The Viscount's Wallflower Bride

by Lauren Royal

  Joseph’s eyebrows quirked with sudden curiosity. “I suppose it is my fatherly duty…”

  Stifling laughter, Chrystabel leaned over and planted a kiss on her husband’s cheek. Then she opened the book.

  “Oh my,” they said in unison.

  FORTY

  AN IMPATIENT KNOCK came at the laboratory door before Hilda’s voice called through it. “Will you be wanting breakfast, milord?”

  Ford blinked and then carefully, reverently, set aside his watch. Still in somewhat of a daze, he rose and went to admit her. “Is it morning already?”

  His housekeeper’s hands went to her hips. “Have you not bothered to look out a window lately?”

  He turned to the one right over where he’d been working. The sky was blue. Birds were chirping, the perfect accompaniment for a beautiful, sunny day.

  “Did you stay up all night again?” Hilda demanded.

  “What is it with the questions?” Ford shook his head, refusing to let her disapproval ruin his exuberant mood. “Come, I have something to show you.”

  She followed him to his workbench, weaving around a water bath and flicking her dust rag as she went. “If you’d let me in here to clean once in a while, this wouldn’t be such a skimble-skamble mess.”

  Accustomed to her lectures, he ignored this one and lifted his watch, dangling by its gold chain. “Here it is,” he said with a broad smile. “I’m finished.”

  “It’s very nice.” She raised a glass funnel and wiped it off.

  Nonplussed, he stared at her. “I know it’s not fancy, but do you see here? It’s different from other watches. It has a minute hand, like a clock. So you won’t have to guess how far into the hour it is by looking at only the single hand.”

  “Well, that is very nice, my lord.” She smiled, but her faded blue eyes didn’t sparkle with the enthusiasm he was seeking. “Although you have clocks enough around here for me to tell the time, I expect many individuals will appreciate the convenience.” She set down the funnel and glanced around the attic, sighing at the clutter and dust. “Will you be wanting breakfast now, then?”

  He was silent a minute before mutely ordering himself to shrug off the disappointment. “Breakfast would be nice. I’ll be down shortly.”

  He watched her calico-clad back as she picked her way through the maze that was his sanctuary. Convenient. She’d called his watch convenient. Although he supposed it was, that hadn’t been the reaction he was hoping for.

  After months and months of analysis and experimentation—not to mention years of schooling and an entire childhood’s worth of tinkering—he’d finally managed to create something that could benefit mankind. He wanted awe, excitement. Criminy, a bit of hero worship wouldn’t be amiss, either.

  Suspecting Jewel would have expressed all those sentiments and more, he found himself missing her all over again.

  Luckily, another enthusiastic girl lived not so far away.

  FORTY-ONE

  AN HOUR LATER, having bathed, shaved, and gulped down some breakfast, Ford found himself in the galleried entry of Trentingham Manor, proudly holding up his watch for Violet’s inspection.

  “Oh my,” she said, her brandy-colored eyes wide with unabashed admiration. “It’s amazing. I cannot believe it! Can I just stand here a while and watch it work?”

  Ford laughed, finally feeling that rush of success, wanting to kiss her for giving it to him. “If you’d like. But if you’d care to invite me into a room with chairs, you can sit and watch it instead. That would be more comfortable, don’t you think?”

  “Oh. I’m so sorry.” Holding the book he’d just given her, she turned and started down the corridor. “I’ve forgotten my manners.”

  He walked beside her. “I’d forgotten how lovely you are.”

  In his single-minded focus on his watch, he had forgotten. Intentionally forgotten. But she blushed prettily at the compliment.

  “Besides,” he added, “I’m the one who’s socially inept. I should have exchanged pleasantries before shoving my invention in your face. Your manners, by contrast, are impeccable.”

  She flashed him a smile that might as well have been a fist in his gut. He shouldn’t have come. Neither she nor her parents would ever agree to a match, and here he was, falling in love all over again.

  How was it that he could he be so clever in some ways, and yet so entirely harebrained in others?

