by Lauren Royal
Rose glanced up from her desk at the opposite end of the room, where she’d been conjugating Spanish words aloud, much to Violet’s aggravation. “Since you don’t like him,” Rose said, “I can take Rowan instead.”
“I like Rowan fine.”
“I meant the viscount. I was giving you leave to take a fancy to the man and get yourself married, but since you haven’t, well, he’s mighty handsome, and—”
“You’re too young to take Rowan over there unchaperoned,” Violet said pointedly. She was sick of Rose always trying to marry her off. And though she knew she should feel relieved that Ford was ignoring her, she was peeved to find herself vexed instead.
But she shouldn’t take that out on her sister. She looked up, contemplating the fuzzy pattern the dark molding made on the ceiling as she searched for her missing patience. “I’m sorry, Rose.” She sighed, wondering what was getting into her these days. Ford Chase’s effect on her was ridiculous. “If Mum says you may go, you have my blessing.”
Rose snapped the Spanish book shut and ran off to ask their mother, Rowan galloping after her. Leaving Advancement of Learning and her notes on the desk, Violet stood and turned to peruse the library’s well-stocked shelves. But nothing new caught her interest. All she could think about was Ford’s irritating lack of manners.
“Lady Violet.”
She swiveled at the sound of the majordomo’s voice, noting he held a silver tray. “A letter, milady.”
“Father is out in the garden.”
“It’s for you.”
She couldn’t remember the last time she’d received a letter. “Are you certain?”
Raising the parchment, Parkinson cleared his throat. “‘Lady Violet Ashcroft,’” he read off the back. “I believe that is you.” Handing it to her, he turned on his heel and left.
Peeved all over again, she broke the seal and scanned the childish handwriting. Dear Lady Violet, she read, Why have you not brought Rowan today? Uncle Ford has something for you. Please come. Your friend, Jewel.
Astonished, she plopped back onto her chair. The nerve of the man, asking a six-year-old to coax her into a visit. Uncle Ford has something for you. She could just imagine what—probably a nursemaid’s uniform.
“Violet, dear.” Chrystabel swept into the library. “Why won’t you take your brother to play with his friend?” In a show of checking for dust, she ran a finger along the carved marble mantelpiece, then down one of the two supporting columns that looked like palm trees. Her voice took on the prying tone that mothers must practice behind closed doors. “Did something happen yesterday?”
“Oh, Mum, nothing happened.” Which was precisely the problem. And she was getting tired of Mum grilling her every time she came home from Lakefield. She couldn’t imagine what her mother expected to happen there that she would find noteworthy. Nothing ever did.
“I would just like a day for myself,” she said. “Is that too much to ask?”
“Of course not, dear.” Mum focused on the letter still clutched in Violet’s hand. “What’s that?”
“A note from Jewel.” Violet tossed it onto the dark wood desk. Stark white in contrast, the paper looked entirely too important.
“How sweet. What did the girl have to say?”
She wouldn’t tell Mum that Ford had something for her—news like that would escalate Chrystabel’s motherly prying to record levels. An awkward silence stretched between them while Violet stared at the note, wishing it would disappear.
“Jewel was just asking me to bring Rowan,” she finally admitted. When she looked back up, a tilt of her mother’s head was all it took. “I guess I’ll go after all,” she said with a sigh.
“That’s my Violet,” Mum said.
And if her cheerful smile set Violet’s teeth on edge, she was determined not to show it.
FIFTEEN
JEWEL WAS WAITING on the steps when they arrived.
“Lady Violet!” she squealed, running down the long walk to meet the carriage outside the gate. “Just wait till you see what Uncle Ford has for you! He had to find rocks to make it.”
Rocks? Violet couldn’t imagine. What sort of man made things from rocks and had a child write his letters?
A strange one with few manners.
“Perfect rocks,” Jewel clarified. “They had to be perfect.” She turned her attention to Rowan. “Tomorrow is my birthday,” she said, “and Uncle Ford promised he would take me to the village to spend my money. He said I could invite you and Violet.”
“What money?” Rowan asked.
“He pays me to be good. And not to cry. And other things.”
Rowan’s jaw dropped open. He turned to Violet.
“Don’t even think about it,” she said.
Jewel looked toward him sympathetically. “Will you come with us tomorrow? I have enough coins for us both.”
Violet wasn’t surprised. If Ford was willing to pay bribes, she had little doubt a girl as bright as Jewel could manipulate her way to a fortune.
“Rowan can bring his own money,” she said.
He tugged on her hand. “Does that mean we can go?”
“I suppose. Since it’s Jewel’s birthday.” She couldn’t imagine turning six years old and being away from home for her birthday. Birthdays were major events for a child. In the Ashcroft home, they were major events into adulthood. Her family was odd that way.
She wasn’t looking forward to the birthday she had coming up.
“Oh, good!” The girl’s face lit. Violet was having second thoughts already, but she couldn’t deny that smile. Although she still wasn’t thrilled with this nursemaid arrangement, at least it would be something different to do. She wouldn’t just be sitting here. And Ford wouldn’t be able to totally ignore her.
She hated being the center of attention, but a little attention would be nice.
