by Lauren Royal
“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 before looking back to the young ones. “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.”
Father looked to Mum. “Wash her gown in champagne?”
“Water down the champagne, darling. But we won’t be doing that.” Mum scanned the gathering. “Rowan may certainly have a taste,” she announced, “as may any other children whose parents agree.”
The maids poured while the footmen bore the esteemed pineapple back to the kitchen to be sliced.
Father handed the glasses around and raised his in a toast. “To our Violet, on the anniversary of her birth.” The center of attention, Violet felt her face burn. “May she live in health and happiness another one-and-twenty years times four.”
“Hear, hear,” everyone said, smiling in her direction.
Whoever they all were.
She looked down and took a cautious sip. “It’s like drinking stars,” she breathed. She’d never tasted anything like it. It tickled the back of her throat.
Rowan spewed his mouthful onto the grass. “Zounds, I’ve got bubbles up my nose. Ick.” Violet cringed at her brother’s lack of manners, but at least no one had to worry about him drinking too much, since he immediately set down his glass.
“It’s an acquired taste,” a man told him. The golden-haired one. Trick, Violet remembered, congratulating herself.
Well, that was one memorable name.
Lily looked awed. “Have you tried it before?”
He nodded. “It’s all the rage at court.”
“Have you been to court, then?” Rowan asked.
Jewel elbowed him. “Of course he has, you goose. He’s a duke!”
Rose sighed. “I’ve never been to court. Father won’t allow it. He says it isn’t a place for nice, unmarried girls.”
“A wise decision,” Ford said dryly. He dropped his voice to whisper in Violet’s ear. “The bucks there would have an innocent like her for supper.”
Though she suspected Rose could handle herself, her eyes widened at this news.
“Have you never been, either?” he asked.
Sipping the sparkly drink, she shook her head. “Is it beautiful?”
“Whitehall is magnificent. Court itself can be amusing or boring, depending on who deigns to show up that particular day. But I was raised with the court in exile…I imagine you would find it exciting.”
She’d felt more at home among the Royal Society than she’d expected. “Maybe now that I’m twenty-one, Father will take me someday.”
“I was thinking I could take you,” he said with that devilish smile. “After we’re wed.”
He sounded terribly confident, which normally would have irked her. But this time, her heart sang instead. Despite her refusal last night, he hadn’t given up on her. Held captive by his gaze, she remembered how it had felt to lie with him, skin to skin, heart to heart. A rush of warmth shuddered through her.
She wanted to tell him yes. Here. Now. Her gaze went wistfully to the summerhouse again, but this was no time to sneak away, not while she was the center of attention.
Yet she was dying to tell him, and if he had whispered a private message to her, she could do the same…
She leaned up on her toes. “Ford—” she began quietly.
“The pineapple!” Rowan squealed, and the moment was lost. They all turned to see a footman approaching, bearing a silver bowl filled with small cubes of yellow fruit. “I hope I like it better than the champagne,” Rowan said as the man put it down.
“Have you tried this already?” Rose asked Trick.
He shook his head. “Never.”
“I’ve seen pineapples before at parties, but only as a decorative centerpiece,” Ford’s sister said. “I suspect someone is making a fortune renting the things so people can impress their friends.”
Mum laughed at the idea. “Do you expect they actually spoil before anyone eats them?”
“I imagine so,” said one of those dark-haired brothers. Jason, Violet thought as he curved his arm around the waist of the sister-in-law that had long tawny hair. “From what I understand, most of them rot on the way from the islands. But this one looks perfect.”
“I hope it is,” Father said. “I’ve heard it said that if I dry the crown for a couple of days, I may be able to plant it and grow pineapples, providing I can keep the bush warm during the winter. They’re supposed to have pink flowers that look like a pine cone.” He lifted the bowl and held a spoon out to Ford. “As our guest, will you honor us by trying it first?”
“But this is Violet’s day.” Ford took the spoon, scooped up a cube, and moved it toward her lips.
He’d fed her in the piazza at Gresham, and now, as then, it seemed a most intimate act. Her gaze darted around to see how their families were reacting, but everyone just looked expectant. And the moment the fruit touched her tongue, she forgot to be self-conscious. Flavor burst in her mouth.
“Oh my,” she said, chewing slowly. “It’s the sweetest thing I’ve ever tasted!”
Everyone else scrambled to try it.
“Do you like it?” Violet asked Rowan.
He grinned, yellow pulp in his teeth. “It’s much better than champagne.”
“Now, that I’m not so sure of.” Lily daintily sipped from her glass. “The champagne is light and delicious, while the pineapple is sweet but…”
“Acidic?” Ford suggested.
“Well, I’m not exactly certain what that means, but it sounds about right.”
He smiled and grabbed a bottle to refill her glass. “Acids react with a base to form a salt.”
Jewel looked up to the sister-in-law with the beautiful raven hair. “Uncle Ford is smart, isn’t he, Mama?”
“I assume your Uncle Ford is very smart,” the woman said with a smile, “since I understand only half of what he says.”
