by Lauren Royal
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 try
ing 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.
But he was nowhere to be found.
Fifty-Two
AT LADY TRENTINGHAM’S invitation, Ford walked with her in companionable silence along a path that took a meandering route to the river. All day, her speculative looks had been convincing him Violet had told her something.
He just wondered what.
“She told you, didn’t she?” he finally asked.
In the dappled light that came through the trees, she stopped on the path and nodded. “Yes, she told me you proposed. We’re a close family. Some think us a bit odd.”
They shared an easy smile, Ford relieved that apparently Violet hadn’t told her mother he’d stolen her virginity. He wasn’t looking forward to dueling Lord Trentingham.
“Your family seems close, too,” she said.
“We are,” he agreed, knowing it was true, no matter how irritating they could be sometimes. “We lost our parents long ago at Worcester, so we’ve always leaned on one another.” By tacit agreement, they resumed walking, the gravel crunching beneath their shoes. “I’m hoping to have a close family of my own soon,” he said carefully.
Still strolling, she met his gaze. “Violet fears you’re only pursuing her in order to get your hands on her inheritance.”
Lady Trentingham was direct—in that way, she reminded him of his twin sister. But the news hurt, even though he’d suspected as much from the start.
“How can she think that?” he wondered aloud. “I’ve told her I love her.” Despite everything, hearing those words from his mouth prompted an embarrassed half-smile. “I never thought I’d be sharing that with her mother.”
“And I’d suggest you not tell her you did. If Violet knew I was doing anything to encourage this marriage, she’d run the other way. I’ve something of a reputation as a matchmaker, and my daughters are all dead set against becoming one of my statistics.”
“I won’t breathe a word.” Encourage this marriage still rang in his ears, making his heart soar with premature glee. He’d hoped Violet’s parents weren’t an obstacle, but now he knew for sure. That left only the lady herself. “What can I do to persuade her?”
“It won’t be easy,” Lady Trentingham warned. “My daughter decided she was unmarriageable long before she met you. Old convictions are difficult to overcome.” She discreetly cleared her throat. “And I’m afraid the condition of your estate is doing little to convince her you’re not in need of her funds.”
He’d known that, too. “What if I told you I am short of funds, but that’s not the reason I want to marry her?”
They reached the river and turned, her brown eyes reminding him of Violet’s as she met his gaze for a long, silent moment. “I’ll give you points for honesty,” she said at last with a nod of approval. “But I fear it will make your task even harder. Lakefield’s sad state isn’t only due to neglect, then?”
“Mostly. I am not in dire straits.” Heading back toward the house, he sighed. “The place was unoccupied long before it was deeded to me, and…well…”
He supposed since she was giving him points for honesty, he might as well follow through. If his situation would make him unacceptable as a son-in-law, he’d as soon learn that now rather than later.
But that didn’t mean he was obliged to make things sound worse than they were.
He raked his fingers through his hair. “I’ll admit I’ve never made Lakefield a priority. But although I understand the estate was prime horse-breeding property before the Civil War, nothing remains of that now save a few ramshackle stables. And I imagine you’re aware there have been several disastrous agricultural years since I obtained it in ’61. However,” he rushed to add, “I assure you I’ve always made certain no one dependent on the property has suffered as a result.” Indeed, in order to see that none of the tenant farmers went hungry a few years ago, he’d been forced to mortgage the estate. Those payments were proving to be his downfall now.
“I’m sure you have,” Lady Trentingham said soothingly. A touch of understanding infused her voice, making his blood rush with hope. Apparently he still passed muster. “But I understand there were few tenants left by the time you took over.”
“True enough. If the estate is to produce a decent income, I must attract more people to move here.” And repair the housing meant to shelter them. Dozens of crumbling cottages—more costs he was too strapped to bear. But perhaps Rand was finished with the translation by now, and regardless, somehow he would work it out.
He just hadn’t cared enough before this. Loving Violet made all the difference.
He smiled at her mother, thinking having parents of this sort mightn’t be such a bad thing. “I just need to put my mind to it.”
“And you’ve got a brilliant mind there.” She smiled back. “Perhaps Violet’s dowry will ease your way. You do know it’s three thousand pounds?”
“No, I didn’t. It’s very generous.” More than he’d been expecting.
But it wasn’t enough. No amount of money would be enough. Oh, he supposed there was some number of thousands that would dig him out of debt—to his chagrin, he didn’t know how much—but he was coming to realize that without his ongoing efforts to ensure that Lakefield produced sufficient income to support all the people who depended on it, it would soon sink back into the morass.
He was ready to take on that responsibility.
Lady Trentingham was waiting for more of a reaction. “I’d have to win Violet first, and even then her marriage portion wouldn’t be enough,” he admitted, then realized she could take that the wrong way. “I mean, my own hard work—”
“I understand.” She touched him on the arm. “My husband is an expert estate manager. I’m sure he’d be happy to consult with you.”
Ford wasn’t too proud to accept help. “I’d be pleased to listen to any advice he’d be willing to give me.”
“You may have to shout a bit in the process.” Her smile this time was the same warm smile she’d given him the first day in his garden. “I hav
e faith in you, Ford. And despite what she may think, I know my daughter well, so I’ll tell you this: She wouldn’t mind that you need her inheritance, as long as she were convinced you weren’t marrying her for it.”
He wasn’t sure he believed that, and in any case, he didn’t want to take Violet’s money. Her dowry was one thing, her inheritance quite another. Having aspirations of his own, he’d think twice before stealing her dream of publishing.
No, he’d think ten times. Twenty. Surely there was another way to solve his problems.
Lady Trentingham peered through the trees. “I think your family may be ready to leave.”
Indeed, they were all gathered by the barge, shifting from foot to foot. A quick glance at the sun told him if they didn’t get back to Lakefield and their carriages soon, they wouldn’t make it to their homes by nightfall.
But ahead of him, at the end of the path, stood Violet. Looking distressed.
Ignoring his siblings’ shouts, he hurried to meet her.
Fifty-Three
WATCHING FORD approach, Violet took a deep breath.
Since the conversation with his sisters, niggling doubts had begun to attack her again, but she wasn’t going to jump to conclusions. She’d had enough of that today—enough of indecision. She would talk to Ford calmly…and she wouldn’t let him touch her until afterward, because if he put his hands on her, she knew she’d surely lose her head.
But before she managed to say a word, he took her hand. And the next thing she knew they were in the summerhouse, and he was pulling off her spectacles and dragging her into his arms. And lose her head, she did.
When his mouth met hers, her knees weakened so, she feared she would tumble to the bricks beneath her feet. He kissed her for a long, heady minute before finally drawing back.
“I want you,” he said.
She searched his eyes, still close enough to see. “You’ve had me.”
“But that isn’t enough.” He set her away, backing up until he looked blurry, until the backs of his knees hit the bench. “I love you, Violet,” he said, rushing on as though he’d prepared a speech. “Everything will get much easier after Rand completes the translation. I’m going to Oxford to see him tomorrow. I know my home isn’t good enough for you, but I’m going to fix it up. Either way, whether Rand is done or not. I never did before, because…well, I’d never planned to live here. But now I want to.”
