“Just that you made something from rocks. And I invited them to come with us tomorrow.” She grabbed Rowan’s hand. “Let’s go play in the garden.”
“Wait.” With an outstretched arm, Violet stopped her little brother’s headlong rush. She looked to Ford. “Do you think we should let them go alone?”
Ford shrugged. “I’ll send Harry after them. And if you’ll wait for me in the drawing room, I’ll bring the surprise.”
She watched the children run off in one direction and Ford in the other. The moment they were all out of sight, a little flutter erupted in her stomach.
A surprise. When was the last time a gentleman had given her a surprise?
Never.
Unless she counted her father. Though most of his surprises involved flowers.
Trying not to get her hopes up, Violet made her way through Lakefield’s now familiar corridor to the drawing room. She seated herself on the faded couch. She crossed her ankles. She uncrossed them. She twirled the end of her plait with a finger. For the hundredth time since she’d met Ford, she told herself not to be ridiculous.
It was becoming a litany.
Although it seemed like an eternity, she didn’t wait long before he entered, breathing hard, as though he’d run from one end of the house to the other. Which she supposed he must have.
He wasn’t holding anything, though. Disappointment welled up inside her—which was, again, ridiculous. Then he drew something from his pocket—something small—and held it out, almost shyly.
“I made this for you,” he said.
She took it from him, turning it in her hands. Hardly a thing of beauty, it was two round, clear pieces of glass framed by some sort of wire. A little bridge connected them, and there were metal sticks on both sides.
Puzzled, she looked up.
“Spectacles,” he said. He slid onto the couch beside her, acting friendly, familiar.
What little composure she had left completely fled.
His brow furrowed. “Have you not heard of spectacles? They’re sometimes called eyeglasses.”
That jarred her out of her haze. Spectacles. Her mouth dropped open, and her breath caught in her chest. “I—of course I’ve heard of them, but…”
More words wouldn’t come.
“Would you like to try them on?”
“I…thank you,” she breathed.
She truly was thankful. This was the most thoughtful thing anyone had ever done for her. But the sad truth was, she knew the spectacles were useless.
She bit her lip. “I…I can read just fine. I know Rowan told you I cannot see very well, but it’s the distance that’s a blur. Printed pages look clear as water. But I sincerely appreciate—”
“No.” She’d expected him to look disappointed, but instead he grinned. “These aren’t for reading, Violet.”
“They’re not?” Thrilled as she was at his unexpected thoughtfulness, her brain seemed to be muddled, not half because of his closeness. “What are they for, then?”
“Spectacles for reading have convex lenses—they get fatter in the middle. These are concave, the opposite. The edges are thicker than the center. They’ll help you see in the distance.”
As she digested what he was saying, her hands began shaking. “What is all this metal?”
“Silver. To hold the lenses on your face. For reading, when a body is still, it’s fine to hold a lens or balance a pair on your nose. But after I made these, it occurred to me that you may want to wear them and move around. So I devised the sidepieces to rest on your ears and hold them in place.”
He scooted even closer, so close she could smell his clean spicy scent. It made her light-headed. Gently he took the spectacles from her hands, narrowing his eyes as he gauged them compared to her features. “I’ll probably need to adjust them. You’ve a smaller face than I thought.”
She’d never thought of herself as small—any part of her. Lily was the petite one.
And she’d never, ever thought she might be able to see like a normal person. “May I try them on?” she asked, struggling to steady her voice.
“Please do. I suspect I may have to play with the lenses as well, to give you optimal vision. The degree of concavity affects the amount of correction.”
She hardly understood what he was talking about, but she didn’t care. Her head was buzzing. Ford had made her spectacles. And he was handsome and generous and warm.
He lifted her chin with a finger, and she obediently raised her face, holding her breath while he fit the contraption in place. It felt strange there, perched precariously. She closed her eyes against the sensation.
When she opened them, Ford rose and stepped back—and he was still in focus.
“Oh, my,” she breathed, unable to tear her gaze from his face.
He stepped yet farther away…and she could still see him. He smiled that winning smile of his, and she could see it all the way from where she sat.
“Oh, my word.” Suddenly she was looking everywhere. “I can see the bellpull!” she exclaimed, “and the clock across the room.” He had clocks all over his house, and this chamber was no exception. “I can read the time! On that clock, and that one, too!”
It was a miracle. She stood, walking on shaky legs to the window. With the spectacles on, she felt taller than before and nearly tripped.
Nothing had changed there, but it only made her laugh.
“Look.” She leaned her palms on the windowsill, aghast at the beauty of the world. “I can see it—I can see everything! The clouds and the flowers and the leaves on the trees. Each individual leaf.”
“They’re working for you, then,” his voice came from behind her. “But odds are I can make them even better. We’ll have to figure out whether more or less concavity will be optimal, and then, with a day or two to remake them, I can—”
“No.” She whirled to face him. “You’re not taking these away from me.” She put her hands to the frame, tilting the spectacles crazily.
His laugh was merry and deep. “Let me at least make them fit.”
“No.”
“A minute, that’s all it
