by Lauren Royal
When Violet entered the chamber, Rand stood. “Ford doesn’t know that I’m here, my lady, and I’d prefer to keep it that way.”
“As you wish.” She waved him back to the cream-colored chair and took the matching one for herself. “What’s this all about?”
Chrystabel had served him tea, and he raised the cup and sipped. “Ford wrote to me two days ago, and I thought you should know.”
“Know what?” Taking a biscuit from a tray, she nervously broke off a piece. “You’re confusing me, my lord.”
“Rand,” he reminded her. “And my apologies. I’m just so shocked, I wasn’t sure how to…well…he asked me to sell Secrets of the Emerald Tablet. To take bids on it and then contact Mr. Isaac Newton.”
“Sell Secrets of the Emerald Tablet?” Unheeded, the crumbs dropped to her lap. She remembered Ford clutching the book the day he found it. His declaration that he’d never sell it. His eyes glittering with excitement every time another bit was deciphered. “It’s his favorite thing in the world, his chance to discover the Philosopher’s Stone and bring it to all of humanity. You must be mistaken.”
“I assure you, I’m not. According to Ford, Newton has offered to pay double the highest bid, and he wishes to collect.” Rand sipped again, watching her over the rim. “It’s the only path he can see clear to winning your heart.”
That heart skipped a beat. Involuntarily, Violet raised a hand to her chest. “I don’t understand…”
He set down the cup and leaned forward, bracing his hands on his knees. “I’ve known Ford since we were lads together at Oxford, but never have I known him in love. Until now.”
She shook her head. “You’re mistaken, my lord—”
“Rand.”
“Rand, then. You’re mistaken. Look at me, Rand. Really look. I’m not a woman who inspires love—”
“What are you talking about?” he interrupted.
She sat straighter in her chair. “I have a mirror, and two good eyes.” Her hands went to her beloved spectacles. “Well, bad eyes, actually, until Ford made me these, but—”
“Two good eyes and half a brain,” he interrupted again.
She must warn Rose he had terrible manners, she thought absurdly.
Then his intense gray gaze pierced hers, demanding her attention. “Ford loves you, Violet. And no matter what you think, you’re a fine-looking woman, but that’s not the reason why. He loves your spirit and your intelligence and the way you listen to his ideas. And the way you have ideas of your own.”
“And he loves my money.”
“No. That he hates. Because it’s the reason you won’t take his declaration at face value.” He waited a moment for her to digest that. “Ford is a third son, the third son of a man who squandered the family fortune fighting the king’s war. Under the circumstances, he’s doing all right for himself. He’s in a bit of financial trouble now, but nothing he cannot handle if he moves carefully, except—”
“His estate is being foreclosed upon.”
“No. I mean, yes, but…how do you know that?”
She raised her own cup to her lips, hiding her hot cheeks behind it. “My mother is a terrible gossip.”
“Oh. I see.” He didn’t look like he saw at all, but he continued anyway. “The foreclosure is a fact, but beside the point. He’s working with his solicitor to resolve that.”
She looked down at her cup, held between trembling hands. Could that be possible? She hadn’t read the balance of that long letter.
“Ford’s problem, Violet”—he waited for her to look up—“is he’s lacking enough funds to both rescue his estate and remodel it in a way that would please you.”
“Which is the reason he wants my money.”
“No. He’s convinced you won’t wed him unless he has enough money that you’ll believe he doesn’t need yours, which is why he’s selling the book.” He paused to let that sink in. “He’s trading the book for you, Violet.”
“Oh, God.” Her cup clattered to the table, and she dropped her head in her hands.
Ford loved her.
He’d told her so, over and over, and she’d never believed him. Nothing he could say would overcome her stubborn failure to accept his honest declarations. Not even his tender hands on her body had convinced her to admit what she knew in her heart…
Ashamed, she felt hot tears prick her eyes. That he would go to the point of selling his most cherished possession…
“I cannot let him do it.”