Jewel’s mother. Violet committed that to memory, trying to figure out which man was her husband. Probably the one who laughed now, then leaned down and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. Colin. She remembered Ford telling her Colin played practical jokes, so of course he would be Jewel’s father. It was all coming together.
Rowan grinned at Jewel. “I’m glad Violet had such an important birthday.”
“Me, too,” Lily said, sipping more champagne.
“Me three,” Rose added, all but gulping hers.
If Violet didn’t miss her guess, her sisters were getting a bit tipsy.
Striving to relax, she looked around at everyone drinking champagne and chatting amiably. The sister-in-law with the straight tawny hair caught her eye and smiled. Jason’s wife, she thought happily, glad she was finally figuring out who was who. She liked them. They seemed friendly.
Then once again, Father cleared his throat. When nobody took heed, he raised Mum’s bell and gave it a shake. Violet winced, sure something else embarrassing was about to come out of his mouth.
“This is quite a momentous occasion. As the oldest, our Violet is now the first to come into her inheritance. I hope you will save it and spend wisely, my dear daughter.”
Violet sighed. She’d been right. Sometimes Father could be so—
“She can use it to buy a husband!” Rose an
nounced with a tipsy giggle.
Violet wished the earth would open up and swallow her.
“Now, Rose,” Mum chided, reaching to brush a bit of pineapple off Father’s surcoat.
“It was but a jest!” Rose poured herself more champagne. “Can you people not take a jest?”
But Rose was absolutely right; most women would use a large inheritance to buy into a highly ranked family, and most men would be happy to accept that bargain. Violet took a gulp of her own champagne, but she wasn’t feeling tipsy, just sick.
To think, mere minutes ago, she’d nearly told Ford yes. Now doubts niggled at her again. She tilted her head back, letting the rest of the bubbly drink run down her throat, wishing it could restore her world to balance.
She was so confused. If she could just spirit Ford away from this crowd and talk to him, maybe she could tell whether he was sincere. After sharing her body with a man, a woman ought to be able to tell, oughtn’t she?
With a sigh, she reached to pour herself more champagne.
“I think you may have had enough,” Father said, gently prying the glass from her clenched fingers. “Come with me to the summerhouse for a moment.”
“Not now, Father.”
“Always arguing.” He shook his head. “Chrysanthemum, Violet, Rose, and Lily…my lovely flowers always argue. Except for the ones in my garden. No wonder I like them so much.”
Violet couldn’t help but smile. He grabbed a bunch of grapes off the table and started toward the summerhouse, leaving her to follow.
After shutting the door, he gazed at her fondly and wrapped her into a hug. It was quiet in the summerhouse—quiet enough that he could hear without her yelling. Quiet enough that she could hear her own heartbeat as she felt herself calming in his arms.
“How’s my eldest flower?” he asked, pulling back. “You looked upset there, for a bit.”
She couldn’t stay vexed with him. His speeches might have been embarrassing, but they were well intended, after all. To outsiders, he might seem rather addlepated, but that was only because he couldn’t hear well enough to participate in many conversations. Those close to him knew he was wise.
She gave him a crooked smile. “I’m well, Father. Sort of like fine, old wine, aged but better for it.”
“You’re not so old,” he said, sitting down on one of the benches that lined the curved red-brick wall. “Don’t go consigning yourself to spinsterhood yet.”
She saw the truth in his face. “Mum told you Ford proposed.”
“You know we share everything.” He pulled four grapes off the bunch. “That’s what I want for you, Violet. Someone to share your life with.”
“I was sure I’d never have that. But now…”
“Yes?” He popped one of the grapes into his mouth.
“I don’t know. I’m confused. Socrates said the unexamined life isn’t worth living. But I’m driving myself mad examining and reexamining.”
Chewing on the grapes, he rose and wandered back to the door. “Sometimes,” he said quietly, “we just have to take a leap of faith. When the time comes, you’ll know.”
Would she? She felt inadequate to make such a decision. Philosophy, after all, taught one to question everything. And the single thing she’d been sure of all her life—that she would never find true love—she’d now caught herself rethinking.
She felt like she didn’t know anything anymore.
He handed her a grape. “Now go back out there and smile at your guests.”
They weren’t her guests, but as he opened the door, she decided that, for once, she’d be the flower that didn’t argue.
Besides, she really wanted to get Ford alone here in the summerhouse.
She stepped outside, blinking in the bright sunshine. Everyone had scattered. The children had organized themselves into a game of duck-duck-goose, and Jewel was “it.” On the far side of the garden, Ford was picnicking beneath the giant oak with his brothers and their wives, both of the women with babies on their laps. He looked over and waved, and she waved back, noting the others watching. They were discussing her, she was sure of it. She’d give up Aristotle’s Master-piece to hear what they were saying.
Fairly certain one of the two babies belonged to Ford’s sister, Violet looked around, then blushed to see the fiery redhead in the shadows of a tree-lined path, passionately kissing her husband.
