Violet

by Lauren Royal

“If it’s a code,” Violet asked her sister, “do you think you could puzzle it out?”

  Rose shook her head regretfully. “I’m afraid not. There are too few words I recognize.”

  “And none in the title?” Violet pushed.

  “None.” Rose looked to Ford. “I’m sorry.”

  She looked sincere and intelligent, and although she didn’t interest him like her sister did, he liked her much more than he’d thought. “That’s quite all right,” he told her, offering her a smile. “You’ve actually helped a lot—”

  “Where is Jewel?” Rowan interrupted, running into the room.

  “At home,” Ford said. “With her new friend Harry.”

  “I’m her new friend.” Jewel would positively preen if she saw Rowan’s pout. “Is she in your laboratory?”

  “She’d better not be.”

  “You said we could go into the laboratory today. You promised.”

  “Rowan—” Violet started.

  “He’s right,” Ford cut in.

  He had promised. And at Lakefield, he might find an opportunity to get Violet alone.

  He wondered if she’d let him kiss her again.

  Rising, he closed the small leather book. “I did promise,” he reminded her. “And a Chase promise is not given lightly. You’ll come along, won’t you?”

  Her hesitation wasn’t heartening.

  “Lord Lakefield…” Rose’s voice was back to its practiced purr. “What is your laboratory like?”

  “Messy,” he said shortly. He knew she was angling for an invitation, but he wasn’t at all tempted to offer one. Then he noticed Violet was scowling at her sister.

  That was much more heartening.

  He graced Rose with his famous smile, adding, “Perhaps sometime I’ll show you.”

  “I’ll come along,” Violet blurted.

  Very heartening, indeed.

  TWENTY-FOUR

  “IT’S UP HERE, Violet.”

  “I’m coming.” Violet followed her brother up the dark, square staircase and then up some more, the old wood creaking all the way to the attic.

  They walked through a corridor lined with books—not the handsome leather-bound volumes that filled the Ashcrofts’ impressive library, but books that were clearly well read, jumbled haphazardly on plain shelves. Science books, she assumed.

  From what she had seen, which granted was only part of the ground floor and now this attic, it seemed Lakefield didn’t boast a proper library. If she were mistress here, she would remedy that.

  But of course that was never to be. Just being in this place reminded her of how much money Ford needed to fix it. He was going to have to marry for money, and she would never let that happen to her.

  At the end of the corridor, Rowan stepped into a room. As Jewel scampered in past him, he waved an expansive arm in a very grown-up way. “Look.”

  The single word was uttered in an awed tone. Entering the laboratory, Violet could see why.

  Housed in a gigantic open space, Ford’s workroom was a boy’s dream come true. Beneath a steeply pitched ceiling of raw beams that exposed the stone-tiled roof above, a profusion of paraphernalia lived in charming confusion. Under the single shuttered window, a jumble of gears and other parts sat among an army of watches and clocks. Their ill-timed ticks filled the air, sounding like hundreds of scampering mice.

  “Incredible,” she said. There was no other word to describe it.

  Ford opened a drawer and took out a shallow pan. “It’s nothing compared to my laboratory at Cainewood. Or Charles’s laboratory—the man has at least six of everything.”

  She didn’t doubt it. King Charles was known to take his scientific pursuits very seriously and indeed had chartered the Royal Society. She’d heard he attended the regular meetings.

  Just then, the clocks started chiming, as badly timed as their ticks, and she burst out laughing at the absurdity of it all. How anyone could accomplish anything in this chaos was beyond her comprehension.

  “Look at this,” Rowan said, pulling a heavy red book off a shelf. He shoved aside a mortar and pestle to set the book on a table, then opened it with great ceremony. Flipping several pages, he stopped on one and unfolded a large diagram.

  She blinked. “What is that?”

  “A spider,” he said gleefully. “Like the one we scared you with.”

  Jewel snickered and moved close.

  Violet slanted her brother a dubious glance. “That doesn’t look like any spider I’ve ever seen.”

