by Lauren Royal
A perfect place for illicit reading.
Violet drew a deep breath. “This was my first clue that it wasn’t the sort of book I’d thought,” she said and opened the cover.
“Oh, my God,” Lily breathed. The frontispiece plate depicted a seated Aristotle with a nude woman standing beside him. “Is the book really by Aristotle?”
“I’m sure not!” Rose stared at the title page opposite. “There’s no author listed, no printer’s name or date or even place of publication.” She gave a delicious shiver. “It must be truly scandalous. What does it say, Violet?”
“Well, the beginning is only advice to parents.”
“To parents?”
“Of young girls. Listen.” She flipped a page, then cleared her throat. “‘It behooves parents to look after their children, and when they find them inclinable to marriage, not violently to restrain their affections, but rather provide such suitable matches for them, lest the crossing of their inclinations should precipitate them to commit those follies that may bring an indelible stain upon their families.’”
“What does that mean?” Lily asked.
Rose grinned. “It means Father and Mum should make certain I marry before I get myself with child.”
“Rose!” Lily’s mouth hung open in shock.
“Hush,” Violet said. “There’s more.” She swallowed and turned the page. “‘For when they arrive at puberty, which is about the fourteenth or fifteenth year of their age, then the natural purgations begin to flow—’”
“They have already,” Rose said. “For all of us.”
“Rose!” Lily’s cheeks stained red as the “purgations.”
“Just listen,” Violet said. “‘…and the blood stirs up their minds to venery: for their spirits being brisk and inflamed when they arrive at this age, if they eat hard salt things and spices, the body becomes more and more heated, whereby the desire to carnal embraces is very great, sometimes insuperable.’”
“Insuperable.” Rose nodded. “That’s what I am. Insuperable.”
Lily huffed, a rare show of impatience. “What does it say after that, Violet?”
“‘And the use of this so much desired enjoyment being denied to virgins, many times is followed by dismal consequences—’”
“Dismal,” Rose emphasized.
Lily and Violet glared at her.
“‘…by dismal consequences, as a green weasel color, short breathings, trembling of the heart, etcetera. Also their eager staring at men, and affecting their company, shows that nature pushes them upon coition, and their parents neglecting to get them husbands, they break through modesty to satisfy themselves in unlawful embraces—’”
“But I want to choose my own husband,” Lily broke in. “I don’t want my parents—Mum most especially—to get one for me.”
“Either way, it must be done.” Rose stood and paced the small, round building. “Else can you see the consequences? Your spirits will become brisk and inflamed. The desire to carnal embraces is very great—”
“Sometimes insuperable.” Violet could hardly keep from laughing.
“Insuperable, yes.” Rose pulled the book from Violet’s hands, scanning the words. “Nature will push you upon coition, Lily, and you’ll break through your modesty to satisfy yourself in unlawful embraces.” She looked up. “We must get Violet married so we can find husbands ourselves.”
“Oh, no,” Violet said.
“Oh, yes. Otherwise, we cannot be responsible for the consequences—”
“Girls, are you in there?” Father knocked on one of the doors. “Willets said he saw you heading this way—”
Rose quickly sat on the book, folding her hands angelically on her lap while Violet went to open the door. “We’re just talking, Father. Do you need us?”
“Do I need what?” Looking perplexed, he scratched his head. “Your mother sent me to find you.”
“Why?” Violet asked.
“Lord Lakefield has arrived for supper. With a guest. Lord something-or-other. I failed to catch the name.”
“A man? A titled man?” Rose stood and slipped the book to Violet behind her back. “Gemini! We’d better go change our gowns!”
TWENTY-EIGHT
AN HOUR LATER, Chrystabel set down her goblet. “Violet tells me Jewel is going home tomorrow.”
“Yes.” Ford sprinkled salt on his spinach tanzy and returned the spoon to its little dish. “I hope she also told you I’ve invited her to an event at Gresham College.”
“She has,” Chrystabel said, “and she’ll be delighted to attend. Monday evening, is it?”
A tiny gasp escaped Violet’s lips. She’d never given Ford an answer, and she’d wanted to do that for herself.
She nudged her mother’s foot beneath the table, but Mum pretended not to notice.
“Yes, Monday.” Ford took an experimental bite of the rich spinach omelette, then smiled. “I trust you’ll be in London by then? I’ll need the direction of your town house.”
“We’re in St. James’s Square,” Mum answered again for Violet. “In the northeast corner, the house of light gray stone.”
“Excellent. The celebration begins at ten, so I’ll be by at half past nine.”
“Half pastime?” Father murmured.
Nobody paid him any attention.
Violet stabbed a stewed prawn with her fork, a bit more forcefully than necessary. If her mother and Ford kept planning her life as though she weren’t around to hear it, she feared she might scream.
Seated between her sisters across the table, Lord Randal Nesbitt gave her a sympathetic smile—a smile nearly as charming as Ford’s. It just lacked that hint of the devil that lit Ford’s eyes.
Apparently noticing the glance that passed between Violet and his friend, Ford reached for her hand beneath the table.
Faith, what if someone noticed? But it felt good. It reminded her of their stolen kisses.
Feigning nonchalance, she smiled back at Rand. He was nice. He hadn’t even mentioned her spectacles. She wondered if that was because Ford had already told him about them, or if he was just very polite.
“Pastime?” Violet’s father repeated. He turned to his wife. “What’s this all about?”
She flicked a grain of brown rice off his cravat. “Darling, I told you we’re going to London, remember?”
“I thought that was to order more gowns for Violet, since she’s finally taking interest.” Father stirred some of the butter sauce from the prawns into his rice. “From that Madame Blowfont woman.”
“Beaumont,” Rose clarified loudly, sprinkling cinnamon on her own rice.
Egad, Violet thought, did Ford have to know that she’d never cared for clothes? Nobody would ever call Violet Ashcroft typical, she heard him say in her head—and her family was only confirming it.
She wished she could slide beneath the table. And then melt into the floor. Especially when she caught Ford stifling a grin, indicating he was enjoying this discussion.
“Gowns?” Mum said, trying to come to Violet’s rescue. “Of course she needs new gowns, but that’s not the focus of our holiday. Everyone knows my eldest daughter’s main interest is philosophy, not fashion.” She looked to Ford’s friend. “You must forgive my husband. He’s a bit hard of hearing and often misunderstands.”
“What?” Father asked, proving her point.
“Nothing, my love.” Chrystabel’s musical laughter tinkled through the room, a sound of relief. “See what I mean?”
“Violet did have a new ball gown made,” Rowan said in defense of his father.
Ford squeezed Violet’s hand.
Rose flashed her dimples at Ford’s guest. “What brings you to visit, Lord Randal?” she asked, even though he’d told them all to call him just Rand.
She’d been gazing at the man all evening. Not that Violet blamed her. Like Ford, Rand wore no wig, and he had the most gorgeous mane of long, dark blond hair. Besides that devastating smile, he was tall and lean, with a poet’s
face and eyes of steely gray—the most intense eyes Violet had ever seen. When he looked at a person, he really looked at her, as though he could see right into her soul.
In response to Rose’s question, he was looking at her now, and she seemed to all but swoon beneath his gaze.
Eating single-handed, Ford used his fork to cut a bite of the tanzy rather awkwardly. “I’ve asked Rand to translate that old book for me, Rose. He’s Professor of Linguistics at Oxford—a renowned specialist in ancient languages.”
“Languages?” Visibly perking up, Rose batted her long eyelashes, reminding Violet of Jewel.
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 himself 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.