  She was wearing a yellow gown today, and her red heels clicked on the corridor’s polished oak floor. “Would you show my family the watch? I’m certain they will be just as impressed as I.”

  Thinking of Hilda’s reaction—or rather, lack of one—Ford wasn’t so sure.

  “Mum is in her perfumery,” Violet told him, and he shrugged and followed her to the left, through a study he hadn’t seen before. Unlike the pretty feminine desks in the library upstairs, this room’s desk was heavy and utilitarian. There were papers all over it, and a pile of ledgers that looked ready to topple. He figured this was where Joseph Ashcroft ran his estate. It was obviously hard work—a demanding job Ford had no desire to tackle for Lakefield.

  But that’s exactly what he’d have to do if he ever hoped to be worthy of a girl like Violet Ashcroft.

  He looked away from the desk, preferring instead to watch Violet as he followed her through the house. The yellow silk nipped in at the waist before flaring out over her curved, feminine hips. Well, he couldn’t see her hips beneath her ample skirts, but he remembered placing his hands on them as he’d kissed her once, and he wanted to do that again.

  He sighed. He didn’t want someone like Violet—he wanted the genuine artifact.

  But all the hoping he could muster wouldn’t make a blasted bit of difference. He couldn’t magically transform himself into the sort of husband she deserved.

  His watch was finished. He really ought to go back to London.

  Like many old houses, Trentingham had few corridors, most of the rooms simply opening on to the next. The adjacent chamber was tiny, more or less a closet. But it would do as the storeroom for a laboratory. The walls were lined with row upon row of shelves, upon which rested vials of liquid. Chemicals.

  He stopped dead, looking around.

  “Mum is through here.”

  He blinked. Violet was gazing at him, the red-covered book he’d given her clutched to her chest. “I’m coming,” he said.

  The next room was a laboratory.

  True, it was nothing like his. While his had but a single small window over his work space, Lady Trentingham’s large windows afforded glorious views of the gardens and the river. While his had only one wooden chair for him to sit and work, hers had six upholstered ones, arranged in pairs with elegant inlaid tables between them. Clearly this room was used for socializing as well as work. But it was a laboratory nonetheless.

  Forgetting the watch in his hand, he found himself drawn to the center of the chamber, where Lady Trentingham stood at a large, rectangular table, plucking flower petals and tossing them into some sort of contraption.

  “Good morning, Lord Lakefield,” she said, beaming at him as though he were her long-lost son.

  He wished.

  “A pleasure to see you again,” he told her.

  “Yes, it’s been a while, hasn’t it?” If he wasn’t mistaken, her tone was slightly scolding. “What is it you’ve brought us?”

  “He hasn’t brought it for us, Mum, not exactly. Just to show.” Violet twirled the end of her plait around a finger, looking a bit flustered. Ford wondered if that was due to her mother’s warm welcome. It had certainly surprised him.

  Perhaps the Ashcrofts would be more amenable to a match than he’d thought.

  Violet set the book on a table. “Give me a moment to fetch the rest of the family.”

  The room seemed immeasurably emptier after she left. Listening to her fading footsteps, Ford set his watch on another of the small marquetry tables. “What is that?” he asked Lady Trentingham, indicating the peculiar devi
ce.

  Favoring him with a smile, she tossed a final few petals into the bowl. “Joseph has given me the last of this year’s roses. I’m about to make essential rose oil. Would you care to help?”

  “Certainly.” He wiped his palms on his breeches, approaching the crude apparatus. “What is it you’d like me to do?”

  “Just hold the bowl while I pour boiling water, then quickly set this other bowl on top. Upside down.” She demonstrated. “Ready?”

  “Pour away,” he told her, gripping the bowl while she turned to take a kettle from the fire. He watched while she poured, noting how much steam escaped before she finished and he was able to place the second bowl over the rising vapors.

  “It’s called distillation.” Replacing the kettle, she swiped the back of a graceful hand across her brow. “When the drippings cool, they separate into water—rosewater, in this case—and essential oil.” She indicated the tray below.