  “It’s as seen under a microscope.” He pointed to an instrument across the room, a handsome specimen of chased brass. “The book is called Micrographia.” Pronouncing the word carefully, he turned to a random page, and the children leaned over the sketches.

  They all stared at the patterns of tiny squares and holes. Jewel scratched her head. “What is it?”

  “‘Cork and other such frothy bodies,’” Violet read. “Fascinating, isn’t it?” Even more fascinating than the pictures was her brother’s animated face. He treated lessons as a chore; she’d never seen him so interested in anything academic.

  “Look at this,” he said, unfolding another large drawing. “Snowflakes.”

  “No, they’re not,” she said, hiding a grin. “Read it.”

  He focused on the page. “‘Several observables,’” he enunciated slowly, “‘in the six-branched figures form’d on the surface of urine by freezing.’”

  “Ewww.” Jewel made a face.

  But Rowan was unruffled. “Can we buy one of these books, Violet? Please?”

  “I have no idea where to get one.”

  “London,” Ford said, polishing a small rectangle of mirror on his breeches. “Check the title page.”

  She turned to it and read. “‘Printed by Joseph Martyn and James Allestry, Printers to the Royal Society, and sold at their shop at the Bell in St. Paul’s Churchyard.’ Hmm.” She looked up at Rowan. “I’ll talk to Father about it when next we go to the City.”

  Ford ripped a piece of white paper from a page of scribbled notes. “When will that be?”

  “When Parliament is in session.”

  “I’ll see if we can get one for him sooner.” He turned to his niece. “Would you and Rowan do me a favor? Run downstairs, will you, and ask Hilda for a pitcher of water.”

  While Jewel hurried Rowan from the room, sending a pendulum swinging as they went, Ford walked to the single window and threw the wooden shutters open wide. “Three o’clock on a clear and sunny day,” he said. “The sun should be just about right.”

  “For what?”

  “Our experiment. I promised you a rainbow, remember?”

  Baffled, she decided to take a wait-and-see attitude. “I’m sorry Rose couldn’t help you,” she said.

  “But she did. Without her observations, I may never have realized the book might be in code. Or in a language so old it’s obsolete.” He set the paper by the mirror and pan. “I have a friend from my Oxford days, now an expert in ancient linguistics. And codes.” He laughed at some age-old memory. “Rand used to infuriate his brother by deciphering his secret journals. I’m going to send for him tomorrow.”

  “So you do have a friend.”

  A faint glint of humor lit his eyes. “I have many friends.”

  “I’m sure you do.” More than she had, she’d wager. “I just meant I’d thought you’d invented that friend as a story to tell Mr. Young. The bookseller.”

  “Well, I didn’t buy the book for Rand, so that much was a falsity. But he does exist. And I’d trust him with my life, although I’ll admit I hesitate to let that book out of my sight.” His half-smile was one of self-amusement. “I expect that’s why I didn’t think to call on Rand in the first place. Foolish of me—if I’d summoned him yesterday, I might know what I have already. But it never even occurred to me until Rose brought up the inconsistencies.”

  “You’re just focused,” she said. “On other things.”

  “You’re right, y
ou know.” He moved closer. Very close. “I’ve always had that annoying trait. When I concentrate on one thing, I cannot think of another.”

  Finding herself backed into a table, she put her hands behind her and knocked over a flask. She whirled to right it. “My father is like that,” she said while still turned away. “He focuses on his flowers.”

  “My problem is,” Ford said softly, “I’ve been focusing on you.” Settling his hands on her shoulders, he gently maneuvered her to face him. “Thank you,” he said, more softly still.

  “F-for what?” Even through her gown, her skin tingled under his fingers. Her senses whirled and skidded—she couldn’t think straight when he was so close. When he was touching her, when she could smell him, when she could feel his warm breath on her face.

  This wasn’t right. It wasn’t fair. He wanted her for all the wrong reasons, but she wanted him anyway.

  His voice deepened as his eyes burned into hers. “Thank you for forgiving me for whatever thickheaded thing I said yesterday.”

