by Lauren Royal
When Ford squeezed her hand again, she stifled a laugh and stuffed a prawn in her mouth to hide it.
“I’m conversant in a few languages myself,” Rose announced. It was the first time Violet had ever heard her sister voluntarily admit her linguistic skills to a man. Still gazing at Ford’s friend, Rose spooned some salt from the cellar and began blindly sprinkling her roast chicken. “Perhaps we can work on the translation together?”
Rand lifted his goblet. “Perhaps.” His voice matched his looks, smooth and rich. “Ford tells me you’ve already examined the book.”
“Well, yes. But not for very long.” Rose was still spooning salt. “Perhaps together—”
“Rose,” Lily interrupted. “Do you not think you’re overdoing the seasoning?”
Rose looked down and froze, the tiny spoon halfway between the cellar and her food.
Licking orange-flavored butter sauce off her lips, Violet gave her a brittle smile. “You wouldn’t want to eat too much hard salt things and spices.”
“What?” Father asked.
Mum just looked perplexed.
“I’m afraid you’re right.” Dumping the salt back into its little dish, Rose released a languid sigh. “I’m experiencing short breathings, my heart is trembling…am I turning green as a weasel?”
“Has anyone ever seen a green weasel?” Rand asked no one in particular.
The children both giggled.
Ford shifted his hidden hand to lace his fingers with Violet’s. “I cannot say that I have.”
Lily looked down and smiled. “Beatrix, how did you get in here?” Leaning to scoop up a small striped cat, she settled it on her lap.
“Lily,” Mum said. “Not when we have company.”
“She’s lonely.” Lily stroked the animal’s fur before reluctantly setting her back on the carpet. “She had a bad day.”
Rand cocked his head at her. “Pray tell, how does a cat have a bad day?”
On his other side, Rose touched him on the arm, a clear bid for his attention. “Our Lily claims she can feel her animals’ emotions. She collects injured creatures. Cats, birds, rabbits, the odd squirrel. She’s turned an old barn into a menagerie, or rather an infirmary for damaged beasts. She even has a mouse.”
Lily nodded. “His little leg was broken, poor thing.”
When Ford scooted his chair closer to Violet’s, she felt her blood stirring up to venery. But a quick scan of the table assured her no one was paying attention. To the contrary, the others were all looking at Rand, who in turn was focused on Lily.
Violet noticed a distinct softening in that intense gray gaze. “Cats and mice together?” he asked.
Lily, bless her, seemed unaffected by his charms. “I have but three cats at the moment, and they’ve been with me since they were kittens. When creatures are raised side by side, they can learn to be brothers and sisters. Even cats and mice.”
“Fascinating,” Rand said.
“Lily dreams of building an animal home,” Rose announced.
“A what?”
“An animal home,” Lily repeated softly. Like Violet, she’d never shared her dream outside the family. Reaching a hand beneath the table, she slipped the cat a bit of chicken while measuring Rand’s reaction with her steady blue gaze. “A nice clean building where hurt or abandoned creatures can be brought to live. People who work there will care for them until they are healthy enough to return to the wild or they find a home with a family.”
Rather than disapproving, Rand nodded slowly. “That’s a very nice idea. And innovative, too.”
Along with her youngest sister, Violet breathed a sigh of relief. She rather liked Ford’s friend. “Our grandfather encouraged us to be innovative,” she told him, trying to ignore Ford’s thumb tracing circles on her palm. “Or rather to follow our dreams. And, as he put it, leave our marks on the world.”
“And what is your dream, my lady?”
“Please call me Violet,” she reminded him, stalling for time. Although she’d told Ford her dream and he hadn’t laughed, it remained difficult to share with another.
Then Ford moved their joined hands to rest on his thigh, and the shock of that loosened her tongue. “I wish to write a book about philosophy,” she blurted, shoving her spectacles higher on her nose. “My own ideas. And use my inheritance to publish it some day and distribute it far and wide. Of course,” she hastened to add, “I have a lot of studying and thinking to do before then.”
Rand didn’t laugh. “Of course. An admirable dream, Violet.” He turned to Rose. “And your dream, my lady?”
