by Lauren Royal
“I wouldn’t want anyone knowing I owned such a valuable thing, either.” That much, at least, was the truth. “I expect it would make him a target for robbery.”
“Perhaps.” Raking a hand through his hair, Ford scooted closer, close enough to be in focus. He captured her gaze with his glorious blue eyes. “I hope this will change your mind.”
“Ford, I must apologize—”
“In a matter of months, Lakefield will be earning a tidy profit. And in the meantime, I have more than enough funds to finish the improvements I told you about.” He pushed off with his feet, setting the swing to swaying. “You can marry me now without fear that I’ll spend your inheritance and rob you of your publishing dream.”
Her heart throbbed in her chest. “Is that what you thought? That I valued a philosophy book over you?”
Suddenly she could see where he could have inferred as much, and her shame escalated beyond bearing. Her throat tightened painfully.
“I would never put a book before you,” she choked out. He hadn’t valued a book over her, either. He’d sold his precious alchemy book for her. “Never. It’s just…well, I couldn’t bring myself to believe any man would want me for myself.” She gave a mournful shake of her head, her gaze trained on her lap. “It was my failing, not yours. And I’m so very sorry.”
Tears welled, and one rolled down her cheek.
She wasn’t acting now.
He reached to wipe away the teardrop, his fingers soft and warm on her skin. “Egad, don’t cry. Please. Just say yes.” As the swing slowed to a halt, he pulled in a deep breath. “Will you marry me, Violet?”
This time she didn’t hesitate. “I’d be honored.”
He caught her up in a hug so tight it threatened to crack her ribs. “I love you,” he said. “Have I told you I love you?”
“Most generously.“ She laughed through her tears. “I must catch up.”
His eyes looked anxious. “Please do.”
She graced his lips with the softest, most cherishing kiss she could contrive. “I love you, Ford Chase.” Missing the feel of his warm, tender mouth on hers, she sought it again.
As he pulled her closer and deepened the kiss, she sank into a heartfelt embrace that told her she was his—and his alone. She hadn’t known it, but she’d been waiting for this all her life. This love, this trust, this acceptance of her just as she was.
She loved him. Here, now, today, tomorrow, for all time.
“I love you,” she repeated breathlessly when he finally pulled back.
A smile curved his lips as he toyed with the end of her plait. “Before you change your mind, I expect I should ask your father for your hand.”
“Is that why you invited my whole family? Planning ahead?” she teased, reaching to his pocket for her spectacles. “All right, then. Just don’t forget to shout.”
“SIX MONTHS,” Mum said after the congratulations and the hugs and the kisses. “It will take that long to arrange everything and allow people time to make plans to attend.”
“Tomorrow,” Ford countered loudly, evidently remembering Violet’s instruction to shout.
“Tomorrow!” Rose snorted. “That’s preposterous! It’s too late in the day to get a special license in time for tomorrow. And Madame Beaumont cannot make a wedding gown by tomorrow, either.”
Ford turned to Violet. “Tell me you’re not going to London to order a gown.”
She shrugged. She was a newcomer to caring about fashion and knew nothing about planning events. “Three months?”
“One week.”
At that point, her father pulled her mother aside for a whispered conversation. Mum’s feminine laughter trilled over Ford’s neat new garden.
“Two weeks,” she said, “and that’s final.”
SIXTY-SEVEN
TWO WEEKS LATER, in the wee hours of the night before her wedding, Violet found herself wide awake for the last time in her childhood bed.
The house was quiet, but her mind was whirling with anticipation, excitement, and plans. Unable to sleep or read with her thoughts in such disarray, she was absently flipping through the pages of the Master-piece when she noticed something odd.
In one particular section, the pages felt different.
She shut the book. The section looked different, too. Its pages didn’t lie as flat as the rest.
Dragging the candle on her night table nearer, she reopened the book—then blinked and peered closer.
The pages looked as if they’d been cut out and then reattached, messily stitched back onto the cut edge, as if the job had been done in haste.
