When the first faint tap of a pebble hitting her window startled her from her vengeful thoughts, she rolled over and closed her eyes. She wasn’t going anywhere.
At the second tap, her eyes popped open.
When a third pebble hit, she leapt out of bed, fully clothed except for her shoes. Odd, that—she’d honestly meant to go to sleep. But this incessant tapping was keeping her wakeful. She’d just slip back into her shoes, go downstairs, and tell him to leave.
On her way out into the corridor, she snatched up a cloak. Just in case she had to go outside in order to give him a piece of her mind.
It wasn’t until she was tiptoeing past Father and Mum’s chamber that she admitted the truth: She was going with him.
She was in love. Hopelessly, tragically, insensibly in love. And though she suspected all that would come of it was one more night in Ford’s company before her heart broke forever, well, she supposed she’d take what she could get.
Faith, did love make everyone pathetic? Or only her?
Had she not seen, just this afternoon, the very proof of his desperate need for her money? Ford Chase, who’d refused to sell his watch because aristocrats didn’t go into trade, was reduced to painting his own house, tending his own gardens. If that wasn’t dire straits, she didn’t know what was.
Yet some gullible part of her still held out hope that his circumstances were coincidental to—and not the cause of—his suit. Knowing how unlikely that was, dread coursed through her even as she trembled with anticipation.
They had a whole night ahead of them.
Whatever happened, Violet was determined to make her decision by the end of the night. If she couldn’t convince herself of his sincerity by then, she never would. And if she remained unconvinced…she would walk away. She could never pledge herself wholeheartedly to a man she didn’t trust.
Better to spend the rest of her days lonely in the arms of her family than lonely in a tarnished dream.
She’d only just slipped out the door when she found herself caught up and swung in a wide circle. “I feared you weren’t coming!”
“Hush!” she admonished in a sharp whisper. “We’ll be caught.”
“Then you’ll be forced to marry me.” Sounding not at all displeased with that possibility, he set her on her feet. “Apologies, my love—I promised not to touch you. It won’t happen again.”
“Um, right.” She cleared her throat. “I appreciate that.”
“Do you?” His smile let her know her disappointment was obvious.
She decided not to dignify that with a response.
“I’m cold,” she said instead, hoping he’d mistake her trembling for shivering. “Let’s go.”
UPSTAIRS, CHRYSTABEL let the curtain drop closed. “She’s not alone, Joseph. Ford was waiting.”
“I told you Violet was too smart a girl to go wandering off by herself. Even if she wasn’t bright enough to realize we’d notice. Now come back to bed.”
“Should we go after her?” She perched herself on the mattress, wrapping her arms around one raised knee as she faced her husband. “Are we doing the right thing?”
“She’ll be safe with him.”
“My immediate concern is for her virtue, not her safety. Like the Master-piece says, she’s at that age—”
“Oh, Chrysanthemum, you said yourself we can trust in her good sense.” He took one of her hands. “And though I was skeptical at first, I have come around to your way of thinking. I know how overwhelming first loves can be—”
“You remember how it was with us,” she interjected with a smile.
He chuckled, his emerald green eyes crinkling around the edges. Those deep, expressive eyes were the first thing Chrystabel had noticed about him. And they hadn’t changed a whit since the day they’d met.
“Indeed. But unlike us,” he continued, “Violet has kept her head. Instead of rushing into marriage, she’s taking time to consider the wisdom of such a choice.”
“Too much time, if you ask me,” Chrystabel grumbled.
“I know you’re frustrated, darling.” Joseph tugged gently on the tail of her nighttime plait. “But I, for one, am proud of her.”
When Chrystabel didn’t immediately respond, he poked her shoulder. “Oh, all right,” she conceded, “I’m proud of her, too. I suppose.”
“Good. And you agree she’s earned our confidence?”
Chrystabel shrugged helplessly. “If seeing Ford alone will help convince her…and you’re certain nothing unseemly will happen…” With a gusty sigh, she settled back beneath the covers. “I would’t have to fret over her virtue if she’d just see sense—”
“She will. Lakefield is a clever fellow.” Joseph planted a kiss on his wife’s cheek. “He’ll think of something.”
FIFTY-NINE
“THIS ROOM doesn’t have a door,” Violet whispered.
“It’s a drawing room,” Ford said at a normal volume, rising from the faded red couch. “Most of them don’t.”
“Shh!” Violet kept picturing Hilda lurking in the corridor, and just her luck, Mum was planning to deliver more Spiced Rosewater perfume tomorrow.
“Relax.” Ford crossed to a side table where a jug and two goblets sat at the ready. It seemed he’d prepared for her arrival. “Hilda’s and Harry’s rooms are at the other end of the house and two floors up. They cannot hear us.”
Violet flinched at the clink of drinkware. “What if one of them comes downstairs to use the privy?“
“They won’t. They are neither of them used to strong drink, and I insisted on sharing a bottle of sherry sack with them after supper—of which I drank very little.” Ford grinned, crossing back to the couch with a cup of wine in each hand. “I guarantee no interruptions.”
Only somewhat reassured, she accepted her goblet and sipped the white Rhenish wine as Ford settled himself beside her. He sat rather close, although true to his word, no part of them actually touched. Her gaze strayed down to the scant inches that separated them.
After a stretch of silence, she cleared her
