by Lauren Royal
Father looked to Mum. “Wash her gown in champagne?”
“Water down the champagne, darling. But we won’t be doing that.” Mum scanned the gathering. “Rowan may certainly have a taste,” she announced, “as may any other children whose parents agree.”
The maids poured while the footmen bore the esteemed pineapple back to the kitchen to be sliced.
Father handed the glasses around and raised his in a toast. “To our Violet, on the anniversary of her birth.” The center of attention, Violet felt her face burn. “May she live in health and happiness another eighteen years times four.”
“Hear, hear,” everyone said, smiling in her direction.
Whoever they all were.
She looked down and took a cautious sip. “It’s like drinking stars,” she breathed. She’d never tasted anything like it. It tickled the back of her throat.
Rowan spewed his mouthful onto the grass. “Zounds, I’ve got bubbles up my nose. Ick.” Violet cringed at her brother’s lack of manners, but at least no one had to worry about him drinking too much, since he immediately set down his glass.
“It’s an acquired taste,” a golden-haired gentleman told him. The duke, Violet remembered, congratulating herself. Though Ford had introduced him as Trick.
Well, that was one memorable name.
Lily looked awed. “Have you tried it before, your grace?”
Trick nodded. “It’s all the rage at court.”
“Have you been to court, then?” Rowan asked.
Jewel elbowed him. “Of course he has, you goose. He’s a duke!”
Rose sighed. “I’ve never been to court. Father won’t allow it. He says it isn’t a place for nice, unmarried girls.”
“A wise decision,” Trick said dryly.
Ford bent down to whisper in Violet’s ear. “The bucks at court would have an innocent like Rose for supper.”
Though she suspected her sister could handle herself, Violet’s eyes widened at this news.
“Have you never been, either?” he asked.
Sipping the sparkly drink, she shook her head. “Is it beautiful?”
“Whitehall is magnificent. Court itself can be amusing or boring, depending on who deigns to show up that particular day. But I was raised with the court in exile…I imagine you would find it exciting.”
She’d felt more at home among the Royal Society than she’d expected. “Maybe now that I’m eighteen, Father will take me someday.”
“I was thinking I could take you,” he said with that winning smile of his. “After we’re wed.”
He sounded terribly confident, which normally would have irked her. But today, her heart sang instead. He hadn’t given up on her, after all! Held fast by his gaze, she remembered how it had felt to dance with him in their own little wonderland, holding each other close. A rush of warmth shuddered through her.
She wanted to tell him yes. Here. Now. Her gaze went wistfully to the summerhouse again, but this was no time to sneak away, not while she was the center of attention.
Yet she was dying to tell him, and if he had whispered a private message to her, she could do the same…
She raised up on her toes. “Ford—” she began quietly.
“The pineapple!” Rowan squealed, and the moment was lost. They all turned to see a footman approaching, bearing a silver bowl filled with small cubes of yellow fruit. “I hope I like it better than the champagne,” Rowan said as the man put it down.
“Have you tried this already, your grace?” Rose asked the duke.
Trick shook his head. “Never.”
“I’ve seen pineapples before at parties, but only as a decorative centerpiece,” Ford’s sister said. “I suspect someone is making a fortune renting the things so people can impress their friends.”
Mum laughed at the idea. “Do you expect they actually spoil before anyone eats them?”
“I imagine so,” said one of those dark-haired brothers. Jason, the marquess, Violet thought as he curved his arm around the waist of the sister-in-law that had long tawny hair. “From what I understand, most of them rot on the way from the islands. But this one looks perfect.”
“I hope it is,” Father said. “I’ve heard it said that if I dry the crown for a couple of days, I may be able to plant it and grow pineapples, providing I can keep the bush warm during the winter. They’re supposed to have pink flowers that look like a pine cone.” He lifted the bowl and held a spoon out to Ford. “As our guest, will you honor us by trying it first?”
“But this is Violet’s day.” Ford took the spoon, scooped up a cube, and moved it toward her lips.
