Scanning the shabby room, Rand laughed. “You have a point.”
Ford wasn’t at all handy with an ax, and the book was much more important. “Rose said some of the lines are written backwards. And the letters are mirror images.”
“Etruscan,” Rand said, glancing back down.
“Pardon?”
“Etruscan. A dead language. The people who spoke it lived in what eventually became Italy.”
“Raymond Lully, the author, lived in Italy for some time.”
Rand nodded thoughtfully. “The Etruscans wrote left to right and then right to left on successive lines, with the letters facing backwards and forwards.” He kept turning pages as he talked. “Etruscan is phonetic and easy to read aloud, but no one’s ever managed to puzzle out the words’ meanings.”
Ford’s spirits plummeted. “Does that mean you won’t be able to identify the book?”
“Not at all.” Rand looked up with a grin. “Your ladylove’s sister was right.”
Violet wasn’t Ford’s ladylove, but in his rising excitement, he decided to let the annoying quip slide. “Right about what?”
“About it being many languages. I’ve noticed two or three ancient words here—ones I can read. But not together. I believe you’re correct that it may be a code.”
“And we both know how good you are at cracking those, to Alban’s vexation.” Alban, Rand’s older brother, had been cruel to him as a boy. Rand had retaliated by constantly outsmarting him. “How is dear old Alban these days?”
“I don’t know, actually,” Rand said, his eyes still on the book. “I haven’t been home in over a year.”
“I see.” Averse to the unpleasant company of his father and brother, Rand had often spent university holidays with Ford’s family instead. Apparently matters hadn’t improved. But Ford decided not to pry, knowing it was a sensitive subject.
He rose and moved to stand over Rand, leaning down to turn back to the first page. “Can you read the title?”
Rand stared at the words for a moment, then frowned. “If this is a code, it’s a tough one.” He looked up, shutting the book. “Give me some time, man. Can you not feed a fellow before taxing his brain?”
As if on cue, Hilda walked in, holding a folded piece of paper.
“We’ve another for supper,” Ford told her.
“And what makes you think I can provide with no notice?” She walked closer, scrutinizing their guest’s healthy physique. “I suppose you eat as heartily as this one?” she asked, indicating Ford.
Rand grinned. ”Doubtless.”
With an exaggerated sniff, she held out the paper to Ford. “Here, I came to give you this.” When he took it, she added, “I’ll bring your visitor some refreshments. For goodness sake, milord, you haven’t offered him so much as a drink.”
“Charming woman,“ Rand remarked when she had left.
Ford shrugged. “She came with the house. Besides, she’s a kitten under the gruff exterior. Read this, will you?” He handed Rand the paper and went to the cabinet where he kept brandy.
While he poured, Rand unfolded the paper. “‘Dear Lord Lakefield, The Ashcroft family would be honored to have you and Lady Jewel as our guests for supper this evening. If we do not receive your regrets, we shall expect you at seven o’clock. Yours sincerely, Lady Trentingham.’”
Ford handed Rand his drink. “You’ll come along, of course. I’ll have Harry take a note to warn them of the extra guest. Hilda will be relieved.”
“Lady Jewel?” Rand sipped, his glance speculative over the cup’s rim. “Another woman? Lady Violet isn’t enough?”
“Violet isn’t my woman,” Ford said irritably. ”And Jewel is my niece. Long story.”
Rand settled back. “I’m waiting to hear it.”
TWENTY-SEVEN
A KNOCK CAME at Violet’s door. “Don’t you want to come riding?” Lily called through the oak.
Violet’s head shot up. “No, thank you!” Her voice came out squeaky. She cleared her throat. “I’ve changed my mind.”
Rose made an impatient noise. “But you haven’t come in ages.”
“I…I’m just tired, that’s all.”
“Violet—”
When Lily pushed open the door, Violet hurried to stuff the book under her bedcovers.
Her eyes narrowing, Rose planted her hands on her hips. “What were you reading?”
“Nothing.”
“I saw it. It was a little brown book.” She stalked over to the bed. “Let me see.”
Violet pulled it out before Rose could. “Aristotle’s Master-piece. Philosophy. Nothing you’d find interesting.”
“Aristotle’s Master-piece?” Rose’s dark eyes flashed with excitement. “Where did you get that?”
Violet’s heart pounded. “Why? Have you heard of it?”
“Have I heard of it?” Rose snorted. “The ladies whisper behind their fans about its secrets. I vow and swear, Violet, you need to get out of the house. If you came visiting more often—”
“I haven’t heard of it,” Lily interrupted. “And I visit as much as you.”
Rose rolled her eyes. “No one would mention it in front of you.”
Lily pouted. “Why not? What’s the book about?”
Rose turned back to Violet. ”Does Mum know you have it?”
“No.” Perish the thought. “You won’t tell her, will you?”
“Tell her what?” Lily stamped her foot—gently, for it was Lily, after all. “What’s this about?”
Rose’s lips curved in a slow smile. “I won’t tell Mum you have the book, Violet…if you let me read it.”
“Rose!” Violet sprang to her feet, clutching Aristotle’s Master-piece to her chest. “You’re far too young. I simply couldn’t.“ Violet wasn’t even certain she herself ought to be reading it, and she was practically a spinster.
Rose sighed theatrically. “In that case,” she said with an elegant shrug, “I find myself forced to confess all to our dear mother. I’m sure she’ll be very interested to hear where you got that book…” She began moving toward the door.
“Wait!” Violet made a grab for her sister’s arm.
Rose paused and turned back, eyebrows raised innocently.
Violet groaned. There was nothing for it. “Come to the summerhouse.” She cast a nervous glance around the chamber. “Mum won’t hear us there.”
“I’m coming, too,” Lily announced, her expression daring them to argue. “I want to know what’s in that book!”
TWENTY-EIGHT
“HOW DID YOU get it?” Rose asked when they were safely outdoors in the garden.
Violet knew
