“You’re willing to play with Jewel?” A note of incredulity tinged Violet’s voice. “After what she did?”
“She’s not like other girls. Will you bring me again tonight? To see the stars?”
She looked hesitant, but perhaps intrigued as well.
“You’re certainly welcome,” Ford rushed to tell her. “It looks to be a clear night.”
“Maybe,” she said. “I’ll think about it.”
Ford mentally crossed his fingers. If Rowan could persuade her to bring him back, surely he’d tire of seeing “science” after a short while. Then Violet could take the children elsewhere, and he would be left to work in peace.
At this point, even a couple of hours sounded like heaven.
ELEVEN
“SHE WRECKED his breeches, Mum!” Violet paced her mother’s perfumery, skimming a finger along the neatly labeled vials. “It was amusing, I’ll admit, but I don’t think all that glue and mud will wash out.”
“It was a harmless prank, dear.” Chrystabel calmly plucked violet petals and tossed them into her distillation bowl. “And you did say Rowan wants to go back.”
“Yes, but I cannot understand why.” Pacing to one of the window niches, Violet perched a knee on the bench seat and leaned to look out. “How can he like her after this? Especially when he didn’t like her before?”
“I’ve never understood how men’s minds work. Does your philosophy give you no clue to that?”
Everything outside was a blur. “‘It may be said of men in general that they are ungrateful and fickle,’” she quoted.
“And who said that?”
“Machiavelli.” She turned from the window. “Now Rowan wants to go tonight to see the stars. And I fear he’ll want to go back again tomorrow.”
“Isn’t that what we’ve been hoping would happen all along? That Rowan would find a new playmate to occupy him while Benjamin is away?” Benjamin was the only boy Rowan’s age within walking distance. “What, pray tell, is your problem with this development?”
Violet seated herself at the table and grabbed a bunch of flowers. “He doesn’t want to go alone. And I don’t want to go with him.”
“Now, Violet, who said that thing about being charitable? You read it to me last week.”
“Francis Bacon again,” she said with a sigh. “‘In charity there is no excess.’”
“A wise man. It would be a charity, for certain, if you brought Rowan to play. He’s bored here in the countryside without Benjamin.” Mum’s fingers flew as she pulled purple petals, more graceful than Violet could ever hope to be. “And a charity to Jewel as well, stuck in that house with no other children. And you’d be giving Lord Lakefield some respite. Surely he has better things to do than watch that handful of a girl.”
Agitated, Violet began plucking petals. “So I should do it instead? Am I not allowed to have better things to do?” The scent of her namesake flower failed to soothe her. “Can’t Rose go?”
Mum frowned at Violet’s busy hands. “Rose is too young, as I’ve said.” She tossed a bare stem into a basket. “Besides, she has no sense where men are concerned, and we’ve all heard her jabbering about the ‘handsome viscount.’”
“And he’d take advantage of her, but not me. That’s what you’re thinking, isn’t it?”
“Violet—”
“It’s true, Mum, and we both know it.” She plucked faster. “I’m plain next to Rose and Lily. And gentlemen pretend to be deaf rather than listen to me prattle about my interests.”
Mum touched her arm. “Violet, your father really is hard of—”
“No one will ever show interest in me unless it’s for my inheritance.” Ten thousand pounds. Added to her dowry of three thousand.
For thirteen thousand pounds, many men would be tempted to wed a mule.
“Violet—”
“I’m not a featherbrain, Mum.” Her hand fisted, crushing a flower. “I know I’m not the type to turn heads.”
Because Violet had seen her parents’ marriage—because she would settle for nothing less than their example of true love—she was sure she’d never wed. All the local gentry knew the eccentric Earl of Trentingham had three heiress daughters…and all had tried their clumsy hands at wooing the eldest, who would come into her inheritance first. But she’d never accept a husband who was only after her money. Which was why Violet would never accept anyone.
But as she’d said, she wasn’t a featherbrain, so she knew better than to say so in front of Mum.
She sighed, knowing that mere weeks from now, when she turned eighteen and came into the money her grandfather had left her, the offers could very well begin to come fast and furious. She’d have a harder time putting Mum off then.
But she would persevere. And someday—many years from now when she was a content, aged spinster—she would use her inheritance to fund her dream.
“Violet.” Her brown eyes filled with concern, Mum gently pulled the bruised bloom from Violet’s hand. “You may not look like your sisters, but you’re a very pretty girl. Especially to those who love you. Which philosopher said that beauty is brought by judgment of the eye?”
“That wasn’t a philosopher. It was Shakespeare in Love’s Labour’s Lost.”
“Oh.”
“But he was paraphrasing Plato. ‘Beholding beauty with the eye of the mind.’”
Mum grinned. “See, dear? Listen to Plato.”
Rose and Lily burst into the room. “Look, Mum!” Lily waved a letter. “A messenger just delivered this from Lakefield. And he said he was instructed to wait for an answer.”
“The oldest messenger I’ve ever seen,” Rose huffed. “He’s bald,” she added in a tone of extreme disgust.
“That’s not a messenger,” Violet said. “That’s Harry, Lord Lakefield’s houseman.” As she’d hurried Rowan out the door, she’d seen Hilda’s husband cowering in a corner while his wife scolded him for his part in Jewel’s prank. The man was quite definitely bald, although Violet hadn’t found him disgusting.
Maybe beauty was in the eye of the beholder.
She rose and went to her sisters. “Let me see the letter.” She plucked