“Come inside,” Jewel said, turning to head up the walk. She looped her arm through Rowan’s and leaned close. “I have an idea for a jest.”
Violet might have been half-blind, but there was nothing wrong with her ears. “I heard that,” she said.
Jewel started up the steps. “Heard what?”
“You’re planning a jest.”
Opening the door, the girl batted her long black lashes. “Who, me? You must have mis-mis—” She paused for a breath. “Mis-un-der-stood.”
Jewel’s tone was so innocent, Violet would have believed her had she not known her better. My, she was going to miss the sprite when she left. And she knew Rowan would, too. But Ford would be relieved. She imagined he thought of the girl as little more than a bother.
Until he came down the corridor and swept the girl into his arms. Then, despite his preoccupation with his laboratory, his love for his niece was obvious. There for all to see, shining in his incredible brilliant blue eyes.
“Have you found our friends after all, baby?”
“I knew they would come if I sent them a letter.”
He kissed her on the nose. “Did you think of that yourself?”
When Jewel nodded, Violet hid a gasp of surprise. The sprite was even more resourceful than she’d thought.
“That’s my clever girl.” Ford hugged her tighter. “And I suppose you got Harry to deliver it?”
“He always does what I ask.”
“Doesn’t everyone?” With a wry grin, he turned to their guests. “Welcome,” he said, sounding like he meant it. “Please come in.”
“As you wish,” Violet murmured. Maybe she’d been too quick to judge him. Thinking he was even better looking than she remembered from a few days ago, she tripped over the threshold.
And once again found herself in his arms.
She couldn’t imagine how he’d managed to set Jewel on her feet before catching her, but he’d done so quite handily. He steadied her, then grinned. “This is getting to be quite a habit.”
“I’m sorry.” Blast her poor vision, anyway. His hands felt warm on her shoulders, and she swayed in his
grip. “I know I should be more careful.”
“Nonsense. I enjoy catching you.”
His charming smile almost succeeded in making her believe him. But of course he didn’t enjoy catching her, or even being with her, for that matter—the fact that he’d ignored her four days running certainly proved that.
She not-so-subtly wrenched free of his hands. “Lady Jewel said you have something for me?”
“Did she?” He looked disappointed—as though he’d wanted to tell her himself. He turned to his niece. “What did you tell her?”
“Just that you made something from rocks. And I invited them to come with us tomorrow.” She grabbed Rowan’s hand. “Let’s go play in the garden.”
“Wait.” With an outstretched arm, Violet stopped her brother’s headlong rush. She looked to Ford. “Do you think we should let them go alone?”
Ford shrugged. “I’ll send Harry after them,” he said. “And if you’ll wait for me in the drawing room, I’ll bring the surprise.”
She watched the children leave in one direction and Ford go the other. The moment they were all out of sight, a little flutter erupted in her stomach. A surprise. When was the last time a man had given her a surprise?
Never.
Unless she counted her father, and most of his surprises involved flowers.
Trying not to get her hopes up, Violet made her way through Lakefield’s now familiar corridor to the drawing room. She seated herself on the faded couch. She crossed her ankles. She uncrossed them. For the hundredth time since she’d met Ford, she told herself not to be ridiculous.
It was becoming a litany.
Although it seemed like an eternity, she didn’t wait long before he entered, breathing heavily, as though he’d run from one end of the house to the other. Which she supposed he must have.
He wasn’t holding anything, though. Disappointment welled up inside her—which was ridiculous. Then he drew something from his pocket—something small—and held it out, almost shyly.
“I made this for you,” he said.
She took it from him, turning it in her hands. Hardly a thing of beauty, it was two round, clear pieces of glass framed by some sort of wire. A little bridge connected them, and there were metal sticks on both sides.
Puzzled, she looked up.
“Spectacles,” he said. He slid onto the couch beside her, acting friendly, familiar.
What little composure she had left completely fled.
At her lack of response, his brow furrowed. “Have you not heard of spectacles? They’re sometimes called eyeglasses.”
That jarred her out of her haze. Spectacles. Her mouth dropped open, and her breath caught in her chest. “I—of course I’ve heard of them, but…”
More words wouldn’t come.
“Would you like to try them on?”
“I…thank you,” she breathed.
She truly was thankful. This was the most thoughtful thing anyone had ever done for her. But the sad truth was, she knew the spectacles were useless.
She bit her lip. “I…I can read just fine. I know Rowan told you I cannot see very well, but it’s the distance that’s a blur. Printed pages look clear as water. But I sincerely appreciate—”
“No.” She’d expected him to look disappointed, but instead he grinned. “These aren’t for reading, Violet.”
“They’re not?” Thrilled as she was at his unexpected thoughtfulness, her brain seemed to be muddled, not half because of his close proximity. “What are they for, then?”
“Spectacles for reading have convex lenses—they get fatter in the middle. These are concave, the opposite. The edges are thicker than the center. They’ll help you see in the distance.”
As she digested what he was saying, her hands began shaking. “What is all this metal?”
“Silver. To hold the lenses on your face. For reading, when a body is still, it’s fine to hold a lens or balance a pair on your nose. But after I made these, it occurred to me that you may want to wear them and move around. So I devised the sidepieces to rest on your ears and hold them in place.”
