Violet

by Lauren Royal

  Faith, she wanted to melt right into him.

  The pleasure was so unexpected, a mind-numbing, delicious sensation. A little whimper escaped her throat, and suddenly, thrillingly, his mouth slanted more hungrily over hers. His fingers tightened in her hair, and her pulse raced in response.

  Then he pulled away, a dazed half-smile curving his lips, his vivid eyes a little hazy. He looked as stunned as she felt.

  She shook herself, an ineffective attempt to clear her head. Of course he was stunned. A man would have to be daft to kiss a woman like her. Especially when she was wearing spectacles.

  But that didn’t stop her from wishing he’d do it again.

  “That was…amazing,” he murmured.

  “Yes. Well.” She looked down at the unvarnished floorboards. Amazing. What had he meant by that? Her hands went to the sides of her face, feeling the metal that hugged her ears. “I suppose I must look a fright.”

  “No, Violet.” His voice was a husky rasp. “You look lovely.” When she glanced back up, he appeared as surprised to have said the words as she was to hear them. “Your eyes shine like bronze beneath the lenses.”

  She was still feeling dizzy, still wishing she could lean against him again and feel his mouth on hers once more…

  But she knew it wouldn’t happen. Whatever had driven him to do such a ludicrous thing—such a ridiculous thing—was unlikely to ever recur.

  “My eyes are brown,” she said bluntly. She wasn’t lovely, and she didn’t like being lied to. If she’d been average-looking before, now, with the spectacles, she was sure she looked hideous.

  “Your eyes look bronze to me,” he repeated, “though I’ve also thought they look like brandy. My favorite brandy. And you look fine. Better than fine, in fact.”

  Better than he’d thought, Ford realized with a start.

  Enchanted by her delight with the spectacles, he’d acted without thinking. The kiss had been impulsive. And enjoyable…much more enjoyable than he’d ever have imagined.

  Now, seeing her flushed with happiness, from his gift or his kiss—he wasn’t sure which, but he hoped it was both—he wondered how he’d ever thought she was plain. His sister often accused him of being oblivious, and for once he agreed. Violet’s unique beauty sent the blood pumping through his veins.

  He wanted to kiss her again.

  Never a man to deny himself pleasure, he began to reach for her—but the children came bounding into the drawing room.

  “Uncle Ford!”

  “What is it?” he grumbled, then cursed himself silently when his niece’s eyes turned troubled.

  He had to learn to be more patient. Jewel hadn’t meant to keep him from enjoying another kiss. Children and romance simply didn’t mesh—another one of the many reasons he was in no hurry to have any of his own.

  He sucked in a breath. “What is it?” he repeated, forcing his lips to curve in a smile.

  She smiled back. “There was a spi—”

  “What is on your face?” Rowan interrupted, staring at his sister.

  “Spectacles. Ford made them for me.”

  Behind them, Violet’s brandy eyes glowed with wonder, and Ford didn’t miss the fact that she’d finally called him by his given name. The single word made him glow inside to match.

  “What for?” Rowan asked.

  “So I can see better.” The glow spread to encompass her entire face. “I can see things all the way across the room.”

  “Oh.” Hands behind his back, the boy rocked up on his toes. “That’s good. But they look odd.”

  “They look better on her than on me,” Jewel said. “Uncle Ford used my face to test different ideas. I think we tested about eleventy of them.”

  Violet grinned. “Eleventy, hmm?”

  “Jewel.” Rowan made a funny sound in his throat. “Remember? Remember what we were going to tell them?”

  “Gads, I forgot!” She paused for effect. “You won’t believe what happened!”

  “What?” Ford and Violet said together.

  “We found a spider in the garden. A big, fat, hairy one. Rowan saved me from it,” she added, beaming at said savior.

  “Did he?” Violet said very solemnly.

  “Mmm-hmm.” Struggling to keep a smile from his face, Rowan whipped his hand out from behind his back. “Look.”

  Violet screamed. And screamed some more. Then she turned to Ford and buried her face against his cravat, so hard he could feel the metal frame of the spectacles biting into the skin beneath his shirt.

  She was a nice, warm armful, but he wished she would stop trembling.