How had she not noticed this before? Her brow furrowed, she paged back to the beginning of the section. Chapter Seventeen: A Word of Advice to Both Sexes, Being Several Directions Respecting Copulation.
“Hang it!” she remembered Rose saying. “Someone ruined the book!”
And Lily: “Who would do such a thing?”
Violet gasped in sudden horror.
Mum!
THE NEXT MORNING, Margaret finished threading a pale blue ribbon through the back of Violet’s hair and tweaked one of the fat, springy curls she’d so painstakingly created.
At last, Violet’s wedding day had arrived.
The days since her betrothal had been excruciating. All of a sudden, her parents had become oddly vigilant, when earlier they’d seemed so permissive. She hadn’t found more than five minutes alone with Ford at any one time. They’d scarcely stolen a single kiss.
“Why are you smiling?” Rose asked, watching Violet’s face in her dressing table mirror. “Brides are supposed to be nervous.”
“I’m not,” Violet told her. In truth, she was a bit nervous—but only a bit. This marriage was so right. How could Mum have ever imagined Ford was too intellectual for her? Was her mother losing her matchmaking touch?
When her maid left, she stood and turned to face her sisters.
“You look beautiful,” Lily breathed.
Today, in her pale blue satin wedding gown, Violet felt beautiful, whether she actually believed she was or not. Smiling to herself, she absently traced the pearls embroidered in scrolling designs on her bodice—which was every bit as tailored to her form as the gown that had riveted Ford the night of the Royal Society celebration. But this time she didn’t feel self-conscious. She was seeing herself in a new light. What did it matter if she’d never be as pretty as her sisters? The man she loved wanted her, and that was all that counted.
“You should leave off your spectacles,” Rose said. “At least for the ceremony.”
“No.” She wanted to see everything clearly, especially Ford’s eyes when they exchanged vows. “Ford said I look fine in them. And I believe him.”
“I told you that you should marry him,” Rose gloated. “Just think,” she continued, her tone changing to one of half awe, half envy. “Tonight you’re going to experience the secrets of Aristotle’s Master-piece.”
“Oh, Rose,” Lily started, but then a knock came at the door and she went to answer it.
“A delivery,” the majordomo said, holding out a small, long box. “From Lord Lakefield to Lady Violet.”
“Thank you, Parkinson.” Lily shut the door and carried the wooden box over to Violet. “What do you suppose it could be?”
“Diamonds, I’m sure,” Rose said. “It’s a wedding present, after all.”
“I think not.” Generous though he might be, Ford was focused on the estate these days, and Violet doubted he had enough of her ten thousand pounds left to feel comfortable spending money on diamonds.
The box was tied—very crookedly—with a purple ribbon Violet thought she remembered seeing in Jewel’s hair. “Open it,” Rose said, reaching for it. “I’m dying to see what he gave you.”
Violet pushed her sister’s hand away and untied the bow herself. The object inside was wrapped in blue brocade fabric, which she quickly unfurled.
“Oh, how lovely,” Lily gasped.
“Gemini!” Rose�
�s mouth hung open. “Even I would wear those!”
With trembling fingers, Violet lifted an exquisitely crafted pair of eyeglasses. Around flawless lenses were elegant gold wire frames, worked all over in the most delicate, intricate tracery imaginable, and studded with tiny purple stones. They were more beautiful than any piece of jewelry Violet had ever owned.
Removing her plain spectacles and placing them in the gift box, she slowly, reverently slid the gold spectacles into place and moved to the mirror. And gasped.
They looked beautiful. She looked beautiful. For the first time in her life, she felt like the prettiest girl in the room.
Lily was beaming. “I told you eyeglasses suit your face,” she reminded Violet. “Do you believe me now?”
Violet nodded without turning her head. She couldn’t seem to tear her eyes away from the mirror.
But eventually she had to, because it was time to go to the chapel. She tucked the box with the plain spectacles into her satchel, alongside her night things and her own wedding gift to Ford. She planned to present it to him later, when they were alone.