Rand stood and, pulling her from the chair, wrapped his arms around her shuddering frame. “I was hoping you’d say that,” he whispered.
“FATHER,” VIOLET said loudly, “I’d like the use of my inheritance.”
Seated across from her at the library’s round table, Joseph glanced at Chrystabel before looking back to their daughter. “Have you an investment in mind?”
“No. Well, yes.” She lifted her chin. “An investment in my future.”
Chrystabel barely suppressed a smile. “Can you explain yourself, dear? This is very confusing.”
“Ford is planning to sell Secrets of the Emerald Tablet. I wish to buy it.”
Joseph frowned. “You hardly need your inheritance to buy a book.”
“This book costs ten thousand pounds.”
Watching her husband’s jaw drop open, Chrystabel reached beneath the table to take his hand. “Why do you want to buy it?” she asked Violet calmly.
She thought she knew the answer. She hoped she knew the answer. And when tears sprang to her daughter’s eyes, she knew she knew the answer.
“He’s s-selling it,” Violet stuttered out, “so he can fix up his house and win me.”
“Then let him do it,” Joseph said. “You don’t need to spend your—” He broke off when Chrystabel kicked him under the table. “What the—”
“What your father means to ask,” she interrupted, laying her free hand on Violet’s arm, “is what you intend to do with the book once you have it?”
Her daughter’s eyes cleared, and she drew a deep breath. “Why, give it back to him, of course. As a wedding present.”
“Oh, dear.” Chrystabel’s own eyes glazed over. Her eldest was getting married. “I was hoping you’d say that.”
SIXTY-THREE
HER PARENTS watched while Rand handed Violet the book. She clutched it to her chest, wishing she were clutching its owner instead. But she hoped to be clutching Ford soon enough.
“Father’s solicitor will send the money tomorrow. You won’t tell Ford who really bought it, will you? Even though he’s your friend?”
“My best friend. But I wouldn’t dream of it. Your secret is safe with me.”
“You’re a good friend, Rand.”
He nodded toward the book. “So are you.”
She sent him a tremulous smile. Ford would have her inheritance now, but if she felt a tiny pang at the loss of her own dream to publish a book, it was completely eclipsed by the joy of finding love. True love. A lifetime of love was so much more precious than any academic goal she might reach as a lonely old lady.
“Thank you, Rand. For everything.”
“You’re more than welcome.” He turned to leave, then swiveled back. “Where’s your sister Lily?”
“Outside, I believe. Tending to her poor, bedraggled menagerie.”
His eyes lit, and he looked to her father. “May I have your permission to stop and visit with her?”
Father blinked. “What?”
“Joseph,” Chrystabel explained loudly, “Lord Randal is asking if he might visit with Lily.”
“I have lilies in the garden.”
“Of course you do, darling.” She smiled at Rand. “Go ahead. I expect Lily will be pleased. But she’s young, Lord Randal. So visiting is all that will happen.”
Wide-eyed, he nodded and left.
Slack-jawed, Violet turned to her mother. “Lily?” she asked. “What about Rose? If she hears of this, she’ll be furious.”
“I’m not telling her,” Mum said. “Are you?”
“Absolutely not.”
“Tell who what?” asked Father.
TWO WEEKS LATER, Ford paced Lakefield House, satisfied with the progress of the renovations. Not that everything was complete—even with an army of skilled laborers, there was only so much one could accomplish in two weeks. But the roof was sound, and the exterior was a gleaming white. The garden had been cleared, and if it had a way to go before one could call it beautiful, even Ford’s untrained eye could see promise in all the new plants and flowers.
And he could easily find his sundial now. A quick glance told him it was nearly noon—nearly time for Violet to arrive from Trentingham.