  The spider really was quite impressively enormous. “Get that out of here,” he told her brother.

  “But it’s dead. It cannot hurt anyone.”

  Jewel erupted in giggles. “Yes, Uncle Ford, it’s dead.” She turned to her accomplice. “I told you it would work. I could tell your sister is lily-livered.”

  “I am not,” Violet said, her voice muffled against Ford’s front. As if to prove her bravery, she turned to look, then promptly reburied her face.

  Knowing his niece well—or rather, assuming she was like her prank-playing father—Ford sent her a warning glance. “Just get it out of here, will you?”

  “Oh, very well.” Still giggling, Jewel went to open a window and motioned Rowan over to toss the creature outside. “But it really cannot hurt anyone.”

  “It wouldn’t hurt anyone were it alive, either,” Ford said. “It’s not a deadly sort.” Somewhat reluctantly, he coaxed Violet out of his arms. “But that isn’t the point.”

  “It was ugly,” Violet said with a nervous giggle of her own.

  She walked to the window and peered at the dead spider dangling ungracefully from an overgrown bush. A delicate shudder rippled through her.

  “I can see very well,” she declared, “and that is quite the ugliest thing I’ve ever laid eyes on. Perhaps these spectacles aren’t such a good idea, after all.”

  SIXTEEN

  WHILE ROWAN RAN for the house, anxious to tell their mother all about Lady Jewel and the spider, Violet alighted from the carriage, still looking about in wonder.

  The world was magnificent. She wandered around the side of the mansion, stunned by the splendor of her father’s exquisite flowers. Such brilliant colors, such delicate petals. She’d seen them before, of course, but only in her own hands or leaning down close. The gardens overall had been blurs of color, never this entire panorama of perfect shapes and rainbow hues stretching into the distance. And, oh, the subtle details were wondrous.

  Oblivious to her approach, her father knelt by some roses, patting mulch into place. She touched him on the shoulder. “You’ve done a spectacular job here, Father.”

  “Eh?” Engrossed, he didn’t look up. “What did you say?”

  Sighing, she raised her voice a notch. “Your flowers are beautiful.”

  “So are you, dear,” he said automatically, rising from his knees. At the sight of her, he froze. “Violet. What have you done to your face?”

  She grinned. “They’re spectacles, Father. Lord Lakefield made them for me.”

  He blinked. “What do they do?”

  “Besides make me ugly?” Despite that fact, a smile bloomed on her face. Throwing her arms out wide, she spun in a circle, looking at everything at once. “I can see, Father! I can really see!”

  In her exuberance, she’d yelled it, and he’d certainly heard. When she stopped twirling, he gathered her into his arms—something he hadn’t done in quite a while.

  He hugged her hard before pulling back, then searched her eyes with his. “Can you see everything? Just like me?”

  “Everything.” She knelt by his flowers. “This red rose, and that yellow one in the distance. And the hedges over there, and the rowan tree by the river.” She rose, turning slowly this time, savoring the incredible view. “I cannot wait for tonight to look at the stars.” Facing the house, she stopped. “I can see Lily smiling behind the window.” S
he waved merrily, grinning when her sister waved back.

  “Violet!” Rowan came running out, their mother trailing behind. “I told Mum about your spectacles, and she wants to see them!”

  “Chrysanthemum!” her father said enthusiastically, going to kiss the woman as though they hadn’t seen each other for a week. Normally Violet rolled her eyes at her parents’ uninhibited affection, not to mention Father’s absurd habit of calling Mum Chrysanthemum instead of Chrystabel. It was so sickly sweet it made her stomach turn.

  Usually. But today, watching them kiss, Violet could only think of her own kiss a little while ago. Her first kiss. A tingling weakness spread through her body.

  What was happening to her?

  “Let me see these spectacles,” her mother said, taking Violet’s face in her hands and turning it this way and that. “Do they really help you see?”

  “Immeasurably. It’s quite a miracle. And worth looking hideous, I can assure you.”

  “You look fine, dear.”

  Now Violet did roll her eyes.

