Violet

by Lauren Royal

  “Here, naturally. We’ll hire him on.” The countess laced her fingers together atop the mahogany table. “Anyone can replace a coachman, but I cannot do without Anne.”

  “How many matches does that make for you this year, Mum?” Lily asked. “Six?”

  “Just so. But I introduced Lord Almhurst to Lady Mary Spencer last week, so I expect I’ll be up to seven soon.”

  The maid arrived with the tea and poured. “Thank you, Dinah,” Ford said, hoping the Ashcrofts noticed how respectful he was of their servants. He lifted the ridiculously small spoon and began using it to shovel sugar into his tea. Though he didn’t share his twin sister’s habit of eating dessert before the meal, he did share her sweet tooth.

  “Seven weddings,” Rose said with an impressive sigh. “In case you haven’t heard, my lord, Mum is the unofficial matchmaker for all of Southern England.”

  “I’ve introduced people from the North as well,” Lady Trentingham said a bit huffily.

  This talk of marriages was making Ford nervous, so he decided to change the subject. “What time shall I fetch you to go to the village tomorrow?” he asked Violet.

  Her hands went to the frames of her spectacles. “Oh, I…well—”

  “She cannot go,” Rose put in from across the table. “Mum has arranged for her to have new gowns fitted.”

  Rose graced him with a wide smile, but although she had fetching dimples, he didn’t find himself attracted. Odd, considering her tall, willowy beauty was very attractive, indeed.

  “Perhaps I can accompany Rowan instead,” she added. “I know how much he’s looking forward to the outing.”

  “It won’t take the entire day,” Ford said. “The village is hardly a metropolis.” An understatement—Jewel would likely finish her shopping in twenty minutes. He spooned in more sugar—pure white sugar, he noticed, imported from the West Indies, no doubt. Another sign of the Ashcroft wealth. He turned back to Violet. “I can come by for you and Rowan in the afternoon, following your fitting.”

  Behind her new lenses, her eyes clouded. “I—I…” She shifted on her petit point seat cover. “I’m not certain I’m ready to be seen in public,” she blurted. “With the spectacles, I mean. I know everyone will stare and ask questions. Perhaps after I’m more used to them—”

  “You goose,” Rose interrupted. “Just take them off.”

  Violet’s hands went protectively to the sides of her face, as though she were afraid her sister might grab them off herself. “I like to see,” she said. “I don’t want to take them off.”

  “If you’re going to insist on walking around with glass and metal on your head, then you’ll have to get used to people staring at you.”

  “Rose.” Chrystabel’s tone was soft, but a warning nonetheless. “Our Violet prefers not to be the center of attention,” she explained to Ford.

  “Please pass the sugar,” Lily asked sweetly.

  “I’d like some, too,” Rose said. “Put it between us.”

  Ford sent the sugar across the table. “How about if we go to Windsor, then?” he suggested to Violet. “It’s much bigger than the village. You’re unlikely to run into anyone you know there, and Jewel will find a larger shopping selection.”

  Violet looked unconvinced, but Jewel’s eyes lit like green beacons. “Good idea, Uncle Ford.”

  “But—” Violet started.

  “Yes, it is,” Rose interrupted. “Except that will take all day, so Violet won’t be able to go. But as I said, I’ll be happy to go instead.”

  “Rose.” Now her mother’s voice sounded more exasperated. “That won’t be necessary. I can send a note to Madame and reschedule the fitting for another day.”

  “But—” Violet tried again.

  “A perfect plan,” Lady Trentingham concluded.

  EIGHTEEN

  “HOLY HADES,” Rowan whispered. “Look at that thing.”

  As they headed toward the river, Violet glanced at Harry walking in front of them, his bald head shining in the sun. Thankfully he hadn’t seemed to hear.

  “Hush,” she told Rowan. “You don’t want me to tell Mum you’re talking like that, do you?”

  Having expected Ford, she’d been surprised when Harry had come to the door instead. Not that she was sure she wanted to go to Windsor at all. She did want to see the town, really see it, but…

  She touched the metal frame of her spectacles—egad, people were going to stare and ask questions.