  “I see,” he told her. It was a still. But although he could tell it would work, it was like no other still he’d ever laid eyes on. Her process would be more efficient with the heat supply directly beneath, the water and petals contained in a flask so the vapors couldn’t escape. And with tubing and a water-cooling method, the oil—

  “Violet said you invented a new watch,” Rose said, walking into the room with her two sisters in her wake. Rowan came close behind, making a beeline for the table where Ford’s invention waited.

  “Uh-uh-uh,” Violet said before he could touch it. She reached to clasp his wrist. “Wait until Father arrives.”

  “But, Violet—”

  “Here.” She fetched the book Ford had given her. “Lord Lakefield brought you this from London.”

  “Micrographia,” he breathed, opening it to the middle. “Look at this.” He shoved a picture in Rose’s face.

  “Ewww.” She wrinkled her nose. “What is that?”

  “A blue fly up close.”

  Violet smiled. “I met the author at Gresham College.”

  The sudden blush on her cheeks made Ford suspect she was remembering other parts of their evening at Gresham College.

  “That was very nice of Lord Lakefield,” Lady Trentingham said. She was beaming in Ford’s direction again. “What do you say to him, Rowan?”

  Before Rowan could offer his thanks, Violet’s father barged in, his hands full of colorful flowers.

  Lilies? Violets? Ford could only recognize roses, and he saw none of those.

  “What’s this all about?” Lord Trentingham asked.

  “Lord Lakefield has designed a new watch,” Violet said.

  “Lord Lakefield has resigned? Resigned from what?”

  The three sisters giggled.

  “Quiet, everyone.” Lady Trentingham set down the bottle she was holding and glided over to her husband. “Thank you, darling.” She accepted the flowers and stuffed them into a vase she took off a shelf, one of many. “Lord Lakefield has an invention to show us. Would you care to see?”

  “A new sort of watch.” As Ford lifted the pocket watch’s lid, everyone else moved to huddle around.

  “Look,” Violet said. “There’s an extra hand to mark the minutes, so you no longer have to guess. Isn’t it amazing?”

  “Very impressive,” Lord Trentingham said.

  “Brilliant.” His wife’s smile looked so genuine that Ford found the tiniest, most fragile sliver of hope that she might secretly approve of him.

  “I want one,” Rowan said.

  “Let me see,” Rose demanded, and Lily chimed in more softly with “Me, too.”

  Ford handed over the timepiece, watching to make sure they’d be careful with it. But then his gaze was drawn to Violet. He hadn’t seen her in a week. Hadn’t touched her in a week.

  Their eyes searched, met, locked. Sparkling behind the lenses he’d made, hers were brandy-brilliant and beautiful. An unspoken message passed between them.

  “If you’ve no objections,” he said carefully, “I would like to take your daughter for a walk.”

  “Go ahead, dears,” Lady Trentingham said. “We’re watching the time pass!”

  FORTY-TWO

  WATCHING TIME. How much time, Violet wondered as they strolled toward the river, until Ford returned to London?

  This last week had been so monotonous while he’d been holed up working on his invention. She could hardly remember what she used to do with her days before he’d arrived with Jewel in tow. But now his niece had gone home, and he was finished with what he’d come to do. Soon, he’d be leaving. He’d probably asked her out here to tell her that.

  She crossed her arms.

  “Cold?” he asked.

  “Not really.” The August day was breezy yet warm, and the grass felt springy beneath her shoes. Violet tossed her plait over her shoulder, wondering if she should have allowed Margaret to spend the entire morning coaxing her hair into the fashionable ringlets she’d worn to the Royal Society event.

  Faith, next she’d be fretting over her complexion!

  Feeling self-conscious, she turned away and bent to pick a daisy as they approached the bridge. Her fingers idly plucked the white petals.

  He loves me, he loves me not.

  But of course he didn’t love her. She might be decked out in fancy new clothes, but who did she think she was fooling? Such finery couldn’t hide the deficiencies underneath.