He’d fed her in the piazza at Gresham, and now, as then, it seemed an almost shocking act. Her gaze darted around to see how their families were reacting, but everyone just looked expectant. And the moment the fruit touched her tongue, she forgot to be self-conscious. Flavor burst in her mouth.
“Oh my,” she said, chewing slowly. “It’s the sweetest thing I’ve ever tasted!”
Everyone else scrambled to try it.
“Do you like it?” Violet asked Rowan.
He grinned, yellow pulp in his teeth. “It’s much better than champagne.”
“Oh, but the champagne is so light and delicious!” Lily daintily sipped from her glass. “The pineapple is sweet but…”
“Acidic?” Ford suggested.
“Well, I’m not exactly certain what that means, but it sounds about right.”
He smiled and grabbed a bottle to refill her glass. “Acids react with a base to form a salt.”
Jewel looked up to the sister-in-law with the beautiful raven hair. “Uncle Ford is smart, isn’t he, Mama?”
“I assume your Uncle Ford is very smart,” the woman said with a smile, “since I understand only half of what he says.”
Jewel’s mother. Violet committed that to memory, trying to figure out which gentleman was her husband. Probably the one who laughed now, then leaned down and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. Colin. She remembered Ford telling her Colin played practical jokes, so of course he would be Jewel’s father. It was all coming together.
Rowan grinned at Jewel. “I’m glad Violet had such an important birthday.”
“Me, too,” Lily said, sipping more champagne.
“Me three,” Rose added, all but gulping hers.
If Violet didn’t miss her guess, her sisters were getting a bit tipsy.
Doing her best to relax, she looked around at everyone drinking champagne and chatting amiably. The sister-in-law with the straight tawny hair caught her eye and smiled. Jason’s wife, she thought happily, glad she was finally figuring out who was who. She liked them. They seemed friendly.
Then once again, Father cleared his throat. When nobody took heed, he raised Mum’s bell and gave it a shake. Violet winced, sure something else embarrassing was about to come out of his mouth.
“This is quite a momentous occasion. As the oldest, our Violet is now the first to come into her inheritance. I hope you will save it and spend wisely, my dear daughter.”
Violet sighed. She’d been right. Sometimes Father could be so—
“She can use it to buy a husband!” Rose announced with a tipsy giggle.
Violet wished the earth would open up and swallow her.
“Now, Rose,” Mum chided, reaching to brush a bit of pineapple off Father’s surcoat.
“It was but a jest!” Rose poured herself more champagne. “Can you people not abide a jest?”
But Rose was absolutely right: most young ladies would use a large inheritance to buy into a highly ranked family, and most gentlemen would be happy to accept that bargain. Looking around again, Violet no longer saw a warm, good-natured gathering; she saw an assembly of prestigious and powerful men and women.
She took a gulp of her own champagne, but she wasn’t feeling tipsy, just sick.
To think, mere minutes ago, she’d nearly told Ford yes. Now all her doubts came flooding back. She tilted her head back, lettin
g the the bubbly drink run down her throat, wishing it could restore her world to balance.
She was so confused. If she could just spirit Ford away from this crowd and talk to him, really talk to him, maybe she could tell whether he was sincere. A grown woman of eighteen ought to be possessed of some feminine instincts, oughtn’t she?
With a sigh, she reached to pour herself more champagne.
“I think you may have had enough,” Father said, gently prying the glass from her clenched fingers. “Come with me to the summerhouse for a moment.”
“Not now, Father.”
“Always arguing.” He shook his head. “Chrysanthemum, Violet, Rose, and Lily…my lovely flowers always argue. Except for the ones in my garden. No wonder I like them so much.”
Violet couldn’t help but smile. He scooped a bunch of grapes off the table and started toward the summerhouse, leaving her to follow.
After shutting the door, he gazed at her fondly and wrapped her into a hug. It was quiet inside the structure—quiet enough that he could hear without her yelling. Quiet enough that she could hear her own heartbeat as she felt herself calming in his arms.