He felt as though he’d waited his entire life for this moment. Thanks to the sale of Secrets of the Emerald Tablet, Lakefield shone not only in ways that showed, but behind the scenes. The latest farming implements were on order, and tenants were moving into the newly refinished cottages. The estate hummed with productivity and the promise of more to come. The threat of foreclosure was behind him, and despite spending a prodigious amount of money to accomplish his goals, he had enough funds remaining to live well for a few months until Lakefield started producing the tidy income it should.
He’d been surprised to find he didn’t mind the labors of a landowner, either. Although it would never replace the scientific work that claimed his heart, it was satisfying to use one’s brains and brawn to improve a place of one’s own. He wasn’t facing the months and years ahead with dread, but rather with anticipation of watching his efforts pay off.
No matter how painful it had been to sell the book, he knew he’d done the right thing—and, for perhaps the first time in his life, the responsible thing.
While he wouldn’t be the one to bring the Philosopher’s Stone to the world, Violet meant the world to him, anyway. If he could only see that long-sought-after acceptance in her eyes, it would all have been worth it.
His stomach knotted at the sight of an approaching carriage.
Here was his moment of truth.
He’d done right by Lakefield and all its people. He’d secured a future for his children, and his own future along with it.
But if Violet refused to share it with him, it would be a bleak future indeed.
SIXTY-FOUR
AFTER WAITING what seemed an eternity while she wondered if Ford had taken her goodbye to heart, Violet had been confused when a note arrived inviting her entire family to dine at Lakefield House this afternoon.
Now on their way, she twisted her hands in her lap, not really listening to her sisters and Rowan chatter in the carriage. As they approached Lakefield, she leaned to part the carriage curtains. A trickle of relief stole through her when she saw Ford pacing by the door, apparently as impatient as she.
Chrystabel placed her gentle fingers over Violet’s busy ones. “Are you ready?”
“For what?” Rose asked.
Violet exchanged a glance with Mum. “Just to visit,” she said in as offhand a manner as she could. “You needn’t read something into every sentence.”
“What are you reading?” Father asked.
“Egad.” Violet took a deep breath as the carriage rolled to a stop. They were here. Whatever was going to happen would happen now. She’d never considered herself much of an actress, but she had a role to play today, and she intended to do it well.
Ford greeted them outdoors with a formal reserve that did nothing to relieve her fears, inviting them all for a tour of the house before dinner. Violet followed him, wondering what her parents would think, whether they would still bless this possible marriage when they saw how poorly he lived.
But then she stepped inside.
The old dark paneling in the entrance hall was now a honeyed tone, and their first tour stop was the drawing room, where the floor had been stripped and polished, the walls painted a soft turquoise in place of the faded red.
“This is lovely,” Rose said in awe.
Had Rose seen the place last week, Violet thought, she’d be making one of her saucebox remarks instead.
But the room was lovely. Unbelievably lovely.
“I still need to order furniture,” Ford explained, “and draperies.” He looked to Violet. “I’ve no eye for decor, so I’m hoping for help with that.”
She nodded, hoping he was hoping for her help. Hoping she hadn’t spoiled her chances by refusing him one time too many.
His study was similarly refurbished, done in shades of cinnamon and olive green. Gone was the ugly brown decor in the dining room, replaced with walls of deep burgundy to set off the refinished cabinetry.
Hilda was setting the table. “It will be half an hour or more before dinner,” she told Ford, “but I’ve set out some victuals in the garden.”
“We’re going there straight after our tour,” he assured her.
“The garden?” asked Father.
Hilda smiled and raised her voice. “If you’ll but wait a moment, Lord Trentingham, I’ll show you outside.”
The rest of them headed upstairs. The staircase had new, polished balusters, and the steps didn’t creak. “I’ve hired a cook,” Ford told Violet as they climbed, “so Hilda is just a housekeeper now.”
In Ford’s bedchamber, the peeling ceiling had been stripped, revealing dark beams with colorful painted designs from some fanciful former owner. “It’s changed so much,” Violet breathed.
Lily’s eyes were round blue orbs. “You’ve been in here before?”
Violet’s face burned. “Not here. I meant the house in general.”
