She was so confused. If she could just spirit Ford away from this crowd and talk to him, really talk to him, maybe she could tell whether he was sincere. A grown woman of eighteen ought to be possessed of some feminine instincts, oughtn’t she?
With a sigh, she reached to pour herself more champagne.
“I think you may have had enough,” Father said, gently prying the glass from her clenched fingers. “Come with me to the summerhouse for a moment.”
“Not now, Father.”
“Always arguing.” He shook his head. “Chrysanthemum, Violet, Rose, and Lily…my lovely flowers always argue. Except for the ones in my garden. No wonder I like them so much.”
Violet couldn’t help but smile. He scooped a bunch of grapes off the table and started toward the summerhouse, leaving her to follow.
After shutting the door, he gazed at her fondly and wrapped her into a hug. It was quiet inside the structure—quiet enough that he could hear without her yelling. Quiet enough that she could hear her own heartbeat as she felt herself calming in his arms.
“How’s my eldest flower?” he asked, pulling back. “You looked upset there, for a bit.”
She couldn’t stay vexed with him. His speeches might have been embarrassing, but they were well intended, after all. To outsiders, he might seem rather addlepated, but that was only because he couldn’t hear well enough to participate in many conversations. Those close to him knew he was wise.
She gave him a wry smile. “I’m well, Father. Sort of like fine, old wine, aged but better for it.”
“You’re not so old,” he said, sitting down on one of the benches that lined the curved red-brick wall. “Don’t go consigning yourself to spinsterhood yet.”
She saw the truth in his face. “Mum told you Ford proposed.”
“You know we share everything.” He pulled four grapes off the bunch. “That’s what I want for you, Violet. Someone to share your life with.”
“I was sure I’d never have that. But now…”
“Yes?” He popped one of the grapes into his mouth.
“I don’t know. I’m confused. Socrates said the unexamined life isn’t worth living. But I’m driving myself mad examining and reexamining.”
Chewing on the grapes, he rose and wandered back to the door. “Sometimes,” he said quietly, “we just have to take a leap of faith. When the time comes, you’ll know.”
Would she? She felt inadequate to make such a decision. Philosophy, after all, taught one to question everything. And the single thing she’d been sure of all her life—that she would never find true love—she’d now caught herself rethinking.
She felt like she didn’t know anything anymore.
He handed her a grape. “Now go back out there and smile at your guests.”
They weren’t her guests, but as he opened the door, she decided that, for once, she’d be the flower that didn’t argue.
Besides, she really wanted to get Ford alone here in the summerhouse.
She stepped outside, blinking in the bright sunshine. Everyone had scattered. The children had organized themselves into a game of duck-duck-goose, and Jewel was “it.” On the far side of the garden, Ford was picnicking beneath the giant oak with his brothers and their wives, both of the women with babes in their laps. He looked over and waved, and she waved back, noting the others watching. They were discussing her, she was sure of it. She’d give up Aristotle’s Master-piece to hear what they were saying.
Fairly certain one of the two babies belonged to Ford’s sister, Violet scanned the other end of the grounds, then blushed to see the fiery redhead and her husband in the shadows of a tree-lined path, locked in a rather tender embrace.
She politely averted her eyes, though the sight made her smile. They reminded her of her parents and of the love she wanted for herself…and that she’d be daft to allow Rose’s thoughtless remark to hold her back. She wouldn’t let her old insecurities haunt her. No matter what her sister said, she wasn’t buying a husband. Ford had said he loved her, and she believed him.
She was ready to take that leap of faith.
With a new determination, she headed past the children toward Ford.
“Duck, duck, duck—” Rounding the circle, Jewel broke off. “Rowan, why do you keep scratching?”
He scraped his fingernails on his shirt. “I don’t know,” he said, raking his leg, then the back of one hand.
Jewel stepped into the circle and gasped. “Gads, you have red spots all over your face! Measles!”
Violet detoured into the circle, knowing her brother was entirely too lively to have measles. “Let me see.” She bent and peered into his face, wiping the remnants of cherry tart from his chin. “Rowan, did you drink chocolate?”
“Just a little,” he squeaked. “The champagne was icky.”
“Oh, Rowan!” Exasperated, she hauled him to his feet. “You know chocolate gives you hives. Now you’ll be scratching for days.”
“He looks funny,” a little girl said with a giggle.
“Funny, funny!” The other children took up the chant.
Jewel stepped closer and poked him on the chest. “You goose!” She burst out laughing.
Clearly mortified, Rowan ran for the house. All the adults rushed over to see what had happened, except for Mum, who followed Rowan.
This birthday was turning out every bit as miserable as Violet had feared.
She just wanted to be alone with Ford. Over the giggling children’s heads, she met his gaze, and a silent communication passed between them. She inclined her head toward the summerhouse, signaling him to meet her there.
Seeming to materialize out of nowhere, his sister touched her arm. “May we have a word with you, Violet?” Her two sisters-in-law stood behind her. “Do you mind if we call you Violet?”
“I…of course not. Not at all.” She sent Ford a questioning glance, but he just shrugged apologetically.
There was nothing for it, she thought with an inward sigh. She couldn’t rebuff his family. Her answer to his proposal would have to wait a bit longer.
She tried to muster a smile. “Shall we talk in the summerhouse? It’s quiet in there.”
As they