  Yesterday rushed back, those heady moments by the river when she’d thought he’d understood, and then his words: You know, most ladies would think they have better things to do with their money.

  Most ladies would use their money to buy a highly ranked husband.

  She swallowed hard, hurt anew at the reminder that she wasn’t like most ladies. That she wasn’t pretty enough—or normal enough—for a man to want her only for herself.

  But his hands smoothed up her neck until they cupped the sides of her face, and those doubts fled her head. Her heartbeat suddenly seemed louder than the dozens of ticking clocks.

  She wondered if he could hear it.

  With his index fingers, he drew her spectacles forward and off. A little click sounded when he set them on the table behind her. Then he lowered his head, capturing her lips with his, and she was no longer wondering anything at all.

  Her thoughts were lost in the rush of feeling. The blood seemed to heat in her veins, her knees weakened, and when his lips parted hers, the tip of his tongue hot and carnal and exciting in her mouth, she felt as though she’d been waiting for this all of her life. Without thought, she raised her arms and twined them around his neck, pressing against him, savoring his warmth.

  His arms tightened around her, pulling her even closer, until every curve of her body felt like it had been formed to match his. She’d thought she was finished with this, finished with him. But nothing could be further from the truth.

  Loud, childish voices came drifting down the corridor. Ford and Violet pulled away simultaneously. Her cheeks burning, Violet smoothed her skirts as the youngsters came in, chatting happily. She blinked at their blurry faces, then spun around to the table and grabbed her spectacles, shoving them back onto her face.

  “Here, Uncle Ford.” Jewel held out the pitcher.

  Ford took it and filled the pan with water. Nonchalantly. Like nothing had ever happened.

  Well, she told herself sternly, to him a kiss probably was nothing. Especially a kiss with her. He was obviously proceeding with the experiment perfectly calmly. She shook her head to clear it, determined to pay attention.

  With a forearm, he swept aside springs and gears to set the pan on his work surface. Bright sunlight streamed through the window and glinted off the water.

  He handed Jewel the small rectangle of mirror. “Put this in,” he instructed, “so one end is in the water and the other end is resting on the side of the pan.”

  “May I do something?” Rowan asked.

  “In a moment.” They all watched as Jewel, looking very self-important, placed the mirror. Then Ford turned to Violet’s brother. “You get to do the crucial part.”

  Rowan’s green eyes danced. “What’s that?”

  “Move the pan around, and the mirror if necessary, until the sunlight reflecting off the mirror makes a patch of light on the wall.”

  The walls in the attic were unvarnished wood. Rowan did as he was told, gasping when a bright rectangle appeared like magic.

  “What, you didn’t believe it was possible?” Ford ruffled the boy’s dark hair.

  Rowan gave him a crooked smile. “I just wasn’t sure I could do it.”

  “You can do anything you put your mind to,” Ford told him. “Always remember that.” He handed Violet the piece of paper. “Now, hold this so the patch of light shines directly on it.”

  Enjoying the game, she did as he asked…and watched a brilliant range of colors bathe the white sheet.

  “Holy Hades,” Rowan said.

  Ford’s eyes met Violet’s. “Do you like it?”

  “A rainbow,” she murmured.

  “Yesterday I told you I would make you one.”

  Thrilled, she stared at the beautiful hues. “I thought you meant figuratively.”

  “Now you can have rainbows without needing to prefer rain.”

  She felt herself blush. “I never did really prefer rain.”

  “I figured that,” he said and laughed, and any embarrassment she might have felt was lost in the shared moment.

  “Why does it work?” Rowan asked.

  Ford turned to him, all scientist now. “The water sitting on top of the slanted glass is a wedge shape. When the sunlight bounces off the mirror, that wedge of water does the same thing a glass prism would. It’s called refraction. The prism refracts the sunlight and breaks it down into all the different colors of light.”

  “May I try?” Jewel took the paper and held it away, then slipped it back in the beam of light.

  The colors burst forth again.

  “My turn.” Rowan tried it himself, smiling at the results. “What do you mean by colors of light? Isn’t all light white?”