Rose didn’t tell him to drop the my lady. “I…I dream of falling in love,” she said, and prettily lowered her lashes.
Rand looked surprised, but Violet wasn’t. Rose had never shared a dream with the family, unless one counted dreams of balls and gowns and jewelry.
“Oops!” Jewel dropped her spoon and dove to the floor to go after it. “Pretty kitty,” came her voice from beneath the table.
“Jewel…” Ford warned. But she didn’t come up. Instead, Rowan slipped off his chair to join her.
An alarmed meow came from somewhere below.
“Poor Beatrix. What are they doing to you?” Leaning down, Lily swept the cat back to her lap. She rubbed its small, furry head with a finger. “Go out now, Beatrix,” she said, setting her down again. “I shall come to you later.”
Beatrix did go out, stepping gracefully, her striped tail high in the air.
“She obeyed.” Admiration lit Rand’s eyes. “A cat complied with your command.”
Ford played with Violet’s hand where it rested on his leg, and she felt herself turning red.
“Holy Hades,” came Rowan’s voice muffled from below. “Look, Jewel.”
The girl’s head popped up. “Uncle Ford, are you holding hands with Lady Violet under the table?”
“No!” Ford yelped, yanking up his hands, fingers spread to prove his point.
It was the second time Violet had seen him blush. Knowing her own hue must be scarlet, she was sure the truth was obvious.
Lily gasped. Rose smirked. Mum’s mouth curved into a smile.
“What’s that?” Father mumbled.
It was a long supper.
Twenty-Nine
LATER, SEATED beside Violet at the round table in Trentingham’s library, Ford spread his knees farther apart so one rested against hers. Then he leaned near to whisper in her ear. “I’m looking forward to Monday.”
She turned her head slightly, her cheeks prettily flushed, and he hoped that meant she was looking forward to Monday, too. But her eyes suddenly narrowed. “I just want you to know,” she whispered back, “that I am nearly one-and-twenty, and my mother doesn’t run my life.”
He wouldn’t challenge that statement for all the gold in England. “I’m certain the decision was yours alone,” he assured her. Shifting closer, he held her gaze. “I’m just glad you decided to come.”
“Oh,” she said, and then, “Oh!” when his arm curled around to rest on her shoulder. Her hands fluttered up to touch her spectacles, which he’d noticed she sometimes did when she was flustered.
Not that she had cause for worry. It was clear as the lenses over her eyes that nobody else in this room was going to take note of their closeness or conversation.
Candles burned, warding off the late-night darkness. Reluctant to say goodbye to each other, Rowan and Jewel had fallen asleep on a corner of the patterned carpet, half twined where they’d dropped in their play. Across the table, Rand and Rose huddled together over Ford’s ancient book.
The girl was plainly smitten.
“I’m not sure,” she crooned to Rand now, “but do you think this might mean ‘mystery’? It’s awfully similar to the same word in German.”
“Possible.” Rand flipped a couple of pages, peering at them critically. “But I don’t see much else that looks to be Germanic.”
Ford traced geometric figures on Violet’s shoulder, smiling to hi
mself when he felt her shiver.
Playing with the ends of his long hair, Rand flipped back to the original page. “Do you suppose the five words might be from five different languages? I’ve been assuming it’s only one.”
“That could be.” Hero worship flashed in Rose’s eyes. “I hadn’t considered the possibility.”
“Five words?” Ford’s attention was finally wrested from Violet. “What five words?”
“The five words of the title,” Rose said as though he’d lost his head.
Clearly he had.
Rand frowned at the page, running a finger over the text. “What if this were German, like you were saying, but an older version?” A tinge of excitement crept into his voice. “And this looks Hellenic, perhaps meaning ‘emerald,’ and this maybe Slavic—”
“Mystery and emerald?” Ford breathed, his heart threatening to hammer right out of his chest.
“Yes, Slavic,” Rand murmured, nodding to himself. “And this one…” Quite suddenly he straightened in his chair. “Five words, five different languages. Translating to ‘Mysteries of the Emerald Slab.”