  Violet had always found things to dislike about herself, but today, for the first time ever, she found herself genuinely wishing she were a different person. The thought made her want to cry.

  Instead, she changed the subject. “Have you missed Jewel this past week?” Dropping her mangled daisy at the foot of the bridge, she started across.

  Keeping pace, he gave a rueful smile. “Yes—to my great surprise. I’ve written her two letters already. She loves getting mail.”

  In the middle of the bridge, she stopped and turned to face him. “How thoughtful.”

  He shrugged. “It’s selfish, mostly. I’m hoping for letters in return.” Water flowed under the boards beneath their feet, and two swans glided near, but they had no bread to toss to them. “I missed you this past week as well,” he said quietly.

  Had he? She searched his fathomless blue eyes. “It felt odd not to be heading for Lakefield in the afternoons.”

  “Then you missed me, too?”

  She couldn’t deny it. But what good would it do to confess? Admitting her feelings would change nothing.

  Reaching to raise her chin, he looked straight into her eyes. Keeping his own wide open, he leaned in and pressed a soft, measured kiss to her lips. “I care for you, Violet. I’ve been trying to analyze why. But I think—no matter how much it pains me to admit this—there are some things one cannot analyze.”

  She didn’t know how to respond, but her lips tingled. His fingers felt warm on her skin. When he moved toward her again, her gaze darted up to the perfumery’s windows. Her family lurked behind the glass, probably still exclaiming over Ford’s invention. A pale oval appeared behind a pane, then disappeared. She’d bet the Master-piece it was Rose, spying.

  ”Afraid we’re being watched?”

  She sighed. ”I wouldn’t put it past my sisters. Or Mum, come to that.”

  He nodded, and they strolled across the bridge and along the far bank of the river. Cattle grazed in the fields beyond, and a hawk circled lazily overhead. As Ford slipped his hand into hers, her gaze flicked once more to the window, and he chuckled beside her.

  They walked in silence, listening to the whinnies of the horses in the field and the songs of two lovebirds in a tree. Violet focused on the sensation of their joined hands, startling when he slipped his thumb inside to circle her palm. A little thrill rippled through her.

  If only she could believe it was the same for him.

  A small wooden gate marked the entry to the woods, and they paused only long enough to open it.

  Here were new sounds: twigs crackling beneath their feet, leaves rustling ove
rhead. Still playing with her hand, Ford led her to the thick trunk of a fallen tree and sat upon it, drawing her down beside him.

  Though they weren’t actually far from the house, the canopy of trees made this place feel secluded and private. She shifted to look at Ford, noting faint circles under his eyes. “Looks like someone’s not sleeping,” she said quietly.

  “I was up all night finishing the watch.” He raised their joined hands to brush his lips over her knuckles. “Didn’t even realize it was morning until Hilda offered me breakfast.”

  “You should have slept, then, after you were done.”

  “I couldn’t. I was too excited. I wanted to show it to someone.” He paused, slanting a glance up at her. “I wanted to show it to you.”

  Her breath caught. Faith, she wanted to believe him. “I’m sorry, then, that I brought my family—”

  “No. I enjoyed showing it to them, too.” Still holding her hand, he used his free one to brush a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “But you were the one I truly wanted to share it with.” He scooted closer until their faces were mere inches apart.

  He was all but daring her to kiss him. And insuperable as she’d become, she couldn’t bring herself to refuse.

  So, after a deep breath, she leaned forward and pressed her lips to his. He tensed, as though surprised, but then his body relaxed and his hands came up to skim along her arms, slide over her shoulders, pull her closer. She still wore her spectacles, but he didn’t seem to mind. He moved closer still, until he was pressed against her, just like in her dream.

  Well, except for the tree bark digging into her bottom. But other than that, it was just like the dream.

  In fact, it was better. She couldn’t have imagined the sensation of his chest against hers—hadn’t had any notion that his body would feel so solid and muscled and different from hers. Nor could she have dreamt up the feeling of his lips trailing soft kisses across her throat. She’d never realized her skin was so exquisitely sensitive.