Jewel’s mother. Violet committed that to memory, trying to figure out which man was her husband. Probably the one who laughed now, then leaned down and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. Colin. She remembered Ford telling her Colin played practical jokes, so of course he would be Jewel’s father. ’Twas all coming together.
Rowan grinned at Jewel. ‘‘I am glad Violet had such an important birthday.’’
‘‘Me, too,’’ Lily said, sipping more champagne.
‘‘Me three,’’ Rose added, practically gulping hers.
If Violet didn’t miss her guess, her sisters were getting a bit tipsy.
Striving to relax, she looked around at everyone drinking champagne and chatting amiably. The sister-in-law with the straight tawny hair caught her eye and smiled. Jason’s wife, she thought happily, glad she was finally figuring out who was who. She liked them. They seemed friendly.
Then once again, Father cleared his throat. When nobody took heed, he raised Mum’s bell and gave it a shake. Violet winced, sure something else embarrassing was about to come out of his mouth.
‘‘This is quite a momentous occasion. As the oldest, our Violet is now the first to come into her inheritance. I hope you will save it and spend wisely, daughter.’’
Violet sighed. She’d been right. Sometimes Father could be so—
‘‘She can use it to buy a husband!’’ Rose announced with a tipsy giggle.
Violet wished the earth would open up and swallow her.
‘‘Now, Rose,’’ Mum chided, reaching to brush a bit of pineapple off Father’s surcoat.
‘‘ ’Twas but a jest!’’ Rose poured herself more champagne. ‘‘Can you people not take a jest?’’
But Rose was absolutely right; most women would use a large inheritance to buy a titled man’s name, and most men would be happy to accept that bargain.
Violet gulped at her own champagne, but she wasn’t feeling tipsy, just sick.
To think, mere minutes ago, she’d almost told Ford yes. Now doubts niggled at her again. She tipped back her head, letting the rest of the bubbly drink run down her throat, wishing it could restore her world to balance.
She was so confused. If she could just spirit Ford away from this crowd and talk to him, maybe she could tell whether he was sincere. After sharing her body with a man, a woman ought to be able to tell, 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 a moment to the summerhouse.’’
‘‘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 grabbed 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. ’Twas quiet in the summerhouse—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 crooked smile. ‘‘I’m well, Father.
Sort of like fine, old wine, aged but better for it.’’
‘‘You’re not so old,’’ he said, crossing his arms and leaning back against 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.’’ Pushing away from the wall, 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 is not worth living. But I am driving myself mad examining and reexamining.’’
Chewing on the grapes, he 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 babies 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 Masterpiece
to hear what they were saying.
Fairly certain one of the two babies belonged to Ford’s sister, Violet looked around, then blushed to see the fiery redhead in the shadows of a tree-lined path, passionately kissing her husband.
Once upon a time, she would have averted her eyes, but now the sight made her warm inside. She wanted that for herself, and she would not allow Rose’s thoughtless comment to change her mind. She wouldn’t let her old insecurities haunt her. No matter what her sister said, she was not buying a husband. Ford had told her 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 the corner of his mouth. ‘‘Rowan, did you drink chocolate?’’
‘‘Just a little,’’ he squeaked. ‘‘The champagne was icky.’’
‘‘Oh, Rowan!’’ Exasperated, she hauled him up.
‘‘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, a silent communication passing between them as she looked toward the summerhouse.
Seeming to appear out of nowhere, his sister touched her arm. ‘‘May we talk with you, Violet?’’
Her two sisters-in-law stood behind her. ‘‘Do you mind if we call you Violet?’’
‘‘N-no. 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? ’Tis quiet in there.’’
As they followed her silently, she braced for what she was sure would be an unpleasant barrage of questions as they assessed her worthiness for their brother.
But when the door closed behind them, Ford’s sister returned her tentative smile. ‘‘I’m Kendra, in case you don’t remember. And this is Amy and Cait.’’