  Her sisters stepped outside, both wearing new gowns they’d had fitted the past week while Violet had been at Lakefield House. Rose’s was a midnight blue brocade, the skirt looped up and caught on the sides with ice blue bows to show off the matching satin underskirt beneath. Embroidered lace trimmed her chemise, peeking from the scooped neckline and the cuffs of the fitted sleeves.

  If not exactly practical, it was quite a lovely dress, and Violet could see every detail before her sister even came near. Absolutely a miracle.

  “What is that dreadful contraption on your face?” Rose asked. Lady Tact.

  “See, Mum?”

  “You look fine,” Lily said. Her gown was a sunny yellow and quite lovely, too. It had a square neckline and a nutmeg-colored underskirt embroidered with yellow daisies.

  “I don’t care how I look,” Violet told them all. “Only that I can see.” She turned to her mother. “When will my own new gowns be fitted?”

  “Since when do you care about clothes?” Rose asked.

  But Mum just beamed. “Tomorrow. I shall send a note to the seamstress forthwith.”

  “Excellent,” Rose said. “And I’ll take Rowan to Lakefield tomorrow, since Violet will be busy.”

  Last week, Violet would have been relieved to hear that. But now she was just annoyed.

  “That won’t be necessary,” Mum said. “Violet can be fitted in the morning while Rowan has his lessons. She’ll be free by afternoon.”

  Rose’s pout was so well done, it could earn her a part in a play at the Theatre Royal.

  “Lord Lakefield said he would take us to the village for Jewel’s birthday tomorrow,” Rowan informed them. “Jewel has a lot of coins. May I try the spectacles?”

  “If you’re careful.” When Violet gingerly removed them, her world went blurry. She handed them to her brother, and he slipped them on.

  “I cannot see,” he said, scrunching up his nose and squinting through the lenses.

  “Well, of course not. They’re for bad eyes, and your eyes are good.”

  “Let me see,” Lily said. Rowan handed over the spectacles, and she held them up to her face. “Goodness, Violet, your eyes must be really bad.”

  “Let me see,” Rose said, grabbing for them.

  “Careful!” The metal frames were thin, and Violet didn’t want her new treasure broken.

  “I won’t hurt them.” Rose slid them onto her face, then gasped. “Is this what things look like to you?”

  “Probably. But not anymore.” She took the eyeglasses from Rose and happily settled them back in place, sighing as her view of the family cleared. “I don’t care what I look like,” she said again. “It’s just so wonderful to see.”

  “Truly, you look fine,” Lily said kindly. “The spectacles suit your face somehow.”

  Violet didn’t believe her, but she really didn’t care.

  “Truly,” Lily repeated, and when she smiled, her teeth looked whiter and straighter than Violet remembered. “It was thoughtful of Lord Lakefield to make them, wasn’t it? He must be a very nice man.”

  “And handsome,” Rose added.

  “Yes,” Violet said. “We all know you think he’s handsome.”

  “May Jewel come for supper?” Rowan asked.

  Mum patted her son on the head. “A grand idea. We’ll send an invitation immediately. We all owe Lord Lakefield thanks for restoring Violet’s vision.”

  “Eh?” her husband asked. “Did you say something about a decision?”

  Mum set her hand on his arm. “I said vision, darling.”

  “Hmmph,” he muttered half to himself as he plucked a dead head off a hollyhock plant. “The man of the house is traditionally involved in decisions.”

  SEVENTEEN

  FORD LEANED AWAY from the Ashcrofts’ polished mahogany table, barely resisting patting his stomach. The supper had been absolutely delicious, especially compared to the unimaginative fare Hilda prepared and served.

  “Thank you kindly for the invitation,” he told Lord Trentingham.

  “Imitation?” The earl cocked his head quizzically. “It wasn’t common chicken,” he said, not unkindly. “The partridges in that fricassee were hunted today.”

  “Darling,” Lady Trentingham said loudly, laying graceful fingers on her husband’s arm. Eschewing convention, she sat right beside her husband rather than at the other end of the table. “Lord Lakefield was thanking you for inviting him to dine.”

  “Yes,” Ford all but bellowed, since he was at the other end of the table, “it was quite a treat to spend an evening in the company of all of your beautiful ladies.”