Once upon a time, she would have averted her eyes, but now the sight made her warm inside. She wanted that for herself, and she wouldn’t allow Rose’s thoughtless remark to change her mind. She wouldn’t let her old insecurities haunt her. No matter what her sister said, she wasn’t buying a husband. Ford had told her he loved her, and she believed him.
She was ready to take that leap of faith.
With a new determination, she headed past the children toward Ford.
“Duck, duck, duck—” Rounding the circle, Jewel broke off. “Rowan, why do you keep scratching?”
He scraped his fingernails on his shirt. “I don’t know,” he said, raking his leg, then the back of one hand.
Jewel stepped into the circle and gasped. “Gads, you have red spots all over your face! Measles!”
Violet detoured into the circle, knowing her brother was entirely too lively to have measles. “Let me see.” She bent and peered into his face, wiping the remnants of cherry tart from the corner of his mouth. “Rowan, did you drink chocolate?”
“Just a little,” he squeaked. “The champagne was icky.”
“Oh, Rowan!” Exasperated, she hauled him to his feet. “You know chocolate gives you hives. Now you’ll be scratching for days.”
“He looks funny,” a little girl said with a giggle.
“Funny, funny!” The other children took up the chant.
Jewel stepped closer and poked him on the chest. “You goose!” She burst out laughing.
Clearly mortified, Rowan ran for the house. All the adults rushed over to see what had happened, except for Mum, who followed Rowan.
This birthday was turning out every bit as miserable as Violet had feared.
She just wanted to be alone with Ford. Over the giggling children’s heads, she met his gaze, and a silent communication passed between them. She inclined her head toward the summerhouse, signaling him to meet her there.
Seeming to appear out of nowhere, his sister touched her arm. “May we have a word with you, Violet?” Her two sisters-in-law stood behind her. “Do you mind if we call you Violet?”
“I…of course not. Not at all.” She sent Ford a questioning glance, but he just shrugged apologetically.
There was nothing for it, she thought with an inward sigh. She couldn’t rebuff his family. Her answer to his proposal would have to wait a bit longer.
She tried to muster a smile. “Shall we talk in the summerhouse? It’s quiet in there.”
As they followed her silently, she braced for what she was sure would be an unpleasant barrage of questions as they assessed her worthiness for their brother.
When the door closed behind them, Ford’s sister returned her tentative smile. “I’m Kendra, in case you don’t remember. And this is Amy and Cait.”
Violet nodded, feeling rather outnumbered as she mentally noted who was who, hopefully once and for all.
She didn’t want to make any mistakes.
Dark-haired Amy was Jewel’s mother and Colin’s wife. And she was a jeweler, Ford had said. Colin had rescued her after her father’s London shop burned in the Great Fire.
Cait, Jason’s wife, had friendly hazel eyes. Her straight wheaten hair, while less than fashionable, seemed to suit her perfectly. She stood with a hand on her middle, and although her stomach looked flat, Violet wondered if she might be with child.
She wondered if she and Ford would ever have a child.
“My brother is a good man,” Kendra announced without further ado.
“A very good man,” Amy added.
“A very, very good man,” Cait echoed in a distinct Scots
accent.
Ford had told Violet that Cait was Scottish, so she was sure she had the right names with the right faces now. But she was stunned. She backed up and sat on a bench. “I know he’s good,” she said slowly.
This wasn’t the grilling she’d been expecting. Instead, were they trying to talk her into marrying him?
It seemed so.
“He loves you,” Kendra said.
“Very much.”
“Very, very much.”
She didn’t know whether to laugh or just hug them for caring so deeply for Ford’s happiness. “He’s told me he loves me,” she assured them.
Kendra crossed her arms. “But you don’t believe him.” It was a statement, not a question. “Look,” she said, dropping to sit beside her. “Let me tell you something. If Ford were looking for money, he could have married Lady Tabitha ages ago. She had pots full of it.”
“Lady Tabitha?”
“He courted her for years. But he never asked her to marry him. And do you know why?” Kendra didn’t wait for an answer. “He didn’t love her,” she finished with a decisive nod.
Violet shoved her spectacles higher on her nose. What his family was doing here was sweet. Very sweet. Very, very sweet, she thought with an inward smile. And she liked them very much. But she couldn’t figure out what Lady Tabitha had to do with anything. “What happened to her?”
“Right before he moved home to Lakefield, she surprised the hell out of him by marrying someone else,” Kendra said, surprising the hell out of Violet with that language.
But it fit her, somehow. Kendra was the most outspoken woman Violet had ever met. More outspoken than Rose, even.
“Was he upset?” she asked carefully.
“Of course he was. He’d expected to marry her someday, and his pride was wounded. But not his heart, because he’d never really cared. Which was why he’d never asked her to wed him, and why she eventually ran off and wed another. But he asked you to marry him, Violet. You he cares for. You he loves.”
“Very much,” Amy added.
“Very, very much,” Violet said together with Cait, and they all laughed.
Twenty minutes later they spilled out of the summerhouse, best of friends, and she went in search of Ford, wanting more than ever to get him off alone.