The chamber looked entirely different. The massive oak canopy bed had been refinished to a warm tone, and the old bed-hangings were gone. The room next door had been opened to combine with this one, providing a sitting and dressing area, currently furnished with the same settle, chair, and table that had been in the space when it was separate.
“I thought it would be nice to have more furniture in the room,” Ford said, capturing Violet’s gaze. “I envision changing it to something more comfortable. Except for that chair. For some odd reason, I’m rather attached to that plain oak chair.”
“Why?” Lily asked, clearly confused.
Ford only shrugged, while Violet focused on the shiny wood floor.
“‘You cannot conceal love or a cough,’” Rowan read slowly, and she turned gratefully to see an inscription above the door.
“That was there already,” Ford rushed to explain, looking a little uneasy at hearing the romantic sentiment aloud. “We found it beneath layers of paint.”
Mum smiled. “It’s a clever turn of phrase.”
He nodded, shooting Violet a significant glance. “I suppose I agree with it, too.”
“You should marry him,” Rose whispered to Violet as they left the room. “He even has a nice house.”
For once, Violet wasn’t tempted to slap her middle sister. And if she was reading Ford’s silent messages correctly, this wedding was going to happen.
Buoyed by that thought, she practically floated into the next room, a small one painted pale green.
Ford told them it was “Jewel’s room.”
“Will Jewel come to visit and sleep here?” Rowan asked.
“I hope so.”
“Me, too.” Apparently, now that he was no longer scratching, he’d forgotten that Jewel had laughed at him.
“There are two other chambers off the corridor,” Rose pointed out. “Why did we walk past those?”
“I haven’t done anything with them yet. I’m hoping to fix one up as a nursery.”
Another unspoken message, one that made all the eyes in the chamber seem to converge on Violet. She was finding it hard to breathe.
When Rowan yelled, “Come see the laboratory!” she could have kissed him. They all trooped up to the attic. Nothing had changed in that room, but she wouldn’t have wanted it to. It was Ford, plain and simple.
She didn’t remember drifting down the stairs, but a few
minutes later they’d joined her father in the garden, where he was in the middle of explaining the newest pruning techniques to poor old Harry.
Leaving her family to the refreshments Hilda had set out, Ford drew Violet aside. “Come with me,” he whispered. “I’ve something else to show you.” And he walked her around the corner of the house.
There, hanging from three oaks, were three swings: two regular swings and one wider version that was more than just ropes and a board. It had a back and armrests as well.
A swing for two.
“For us,” Ford said softly, taking her hand to lead her toward it. “I remembered how you like to swing.”
“Not too high,” she reminded him, suddenly nervous. “I notice you didn’t hang them on trees near the river. Are the other two for Jewel and Rowan?”
“For now.” His hand squeezed hers. “But I hope different children will use them someday. Our children.”
“Ford…” Faith, how did one tell a man she wanted to live with him all of her life? She had no experience with this sort of thing.
But he didn’t seem to be expecting an answer now. Reaching the double swing, he smiled and said, “Sit,” just like that day on the riverside.
Slanting him a glance, she did so, and he stepped behind her. She waited for him to push, but instead he tilted her back, just like the day on the riverside. And when he drew off her spectacles and lowered his mouth to meet hers, it was just like that day, too.
Except it wasn’t, because they hadn’t really known each other then. Their upside-down kiss that day had been shocking and exciting, where today’s was tender and heartfelt. They were once again kissing each other’s bottom lip, but this time her heart turned upside down in the process.
It was a good thing she was seated, she thought as he drew away and the swing bobbed upright. Because her knees were so weak, she doubted they would support her.
He gave her a gentle push. “What do you think of the house?”
“I think…” Here came the acting. She wouldn’t dream of ruining the surprises—either his to her now, or hers to him later—by revealing she’d been the one to buy the book. Even though the white lie weighed a bit on her conscience, that wouldn’t be fair to either of them.