Violet’s sister was plainly smitten.
“I’m not sure,” she crooned to Rand now, “but do you think this might mean ‘mystery’? It’s awfully similar to the same word in German.”
“Possibly.” Rand flipped a couple of pages, peering at them critically. “But I don’t see much else that looks to be Germanic.”
Ford traced his finger along the curve of Violet’s shoulder, smiling to himself when he felt her shiver.
Rand flipped back to the original page. “Do you suppose the five words might be from five different languages? I’ve been assuming it’s only one.”
“That could be.” Hero worship flashed in Rose’s eyes. “I hadn’t considered the possibility.”
“Five words?” Ford went still. “What five words?”
“The five words of the title,” Rand said, frowning at the page, a finger over the text. “What if this were German, like you were saying, but an older version?” A tinge of excitement crept into his voice. “And this looks Hellenic, perhaps meaning ‘emerald,’ and this maybe Slavic—”
“Mystery and emerald?” Ford breathed, his heart threatening to hammer right out of his chest.
“Yes, Slavic,” Rand murmured, nodding to himself. “And this one…” Quite suddenly he straightened in his chair. “Five words, five different languages. Translating to ‘Mysteries of the Emerald Slab.”
Ford blinked, gripping Violet’s shoulder for support.
His friend leaned across the table to lightly punch his shoulder. “Secrets of the Emerald Tablet, you fool.” He grinned. “You found the book, Lakefield. It’s a blessed miracle.”
All the air seemed sucked from Ford’s lungs. It was a blessed miracle. And a marvel, and a wonder, and—
He leapt from the chair and swept Violet into a fierce hug. Then he kissed her smack on the lips, right in front of her gaping sister.
He was still beaming the next day when he showed up at his brother’s castle.
THIRTY-ONE
COLIN WASN’T beaming when Ford delivered his daughter, along with a still-weak Nurse Lydia they’d fetched along the way.
While Lydia crept off to her bed, Colin’s wife, Amy, knelt in the entry and held Jewel close. “How did you both fare?”
“We got along famously.” Pleased that Amy seemed fully recovered, Ford turned to his scowling brother. Colin looked very parental with their tiny son cradled in his arms. “What’s your problem?” Ford asked.
Colin swayed back and forth in the age-old motion that soothed a baby to sleep. “You mean to tell me you were alone with Jewel all this time?”
“Of course not. Hilda and Harry were there, too.”
“Those old barnacles?”
“Colin!” Amy set their daughter on her feet and took her hand, leading her from the square entrance hall. “Jewel seems no worse for the wear.”
The rest of them followed. “How is Hugh?” Ford asked, referring to their other son, a lad of four.
Her raven hair shining with health, Amy smiled over her shoulder. “Much better. He’s napping now.”
He looked to the child in his brother’s arms. “And Aidan?”
“Had a very light case,” Colin said, patting the baby’s back.
“I had fun, Mama.” Jewel twirled in a circle, around and around under Amy’s arm as they went down the corridor. “Uncle Ford bought me this necklace on my birthday!” Still twirling, she lifted the silver filigree heart she wore on a black ribbon around her neck. “And he let me sleep in his bed. And he paid me to be good!” Reaching the sitting room, she dropped cross-legged to the floor and began digging in her pockets. Shillings fell to the stone slabs with a merry sound.
Amy seated herself in a blue upholstered chair and picked up a small knife. “You’re rich, poppet.”
“I’m saving up to buy a mi-mi”—Jewel looked at Ford, but he knew better than to help her now—“mi-cro-scope. Uncle Ford showed me a book with pictures. Written by Mr. Heck.”
“Hooke,” Ford corrected, leaning an elbow against the mantel. “And the book is called Micrographia.”
“Mr. Hooke drew pictures of big, icky things. Close-up things.” Jewel collected her coins, making a neat stack. “When I buy the mi-cro-scope, I’m going to share it with Rowan.”
Settling Aidan in a wooden cradle, Colin raised a brow. “Who’s Rowan?”
“My friend from Uncle Ford’s house. Lady Violet’s brother. I’m going to marry him.”
Amy’s father had been a jeweler in London, and she’d been raised in the trade. Whittling away on a piece of wax that looked like it might someday become a ring, she appeared to be stifling a laugh. “Does Rowan know you’re going to marry him?”
“Of course. I told him. And Uncle Ford is going to marry Lady Violet.”
Ford’s elbow slipped off the stone ledge. “I am not!”
“Not yet, anyhow,” Colin drawled, taking the chair beside his wife’s. “You’ll need at least another seven years to make up your mind.”
Ford ignored him, focusing on his niece instead. “What on earth gave you that idea?”
All innocence, she looked up from her spot on the floor. “I saw you kissing her.”
“You did not.”
“Did so.”
“Did not.”
Colin rolled his eyes. “No wonder you two got along. You’re as childish as she is. I take it you’re over Tabitha, then?”
“Did you think I was upset about her elopement?” Ford vaguely remembered being so, but couldn’t fathom why. “She meant nothing to me. No more than a convenient diversion.”
“Mm-hmm.” Colin crossed his arms, looking less than convinced. “Tell me about this Violet.”
“There’s nothing to tell.” Ford wandered over to gaze at a portrait of some long-dead ancestor. He didn’t have anything like it in his house—nothing to personalize his living space, nothing to make it a home.
Jason, his oldest brother, had plenty of paintings at Cainewood Castle. Perhaps Ford ought to ask him if he could spare one or two for Lakefield.
“Lady Violet is merely a neighbor,” he told the ancestor, a lady with shrewd blue eyes and a blond head poking out from an enormous, starched ruff. “Violet brought her little brother over to play with Jewel sometimes, that’s all.”
“And Uncle Ford is taking her to a ball tomorrow night,” Jewel piped up. “In London.”
“What ball?” Amy asked.
“Gresham College is throwing a party
