She sat back down, and Ford began talking about this and that. She was soon so engrossed in their conversation that she forgot all about her eyeglasses or being spotted wearing them. The sun warmed her skin, and though their journey was a leisurely one that covered several miles, the time passed quickly.
Too quickly. Before she knew it, they were docking at Windsor.
It was a busy town. Windsor Castle had suffered much damage during the Cromwell years, and King Charles was now enthusiastically refurbishing and expanding it, which meant many laborers crowded the streets along with the town’s usual inhabitants. Wearing her spectacles here would be worse than just being the center of attention. More like being the center of the universe.
She pictured herself on a bustling cobblestone street, surrounded by tradesmen and gossipy matrons and children underfoot—all of them pointing and laughing at her.
When Ford took her hand to help her down from the barge, that nervous, trembly feeling returned in full, overwhelming force. Her heart stuttered.
Wrenching her hand from his, she pleaded a headache and bolted for the shady safety of the cabin.
NINETEEN
TWO HOURS LATER, the others returned to the barge.
“I’m starving.” Followed by the children, Ford stepped inside the cabin to drop off their latest purchases. “How are you feeling, Violet? Can I tempt you with a meal? I promise to take you into a nice, dark deserted inn.”
Violet heard the teasing in his voice and knew he knew she was a coward. He’d accompanied the children around town, where Jewel had purchased ribbons and a hat and a doll. For her birthday, Ford had bought her a lovely silver heart pendant. He’d also kindly bought Rowan some marbles fashioned from pretty stones, and they’d stopped at vegetable stands and a butcher, loading the barge with staples for Lakefield’s kitchen.
They’d made three trips back and forth, and in all that time, Violet hadn’t set foot out of the cabin.
Now the three of them crowded into the small space, their expectant gazes practically pinning her to the bed where she sat.
She bit her lip. Ford had been more than patient. The least she could do was be honest. “I’m sorry, my lord. But I just know people will laugh at me.”
“Will you stop my-lording me?” He swept off his hat and, in a gesture that was beginning to become familiar to her, raked his fingers through his long brown hair. “After yesterday,” he said in a low, discreet tone, “you should certainly have leave to call me Ford.”
“Ford, then,” she said. He was right. And she was miserable.
Jewel tugged on her uncle’s sleeve. “What happened yesterday?”
“He gave me these marvelous spectacles,” Violet said before he could answer, although she knew he’d been referring to their kiss.
She’d been thinking about that kiss the whole time she waited on the barge, replaying every little detail in her mind, over and over, until her lips tingled and she found herself unaccountably short of breath. She’d alternated between wondering if he’d kiss her again and telling herself not to be ridiculous.
Because she knew the truth: He’d been carried away by the success of his spectacles, and it wasn’t going to happen another time. And she was far too sensible a girl to fall prey to the hopeless fantasy that someone like him—someone tall and gorgeous and brilliant and kind—could ever have feelings for someone like her.
Only…well, she’d rather liked being kissed. It grieved her to think it might never happen again. Which led her to another truth: She’d never get another kiss from anybody if she hid herself the rest of her life. If she was going to wear the spectacles, she needed to get over this fear of appearing in public.
Not all at once, however. “Can we dine on the way back?” she offered as a compromise. “An inn along the river. Where I won’t have to walk a street teeming with people.”
He measured her for a moment. “If I cannot tempt you with food, I suppose a bookshop wouldn’t work, either?”
“A bookshop?” she murmured.
He jammed the hat back on his head. “Right there on Thames Street. You can see it from here.” Without asking for permission, he grabbed her arm and drew her off the bed and out of the cabin. She blinked in the sunlight. “There, see?” he said.
In the distance, a sign swung in the slight breeze. The cracked wood looked a century old, but the lettering was newly painted and visible from the barge: JOHN YOUNG, BOOKSELLER.
Thanks to her spectacles, she could read that.
There weren’t too many people on the street. “Maybe just the bookshop,” she conceded.
Though he didn’t lord it over her with words, his grin told her he knew he’d won.
“I’d like to choose a foreign language book for Rose,” she added in a paltry attempt to save face.
“And maybe a philosophy book for yourself?” It seemed he knew her all too well. Jewel and Rowan had followed them out, and he waved them off the barge. “Hurry, before she changes her mind.”
As Violet stepped onto the dock, she took a deep breath and lifted her chin. Let people stare. Let them laugh, even. She had to get used to it, and she might as well start now.
“Why a foreign language book for Rose?” Ford asked as they walked.
“A peace offering. I’ve been short-tempered with her lately.”
“Having met her, I suspect she probably deserved it.” The street was rutted and uneven, and he took her elbow to steady her in her heels. “But I meant why a foreign language?”
“Oh.” She was acting daft again, distracted by the warmth of his hand seeping through her peach satin sleeve, and the trembling inside that wouldn’t quite go away. She caught a glimpse of herself in the mullioned glass windows of the Swan, a reflection of her walking with a gentleman. It was difficult to think straight. “My grandfather was a scholar and spoke many tongues. Of
