by Lauren Royal
“Are you sure?” Kendra asked. “We’ve come all this way—”
“I’m positive.” He plopped back onto his chair, willing to discuss anything to get off the subject of Violet. “Sit down and catch me up on the gossip.”
She wandered back to sit on the chest. “Cait is with child again.”
“What took her so long?” he asked dryly. Jason and Caithren had two boys already. “And you?”
“Oh, two girls are enough.”
“Trick isn’t wanting an heir?”
“If one comes along, he wouldn’t mind, I suppose…” The faint blush on her cheeks told him she and her husband, Patrick, were trying to conceive. She looked down, her fingers tracing the decorative metal strips on the chest. “You know,” she said, also a master at changing the subject, “this chest has always reminded me of the treasure chest Trick and I found and brought to King Charles. Every time I see this one, I wonder what might be in it.”
“I’ve always wondered that myself.”
Her head whipped up. “You don’t know?”
He shrugged. “It came with the place, and there’s no key for the lock, and—”
“I’ll have Trick open it, you fool. Let me go get the others.” Before he could respond, she’d shot out the door.
While he waited for the invasion, he leaned his elbows on the desk and dropped his head into his hands, shutting his eyes against all the paper. Bills, letters, a notice from his mortgage holder that a payment was overdue. If only he had enough money to settle it all, get a fresh start…
He would have to see how Rand was coming along with the translation. But even if Secrets of the Emerald Tablet did hold the key to making gold, it could take months or possibly years to get the formula to work…
He jerked upright, staring at the chest across the room. He’d always assumed it wouldn’t have been left here if it contained anything valuable, but what if Kendra were on to something? The chest she and her husband had found for King Charles had been filled with precious metal and jewels, and for all Ford knew, this one could be stuffed to the brim with gold.
The solution to his problems might have been sitting here all along: the means to pay the debts, the proof to convince Violet he didn’t need her for her inheritance.
His heart was racing by the time the family trooped in. Colin led the regiment with Amy, who was holding their baby son Aidan in her arms. Ford’s oldest brother, Jason, followed behind with his wife, Caithren. Kendra brought up the rear, her husband, Patrick—or Trick, as they all called him—by her side with their one-year-old girl.
Their remaining collective five offspring burst in after them, racing around Ford’s desk, hanging on his back, climbing on the chairs and the iron chest.
Whatever had made him think he might want one of these wild creatures? Then Jewel climbed up on his lap in greeting, and as she pressed a damp kiss to his cheek, he suddenly remembered why.
“Here it is,” Kendra said, leading her tall, golden-haired husband to the chest. She plucked her nephew Hugh off of it and plopped him on his feet.
The boy looked up. “Can you open it, Uncle Trick?”
Trick grinned, displaying a front tooth with a slightly chipped corner. “I wasn’t a smuggler in my prior life for nothing, you know.” Handing his baby daughter to his wife, he pulled out his knife and dropped to one knee to get to work.
While his brother-in-law probed the heavy lock, Ford rose and set Jewel down, taking her hand as he walked closer. As though the chest were a magnet attracting metal shavings, everyone else drifted near and gathered around, until they were all hanging over it in anticipation. An expectant quiet descended on the room. Even the children stopped playing.
Ford’s heart hammered against his ribs. This could be the answer—
A rusty click shattered the silence. Trick twisted the old padlock from the hasp.
Ford moved in, holding his breath as he stooped to raise the iron lid.
As one, the family exhaled.
Jewel tugged on Ford’s breeches. “It’s empty, Uncle Ford.”
“I can see that.”
It would have been such a nice, neat solution. But he’d always known there was nothing of value in that chest. Otherwise, he’d have hacked off the lock years ago.
He might be desperate, but he wasn’t stupid.
Kendra reached to touch his arm. “I’m sorry.”
At that, Colin sighed. “Were you expecting this to solve all your money problems?”
Ford’s jaw tensed. “What makes you think I have money problems?” He let the heavy lid close with a slam.
A rotting wooden panel detached itself from the wall and tumbled to their feet.
Followed by a sprinkle of plaster.
Colin shot Ford a sarcastic look.
Jason lifted a squirming niece off the trunk and set her back on the floor. ”You’re always looking for the easy way out, Ford.” The compassion in his brother’s voice didn’t cut the sting of his words for Ford. “One of these days, you’re going to have to give in and face your responsibilities.”
Ford raked his hands through his hair. Would his family forever see him this way? In the past few weeks, he’d proved himself capable of caring for a child. He’d completed his first significant scientific achievement. He’d fallen in love and wanted to get married. Hadn’t he changed?
“Who invited you here to pick on me?”
“We need no invitation. We’re family. Do you ask for an invitation before coming to Cainewood?”
“That’s different. I live there.”
“Do you?” Jason raised a brow. Maybe he sensed the changes in Ford, after all.
And Ford wondered: where did he live? At the Chase town house in London? Or the big castle at Cainewood? Or here?
He wanted to live here, he realized. Not in bustling London near the Royal Society and all his friends, not at his brother’s castle with his family. Here, in the staid countryside. With Violet.
