“Supper?” Ford repeated. “Lord Trentingham—”
“Forget it,” Violet told him. “We could stand here all night. Mum will explain when I’m not at the table.” She gave her father’s hand a squeeze, knowing he hadn’t heard her low comments. “I’ll see you later, Father.”
“What?”
“I’ll see you later!” she shouted and drew Ford away. “Sorry about that,” she said to him once Father had turned back to his gardening. “We yell a lot in this family, but we never mean anything by it.”
“If you’re thinking that will put me off, you’re wrong. My family yells, too. And none of us are deaf.” Ford led her around the corner of the house.
And there was that silly, old-fashioned barge.
She stopped in her tracks. “Where is your carriage?”
“It’s a beautiful evening,” he said, coaxing her along. “I thought to spend it on the river.”
He unleashed that brilliant smile of his, rendering her speechless as they crossed the lawn. And although she hadn’t tripped in weeks, she nearly did as he handed her onto the barge. Nodding to Harry and the stable hands to cast off, Ford drew her into the cramped, unsuitable cabin that contained nothing but a bed.
Only it wasn’t quite so unsuitable now. The bed had been removed, and in its place sat a little table and two chairs. The entire space was lit by dozens of flickering candles.
He’d made a wonderland for her again, this time on his elegantly decrepit barge. The table was covered with a soft pink cloth, and silver domes covered two plates. While she stood gaping, he leaned forward and swept off one of the domes.
“Supper,” he said. “Since Hilda’s culinary skills are a mite lacking, I had Harry fetch it from the cookshop in the village. I only pray it hasn’t all gone cold.”
Overwhelmed by the unsettling trembling in her heart, Violet laid a hand on her blue moiré stomacher. Her other fingers toyed with the end of her thick plait. Countless cheerful little flames warded off the approaching evening chill. And Ford’s expression of nervous hope warmed her as well, in an entirely different way.
But suddenly she felt small and silly, like a schoolgirl playing dress-up. This couldn’t be her life. These sorts of things weren’t supposed to happen to plain, sensible girls—they were supposed to happen to irresistible wood nymphs!
Something was wrong.
“Is something wrong?” he asked, looking concerned.
“No!”
She chewed her lip. Each time she and Ford met she only grew more confused. She knew now that she wanted him, and she sometimes felt that he wanted her. But she couldn’t be sure he wanted her in the way she wanted him to want her, if she even wanted that, considering where it might lead.
What if marriage wasn’t all that the Master-piece claimed? What if she traded her grand aspirations for a life full of heart tremblings and short breathings, only to discover it was all a horrible mistake—
Oh, hang it! This was ridiculous. For heaven’s sake, how could she hope to ever call herself a philosopher when she couldn’t even puzzle out her own feelings?
Two goblets sat on the table, the red wine in them gently swaying in rhythm with the barge’s movements. She raised one to her lips and took a long, unhurried sip, trying to slow her whirling thoughts. “Nothing’s wrong,” she finally said. “It’s only that I…I thought we were dining at Lakefield.”
He drew out a chair and waited for her to sit, then pulled the door shut. “I never said that. I only asked if you might take supper in my company tonight.” He seated himself across from her. The table was so small their knees touched. “Don’t you think this is more romantic?”
She wasn’t used to being romanced. She didn’t know how to react. “Where are we going?” she asked to change the subject. They were moving at a good clip already.
He shrugged one blue-velvet-clad shoulder. “Nowhere. Up, then back. We scientists call that perpetual motion,” he added with a smile.
She shifted uneasily. “Nowhere?”
“Just you and me and the river, food, wine, candlelight…is it not enough?” In the flickering light, his eyes looked dark and earnest. He reached across the table and took one of her hands, his lace cuff spilling over their joined fingers. “I want to apologize for the other day, for how our conversation went in the woods. And especially for how it ended.” He took a deep breath. “I care deeply for you, Violet.”
He cared deeply for her. Did that mean…?
“But I understand if you don’t care for me—yet,” he added quickly. “We’ve only been acquainted a scant few months. All I’m asking for is a chance to change your mind. To court you properly.”
She raised a brow. “You call this”—her gesture took in the intimate quarters and the two of them crammed together at their tiny table—“a proper courtship?”
He grinned. “Well, not too proper. But if you don’t like it—”
“No, I like it.”
He chuckled. “I’m glad. Does that mean you’ll give me another chance?”
She looked away, considering.
A proper courtship.
Other gentlemen had tried to court her as her eighteenth birthday approached—the same gentlemen who’d ignored her at every ball she’d ever attended, letting her hide in the corners without ever trying to coax her out. The same boys who, when she was younger, had huddled around her little sisters after church on Sunday, while she sat nearby with a book and pretended not to care. Faith, even when she was just five and Rose and Lily still babies, those same boys’ parents cooed over them while Violet stood by unnoticed.
Was Ford just a more convincing version of those boys?
When she failed to respond, he rose and turned to stick his head out the window. “Johnnie, my lady requires a bit of persuading. Music, please.”
Almost at once, the strains of a violin reached her ears.
Despite her distress, a laugh bubbled out of her. “You’ve thought of everything, haven’t you?”
“Nearly everything. I forgot about the cold night air. Wouldn’t want you