“How’s my eldest flower?” he asked, pulling back. “You looked upset there, for a bit.”
She couldn’t stay vexed with him. His speeches might have been embarrassing, but they were well intended, after all. To outsiders, he might seem rather addlepated, but that was only because he couldn’t hear well enough to participate in many conversations. Those close to him knew he was wise.
She gave him a wry smile. “I’m well, Father. Sort of like fine, old wine, aged but better for it.”
“You’re not so old,” he said, sitting down on one of the benches that lined the curved red-brick wall. “Don’t go consigning yourself to spinsterhood yet.”
She saw the truth in his face. “Mum told you Ford proposed.”
“You know we share everything.” He pulled four grapes off the bunch. “That’s what I want for you, Violet. Someone to share your life with.”
“I was sure I’d never have that. But now…”
“Yes?” He popped one of the grapes into his mouth.
“I don’t know. I’m confused. Socrates said the unexamined life isn’t worth living. But I’m driving myself mad examining and reexamining.”
Chewing on the grapes, he rose and wandered back to the door. “Sometimes,” he said quietly, “we just have to take a leap of faith. When the time comes, you’ll know.”
Would she? She felt inadequate to make such a decision. Philosophy, after all, taught one to question everything. And the single thing she’d been sure of all her life—that she would never find true love—she’d now caught herself rethinking.
She felt like she didn’t know anything anymore.
He handed her a grape. “Now go back out there and smile at your guests.”
They weren’t her guests, but as he opened the door, she decided that, for once, she’d be the flower that didn’t argue.
Besides, she really wanted to get Ford alone here in the summerhouse.
She stepped outside, blinking in the bright sunshine. Everyone had scattered. The children had organized themselves into a game of duck-duck-goose, and Jewel was “it.” On the far side of the garden, Ford was picnicking beneath the giant oak with his brothers and their wives, both of the women with babes in their laps. He looked over and waved, and she waved back, noting the others watching. They were discussing her, she was sure of it. She’d give up Aristotle’s Master-piece to hear what they were saying.
Fairly certain one of the two babies belonged to Ford’s sister, Violet scanned the other end of the grounds, then blushed to see the fiery redhead and her husband in the shadows of a tree-lined path, locked in a rather tender embrace.
She politely averted her eyes, though the sight made her smile. They reminded her of her parents and of the love she wanted for herself…and that she’d be daft to allow Rose’s thoughtless remark to hold her back. She wouldn’t let her old insecurities haunt her. No matter what her sister said, she wasn’t buying a husband. Ford had said he loved her, and she believed him.
She was ready to take that leap of faith.
With a new determination, she headed past the children toward Ford.
“Duck, duck, duck—” Rounding the circle, Jewel broke off. “Rowan, why do you keep scratching?”
He scraped his fingernails on his shirt. “I don’t know,” he said, raking his leg, then the back of one hand.
Jewel stepped into the circle and gasped. “Gads, you have red spots all over your face! Measles!”
Violet detoured into the circle, knowing her brother was entirely too lively to have measles. “Let me see.” She bent and peered into his face, wiping the remnants of cherry tart from his chin. “Rowan, did you drink chocolate?”
“Just a little,” he squeaked. “The champagne was icky.”
“Oh, Rowan!” Exasperated, she hauled him to his feet. “You know chocolate gives you hives. Now you’ll be scratching for days.”
“He looks funny,” a little girl said with a giggle.
“Funny, funny!” The other children took up the chant.
Jewel stepped closer and poked him on the chest. “You goose!” She burst out laughing.
Clearly mortified, Rowan ran for the house. All the adults rushed over to see what had happened, except for Mum, who followed Rowan.
This birthday was turning out every bit as miserable as Violet had feared.
She just wanted to be alone with Ford. Over the giggling children’s heads, she met his gaze, and a silent communication passed between them. She inclined her head toward the summerhouse, signaling him to meet her there.