He scooted even closer, so close she could smell his clean spicy scent. It made her light-headed. Gently he took the spectacles from her hands, narrowing his eyes as he gauged them compared to her features. “I’ll probably need to adjust them. You’ve a smaller face than I thought.”
She’d never thought of herself as small—any part of her. Lily was the small one.
And she’d never, ever thought she might be able to see like a normal person. “May I try them on?” she asked, struggling to steady her voice.
“Please do. I suspect I may have to play with the lenses as well, to give you optimal vision. The degree of concavity affects the amount of correction.”
She hardly understood what he was talking about, but she didn’t care. Her head was buzzing. This man had made her spectacles. He was handsome and generous and warm.
He lifted her chin with a finger, and she obediently raised her face, holding her breath while he fit the contraption in place. It felt strange there, perched precariously. She closed her eyes against the sensation.
When she opened them, Ford rose and stepped back—and he was still in focus.
“Oh, my,” she breathed, unable to tear her gaze from his face.
He stepped yet farther away…and she could still see him. He smiled that devilish smile of his, and she could see it all the way from where she sat.
“Oh, my.” Suddenly she was looking everywhere. “I can see the bellpull!” she exclaimed, “and the clock across the room.” He had clocks all over his house, and this chamber was no exception. “I can read the time! On that clock, and that one, too!”
It seemed a miracle. She stood, walking on shaky legs to the window. With the spectacles on, she felt taller than before and nearly tripped.
Nothing had changed there, but it only made her laugh.
“Look.” She leaned her palms on the windowsill, aghast at the beauty of the world. “I can see it—I can see everything! The clouds and the flowers and the leaves on the trees. Each individual leaf.”
“They’re working for you, then,” his voice came from behind her. “But odds are I can make them even better. We’ll have to figure out whether more or less concavity will be optimal, and then, with a day or two to remake them, I can—”
“No.” She whirled to face him. “You’re not taking these away from me.” She put her hands to the frame, tilting the spectacles crazily.
He laughed, a deep sound of pleasure. “Let me at least make them fit.”
“No.”
“A minute, that’s all it will take.” His lips curved with amusement. “I left the sidepieces straight, you see? If I bend them around your ears, they’ll stay in place better.”
“A minute?”
His eyes met hers, that brilliant, compelling blue. Something flip-flopped in her stomach. “One minute,” he promised.
Reluctantly she released the spectacles, and he slid them off her face. The world immediately blurred.
She hugged herself, a little thrill running through her as she watched him manipulate the metal. “Faith, what a difference they make. Jewel said something about you needing to find rocks. Perfect rocks. What did she mean by that?”
“I took her up into the hills, hunting for quartz for the lenses. Rock crystal.” He glanced up briefly, and she wished she could see his eyes better, see the heart-stopping glint she suspected was there. He refocused on his task. “Perfectly clear quartz is difficult, but not impossible, to find.”
“They’re not glass? They’re called eyeglasses.”
“True.” He smiled as he worked. “But plain glass doesn’t have the properties needed for optical lenses.”
“How did you know that?”
Making a final adjustment, he shrugged, an almost elegant tilt of his shoulders. “My brothers would tell you I’ve wasted countless hours filling my brain with useless facts, when I could have been doing some
thing productive.”
Her heart lurched at that thought. “Oh, but it wasn’t useless at all. Look what you’ve done with that knowledge!”
“My family wouldn’t agree with you.” Finished, he stepped closer to put the spectacles back on her face. “They would much rather see me improve this estate, instead of sinking all my income into research and experiments.”
“They just don’t understand you, then.” She could relate to that, since her family rarely understood her.
“You’re generous to say so. Especially since I’m beginning to see they’re right. I should have renovated Lakefield a decade ago. I’ve been living with my oldest brother entirely too long.”
He ran his fingers around her ears, making sure the sidepieces curved to fit. A little thrill rippled through her at the contact.
“Comfortable?” he asked.
The way he looked at her made her breath catch. She swallowed hard and nodded.
His hands still rested on her face. Warm fingertips danced beneath her jaw. “Can you see well now?”
She nodded again, gazing into his eyes, his beautiful eyes, realizing she was close enough to see them without the lenses. So close she could feel the heat radiating from his skin. “Thank you,” she whispered. “You’ve changed my life.”
With all her heart, she meant it. This incredible man had given her the most amazing gift. And now he was looking at her, really looking at her.
She was the center of his attention.
Blinking at that thought, she dropped her gaze to his mouth.
He had a beautiful mouth, too. Suddenly, inexplicably, she wanted it on hers.
And suddenly it was.
His lips were warm and soft, much softer than she’d imagined a man’s lips would be. They brushed hers once, twice, then settled more firmly, caressing her mouth with a skill that sent a shiver of delight coursing through her. His hands were still cupping her face, and they threaded into her hair.
She had no idea what madness had possessed him to kiss her, but she didn’t want him to stop. Instinctively, her arms came up to loop around his neck, and she pressed herself closer. He felt hard and strong against her, her body on fire wherever they touched.
