“It’s not for sale,” Ford said at last. “Not at any price.”
“Well.” Newton held his cup of Rhenish aloft in a toast. “I trust you’ll let me know if ever you change your mind.”
Conversation broke out in a deafening babble as people exclaimed over the find and maneuvered toward Ford to pump his hand and offer congratulations. The room turned hot and close as more guests made their way inside to join the crowd. Spirits were passed hand to hand from the tables to the back of the chamber, and soon everyone was clinking goblets to celebrate the discovery of the decade.
An hour flew by before Ford managed to work his way through the throng and into the corner where he’d left Violet. Along with the rest of Locke’s audience, she was gone. The area had been overtaken by people marveling over Secrets of the Emerald Tablet.
Light-headed with success—and a bit more wine than he customarily drank—Ford hurried outdoors to the improvised ballroom. But the colonnaded courtyard was sparsely populated, and only a few couples graced the dance floor. It seemed every member of the Royal Society was in the refreshment room.
Though another chamber blazed with light, a peek into it nearly had him backing away. It was crammed with chattering ladies—all those deserted, he supposed, by the men in the other room. He pushed his way in, not really expecting to find Violet. She didn’t strike him as the social, gossipy type.
He was correct.
Stopping three times to acknowledge congratulations, he crossed the quadrangle and walked through a building, finding the door to a small, deserted piazza.
The little courtyard looked dark and peaceful, especially after the excitement elsewhere in the college. He stepped outdoors, breathing deep of the fresh night air. Then, suddenly struck by an idea—perhaps not as brilliant as the spectacles, but clever nonetheless—he headed back inside to talk to one of the serving maids.
THIRTY-FIVE
HALF AN HOUR later, Violet entered the quadrangle and nearly bumped into Ford. His hands went to her shoulders to steady her, which was entirely unnecessary—these days, with her spectacles, her balance was much improved.
“Fancy meeting you here,” she quipped.
He didn’t smile. “I’ve been looking all over for you.”
“We had to escape that room.”
“We?” he asked pointedly, his gaze flitting over her gown again.
She folded her arms over her chest. “Mr. Locke and I. Whatever was happening in there drew everyone’s attention, and suddenly I found myself alone with him.”
His eyes filled with an odd mixture of relief and concern. “But I hadn’t made an introduction.”
“None was needed.” Locke had introduced himself without even making mention of her spectacles, simply accepting her as she was. “It seems he recognized a kindred soul. We wandered off and talked and talked…” She frowned suddenly. “Where were you all that time?”
“Word got out about me finding Secrets—”
A bewigged gentleman approached them with an outstretched hand. “Heard of your astounding luck, Lakefield. Congratulations. If ever you want to sell it—”
“I don’t.” Ford pumped his hand. “But I thank you.”
“Just let me know.”
When the man was out of earshot, Ford sighed. “It seems everyone has to congratulate me—or make an offer to buy it. And Newton has offered to double anyone’s bid. Can you imagine?”
What she couldn’t imagine was him passing that up when he so obviously needed money. She measured his clear blue eyes. “You were serious, then, when you claimed you wouldn’t sell at any price.”
“I meant it. Considering the book went missing for so many years, it seems magical that it should end up in my hands. No matter that I don’t believe in such things, it feels like fate.”
She did understand how he felt. If ever she should find an ancient philosophy book, handwritten by one of the masters, she’d be reluctant to sell it as well. And she supposed it would feel like fate, too.
“Maybe it was fate,” she said softly. “Do you believe that sometimes things are meant to be ours?”
He only smiled, a mysterious smile that for some reason made her uneasy.
She reached up to adjust her spectacles. “Well, I’m happy your announcement provided a distraction,” she said by way of changing the subject. “I expect without that I’d never have spoken privately with Mr. Locke, and oh, we had the most fascinating conversation.”
“Tell me about it.” When another well-wisher approached, Ford impatiently took Violet’s arm. “I know a place where I can listen without interruption.”
He led her across the quadrangle, where the dance floor seemed to be filling now that men and women were filtering out of the buildings and meeting up with one another. She noticed Wren with an apple-cheeked, brown-haired lady. Hooke, ungainly and awkward, danced with a beautiful, redheaded woman quite a bit taller than himself.
Ford took Violet through a building and pushed open a door.
And they stepped into a veritable wonderland.
Candles sparkled everywhere—perched on the sills of the windows surrounding them, sitting on the benches around the perimeter, scattered on the patterned brick paving. Their flickering flames warded off the night, bathing the small piazza in a warm glow. In the center sat two chairs and one of the small round tables from the refreshment room, offering a selection of sweets and savories. A pair of goblets rested side by side, an open wine bottle nearby.
Gasping, she turned to Ford. “How did you know all this was here?”
“It wasn’t.” The door shut behind them with a soft thud. “I arranged it.”
Though there were buildings all around, their windows were completely black. They were alone. She and her brilliant, bewildering neighbor were alone in a candlelit piazza in London. A piazza he’d had prepared especially for her.
Stunned, she shifted her gaze to meet his. “This isn’t like you.”
He gestured at her gown. “This isn’t like you, either.”
Heat rose into her cheeks as he gently removed her spectacles. She felt an arm curve around her waist, drawing her close. “Perhaps,” he continued, “we bring out
