by Lauren Royal
Chrystabel threw the last of her crumbs to the swans. “I see.”
Violet didn’t care for the way Mum had said that. Tossing the rest of her own crumbs, she turned to face her. “You’re not going to try to match me up with him, are you? Because—”
“Heavens, no! I want you to be happy, Violet. Married or not—whatever makes you happy.”
Mum sounded sincere. But on the way back to the house, Violet couldn’t help but wonder.
Thirty-Eight
CHRYSTABEL LOVED the nighttimes.
In the quiet of the master chamber, her dear Joseph could always hear her. It didn’t quite make sense, which was why she sometimes teasingly accused him of selective listening. But he said it had to do with competing sounds. That during the daytime, there were noises, always noises: the servants going about their work, the animals in the fields, birds in the skies, dishes and silverware at mealtimes, and children talking all at once. He claimed that with more than one sound, he couldn’t distinguish any of them.
But within the thick, solid walls of their room, the nighttimes were blessedly quiet. And he also claimed that her voice was the one he could hear most easily, especially when there were no competing sounds. The perfect pitch.
That did make sense to her. Because they’d always, always been perfect together.
But now he had nodded off, though she’d expressly asked him not to. She leaned over the bed and poked him. “I told you to stay awake.”
Rolling over, he yawned and forced open his eyes. “Has Violet fallen asleep yet?”
“Yes. Finally.” She tapped the book she’d just placed on her night table. “I got it.”
“What?” He rubbed his face, then struggled up onto his elbows to see better. “What in blazes is this all about?”
Before answering, she lifted the covers and slid languidly between the sheets. When she spoke, her voice was low and seductive. “Aristotle’s Master-piece.”
“Holy Hades. The marriage manual?” Both his face and tone radiated his shock. “Where the hell would Violet get such a thing?”
“I haven’t the slightest idea, but I’m glad.”
“Glad?”
“Don’t be such a prude, Joseph. I know this book is supposed to be scandalous, but frankly, I hope she reads it from cover to cover.”
She saw no need to mention their other daughters were reading it as well. Dear Joseph wasn’t always as open-minded as she. Often he needed some time and guidance to come around to her way of thinking.
She brushed a stray lock of hair from his forehead. “If Violet finds the book stimulating enough, perhaps it will make her give up this ridiculous notion that she doesn’t want to marry.” Deliberately, she wiggled closer to her husband. When he put an arm around her, drawing her against his warm body, she looked up at him coquettishly. “Marriage has its benefits, darling, wouldn’t you agree?”
He gave her a long, slow kiss before he answered, the sort of kiss that had been making her senses spin from the very day they met. “Perhaps,” he allowed huskily, “if you put it that way.”
She nodded her woozy head. “It’s not as though we were saints before we wed. Violet is about to turn one-and-twenty, a woman grown.” At only one-and-forty herself, Chrystabel could well remember a young woman’s naïveté. “It will do her good to know a bit of something before she lands in her marriage bed. And this book might be our only hope of ever getting her there.”
“Hmmph.” Narrowing those green eyes that always made her melt, he rubbed his chin. “As Violet’s father, I believe it’s my responsibility to approve her reading matter.” He reached across her body toward the book. “Let me see it.”
“I was hoping we could read it together. It could be…what did I call it?” She licked her lips. “Stimulating.”
“Stimulating.” A slow grin spread on his face. “Now, Chrysanthemum, we’ve never needed outside stimulation. But I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to have a look. For curiosity’s sake.”
As he opened the book, she snuggled happily under his arm. “For curiosity’s sake, of course.”
Thirty-Nine
AN IMPATIENT KNOCK came at the laboratory door before Hilda’s voice called through it. “Will you be wanting breakfast, milord?”
Ford blinked and then carefully, reverently, set aside his watch. Still in somewhat of a daze, he rose and went to admit her. “Is it morning already?”