  “Father says holy Hades all the time,” Rowan muttered.

  “And you can, too,” she said, keeping her voice low, “as soon as you’re grown and have children of your own.”

  “But just look at that thing!” he exclaimed.

  Harry definitely heard that. He slowed so they could catch up, a crooked smile on his face. “I’d wager you’ve never seen anything like it,” he said, gesturing toward the dock.

  “I haven’t,” Violet agreed.

  On the river, Ford and his niece were waving from the deck of a barge so old, she half expected it to sink before her eyes. Flecks of gold on its woodwork glistened, the last vestiges of gilding that must have once graced the heavily carved boat. Once upon a time, she imagined, it had been a ceremonial vessel for someone very important—if not the king himself.

  But now it must be a hundred years old if it were a day.

  At least the sails still looked serviceable, if tattered and gray. She waved back, and her brother did, too. Then she stopped and turned him to face her.

  “Don’t say anything bad about it in front of them. Please.” She still remembered him asking Hilda for cherry tart, and she never knew what would come out of his mouth next to embarrass her. “Please,” she repeated.

  “Bad?” Rowan’s green eyes looked incredulous. “It’s the most wondrous thing I’ve ever seen!” With that, he broke into a run and didn’t stop until he’d crossed the dock and leapt onto the ancient craft.

  Violet was glad Harry’s old legs gave her an excuse to approach more slowly, since her fashionable high heels hampered her ability to run. She wasn’t used to wearing them. But at least, with her new spectacles, she was confident she wouldn’t trip over the uneven ground.

  A crew waited aboard, three men she recognized as Ford’s coachman and outriders. As she lifted her peach satin skirts, Ford reached a hand to help her up. She smiled and put hers in it. “Good day, my lord.”

  He grinned, his free hand gesturing at the blue, cloudless sky. “It is, my lady.” He dropped his voice as she stepped aboard. “You look lovely today, Violet.”

  Her own free hand went reflexively to her spectacles. Though her new gowns weren’t ready, she was wearing her fanciest day dress and knew it was pretty. But she also knew she was not.

  He held onto her fingers a few moments more than necessary. “I hope you’ll enjoy the day.”

  If the fluttering in her stomach was any indication, she was sure she would. When he released her hand, she felt a distinct loss.

  “I’m surprised you came by river,” she said, “rather than by road.” An understatement if ever she’d uttered one, though suddenly the barge seemed like the most delightful mode of transportation.

  “It’s a beautiful day,” he said, “and Windsor just a pleasant sail down the Thames. I thought the children would enjoy it.”

  “They are already.” With whoops of joy, the two of them were chasing around the cabin perched in the barge’s center, jumping over ropes and racing around rigging as though the entire vessel had been designed as their playground.

  Like Lakefield House, the boxy cabin could have used a coat of paint, but it was obvious the boat had once been elegant and impressive. “Wherever did you find this?” Violet asked.

  “It came with the estate. Though a bit the worse for wear, she’s seaworthy, I assure you. Or riverworthy, in any case.”

  “She’s magnificent.” Twirling slowly in a circle, Violet noted the rich details. Although spotless, the barge was old to the point of antiq
uity. Just the thought of riding such a silly thing made her want to laugh. But in its own way, it was beautiful, too. “Are you going to fix her up?”

  “Perhaps. I haven’t thought about it, really.” The boat started down river, and he led her to two chairs on the deck. “Sit, will you?” She did, and he sat down beside her. “What do you fancy shopping for today?”

  “There’s nothing I want. This is Jewel’s day.” They were a long way from Windsor yet, so she settled back, delighting in the light breeze on her face and the warm sun dancing on her skin. And the company. She’d never thought she’d enjoy a man’s company much, but Ford Chase was changing her mind.

  The barge rocked gently as they made their way down the Thames. Father waved from the garden as they passed, and she waved in return, then stiffened.

  Father had seen her. That meant other people could see her. Including neighbors.

  Her gaze went wistfully to the cabin. “Can we go inside?”

