped to pick up along the way.