On their wedding night.
During which, as Rose had helpfully pointed out, Violet would be initiated into the secrets of the marriage bed. She was glad she’d had the Master-piece to help prepare her for the evening ahead, even if she remained horrified that Mum knew she’d been reading it.
Yet somehow she still felt entirely unprepared. She pressed a hand to her chest, wondering when her heart had begun thumping.
Perhaps she was more nervous than she’d thought.
SIXTY-EIGHT
AS EVENING FELL, it began to rain. Violet stood with Ford and her family within Trentingham’s covered portico, watching the last of the guests sprint to their carriages while she waited to say good-bye to her father.
“It was a nice wedding,” Mum said, “wasn’t it?”
Violet sighed. “I can hardly remember it.”
“Perhaps you’ve had too much champagne?” Ford flashed a mischievous smile. “I remember it perfectly. A rather solemn ceremony, right here in Trentingham’s chapel.” It hadn’t been solemn at all. Violet’s lips twitched as he continued. “I have lingering impressions of much Tudor woodwork and jewel-toned stained glass, with my beautiful bride a glorious vision in blue.”
Lily giggled. She’d definitely had some champagne. “I cannot believe so many people showed up with only two weeks’ notice! All of Father’s friends from Parliament, and your friends from the Royal Society—”
“And everyone Mum knows,” Rose cut in. She was still drinking champagne. “Which means everyone who lives within a twenty-mile radius.”
Ignoring her middle daughter, Mum smiled at Ford. “You have very nice friends.”
Although Violet would swear her mother had once referred to Ford’s friends as “that odd group of scientists,” today she’d seemed to hang on their every word. “I saw you chatting with Mr. Hooke’s ‘housekeeper,’” she teased Mum.
“I enjoyed chatting with Rand,” Rose said dreamily, taking another sip. “And dancing with him.”
Rand had danced with Lily more often, but apparently Rose hadn’t noticed. Meeting Lily’s guilty gaze, Violet decided to hold her tongue on that subject. “I think at least two hundred people tried on my spectacles. My face hurts from smiling.”
“My poor wife.” Ford pulled her close. “You’re not used to being the center of attention,” he teased, kissing her softly.
“Ewww.” Rowan made a face. “More kisses.”
Everyone laughed. Earlier, Jewel had informed Rowan her Auntie Cait said kissing was encouraged at weddings, then planted one smack on his lips. Violet had never seen anyone turn quite so red as her brother.
“Here we are,” Father announced, coming out with a footman bearing the last of Violet’s trunks. He kissed her on the cheek. “I hope we’ll still see you around here.”
“Oh, it’s time,” Mum said with a sniffle, and wrapped her in a hug.
Rose drained the last of her champagne. “I want a full report on your wedding night. Tomorrow.”
“Oh, Rose,” Violet said, exchanging an embarrassed glance with Ford. But she kissed her sister anyway. Tearing up, she gathered Lily and Rowan close.
“Enough,” Ford said, straightening his blue velvet surcoat. “Any more of this, and you’ll all turn to mush and be washed away by the rain.”
He took Violet’s hand, and they made a dash for the carriage. She barely had time to gather her skirts before he grabbed her by the waist to swing her up and inside.
“I thought we’d never get out of there,” he complained as the door shut behind them and he yanked her into his arms. She’d been dying to be alone with him, too, and when he crushed his lips to hers, a delicious warmth spiraled through her, all the way out to her fingers and toes.
But when the carriage lurched to begin the short, jarring journey to her new home, they bumped noses and then teeth. She laughed, smiling up at him as she nestled closer.
Rain beat on the carriage’s roof, a soothing tattoo that made her feel even more warm and cozy and safe with her new husband.
“I’ve decided,” Ford said, “that rain brings me luck.”
“Because it sent everyone home early?”
“That, too,” he said cryptically.