Seeming to materialize out of nowhere, his sister touched her arm. “May we have a word with you, Violet?” Her two sisters-in-law stood behind her. “Do you mind if we call you Violet?”
“I…of course not. Not at all.” She sent Ford a questioning glance, but he just shrugged apologetically.
There was nothing for it, she thought with an inward sigh. She couldn’t rebuff his family. Her answer to his proposal would have to wait a bit longer.
She tried to muster a smile. “Shall we talk in the summerhouse? It’s quiet in there.”
As they followed her silently, she braced for what she was sure would be an unpleasant barrage of questions as they assessed her worthiness for their brother.
When the door closed behind them, Ford’s sister returned her tentative smile. “I’m Kendra, in case you don’t remember. And this is Amy and Cait.”
Violet nodded, feeling rather outnumbered as she mentally noted who was who, hopefully once and for all.
She didn’t want to make any mistakes.
Dark-haired Amy was Jewel’s mother and Colin’s wife. And she was a jeweler, Ford had said. Colin had rescued her after her father’s London shop burned in the Great Fire.
Cait, Jason’s wife, had lively hazel eyes. Her straight wheaten hair, while less than fashionable, seemed to suit her perfectly. She stood with a hand on her middle, and although her stomach looked flat, Violet wondered if she might be with child.
She wondered if she would ever have a child. With Ford.
“My brother has a good heart,” Kendra announced without further ado.
“A very good heart,” Amy added.
“A very, very good heart,” Cait echoed in a distinct Scots accent.
Ford had told Violet that Cait was Scottish, so she was sure she had the right names with the right faces now. But she was stunned. She backed up and sat on a bench. “I know he does,” she said slowly.
This wasn’t the grilling she’d been expecting. Were they trying to talk her into marrying him?
“He loves you,” Kendra said.
“Very much.”
“Very, very much.”
They were trying to talk her into marrying him.
She didn’t know whether to laugh or just hug them for caring so deeply for Ford’s happines
s. What they were doing was so very sweet. “He’s told me he loves me,” she assured them.
Kendra crossed her arms. “But you don’t believe him.” It was a statement, not a question.
Violet opened her mouth to disagree, but Kendra cut her off.
“Look,” she said, dropping to sit beside her. “Let me tell you something. If Ford were looking for money, he could have married Lady Tabitha ages ago. She had pots full of it.”
Lady Tabitha?
Her mouth still hanging open, Violet blinked. “Who is Lady Tabitha?”
FIFTY-THREE
AT LADY TRENTINGHAM’S invitation, Ford walked with her in companionable silence along a path that took a meandering route to the river. All afternoon, her speculative looks had been convincing him Violet had told her something.
He just wondered exactly what.
“She told you, didn’t she?” he finally asked, unable to bear the suspense.
In the dappled light that came through the trees, she stopped on the path and nodded. “Yes, she told me you proposed. We’re a close family. Some think us a bit odd.”
Ah. Well, Violet’s rejection had been devastating—not to mention humiliating—but if she’d had to share the experience, he supposed Lady Trentingham was one of the kinder souls Violet could have confided in.
He shuddered to think how Rose might have broached the subject.
“Your family seems close, too,” Lady Trentingham added.
“We are,” he said, knowing it was true, no matter how irritating they could be sometimes. “We lost our parents long ago at Worcester, so we’ve always leaned on one another.” By tacit agreement, they resumed walking, the gravel crunching beneath their shoes. “I’m hoping to have a close family of my own soon,” he said carefully.
Still strolling, she met his gaze. “Violet fears you’re only pursuing her in order to get your hands on her inheritance.”
Lady Trentingham was direct—in that way, she reminded him of his twin sister. But the news hurt, even though he’d suspected as much from the start.
“How can she think that?” he wondered aloud. “I’ve told her I love her.” Despite everything, hearing those words from his mouth prompted an embarrassed half-smile. “I never thought I’d admit as much to her mother.”