Criminy, love changed things more than he’d thought possible.
Amy and Cait exchanged a sympathetic glance. “Ford—” they started together.
“Milord, do you not think you should have left for Lady Violet’s celebration already?” Hilda bustled into the room, a steaming pie in her hands. “I’ve made a tart for you to bring. Cherry, the young viscount’s favorite.”
“A celebration?” Kendra’s eyes lit. “What is it for?”
“Her birthday,” Ford said shortly. “And none of you are invited.”
“But Uncle Ford.” Jewel turned her little face up, her eyes pleading. “Mama promised I can see Rowan.”
In the face of an argument like that, there was no hope in fighting this battle. Already, he had lost.
FIFTY-ONE
EIGHTEEN. IT FELT no different than seventeen, which Violet found amazing, especially considering she’d now experienced her first—and probably last—love.
Standing before her dressing table, she peered into the mirror and straightened one of the bright green ribbons that Margaret had woven through her plait. She squinted and moved closer, removing her spectacles. Shouldn’t there be new creases around her eyes? A slight maturation in her features? Anything?
When a knock came at her door, she shoved the spectacles back on. “Come in.”
The door opened a crack. “Violet?”
“Yes, Mum.” She swiveled on the stool to face her. “Is it already time for the celebration?” A glance at the clock on her mantel—an old one with just a single hand—told her only in the vaguest terms. “It would be nice to have one of Ford’s new pocket watches, wouldn’t it?”
“It would. And yes, it’s time.” Mum came in, closing the door behind her. “I’ve come to tell you that your father spotted Ford’s barge heading down the river.”
“That silly barge again?” Memories flashed of last night on that barge, and her face heated.
“Are you quite all right, dear?” Oh, no. Could Mum tell he’d proposed?
Just by the blush on her cheeks? “You’ve been hiding up here all day,” she added, much to Violet’s relief.
Violet forced a laugh. “You know we older women take longer to get ready. To create the illusion of youth.”
She rose and wandered to the window, nervous about seeing Ford, half surprised he was still coming after she’d refused him.
The barge hadn’t arrived yet. “I’m fine, Mum. It’s only that these fancier gowns take forever to get on properly.”
Clearly not falling for those excuses, her mother joined her at the window. “Did something happen last night? I waited up for you, but you went straight to bed without saying goodnight.”
“Well…”
Violet had never hidden things from her mother—at least not anything that counted.
She paced back to the center of her room, more comfortable with some distance. “Ford asked me to marry him.”
Mum turned to face her, hope in her eyes. “And what did you say?”
“I told him no,” Violet said, and watched that hope fade.
Faith, she wished she’d said yes. At the moment she’d refused him, she’d been feeling closer to him than she’d imagined possible. Closer to him than she’d felt to any other person ever. She’d wanted to believe his feelings were real, that he truly loved her as he claimed.
More than anything, she’d wanted to say yes. A huge, enthusiastic yes.
But he was too good to be true. Too handsome, too charming, too perfect. Even his perfectly sincere response to her embarrassing confession of love had given him away. It was just utterly impossible that someone as incredible as Ford would fall for someone as average as Violet. At least, not without some additional motivation.
“I told him no, Mum,” she repeated. “Don’t you see? I want a marriage like you and Father have, or none at all.”
“What makes you think you wouldn’t have that with him?”
She wished she could explain it, but it was all too confused in her head. Maybe she could have that with him. She just didn’t know for sure, and until she did…
Mum was gazing at her, waiting for an answer. An answer she didn’t have. “You and Father won’t make me marry him, will you?”
“I’m a good judge of people,” Mum said quietly, “which is why I’m so good at arranging marriages. I believe Ford is a good person. I also believe that he truly loves you. I’ve seen it in his actions and on his face. However, your father and I would never make you marry anyone. I thought you knew that.”
Tears sprang to Violet’s eyes. She felt relieved and frustrated all at once. A tiny part of her wished her parents would make her marry Ford, but that wasn’t the thinking part, the part of herself she trusted.
“Your father and I raised you girls to think for yourselves,” Mum continued, “a folly for which we’ve suffered ridicule all our days. But heaven knows, after all these years, we’d be fools to make you do anything now. You’re not likely to put up with it, and your sisters would stand beside you.”
Despite Violet’s mood, she felt a half smile curve her lips. No matter their constant bickering, her sisters would always be there for her. It was comforting to know some things never changed.
Tomorrow all this fuss over turning eighteen would be finished. And now that she’d refused his proposal, soon enough Ford would leave for London, probably not to return for months or years.
Everything would go back to the way it had been—except for Violet herself.
Mum turned back to the window. “He’s here. No, they’re here.”
“Who?” Violet demanded. “Mum, have you invited someone without telling me?” She didn’t even want to see Ford today, and not only because she was sure she’d feel awkward with him after last night. She didn’t want to face anyone but her family on this, the official first day of her spinsterhood.
“I would never have invited anyone else without asking you first. But there are others on the barge, too.”
“Harry,” Violet said with not a little relief. “And the stable hands.” She headed for the window. “He uses them as crew—”
She broke off, staring toward the river.
