Violet (Flower Trilogy) (27 page)

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.

But another enthusiastic female lived not so far away.

An hour later, having bathed, shaved, and gulped down some breakfast, Ford found himself in the galleried entry of Trentingham Manor, proudly holding his watch up for Violet’s inspection.

‘‘Oh my,’’ she said, her brandy-colored eyes wide with unabashed admiration. ‘‘ ’Tis 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, do you not 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, ‘‘ ’tis I who was 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. ’Twas 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 am 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. Ford figured this was where Joseph Ashcroft ran his estate.

’Twas obviously hard work—an onerous job he 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 for a month solid and ’twould make no difference at all.

He’d never win Violet.

His watch was finished. He really should go back to London.

The next room was tiny, a closet more or less. 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 staring 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, ’twas nothing like his. While his had only one window over his work space, Lady Trentingham’s boasted glorious views of both the river and the gardens. 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 ’twas 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, ’tis been a while, has it not?’’ If he wasn’t mistaken, her tone was slightly censorious. ‘‘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 had 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 strange device.

Favoring him with one of her smiles, she tossed the 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 would you 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.

‘‘ ’Tis called distillation.’’ Replacing the kettle, she swiped the back of one 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. But although he could tell it would work, ’twas like no other still he’d ever laid eyes on. Her process would be much more efficient with the heat supply directly underneath, 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 watch,’’ Rose said, coming into the room. Her two sisters followed, and 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 in the middle. ‘‘Look at this.’’ He shoved a picture in Rose’s face.

‘‘Ewwww.’’ 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 his 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 knew only how to recognize roses, and there were none of those.

‘‘What is 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 put 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.’’ Ford lifted it, and everyone else moved to huddle around.

‘‘Look,’’ Violet said. ‘‘There is an extra hand to mark the minutes, so you no longer have to guess. Is it not amazing?’’

Sparkling behind the lenses he’d made, her eyes were the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

Damnation, he still wanted her.

‘‘Very impressive,’’ Lord Trentingham said.

‘‘Brilliant.’’ His wife beamed, and 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 would 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.

Their eyes searched, met, locked. 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!’’

Watching time. How much time until Ford returned to London? Violet wondered as they walked toward the river. 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 tell 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 her intellectual brain underneath.

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?’’ she asked.

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. ‘‘ ’Tis partly selfish, really. I am 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 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 every afternoon.’’

‘‘Then you missed me, too?’’

She couldn’t deny it. But what good would it do to confirm?

Admitting her feelings would change nothing.

He reached to raise her chin and looked deeply into her eyes. Without closing his own, he moved in to kiss her. Tender and sweet, naught 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.’’

She knew not how to respond, but her lips tingled.

His fingers felt warm on her chin. When he moved toward her again, her gaze darted up to the perfumery’s windows. Her family lurked behind the glass, probably still exclaiming over Ford’s invention. A pale oval appeared behind one pane, then disappeared.

She’d bet the
Masterpiece
it was Rose, spying.

He raised that devilish brow. ‘‘Afraid we’re being watched?’’

‘‘I wouldn’t put it past my sisters.’’

He nodded, and they strolled across the bridge and along the far bank of the river. Cattle grazed in the fields beyond, and a hawk circled lazily overhead. As Ford slipped his hand into hers, her gaze flicked once more to the window, and he chuckled beside her.

They walked in silence, listening to the whinnies of the horses in the field, the songs of two lovebirds in a tree. Violet focused on the feel of their joined hands, startling when he slipped his thumb inside to play upon her palm. The sensation sent a little thrill through her.

If only she could believe ’twas the same for him.

A small wooden gate marked the entry to the woods, and they paused only long enough to open it.

Here were new sounds: twigs crackling beneath their feet, leaves rustling overhead. Still playing with her hand, Ford led her to a tree stump and sat upon it, drawing her down to his lap.

’Twas most improper, but she didn’t want to move.

Though they weren’t actually far from the house, the canopy of trees overhead made this place feel secluded, private. She shifted sideways to face him, noting the faint circles under his eyes. ‘‘Looks like someone’s not sleeping,’’ she said quietly.

‘‘I was up all night finishing the watch.’’ He raised their joined hands to brush his lips over her knuckles.

‘‘Didn’t even realize it was morning until Hilda offered me breakfast.’’

‘‘You should have slept, then, after you were done.’’

‘‘I couldn’t. I was too excited. I wanted to show it to someone.’’ He paused, pressing a slow kiss to the back of her hand, looking up at her through his lashes.

‘‘I wanted to show it to you. Only you, Violet.’’

Her breathing shallowed at the thought. Faith, she wanted to believe him. ‘‘I’m sorry, then, that I brought my family—’’

‘‘No. I enjoyed showing it to them, too.’’ Still holding her hand, he used his free hand to sweep the hair off her neck. ‘‘But you were the one I truly wanted to share it with.’’ He bent his head, his warm lips grazing her nape. Pleasure rippled through her.