His housekeeper’s hands fisted on her hips. “Have you not bothered to look out a window lately?”
He turned to the one right over where he’d been working. The sky was blue. Birds were chirping, the perfect accompaniment for a beautiful, sunny day.
“Did you stay up all night again?” Hilda demanded.
“What is it with the questions?” Ford shook his head, refusing to let her disapproval ruin his ebullient mood. “Come, I have something to show you.”
She followed him to his workbench, weaving around a water bath and flicking her dust rag as she went. “If you’d let me in here to clean once in a while, this wouldn’t be such a skimble-skamble mess.”
Accustomed to her lectures, he ignored this one and reached for his watch. “Here it is,” he said with a broad smile. “I’m finished.”
“It’s very nice.” She raised a glass funnel and wiped it off.
Nonplussed, he stared at her. “I know it’s not fancy, but do you see here? It’s different from other watches. It has a minute hand, like a clock. So you won’t have to guess how far into the hour it is by looking at only the single hand.”
“Well, that is very nice, my lord.” She smiled, but her faded blue eyes didn’t sparkle with the enthusiasm he was seeking. “Although you have clocks enough around here for me to tell the time, I expect for some this will be quite convenient.” She set down the funnel and glanced around the attic, sighing at the clutter and dust. “Will you be wanting breakfast now, then?”
He was silent a minute before mutely ordering himself to shrug off the disappointment. “Breakfast would be nice. I’ll be down shortly.”
He watched her calico-clad back as she picked her way through the maze that was his sanctuary. Convenient. She’d called his watch convenient. Although he supposed it was, that hadn’t been the reaction he was hoping for.
After years of planning and experimenting, he’d finally managed to come up with something that could benefit mankind. He wanted excitement, appreciation. A bit of hero worship wouldn’t be amiss, either. Suspecting Jewel would have reacted more to his liking, he found himself missing her all over again.
Luckily, another enthusiastic female lived not so far away.
Forty
AN HOUR LATER, having bathed, shaved, and gulped down some breakfast, Ford found himself in the galleried entry of Trentingham Manor, proudly holding up his watch for Violet’s inspection.
“Oh my,” she said, her brandy-colored eyes wide with unabashed admiration. “It’s amazing. I cannot believe it! Can I just stand here a while and watch it work?”
Ford laughed, finally feeling that flush of success, wanting to hug and kiss her for giving it to him. “If you’d like. But if you’d care to invite me into a room with chairs, you can sit and watch it instead. That would be more comfortable, don’t you think?”
“Oh. I’m so sorry.” Holding the book he’d given her, she turned and started down the corridor. “I’ve forgotten my manners.”
He walked beside her. “I’d forgotten how lovely you are.”
In his single-minded focus on his watch, he had forgotten. Intentionally forgotten. But she blushed prettily at the compliment.
“Besides,” he added, “I’m the one who’s socially inept. I should have exchanged pleasantries before shoving my invention in your face. Your manners, by contrast, are impeccable.”
She flashed him a smile that might as well have been a stab to his heart. Damnation, he shouldn’t have come. Neither she nor her parents would ever agree to a match, and here he was, falling in love all
over again.
It was akin to torture.
She was wearing a yellow gown today, and her matching heels clicked on the corridor’s polished oak floor. “Would you show my family the watch? I’m certain they will be just as impressed as I.”
Remembering Hilda’s reaction—or rather, lack of one—Ford wasn’t so sure.
“Mum is in her perfumery,” Violet told him, and he shrugged and followed her to the left, through a study he hadn’t seen before. Unlike the pretty feminine desks in the library upstairs, this room’s desk was heavy and utilitarian. There were papers all over it, and a pile of ledgers that looked ready to topple. He figured this was where Joseph Ashcroft ran his estate. It was obviously hard work—an onerous job Ford had no desire to tackle for Lakefield.
But that’s exactly what he’d have to do if he were to have a prayer of winning Violet.