“Faith,” she breathed, horror-struck. “Who are all those people?”
FIFTY-TWO
BY THE TIME she made it downstairs and into the gardens, Violet was shaking—from frustration, anger, fear, or maybe a combination. She wasn’t sure. But when she saw Ford, she stopped dead in her tracks.
A little girl clung to his leg, a toddler rode on his shoulders, and an infant squalled in his arms.
He would make such a good father, she realized, and then wondered where that bizarre notion had come from. She’d never really pictured herself raising children, being that spinsters didn’t have any. But somehow she could see herself raising Ford’s children.
Her heart suddenly hurt.
Her mother was right. She should have said yes.
The shaking stopped, replaced by trembling of another sort. If only he would still have her, she would say yes. And she wanted to tell him so. Whoever they were, she wanted all of these people gone. Despite her fears of awkwardness between them, she had to talk to Ford now. She had to know if she’d lost him forever—
“Violet!” Spotting her, Ford approached with an apologetic smile, dragging the attached little girl behind him. “This is my family.”
His family. If she’d been thinking clearly at all, she would have realized that, of course. He proceeded to introduce everyone—loudly, to be heard over the baby—and she smiled and exchanged pleasantries, trying to memorize names and faces.
The two dark-haired gentlemen were his older brothers, the redhead his twin sister. Although Ford was the only one of the four siblings blessed with those spectacular blue eyes—the rest had eyes of green—they all bore a marked resemblance to one another, and she thought she might be able to keep them straight.
Their spouses and all those children, however, were another matter altogether.
And she wanted to make a good impression. Suddenly that seemed very important.
“Are those spectacles?” one of the ladies asked. The raven-haired one. Faith, who was she?
Feigning unconcern, Violet removed the eyeglasses and forced a smile. “They are. Ford made them for me and designed these frames to hold them on my face.” She handed them to the lovely violet-eyed woman. “The members of the Royal Society were all very impressed.”
As had happened at Gresham College, they passed the spectacles around, exclaiming over them and trying them on and praising Ford for his brilliance. Watching with a plastered-on smile and a growing feeling of dread, Violet realized she couldn’t remember who anyone was except Jewel. Too many names, too many faces. Too many people at a party that was supposed to have been private and painless.
She wasn’t happy about that, but she was happy to be by Ford’s side. Belying her expectations, he was treating her with the same mix of teasing regard he always had. Did that mean he still cared for her?
She needed to know. She was desperate for an excuse to slip away to somewhere the two of them could be alone. Perhaps she’d take him to their hidden spot in the woods. She’d tell him she would be honored to become his wife. And then she’d let him kiss away all her lingering fears and misgivings—every last, lingering doubt—until she was filled with nothing but certainty that marrying him was the right choice.
But she couldn’t do any of that, because his entire family was here. Not to mention hers.
The sun was hurting her eyes, or maybe it was all these people making her head ache. Her blurred gaze wandered to the summerhouse. One of the doors stood open, and it looked blessedly dim and peaceful inside. Maybe…
Her mother rang a bell, and everyone looked to her. “My husband wishes to speak,” she called.
Faith, Violet thought, Father was going to embarrass her in front of Ford and all his family.
One of Ford’s sisters-in-law returned her spectacles, and she shoved them back on h
er face. Everyone began making their way over to her father, who stood by a table laden with who-knew-what, all hidden beneath a bright white cloth.
As they walked, Ford slipped an arm around Violet’s waist, and she glanced about to see if anyone noticed, catching the eye of one of his brothers. The marquess? Or the earl? Whoever he was, he winked at her, and despite everything, a smile spread over her face.
With all her heart, she wanted Ford’s family to like her.
When her father cleared his throat, she turned.
“Due to the terms of my own father’s will, the age of eighteen holds unusual significance in our family. And I’ve two special surprises,” he announced, “to celebrate our Violet’s special birthday.”
Theatrically he whipped off the cloth, revealing a table covered in an artistic arrangement of fruits and fancy sweets, plus one homely cherry tart set off to the side.
“A pineapple?” Lily gasped, staring at the centerpiece, a prickly brown fruit raised on a pedestal. “Is it real? Wherever did you get a pineapple?” Pineapples were so rare in this part of the world, King Charles had had himself painted with one.
“May I try it?” Rowan yelled. “Oh, please, please!”
“Please, please!” four other children echoed, taking up the chant. “Please!”
“There isn’t enough for everyone,” Ford said loudly, sweeping his siblings with an accusatory glance. “You weren’t invited here, remember?”
“Nonsense,” Father said. “Yes, it is real, and yes, everyone may try it. A bite, at least. But first”—he paused and looked toward the door—“here comes the second surprise.” Four housemaids and two footmen approached, each holding a thick green bottle in one hand and stemmed glasses in the other. “The new French champagne. Who will have a taste?”
“Me!” Rowan yelled. “Me! Me!”
“Me! Me!” Ford’s nephews and nieces joined in.
“You’re too young,” Rose told Rowan. “Champagne is too costly to water down.”