Ford blinked, feeling blank.
His friend leaned across the table to punch him on the arm. “Secrets of the Emerald Tablet, you fool.” A grin spread on his face. “You found the book, Lakefield. It’s a bloody miracle.”
All the air seemed sucked from Ford’s lungs. It was a bloody miracle. And a marvel, and a wonder, and—
He leapt from the chair and swept the four of them into a fierce hug. Then he kissed Violet smack on the lips, right in front of her gasping sister.
He was still grinning the next day when he showed up at his brother’s castle.
Thirty
COLIN WASN’T grinning when Ford delivered his daughter, along with a still-weak Nurse Lydia they’d fetched along the way.
While Lydia crept off to her bed, Colin’s wife, Amy, knelt in the entry and hugged Jewel close. “How did it go?”
“The two of us got along famously.” Pleased that Amy seemed fully recovered, Ford turned to his scowling brother. Holding their tiny son in his arms, Colin looked very parental. “What’s your problem?” Ford asked.
Colin swayed back and forth in the age-old motion that soothed and rocked an infant to sleep. “You mean to tell me you were alone all this time with my Jewel?”
“Of course not. Hilda and Harry were there, too.”
“Those old barnacles?”
“Colin!” Amy set their daughter on her feet and took her hand, leading her from the square entrance hall. “Jewel seems no worse for the wear.”
The rest of them followed. “How is Hugh?” Ford asked, referring to their four-year-old son.
Her raven hair shining with health, Amy smiled over her shoulder. “Much better. He’s napping now.”
He looked to the child in his brother’s arms. “And Aidan?”
“Had a very light case,” Colin said, patting the baby’s back.
“I had fun, Mama.” Jewel twirled in a circle, around and around under Amy’s arm as they went down the corridor. “Uncle Ford bought me this necklace on my birthday!” Still twirling, she fingered the silver filigree heart she wore on a black ribbon around her neck. “And he let me sleep in his bed. And he paid me to be good!” Reaching the sitting room, she dropped cross-legged to the floor and began digging in her pockets. Shillings fell to the stone slabs with a merry sound.
Amy seated herself in a blue upholstered chair and picked up a small knife. “You’re rich, poppet.”
“I’m saving up to buy a mi-mi”—Jewel looked at Ford, but he knew better than to help her now—“mi-cro-scope. Uncle Ford showed me a book with pictures. Written by Mr. Heck.”
“Hooke,” Ford corrected, leaning an elbow against the mantel. “And the book is called Micrographia.”
“Mr. Hooke drew pictures of big, icky things. Close-up things.” Jewel collected her coins, making a neat stack. “When I buy the mi-cro-scope, I’m going to share it with Rowan.”
Settling Aidan in a wooden cradle, Colin raised a brow. “Who’s Rowan?”
“My friend from Uncle Ford’s house. Violet’s brother. I’m going to marry him.”
Amy’s father had been a jeweler in London, and she’d been raised in the trade. Whittling away on a piece of wax that looked like it might someday become a ring, she appeared to be stifling a laugh. “Does Rowan know you’re going to marry him?”
“Of course. I told him. And Uncle Ford is going to marry Violet.”
“I am not.” Ford’s elbow slipped off the stone ledge. “Why, why—”
“Problem, Ford?” Colin drawled, taking the chair beside his wife’s.
Ford ignored him, focusing on his niece instead. “What the devil made you say that?”
All innocence, she looked up from her spot on the floor. “I saw you kissing her.”
“You did not.”
“Did so.”
“Did not.”
Colin rolled his eyes. “No wonder you two got along. You’re as childish as she is. I take it you’re over Tabitha, then?”
“Did you think I was upset about her elopement?” Ford vaguely remembered being so, but couldn’t fathom why. “She meant nothing to me. No more than a convenient diversion.”
“Mm-hmm.” Colin crossed his arms, looking less than convinced. “Tell me about this Violet.”
“There’s nothing to tell.” Ford wandered over to gaze at a portrait of some long-dead ancestor. He didn’t have anything like it in his house—nothing to personalize his living space, nothing to make it a home.