  He couldn’t help but notice that Rose practically purred. “You’re quite welcome—” she began.

  “Thank you for making my spectacles,” Violet interrupted. Her mother had seated her next to him. “This is the most wonderful thing anyone’s ever done for me,” she added, the words clearly from her heart.

  Candlelight from the silver branches on the table glinted off the lenses shielding her eyes. “It was nothing,” he told her, meaning it. He’d made the eyeglasses as an experiment—to see if he could devise a lens to help her see her daily world as the telescope had helped her see the stars. He was pleased his idea had proven workable, and her delight was an unexpected bonus.

  Unexpected and more pleasing than he ever would have imagined.

  As another experiment, he offered her a lazy, seductive smile, dropping his gaze to her lips. When her cheeks flushed fetchingly pink, he was certain she was remembering their kiss.

  Hmm…he would have to continue this line of investigation. It could very well lead somewhere interesting.

  “Are you finished, milord?”

  “Oh. Yes.” He cleared his throat and shifted to allow the maid to remove his plate. Was she Daphne or Dolly? He liked the way Lady Trentingham addressed servants like they mattered to her, and talked to them instead of just ordering them around, and listened to what they had to say. It was both unusual and admirable, and he was attempting to do the same. But the Ashcrofts seemed to have so many. He couldn’t remember this one’s name.

  “Would you care for tea now, milord?”

  “Um, yes. Please,” he said, feeling more and more like a half-wit. Darla? Was she Darla?

  Some impression he must be making on Violet’s family. And devil take it, he hadn’t yet analyzed why, but he did want to make a good impression.

  They were neighbors, after all.

  “Everything tasted so good,” Jewel said as another maid whisked away her empty Delftware plate.

  Lady Trentingham smiled at his niece. “We’re glad you enjoyed it, sweetheart.”

  In fact, Jewel had all but licked her plate clean. Though Hilda’s cooking left much to be desired, Ford hadn’t realized he was starving his niece. It was humiliating.

  She beamed at their hostess. “Your house is so pretty.”

  “You’ve said that,” Ford told her. Six
times.

  Her gaze swept the exquisite molded ceiling, the gilt cornice, the heavily carved fireplace, the enormous flower arrangements set on every flat surface. “Well, it is pretty.”

  Ford felt his shoulders tense. While Trentingham Manor was opulent beyond anything the Chases owned, Jewel didn’t have to keep saying it. She was making him out a pauper. Between the two of them, any hopes he had of impressing the earl and his wife were sinking fast.

  “Milk, milord?” the maid asked. “Sugar?”

  “Both, if you please.”

  Dorothy? he wondered. Daisy? She set a small silver pitcher on the table.

  “I have the sugar,” Rowan announced. As the boy passed the bowl along with a tiny silver spoon, Ford looked at him and wondered if he’d have been called Daisy were he born a girl.

  Probably. Or Daffodil. Or Peony, perhaps.

  Jewel pulled on the maid’s sleeve. “Dinah, can I have tea?”

  “May I please have some tea,” Ford corrected her automatically. Dinah, he thought with relief.

  “May I please have some tea?” his niece repeated obediently. “I love tea, but Uncle Ford doesn’t have any.”

  Tea was still somewhat of a novelty and frightfully expensive; Lord knew he didn’t stock it at Lakefield House. Apparently Violet’s family could afford anything they wanted. And now, thanks to Jewel, they knew he couldn’t.

  Violet leaned close. “Children rarely think before they speak,” she whispered sympathetically. “Rowan is no different.”

  He knew that was true. But bloody hell, was his discomfort that obvious? Avoiding her gaze, he focused across the room on the Tudor linenfold paneling—painted white in the latest fashion—while he waited for his tea.

  “Heavens,” Lady Trentingham said. “I almost forgot to tell everyone the news. My maid Anne is getting married.”

  “Goodness, that’s wonderful, Mum.” Lily actually clapped her hands. “Is she wedding that coachman you introduced her to?”

  “Of course. I knew they would suit.”

  Rose sipped from her wineglass. “Her betrothed is from the Liddington estate, isn’t he? Where will they live?”