by Lauren Royal
“Never say never.” Casting her a wry look, Lord Randal used his napkin to dab a drip of tea from his mustache. “According to Ford, Newton has offered to pay double the highest bid, and he wishes to collect. It’s the only path he can see clear to winning your heart.”
That heart skipped a beat. Involuntarily, Violet pressed a hand to her chest. “I don’t understand…”
Appearing thoughtful, he passed his tongue over his teeth. ”I’ve known Ford since we were lads together at Oxford, but never have I known him in love. Until now.”
“You’re mistaken, my lord.”
“What makes you think so?”
She rolled her eyes. “Look at me, Lord Randal. Really look. I’m not a girl who inspires love—”
“What are you talking about?” he interrupted.
She lifted her cup and sat straighter in her chair. “I have a mirror, and two good eyes.” Her free hand 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, Lady Violet. And no matter what you think, you’re a fine-looking girl, 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 him at his word.” He gave her a moment 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.”
Lord Randal grimaced. “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 entirety of that long letter.
“Ford’s problem, Lady Violet”—he waited for her to look up—“is he’s lacking enough funds to both rescue his estate and remodel it for you as he promised.”
“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 be forced to 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, good heavens.” 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 stubbornly rebuffed him. She’d questioned his honor at every turn, taken any excuse to keep her defenses raised. Not even his extraordinarily charming tour through the home he’d dreamed up for her could make her 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.”
Lord Randal stood and, raising her from the chair, wrapped his arms around her shuddering form. “I was hoping you’d say that.”
SIXTY-FOUR
“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.”
HER PARENTS watched while Lord Randal handed Violet the book. She clutched it to her chest, wishing she were clutching its owner instead. But she hoped to be holding 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?”
“Oh, outside, I’m sure. 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,” Mum 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 yet, 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.
SIXTY-FIVE
THREE 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 three weeks. But the roof was sound, and the exterior was a gleaming white. The garden had been cleared, and if it couldn’t yet rival the lush beauty of Trentingham, at least it was tidy.
Ford could easily find his sundial now. A quick glance told him it was nearly noon—nearly time for Violet to arrive.
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 productive energy 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 respectable income it should.
He’d been surprised to discove
r he didn’t mind the labors of a landowner, either. It seemed to him that striving to improve a theory or technology was not so very different from improving the land. Both required experimentation, innovation, and highly specialized knowledge—the last of which Ford was currently acquiring from a very patient Lord Trentingham. He’d never been given to think of agriculture as a science, but he was finding it every bit as complex and fascinating as the other branches. Perhaps someday he’d propose a lecture on the subject to the Royal Society.
Ford knew now, beyond any doubt, that selling the book had been the right decision—and, perhaps for the first time in his life, the responsible decision. He no longer faced the months and years ahead with dread, but rather with anticipation of watching his efforts and investments pay off.
While he wouldn’t be renowned for bringing the Philosopher’s Stone to the world, Violet meant the world to him, anyway. If he could only see that look of approval return to her eyes, he’d know her love for him had endured.
He’d know all his sacrifices had 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 tenants and 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-SIX
AFTER WAITING what seemed an eternity while she wondered what, exactly, Ford was doing with the money from her inheritance, Violet had been unnerved 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’s chatter filling the carriage.
As they approached Lakefield, she leaned to part the carriage curtains, spotting bright white repaired and repainted cottages along the way. They had been so dilapidated she’d hardly even noticed them before, but now children were playing outside of them and at least two dozen workers were reroofing and painting yet more.
Ford’s tenants were not being evicted. Instead, it seemed many more had moved in.
Mum placed 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.
“Dear heavens.” 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 relax her, 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 his shabby surroundings.
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 month, 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.
His study was similarly refurbished, done in shades of cinnamon and olive green. New, empty bookshelves lined all four walls.
“A library,” she breathed.
“That’s a rather feminine desk,” Rose pointed out.
“Indeed, it is,” Ford agreed. “I’ve moved my own desk upstairs, to the back of the laboratory.”
Gone was the ugly brown decor in the dining room, replaced with walls of deep burgundy to set off the refinished cabinetry. A wall had been removed to include the room next door.
Hilda was setting the old table, which now looked too small for the expanded space. “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 marveled.
Lily’s eyes went wide. “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 attached room had been opened to combine with this one, providing a spacious sitting area.
“What is this?” Rose asked, opening a door on the other side of the chamber.
The small room beyond was clean and painted but yet empty. “It will be a dressing room,” Ford said, looking to Violet and making her blush again.
“‘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, she had reason to hope he would ask her to marry him again.
Buoyed by optimism, 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.” Now that Rowan was no longer scratching, it seemed he’d forgotten that Jewel had laughed at him. “May we go to the laboratory?”
First Ford walked them through two more bedchamber-sized rooms with new walls that weren’t painted yet. Then they all trooped up to the attic. The old desk at the far end was the only change in the laboratory, but Violet wouldn’t have wanted it to see it any different. The room 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 th
e river. Are the other two for Jewel and Rowan?”
“For now.” His hand squeezed hers. “But I hope other children will use them someday. Our children.”
“Ford…” Faith, how did one tell someone she wanted to spend the rest of her life with him? 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, drew off her spectacles, and lowered his mouth to hers in an upside-down kiss.
A kiss that made Violet’s heart turn upside down, too.
It was a good thing she was seated, she thought as he drew away and the swing bobbed upright. She doubted her weakened knees could have supported 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.
“I think I’m confused,” she said, thankful he couldn’t see her face. Without her spectacles, the river looked blurry in the distance.
He pushed her again. “Confused about what, my love?”
The endearment filled her with a cautious thrill. “About everything. Why was this place so run down if you could afford to fix it up? Just because you couldn’t be bothered?”
“No,” he said without hesitation. He wasn’t going to try to hide anything from her, and she loved him all the more for it. “I thought I could afford to fix it up, but that turned out not to be true. Until I asked Rand to sell Secrets of the Emerald Tablet for me.” He walked around to face her. “He got ten thousand pounds.”
She gasped. “Ten thousand pounds! Why…that’s as much as my inheritance!”
“I know.” Gripping one rope, he stopped the swing and slid onto it beside her. “It’s amazing, isn’t it? I suspect the buyer was Isaac Newton, since he’d pledged to double any other bid, but Rand told me the purchase was made on condition of anonymity.”