Jason, his oldest brother, had plenty of paintings at Cainewood Castle. He would ask him if he could spare one or two for Lakefield.
“Lady Violet is simply a neighbor,” he told the woman in the picture. She stared back at him blankly, her head poking out of a huge, starched ruffle that looked damned uncomfortable. “Violet brought her little brother over to play with Jewel sometimes, that’s all.”
“And Uncle Ford is taking her to a ball tomorrow night,” Jewel piped up. “In London.”
“What ball?” Amy asked.
“Gresham College is throwing a party to welcome back the Royal Society. Lady Violet would like to meet John Locke. He’ll be there.” Ford turned from the painting. “End of story. It’s not a ball.”
“Will there be dancing?”
He walked to a chair and plopped onto it. “Yes, I suppose there will be dancing.”
“It’s a ball, then,” Amy said blithely. “I’m sure you’ll have a lovely time.”
“Do you not think,” Colin asked, drumming his fingers against his thigh, “that if you’re considering wedding a woman, you ought to introduce her to the family?”
“I’m not wedding her.” Ford’s hands clenched on the chair’s arms. “I’m not wedding anyone. I’m not ready to get married.”
“Jason is back from Scotland.” Colin’s eyes looked contemplative. They were emerald green like Jewel’s, and he was just as single-minded as his daughter. “I’m sure he’ll be fascinated to hear about this.”
“There’s nothing for Jason to hear,” Ford said. “Are you deaf?”
“And Cait,” Amy added, apparently deaf as well. “And Kendra and Trick.” Her amethyst eyes sparkling, she smiled down at the wax ring. “They’ve all just arrived home last week. We’ll have to arrange a family visit to Lakefield.”
As there seemed to be an abundance of deaf people in his life lately, Ford raised his voice. “I’m busy working on my watch,” he ground out. “There will be no visits.”
Thirty-One
MORE LIGHTHEARTED than ever in her memory, Violet twirled in her new ball gown, a veritable confection of patterned lilac satin.
Monday night had finally arrived. One of her dreams was coming true. She was going to Gresham College to meet members of the Royal Society.
Feeling dizzy, she stopped and held out her skirts. “What do you think?” she asked her sisters. “Will it do for
an event here in London?”
Lily smiled. “I’ve never seen you in anything so fancy.”
Rose crossed the bedchamber to tweak one of Violet’s triple-ruffled sleeves, then shot Lily a grin. “She’s finally coming around.”
“What do you mean?” Frowning, Violet tugged up on her bodice. The square neckline hadn’t seemed this low on the French fashion doll. She didn’t remember it being so daring during the fittings, either. Wondering what had happened, she smoothed her underskirt, deep purple velvet embroidered with gold thread in a diamond pattern. “Coming around to what?”
“Dressing to impress.” Rose’s grin turned wicked. “I’d wager he’ll be very, very impressed.”
“John Locke?” Violet walked to the pier glass and straightened one of the fat brown curls that rested on her shoulders. Most of her hair was pulled up in the back, twisted with strands of pearls to match the ones on her underskirt and tasseled stomacher. “I cannot wait to hear his ideas. But Locke is a philosopher. I doubt he cares what I look like.”
“Not Locke, you goose. Viscount Lakefield.”
“I’m not trying to impress him,” Violet said. But, blushing from her hairline to her toes, she feared she must match the deep pink gown Lily was wearing.
Those pink skirts rustled as her sister wandered to the window. “He’s here, Violet. The viscount. He’s climbing down from his carriage. And oooh, he looks so handsome in the torchlight.”
Violet’s stomach fluttered. “Let me see,” she said, thrilled that with her spectacles she’d be able to. But by the time she hurried over to look, Ford had already mounted the town house steps and disappeared from view.
“I’ll go meet him at the door,” Rose said. “Wait here, so you can make an entrance.” With a swish of her blood-red skirts, she swept out of the room.
“An entrance, Violet,” Lily repeated softly. “An entrance!”
An entrance. Contemplating her youngest, most innocent sister, Violet’s heart jumped into her throat as it suddenly dawned on her that she was going out alone with Ford.