“Air,” Ford said.
“What?”
“That’s the alchemical symbol for air. Or one of them. There are hundreds of similar symbols, some common, some not. Many whose meanings have been lost, but I can identify a number of them.”
Excitement lit Rand’s gray eyes. “So even though I cannot read the word beside that symbol—which is gibberish, I suspect—when I find it in the text, I’ll know it means air.” He smeared the puddle, then used a finger to draw another mark. “How about this one?”
Ford frowned at the squiggle. “I don’t recognize that.”
“And this?”
A circle with three dots that suggested eyes and a nose. “That’s a human skull.”
Rand grimaced. “You mean a dead person?”
“Yes. A skull can be powdered and—”
“Never mind. I’d rather not know.” He smoothed the liquid and sketched another design. “What’s this?”
It looked like the letter I with an arrow curving up through it. “That’s an instruction, not an ingredient. It means to filter.”
After four more tries, one of which Ford could identify and three which he couldn’t, Rand gave up. “I cannot remember any more. We’ll fetch the book later, and you can write down the ones you know. But, Ford…”
His friend’s gaze looked serious. “Tell it straight, Rand.”
“Don’t get your hopes up, will you? It’s a single page of clues, and the symbols are few compared to all the other things I find undecipherable. Even with this help, the rest of it could take years.”
Something fisted in Ford’s middle. Or rather, the fist tightened—it had been there for days already. “I don’t have years. Not if I want Violet.”
“Ah. It’s like that, is it?” Rand signaled for another round. “Tell me.”
Though Ford normally wouldn’t, his tongue was loosened by ale—and something akin to desperation. “My family approves. Her parents approve. But Violet refuses to marry for anything other than—”
Rand perked up when a comely serving maid arrived with two more ales. Smoothing his mustache, he flipped her a coin. “My thanks,” he said in a deepened voice. After watching her retreat, he turned back to Ford and his speech returned to normal. “You can’t mean Lady Violet refused you? Most women would leap at the chance to wed a Chase, given your family’s connections to King Charles. And most fathers would insist on it.”
“The Ashcrofts are not ‘most’ people. Their daughters are allowed to make their own decisions. And they have the most preposterous family motto: Interroga Conformationem.”
“Question Convention?” Rand’s lips quirked with amusement. “Regardless, she should choose you. For security.” He took a gulp of ale. “Even without the Philosopher’s Stone, you’re hardly a pauper. Take her to Cainewood if she wishes to live in luxury.”
“I don’t want to live at Cainewood.” He was tired of being a guest in someone else’s home. He’d much rather be in charge of his own life. “Anyway, it’s not luxury that Violet wants. She’s not a frilly sort of girl, and she has her own money.”
“Ah. I remember. Given to her by the eccentric grandfather. To ‘leave her mark on the world.’”
“Yes. And being familiar with Lakefield’s, um, deficiencies, she’s convinced herself I must be after her inheritance—which I’m not! I love her.”
Rand’s eyebrows shot up. “Did you tell her that?”
“Repeatedly. In every way I know how.” Closing his eyes, Ford lowered his head and raked both hands through his hair.
When he looked up, Rand wore an expression of sympathy. Or disbelief. Or maybe both.
“Man, you’ve got it bad.” Rand drained the rest of his ale. “I’ve never told a girl that.”
Ford eyed his young friend with skepticism. “When would you have had occasion to?”
“Pah!” Rand lobbed a bit of pie crust in Ford’s direction. “I’ve been involved with many women, I’ll have you know.”
“Oh? In the few months since I left here?” Dusting pie crust off his cravat, Ford raised a brow. “Do any of these women have names?”
“Of course they do,” Rand said, his face going slightly pink. He jutted out his chin. “But a gentleman doesn’t kiss and tell.”
Ford snorted. “That’s what I thought.”
FIFTY-SIX
SO HE WASN’T going to be making gold anytime soon. Their minds muddled by several more ales, Ford and Rand had concluded that didn’t mean he had to give up on marrying Violet. All he had to do was convince her he loved her, not her money, which shouldn’t be an impossible task.
First, they decided, he had to keep showing her how he felt. He’d made a good start there, Ford declared in a drunken boast. Enough stolen kisses ought to eventually wear her down. It was only a matter of time before he became part of her the same way she had become part of him.
Rand groaned at that sentimental slop and ordered another round.
Second, Ford would change his priorities, put managing the estate first and relegate his science to a hobby. He’d already decided he was willing to do that and told both Violet and her mother as much. And it was infinitely more palatable than the alternative, which was losing Violet.
Love changed a man.
Of course, it would be a good while before the estate earned an income sufficient to pay off all the debts, but in the meantime, Ford and Rand had reasoned, if he fixed up Lakefield, it wouldn’t keep reminding Violet of his temporary lack of finances.
Which was why he was now outside, hacking away at his garden.
Hilda approached, bearing a tankard of fresh lemonade.
“A gift from heaven.” He thunked his ax into the ground and held the cold drink against his forehead.
Hilda settled her hands on her wide hips. “Just what do you think you’re doing out here?”
“Cleaning up.” He gulped greedily. “Then I’ll plant.”
“Plant what?”
“I’m not sure. I’ll think about that when I get there.” He knew zero about plants, other