He looked away from the desk, preferring instead to gaze at her back as he followed her through the house. The yellow silk flared over shapely hips and nipped in at her waist above. Even as his hands itched to span that waist, he sighed to himself.
The entire Church of England could pray on his behalf, and it would make no difference at all. He’d never win Violet.
His watch was finished. He really should go back to London.
Like many old houses, Trentingham had few corridors, most of the rooms simply opening on to the next. The adjacent chamber was tiny, more or less a closet. But it would do as the storeroom for a laboratory. The walls were lined with row upon row of shelves, upon which rested vials of liquid. Chemicals.
He stopped dead, looking around.
“Mum is through here.”
He blinked. Violet was gazing at him, the red-covered book he’d given her clutched to her chest. “I’m coming,” he said.
The next room was a laboratory.
True, it was nothing like his. While his had but a single small window over his work space, Lady Trentingham’s large windows afforded glorious views of the gardens and the river. While his had only one wooden chair for him to sit and work, hers had six upholstered ones, arranged in pairs with elegant inlaid tables between them. Clearly this room was used for socializing as well as work. But it was a laboratory nonetheless.
Forgetting the watch in his hand, he found himself drawn to the center of the chamber, where Lady Trentingham stood at a large, rectangular table, plucking flower petals and tossing them into some sort of contraption.
“Good morning, Lord Lakefield,” she said, beaming at him as though he were her long-lost son.
He wished.
“A pleasure to see you again,” he told her.
“Yes, it’s been a while, hasn’t it?” If he wasn’t mistaken, her tone was slightly critical. “What is it you’ve brought us?”
“He hasn’t brought it for us, Mum, not exactly. Just to show.” Violet shoved her spectacles up on her nose, looking a bit flustered, and Ford wondered if that was due to her mother’s attitude. It certainly surprised him.
Perhaps the Ashcrofts would be more amenable to a match than he’d thought.
Violet set the book on a table. “Give me a moment to fetch the rest of the family.”
The room seemed immeasurably emptier after she left. Listening to her fading footsteps, Ford set his watch on another of the small marquetry tables. “What is that?” he asked Lady Trentingham, indicating the odd device.
Favoring him with a smile, she tossed a final few petals into the bowl. “Joseph has given me the last of this year’s roses. I’m about to make essential rose oil. Would you care to help?”
“Certainly.” He wiped his palms on his breeches, approaching the crude apparatus. “What is it you’d like me to do?”
“Just hold the bowl while I pour boiling water, then quickly set this other bowl on top. Upside down.” She demonstrated. “Ready?”
“Pour away,” he told her, gripping the bowl while she turned to take a kettle from the fire. He watched while she poured, noting how much steam escaped before she finished and he was able to place the second bowl over the rising vapors.
“It’s called distillation.” Replacing the kettle, she swiped the back of a graceful hand across her brow. “When the drippings cool, they separate into water—rosewater, in this case—and essential oil.” She indicated the tray below.
“I see,” he told her. It was a still. But although he could tell it would work, it was like no other still he’d ever laid eyes on. Her process would be more efficient with the heat supply directly beneath, the water and petals contained in a flask so the vapors couldn’t escape. And with tubing and a water-cooling method, the oil—
“Violet said you invented a new watch,” Rose said, walking into the room with her two sisters in her wake. Rowan came close behind, making a beeline for the table where Ford’s invention waited.
“Uh-uh-uh,” Violet said before he could touch it. She reached to clasp his wrist. “Wait until Father arrives.”
“But, Violet—”
“Here.” She fetched the book Ford had given her. “Lord Lakefield brought you this from London.”
“Micrographia,” he breathed, opening it to the middle. “Look at this.” He shoved a picture in Rose’s face.
“Ewww.” She wrinkled her nose. “What is that?”
“A blue fly up close.”
Violet smiled. “I met the author at Gresham College.”
