“Will there be dancing?”
He walked to a chair and plopped onto it. “Yes, I suppose there will be dancing.”
“It’s a ball, then,” Amy declared. “I’m sure you’ll have a lovely time.”
“Do you not think,” Colin asked, drumming his fingers against his thigh, “that if you’re considering wedding someone, you ought to introduce her to the family?”
“I’m not wedding her.” Ford’s hands clenched on the chair’s arms. “I’m not wedding anyone. I’m not ready to get married.”
“Jason is back from Scotland.” Colin’s eyes looked contemplative. They were emerald green like Jewel’s, and he was just as single-minded as his daughter. “I’m sure he’ll be fascinated to hear about this.”
“There’s nothing for Jason to hear,” Ford said. “Are you deaf?”
“And Cait,” Amy added, apparently deaf as well. “And Kendra and Trick.” Her amethyst eyes sparkling, she smiled down at the wax ring. “They’ve all just arrived home last week. We’ll have to arrange a family visit to Lakefield.”
As there seemed to be an abundance of deaf people in his life lately, Ford raised his voice. “I’m busy working on my watch,” he all but shouted. “There will be no visits.”
THIRTY-TWO
FEELING MORE lighthearted than ever in her memory, Violet twirled in her new ball gown, a veritable confection of pink brocade and silver embroidery.
Monday night had finally arrived. One of her dreams was coming true. She was going to Gresham College to rub elbows with the Royal Society, the most brilliant minds in all of England.
Feeling dizzy, she stopped and held out her skirts. “What do you think?” she asked her sisters. “Will it do for an event here in London?”
Lily beamed. “I’ve never seen you in anything so fancy.”
Crossing the bedchamber to tweak one of Violet’s ruffled sleeves, Rose shot Lily a conspiratorial grin. “She’s finally coming around.”
“What do you mean?” As she drew breath, Violet’s ribs strained against the intricate brocade stomacher that tapered to her waist. She frowned. The cut of the bodice hadn’t appeared this narrow on the French fashion doll. She didn’t remember it feeling this tight during the fittings, either. Wondering if she’d gained weight, she smoothed her full brocade skirts. “Coming around to what?”
“Dressing to impress.” Rose’s grin turned impish. “I’d wager he’ll be very, very impressed.”
“John Locke?” Violet walked to the pier glass and straightened one of the fat brown curls that rested on her shoulders. Somehow, the French woman Mum had hired had managed to coax her thick, unruly hair into a stylish coiffure. Most of it was pulled up in the back, twisted with strands of pearls to match the ones on her necklace and underskirt. “I cannot wait to hear his ideas. But Locke is a philosopher. I doubt he cares what I look like.”
“Not Locke, you goose. Viscount Lakefield.”
“I’m not trying to impress him,” Violet said. Staring at herself in the mirror, she bit her lip. “Does the dress seem rather…tight?”
“Perfectly so,” Rose said with relish. “Who even knew you had such a nice shape hidden in there?
A crunch of gravel drifted through the open window, and Lily hurried to look out. “He’s here, Violet. He’s climbing down from his carriage. And oooh, he’s dressed very fine.”
Violet’s stomach fluttered. “Let me see,” she said, thrilled that with her spectacles she’d be able to. But by the time she hurried over to look, Ford had already ascended the house’s front steps and disappeared from view.
“I’ll go meet him at the door,” Rose said. “Wait here, so you can make an entrance.” With a swish of her blood-red skirts, she swept out of the room.
“An entrance, Violet,” Lily repeated, giggling. “An entrance!”
An entrance. Contemplating her youngest, most innocent sister, Violet’s heart jumped into her throat as it suddenly dawned on her that she would soon be alone with Ford. Really alone, not just sort of alone for a minute while the children’s backs were turned.
She could hardly believe Mum had condoned it. More than condoned it—pushed it, in fact. But of course that was only because Mum knew how much she wanted to attend a Royal Society function.
Mum would never expect anything untoward to happen. Not to Violet. Plain Violet. Violet, who would just as soon remain invisible.
If only Mum knew that Ford had already kissed her. Four times.
Four glorious times.
As she’d done hundreds of times already, Violet couldn’t help but replay those kisses now in her memory. And even though she hadn’t eaten any salty or spicy food today—hadn’t eaten much of anything, as a matter of fact—she felt insuperability rearing its unwelcome head.
Well, she wouldn’t worry about it this night. She could sort that out tomorrow. Tonight she would simply enjoy herself.
Rose barged back in. “He’s waiting, Violet. I think you should keep him waiting a little bit longer.”
“No.” She wasn’t calculating like her sister. “I’m ready.” As ready as she’d ever be.
Although the Ashcrofts’ town house in St. James’s Square wasn’t nearly as massive as Trentingham, it was richly decorated and boasted a grand marble staircase. Violet’s new red-heeled shoes clicked as she walked down it.
When Ford glanced up, his jaw went slack. “You look…” he trailed off, apparently at a loss for words.
“Different?” she supplied, gliding to a stop in front of him.
“Um…yes.” As that incredible blue gaze raked her from head to toe, a grin slowly spread on his face. “And beautiful.”
It had taken him too long to add that last bit, and she wouldn’t have believed it, in any case. But it was nice to hear, even if it was only a polite fib. For just this night, she would pretend it was true. She’d never expected to hear a compliment like that from a gentleman.
And most especially from such
