But that’s exactly what he’d have to do if he ever hoped to be worthy of a girl like Violet Ashcroft.
He looked away from the desk, preferring instead to watch Violet as he followed her through the house. The yellow silk nipped in at the waist before flaring out over her curved, feminine hips. Well, he couldn’t see her hips beneath her ample skirts, but he remembered placing his hands on them as he’d kissed her once, and he wanted to do that again.
He sighed. He didn’t want someone like Violet—he wanted the genuine artifact.
But all the hoping he could muster wouldn’t make a blasted bit of difference. He couldn’t magically transform himself into the sort of husband she deserved.
His watch was finished. He really ought to go back to London.
Like many old houses, Trentingham had few corridors, most of the rooms simply opening on to the next. The adjacent chamber was tiny, more or less a closet. But it would do as the storeroom for a laboratory. The walls were lined with row upon row of shelves, upon which rested vials of liquid. Chemicals.
He stopped dead, looking around.
“Mum is through here.”
He blinked. Violet was gazing at him, the red-covered book he’d given her clutched to her chest. “I’m coming,” he said.
The next room was a laboratory.
True, it was nothing like his. While his had but a single small window over his work space, Lady Trentingham’s large windows afforded glorious views of the gardens and the river. While his had only one wooden chair for him to sit and work, hers had six upholstered ones, arranged in pairs with elegant inlaid tables between them. Clearly this room was used for socializing as well as work. But it was a laboratory nonetheless.
Forgetting the watch in his hand, he found himself drawn to the center of the chamber, where Lady Trentingham stood at a large, rectangular table, plucking flower petals and tossing them into some sort of contraption.
“Good morning, Lord Lakefield,” she said, beaming at him as though he were her long-lost son.
He wished.
“A pleasure to see you again,” he told her.
“Yes, it’s been a while, hasn’t it?” If he wasn’t mistaken, her tone was slightly scolding. “What is it you’ve brought us?”
“He hasn’t brought it for us, Mum, not exactly. Just to show.” Violet twirled the end of her plait around a finger, looking a bit flustered. Ford wondered if that was due to her mother’s warm welcome. It had certainly surprised him.
Perhaps the Ashcrofts would be more amenable to a match than he’d thought.
Violet set the book on a table. “Give me a moment to fetch the rest of the family.”
The room seemed immeasurably emptier after she left. Listening to her fading footsteps, Ford set his watch on another of the small marquetry tables. “What is that?” he asked Lady Trentingham, indicating the peculiar device.
Favoring him with a smile, she tossed a final few petals into the bowl. “Joseph has given me the last of this year’s roses. I’m about to make essential rose oil. Would you care to help?”
“Certainly.” He wiped his palms on his breeches, approaching the crude apparatus. “What is it you’d like me to do?”
“Just hold the bowl while I pour boiling water, then quickly set this other bowl on top. Upside down.” She demonstrated. “Ready?”
“Pour away,” he told her, gripping the bowl while she turned to take a kettle from the fire. He watched while she poured, noting how much steam escaped before she finished and he was able to place the second bowl over the rising vapors.
“It’s called distillation.” Replacing the kettle, she swiped the back of a graceful hand across her brow. “When the drippings cool, they separate into water—rosewater, in this case—and essential oil.” She indicated the tray below.
“I see,” he told her. It was a still. But although he could tell it would work, it was like no other still he’d ever laid eyes on. Her process would be more efficient with the heat supply directly beneath, the water and petals contained in a flask so the vapors couldn’t escape. And with tubing and a water-cooling method, the oil—
“Violet said you invented a new watch,” Rose said, walking into the room with her two sisters in her wake. Rowan came close behind, making a beeline for the table where Ford’s invention waited.
“Uh-uh-uh,” Violet said before he could touch it. She reached to clasp his wrist. “Wait until Father arrives.”
“But, Violet—”
“Here.” She fetched the book Ford had given her. “Lord Lakefield brought you this from London.”
“Micrographia,” he breathed, opening it to the middle. “Look at this.” He shoved a picture in Rose’s face.
“Ewww.” She wrinkled her nose. “What is that?”
“A blue fly up close.”
Violet smiled. “I met the author at Gresham College.”
The sudden blush on her cheeks made Ford suspect she was remembering other parts of their evening at Gresham College.
“That was very nice of Lord Lakefield,” Lady Trentingham said. She was beaming in Ford’s direction again. “What do you say to him, Rowan?”
Before Rowan could offer his thanks, Violet’s father barged in, his hands full of colorful flowers.
Lilies? Violets? Ford could only recognize roses, and he saw none of those.
“What’s this all about?” Lord Trentingham asked.
“Lord Lakefield has designed a new watch,” Violet said.
“Lord Lakefield has resigned? Resigned from what?”
The three sisters giggled.
“Quiet, everyone.” Lady Trentingham set down the bottle she was holding and glided over to her husband. “Thank you, darling.” She accepted the flowers and stuffed them into a vase she took off a shelf, one of many. “Lord Lakefield has an invention to show us. Would you care to see?”
“A new sort of watch.” As Ford lifted the pocket watch’s lid, everyone else moved to huddle around.
“Look,” Violet said. “There’s an extra hand to mark the minutes, so you no