The sudden blush on her cheeks made Ford wonder if she was remembering their kisses that night. He hoped so, which was positively absurd.
“That was very nice of Lord Lakefield,” Lady Trentingham said. She was beaming in Ford’s direction again. “What do you say to him, Rowan?”
Before Rowan could offer his thanks, Violet’s father barged in, his hands full of colorful flowers.
Lilies? Violets? Ford recognized only roses, and there were none of those.
“What’s this all about?” Lord Trentingham asked.
“Lord Lakefield has designed a new watch,” Violet said.
“Lord Lakefield has resigned? Resigned from what?”
The three sisters giggled.
“Quiet, everyone.” Lady Trentingham set down the bottle she was holding and walked over to her husband. “Thank you, darling.” She took the flowers and stuffed them into a vase she took off a shelf, one of many. “Lord Lakefield has an invention to show us. Would you care to see?”
“A new sort of watch.” As Ford lifted it, everyone else moved to huddle around.
“Look,” Violet said. “There’s an extra hand to mark the minutes, so you no longer have to guess. Isn’t it amazing?”
“Very impressive,” Lord Trentingham said.
“Brilliant.” His wife’s smile looked so genuine that Ford once again had the impression she might really approve of him.
“I want one,” Rowan said.
“Let me see,” Rose demanded, and Lily chimed in more softly with “Me, too.”
Ford handed over the timepiece, watching to make sure they’d be careful with it. But then his gaze was drawn to Violet. He hadn’t seen her in a week. Hadn’t touched her in a week.
Damnation, he still wanted her.
Their eyes searched, met, locked. Sparkling behind the lenses he’d made, hers were the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. An unspoken message passed between them.
“If you’ve no objections,” he said slowly, “I would like to take your daughter for a walk.”
“Go ahead, dears,” Lady Trentingham said. “We’re watching the time pass!”
Forty-One
WATCHING TIME. How much time, Violet wondered as they strolled toward the river, until Ford returned to London?
This last week had been so monotonous while he’d been holed up working on his watch. She could hardly remember what she used to do with her days before he’d arrived with Jewel in tow. But now the girl had gone home, and he was finished with what he’d come to do. Soon, he’d be leaving. He’d probably asked her out here to te
ll her that.
She crossed her arms and hugged herself.
“Cold?” he asked.
“Not really.” The August day was breezy yet warm, and the grass felt springy beneath her shoes. As they approached the bridge, she bent to pick one of the daisies that dotted the green. Idly she plucked the white petals.
He loves me, he loves me not.
But of course he didn’t. The new yellow gown she was wearing might be fancier than her old ones, but a dress couldn’t make her pretty. Since the reception at Gresham College, she may have been allowing Margaret to coax her hair into fashionable ringlets, but the curls didn’t hide the overly intellectual brain hiding beneath.
The only thing she had that a man would be attracted to was her money.
She tossed the daisy at the foot of the bridge as they started across. “Have you missed Jewel this past week?”
He gave her a melancholy smile. “I’ve surprised myself by missing her something fierce. I’ve written her two letters already. She loves getting mail.”
In the middle of the bridge, she stopped and turned to face him. “How thoughtful.”
He shrugged. “It’s partly selfish, to be honest. I’m hoping for letters in return.” Water flowed under the boards beneath their feet, and two swans glided near, but she had no food to toss to them. “I missed you this past week as well,” he said quietly.
Had he? She searched his brilliant blue eyes. “It felt odd not to be heading for Lakefield in the afternoons.”
“Then you missed me, too?”
She couldn’t deny it. But what good would it do to confirm? Admitting her feelings would change nothing.
Reaching to raise her chin, he looked deeply into her eyes. Without closing his own, he moved in to kiss her. Tender and sweet, no more than a fleeting touch of lips. “I care for you, Violet. I’ve been trying to analyze why. But I think—no matter how much it pains me to admit this—there are some things one cannot analyze.”