  “No. White light, like sunlight, is actually a combination of all the colors of light.” Ford’s language was simple although the concepts weren’t; he didn’t talk down to the children. “Isaac Newton presented this experiment at the Royal Society last year.”

  Violet sighed. “I wish women were allowed.”

  “One was, once. Margaret Cavendish, Duchess of Newcastle. But not as a member. She had written a book called Observations upon Experimental Philosophy, and she was allowed as a guest to observe some of our own fine experiments.”

  She gave him a wan smile. “I don’t expect the Royal Society would be interested in any book I could write.”

  He looked contemplative. “Not as a group, perhaps. They can be a snobbish lot. But individual members would certainly take an interest.” Rowan and Jewel began playing in the water, but he didn’t seem to notice. “Have you heard of John Locke?”

  “No.” She pulled her brother’s hand from the pan. “Who is he?”

  “A brilliant philosopher, although he has yet to publish any significant papers. You should meet him. Perhaps he could help you achieve your dream. His ideas are quite thought-provoking.” He rolled his eyes, then grinned. “I cannot believe I said that.”

  “I cannot believe you said that, either.” Though he’d never voiced it in so many words, she suspected he was much too logical and concrete a scientist to be drawn to philosophical musings.

  When Rowan flicked droplets in Jewel’s face, she shrieked, but Ford only smiled at them absently. “The Royal Society is holding an event next week. A celebration, if you will.”

  “What are they celebrating?” Violet asked, watching the girl pull a beaker off a shelf as Rowan turned away and became preoccupied by something on the cluttered table.

  “Ever since the Great Fire when the City offices were temporarily set up at Gresham College, the Royal Society has been meeting at Arundel House instead.”

  Only half her mind on Ford’s words, Violet saw Jewel scoop water from the pan, partially filling the beaker. He was oblivious, she thought. He could truly pay attention to only one thing at a time.

  “But now that the Royal Exchange has reopened and the government moved out,” he continued, “we’ve been invited back. The college is throwing a gra
nd entertainment to welcome us.”

  With a victorious shout, the girl dumped the water on Rowan’s head.

  “Jewel!” Ford gasped, finally responding at the sound of Rowan’s howl. He whirled to face her. “You must ask before you touch anything in here. That beaker could have had chemicals in it.”

  He didn’t care that his niece had drenched Rowan’s hair and shoulders, Violet thought. Only that she might have ruined an experiment.

  “It was empty, Uncle Ford,” Jewel said.

  Clearly struggling for calm, Ford dragged a hand through his hair. “Chemicals can dry and become invisible. And some can burn skin. Worse than fire.”

  “Oh.” Jewel looked chagrined.

  And Violet felt the same way, knowing she’d underestimated him. Again.

  “Are you burned?” Jewel asked Rowan. “You don’t look black.”

  “He’d be red,” Ford said.

  “I’m fine.” His hair still dripping wet, Rowan poked her in the stomach.

  Violet opened her mouth to chide him, then decided the girl deserved it.

  “I’m going to plan a prank on you,” he promised Jewel, ruining the threat with a mischievous grin.

  “You’d best hurry.” Ford tossed him a towel. “She’s going home next week.”

  “Home?” Rowan’s grin faded. “Can’t she just live here from now on?”

  “I think her parents would have something to say about that.” Ford took the pan and leaned out the window to dump the remaining water. “I heard from my brother this morning. There have been no new measles cases the past week, so if matters there continue to improve, I’ll be taking Jewel home on my way to London for the Royal Society celebration.”

  He paused for a moment, then turned to Violet. “John Locke should be there. Would you like to come as my guest?”

  TWENTY-FIVE

  “OF COURSE you’ll go with him.”

  “Mum!” Violet paced the perfumery. “The celebration is in London.”

  Chrystabel looked up from the vial in her hand. “So?”

  “So we’re not in London, in case you haven’t noticed. Parliament isn’t in session, and you know Father prefers the countryside and his gardens. You don’t mean for me to travel to London alone with Lord Lakefield, do you?”