  “It’s a sleeping cabin—there’s nothing in there but a bed, so it’s not really suited for the two of us.” He raised a brow, a gleam in his eye, and she felt her cheeks grow hot. “Do you not enjoy the sun?” he asked.

  “I worry for my complexion,” she fibbed. Her mother and Rose both worried about their complexions, but Violet had never cared a fig. “I much prefer rain.”

  “Rain?” He looked at her as though she were a half-wit, which accurately described how she was feeling at the moment. Then a smile tipped the corners of his mouth, and she knew he had caught her in the lie. “You really prefer rain to sunshine?” he asked, much too politely.

  Seeing a man wander the riverbank, she rose and turned her back. “Well, I love rainbows,” she said, only digging herself in deeper. “And since rain is needed for rainbows, I do prefer it.”

  He grinned up at her. “I can make you a rainbow without rain.”

  “Can you?” He was the most extraordinary man!

  “Absolutely. I will do so tomorrow. In the meantime…” With great exaggeration and a flourish, he gestured to her empty chair.

  She sat back down, and Ford began talking about this and that. She was soon so engrossed in their conversation that she forgot all about her eyeglasses or being spotted wearing them. The warm sun felt good on her skin, and though their journey was a leisurely one that covered several miles, the time passed quickly.

  Too quickly. Before she knew it, they were docking at Windsor. Where she suddenly got cold feet.

  It was a busy town. Windsor Castle had suffered much damage during the Cromwell years, and King Charles was now enthusiastically refurbishing and expanding it, which meant many laborers crowded the streets along with the town’s usual inhabitants. Wearing her spectacles here would be worse than just being the center of attention—more like being the center of the universe. At the last moment, she pleaded a headache and retired to the shady safety of the cabin.

  Two hours later, the others returned to find her there.

  NINETEEN

  “I’M STARVING.” Followed by the children, Ford stepped inside to drop off their latest purchases. “If you’re feeling better, can I tempt you with a meal? I promise to take you into a nice, dark deserted inn.”

  Violet heard the teasing in his voice and knew he knew she was a coward. He’d accompanied the children around town, where Jewel had purchased ribbons and a hat and a doll. For her birthday, Ford had bought her a lovely silver heart pendant. He’d also kindly bought Rowan some marbles fashioned from pretty stones, and they’d stopped at vegetable stands and a butcher, loading the barge with staples for Lakefield’s kitchen.

  They’d made three trips back and forth, and in all that time, Violet hadn’t set foot out of the cabin.

  Now the three of them crowded into the small space, their expectant gazes practically pinning her to the bed where she sat.

  She bit her lip. Ford had been more than patient. The least she could do was be honest. “I’m sorry, my lord. But I just know people will stare.”

  “Will you stop my-lording me?” He swept off his hat and, in a gesture that was beginning to become familiar to her, raked his fingers through his long brown hair. “After what happened yesterday”—his voice deepened an octave, and he raised a brow as he met her eyes—“you should certainly have leave to call me Ford.”

  “Ford, then,” she said. He was right. And she was miserable.

  Jewel tugged on her uncle’s sleeve. “What happened yesterday?”

  “He gave me these marvelous spectacles,” Violet said before he could answer, although she knew he’d been referring to their kiss.

  She’d been thinking about that kiss the whole time she waited on the barge, replaying every little detail in her mind, over and over, until her lips tingled and she found herself short of breath. She’d alternated between wondering if he’d kiss her again and telling herself not to be ridiculous.

  Of course, she knew the truth: He’d been carried away by the success of his spectacles, and it wasn’t going to happen another time. But that didn’t seem to keep her from hoping and dreaming.

  And another truth she knew was that she’d never get another kiss from anybody if she hid herself the rest of her life. If she was going to wear the spectacles, she needed to get over this fear of appearing in public.

  Not all at once, however. “Can we dine on the way back?” she offered as a compromise. “An inn along the river. Where I won’t have to walk a street teeming with people.”

  He measured her for a moment. “If I cannot tempt you with food,” he drawled, “I suppose a bookshop wouldn’t work, either?”