She felt entirely too drained to figure out what he meant. This day had been the most exhilarating and exhausting of her life. Surrounded by all their family and friends, Violet had felt such an outpouring of genuine affection that she was left stunned and profoundly moved. Never had she imagined there were so many people who loved her and wished her well.
Perhaps she was a girl who inspired love, after all.
“Mum was right,” she said with a happy sigh. “It was a nice wedding.”
“You can thank me for that. I extracted Colin’s vow, under pain of death, that there would be no practical jokes.”
“He wouldn’t,” she protested. “Not at a wedding.”
“I can see you don’t yet know my brother. Ask Kendra and Caithren about their weddings sometime.”
“I will,” she said, very much looking forward to that. “I like your family.”
“I was sure they’d scare you away. They’re loud, and meddlesome—”
“And they love you.”
“I know,” he said. “And now that I’ve married you, I think they might approve of me, too. I even overheard Jason boasting of my watch design to the Lord Chancellor.”
“He must be proud of you.” It was obvious his brother’s praise was of special significance to Ford. Though Violet wasn’t sure why, she sensed it was a conversation best left for another day.
Seeming lost in thought, Ford made no response. His arm tightened around her. Resting her head on his shoulder, she closed her eyes.
Contented silence reigned for a while before he spoke again. “Do you like your new spectacles?”
She touched the golden frames. “More than I can say. Truly, Ford, I’ve never received such a lovely gift. They sparkle so.”
“Amy insisted on the stones—violet-colored gems for Violet.”
“Oh! I was wondering if she’d made them.” Violet was relieved. It would have cost him a fortune to special order such a trinket from London.
“I’m so glad you’re pleased.” He pressed a slow kiss to the top of her head. A kiss so cherishing, she felt tears spring to her eyes.
What had she done to deserve him?
“Speaking of wedding gifts,” she said, moving to reach for her satchel, “I’ve one for you, too.” She was rummaging through the open bag when another great lurch sent it flying, scattering its contents. “Oh, hang it!”
“Blast this road. Here, let me—”
“Wait, don’t—”
But it was too late. Ford straightened, raising a leather-bound book that had landed face up, its cover flung open.
A book with a very shocking illustration on the frontispiece beside its title pa
ge.
“What’s this?” When she failed to respond, he turned disbelieving eyes on her. “Violet…?”
For a bare instant, she seriously considered leaping out of a moving carriage.
But she was rooted to the spot. “Aristotle’s Master-piece,” she mumbled, her tongue feeling dry and heavy. “You bought it for me that day in Windsor, remember?”
His brow furrowed. “I thought it was philosophy.”
She gave a mournful shake of her head.
Remaining silent, her hands clasped in her lap, she watched him page slowly through the book, pausing here and there to read a passage. His eyebrows rose higher and higher, until they nearly encountered his hairline. “It’s a manual,” he breathed in sudden realization.
She nodded, her gaze dropping to her clenched hands.
“Some of the pages are marked,” he observed. “And there are notes written in the margins. Is this…Violet, have you been studying for our wedding night?”
“I—” Feeling his stare, she hid her flaming face in her hands. “I’m an idiot. I just wanted…” Swallowing hard, she fought off nausea and released a shuddering breath. “I just didn’t want to do it wrong,” she finished lamely. “I’m sorry.”
She wondered miserably what would happen next. Would he laugh at her? Could he bear to go through with the night ahead, knowing what a naive fool he’d married? Or would he take her straight back to Trentingham and have their vows annulled forthwith?
She heard the book snap shut. “You’re sorry?”
Tasting bile in her mouth, she braced herself for the worst. She could survive this. She could go back to her old life. Somehow.
“I can’t imagine,” he went on, “why you think you need be sorry.”
Bewildered, she peeked through her fingers. A wisp of hope rose within her.
Until he began to laugh.
She lunged for the carriage door.
“Violet, no!” He caught her by one arm, then the other, and held her in her seat. “I’m sorry,” he choked out. “I shouldn’t be laughing. I’m not laughing at you.” He sucked in a breath, trying to calm himself.