“Midnight raid?”
“On the kitchen.” The houseman patted his round belly. “Hilda is always nagging me not to eat, so I don’t much. Not so she can see it.” He grinned. “She baked bread before retiring.”
As usual, Hilda’s offerings this evening had been less than enticing. Feeling his own stomach rumble, Ford followed Harry downstairs and drew a stool up to the big table in the cavernous kitchen.
Harry swiped a fresh loaf off the counter and reached for a knife. “Quiet around here since Lady Jewel left, if I may say so.”
“It is.” Ford watched him slice the coarse brown bread. “She’s a charmer.”
Scooping butter from a crock, Harry slathered it onto a piece. “She is that. And Lady Violet, too.”
“Lady Violet?”
“Don’t pretend there’s nothing between you two.”
Ford accepted the buttered bread. “Criminy, you’re as meddling as your wife.” But unlike Hilda, Harry managed to probe without asking a single question. “What business is that of yours?”
The houseman didn’t so much as bristle. “Just wondering how long you’ll stick around here is all, my lord.”
“As I’ve no excuse to stay, most likely I’ll be heading to London soon.” He bit into the chewy bread. “Or not,” he added around the mouthful.
“Just as I thought,” Harry said, buttering his own hunk of loaf. He took a hearty bite. “Those Ashcrofts have made you feel right welcome.”
“They have,” Ford admitted. In a few short weeks, he’d begun to feel like Violet’s family belonged in his life. Even her parents, which surprised him.
His oldest brother had been fairly simple to manipulate, and he’d always imagined real parents would be a nuisance. But Violet’s were rather amusing.
He swallowed and nodded. “I find myself shouting at Lord Trentingham with the rest of them now. And earlier today, I helped Lady Trentingham make essential oil.”
Harry drew a pitcher of ale and grabbed two goblets off a shelf. “Sounds like a messy business.”
“Not particularly, although she has a disaster of a distillery.” Ford watched while the man poured. “Perhaps I ought to make her a new one,” he mused. After all, Lady Trentingham had been the soul of kindness and had even tolerated Ford’s pursuit of her daughter, never mind that Violet had ultimately rejected him. He owed the woman a world of thanks—and a new, sophisticated distillery would be just the thing.
“Sounds like a good enough excuse to stick around,” Harry observed.
Ford raked back his hair. “It has nothing to do with that. Lady Trentingham deserves it, as a token of my thanks for her hospitality.”
“Of course.” Harry’s brown eyes twinkled as he raised his cup. “Drink up, my lord.”
Ford did, his mind already occupied by how to best arrange the copper tubing.
FORTY-FIVE
OTHER THAN THE odd squeaks and groans emitted by any old house, Trentingham was deathly quiet. By candlelight, Violet sat at her desk in the library, chewing on the end of a quill.
Nodding to herself, she dipped it into the ink and began writing.
Dear Mr. Wren,
It was a pleasure meeting you at the Royal Society function last month, and it is my hope that we renew our acquaintance sometime in the future.
The quill’s scratch sounded loud in the empty room.
In the meantime, I am requesting your assistance with some information. You had mentioned patenting an invention, and I would be grateful to know how to go about doing so. A few lines of instruction would be most appreciated.
Yours truly,
Violet Ashcroft
Simple and straightforward. She read it over twice before folding it, then added a seal and addressed it to the Royal Society for delivery. Surely someone there would see it reached Christopher Wren’s hands.
Now to the more important letter. She had already addressed the backside of the paper to Daniel Quare, Watchmaker, Fleet Street, London. She’d found the information engraved on the backs of two of her father’s gold pocket watches.
Dear Mr. Quare,
I have invented a new watch with an additional hand to mark the progress of the minutes. I am querying your interest in producing and selling the design, a vast improvement on all current watches. I am certain you can envision the profits as patrons must replace their old watches with this newer one, which could very well allow you to dominate the market. I have patented the design—
She removed her spectacles and rubbed her eyes. That wasn’t quite a lie—she did intend to see it patented.
—so there is no sense in your own craftsmen attempting to duplicate my idea. I am asking—
She hesitated again, then took a deep breath.
—twenty-five thousand pounds for my sketches and the working sample, plus a royalty percentage to be negotiated. You have two weeks in which to answer, after which time I will offer my invention to Mr. Thomas Tompion. I hope to hear from you in the affirmative, with a contract ready to be signed.
Yours truly,
For a third time she stopped and closed her eyes. Then she opened them, redipped her quill, and etched the name.
Ford Chase, Viscount Lakefield
If he had no ambition for trade, she figured she had enough for them both.
FORTY-SIX
“MOVE ASIDE, if you will. Please. This is heavy.”
At the sound of Lord Lakefield’s voice, which she hadn’t heard for far too many days, Chrystabel looked up to see Violet scurry into her perfumery. The viscount and a footman followed close behind, an enormous machine held between them.
At least, she thought it was a machine.
“What is that?” she asked.
With some effort, the men maneuvered it to her worktable and set it down. “My thanks,” Ford said to the footman, who bowed and took his leave. “It’s a distillery, my lady.”
“A distillery?” The machine wasn’t like any distillery Chrystabel had ever seen. Well, besides her own, she hadn’t seen any distilleries other than the one her aunt Idonea had used to teach her how to make perfume. Which had looked very much like the one she owned now. Two wooden bowls,