  “A bookshop?” she murmured.

  He jammed the hat back on his head. “Right there on Thames Street. You can see it from here.” Without asking for permission, he grabbed her arm and drew her off the bed and out of the cabin. She blinked in the sunlight. “There, see?” he said.

  In the distance, a sign swung in the slight breeze. The cracked wood looked a century old, but the lettering was newly painted and visible from the barge: JOHN YOUNG, BOOKSELLER.

  There weren’t too many people on the street. “Maybe just the bookshop,” she conceded.

  Though his grin told her he knew he’d won, he didn’t lord it over her with words.

  “I’d like to choose a foreign language book for Rose,” she added in a paltry attempt to save face.

  “And maybe a philosophy book for yourself?” It seemed he knew her all too well. Jewel and Rowan had followed them out, and he waved them off the barge. “Hurry, before she changes her mind.”

  As Violet stepped onto the dock, she took a deep breath and lifted her chin. Let people stare. She had to get used to it, and she might as well start now.

  “Why a foreign language book for Rose?” Ford asked as they walked.

  “A peace offering. I’ve been entirely too short-tempered with my sister lately.”

  “Having met her, I suspect she probably deserved it.” The street was rutted and uneven, and he took her elbow to steady her in her heels. “But I meant why a foreign language?”

  “Oh.” She was feeling like a half-wit again, distracted by his hand on her arm, warm through her peach satin sleeve. She caught a glimpse of herself in the mullioned glass windows of the Swan, a reflection of her walking with a man. It was difficult to think straight. “My grandfather was a scholar and spoke many tongues. Of all of us, Rose spent the most time with him before he passed on—”

  “She doesn’t seem the type.”

  “She’d be pleased to hear you say that.” As they passed Bel and the Dragon, music pumped out the tavern’s open door. “Although Grandpapa is no longer with us, Rose has kept her interest in languages. She teaches herself now, and she loves new books to puzzle out for practice.”

  “I would never have guessed it. Rose seems…”

  “Rather empty-headed?” Violet supplied helpfully.

  “No. Well, yes, I suppose, but I don’t mean it in a bad way.”

  “She’
s constructed a good facade, our Rose.” She pressed closer to him, avoiding a horse and carriage. “Rose is of the opinion, you see, that men aren’t interested in intelligent women.”

  “I wasn’t,” he murmured.

  “Pardon?”

  Switching sides to shield her from the traffic, he cleared his throat. “I wasn’t at all aware of Rose’s scholarly tendencies. Philosophy, languages…you Ashcroft girls are surely not the usual sort.”

  “The Ashcroft motto is Interroga Conformationem.”

  “Question Convention?” Judging from his expression, that seemed to amuse him. “What talent is Lily hiding?”

  “Only a gentle heart. She cannot stand to see any being in pain, human or animal.” She stopped before the bookshop, which looked blessedly deserted, and suddenly realized that with all the conversation, she’d forgotten to worry about strangers staring at her.

  In fact, she’d forgotten about everything but Ford, including her unsightly spectacles—and her little brother. Amazing that a man could have such an effect on her!

  Ford looked to the children. “Do you two think you can behave? No pranks in there, you hear?”

  “Gads, Uncle Ford, of course we wouldn’t.” Jewel pulled open the door. “Pretty,” she said, looking up. “Like Rowan’s house, and Auntie Kendra’s.”

  Walking in behind her, Violet bit back a smile. Although the ceiling Jewel was gazing at was heavily carved and gilded, the rest of the shop had seen better days. Row upon row of narrow aisles were crammed with books on plain wooden shelves. More books sat piled haphazardly on the floor, apparently waiting to be sorted. Dark and well-worn, the place smelled like leather, paper, and ink.

  Exactly the way a bookshop should.

  A man appeared, looking well-worn like the shop. “John Young, at your service.” His hair was salt-and-pepper, his blue eyes lively though faded with age. “If you’ll follow me, I’ll show you a secret about that ceiling.”

  He wove through the tall shelves and stopped in the middle of the shop. “Look up,” he said.