Violet nodded, feeling rather outnumbered as she mentally noted who was who, hopefully once and for all. She didn’t want to make any mistakes. Dark-haired Amy was Jewel’s mother and Colin’s wife. Jason’s wife, Cait, had friendly hazel eyes. Her straight wheaten hair, while less than fashionable, seemed to suit her perfectly. She stood with a hand on her middle, and although her stomach looked flat, Violet wondered if she might be with child.
She wondered if she and Ford would ever have a child.
‘‘My brother is a good man,’’ Kendra announced without further ado.
‘‘A very good man,’’ Amy added.
‘‘A verra, verra good man,’’ Cait finished. Ford had told Violet that Cait was Scottish, so she was sure she had the right names with the right faces now.
But she was stunned. She backed up and sat on a bench. ‘‘I know he is good,’’ she said slowly. This was not the grilling she’d been expecting. Instead, were they trying to talk her into marrying him?
It seemed so. ‘‘He loves you,’’ Kendra said.
‘‘Very much.’’
‘‘Verra, verra much.’’
She didn’t know whether to laugh or just hug them for caring so deeply for Ford’s happiness. ‘‘He’s told me he loves me,’’ she assured them.
Kendra crossed her arms. ‘‘But you don’t believe him.’’ ’Twas a statement, not a question. ‘‘Look,’’ she said, dropping to sit beside her. ‘‘Let me tell you something. If Ford were looking for money, he could have married Lady Tabitha ages ago. She had pots full of it.’’
‘‘Lady Tabitha?’’
‘‘He courted her for years. But he never asked her to marry him. And do you know why?’’ Kendra didn’t wait for an answer. ‘‘He loved her not,’’ she finished with a decisive nod.
Violet shoved her spectacles higher on her nose.
What his family was doing here was very sweet. Verra, verra sweet, she thought with an inward smile. And she liked them very much. But she couldn’t figure out what Lady Tabitha had to do with anything. ‘‘What happened to her?’’
‘‘Right before he moved home to Lakefield, she surprised the hell out of him by marrying someone else,’’
Kendra said, surprising the hell out of Violet with that language.
But it fit her, somehow. Kendra was the most outspoken woman Violet had ever met. More outspoken than Rose, even.
‘‘Was he upset?’’ she asked carefully.
‘‘Of course he was. He’d expected to marry her someday, and his pride was wounded. But not his heart, because he’d never really cared. Which was why he’d never asked her to wed him, and why she eventually ran off and wed another. But he asked
you
to marry him, Violet.
You
he cares for.
You
he loves.’’
‘‘Very much,’’ Amy added.
‘‘Verra, verra much,’’ Violet said together with Cait, and they all laughed.
Twenty minutes later they spilled out of the summerhouse, best of friends, and she went in search of Ford, wanting more than ever to get him off alone.
But he was nowhere to be found.
At Lady Trentingham’s invitation, Ford walked with her in companionable silence along a path that took a meandering route to the river. All day, her speculative looks had been convincing him Violet had told her something.
He just wondered
what
.
‘‘She told you, didn’t she?’’ he finally asked.
In the dappled light that came through the trees, she stopped on the path and nodded. ‘‘Yes, she told me you proposed. We’re a close family. Some think us a bit odd.’’
They shared an easy smile, Ford relieved that apparently Violet hadn’t told her he’d stolen her virginity.
He wasn’t looking forward to dueling Lord Trentingham.
‘‘Your family seems close, too,’’ she said.
‘‘We are,’’ he agreed, knowing it was true, no matter how irritating they could be sometimes. ‘‘We lost our parents long ago at Worcester, so we’ve always leaned on one another.’’ By tacit agreement, they resumed walking, the gravel crunching beneath their shoes. ‘‘I am hoping to have a close family of my own soon,’’
he said carefully.
Still strolling, she met his gaze. ‘‘Violet fears you’re only pursuing her in order to get your hands on her inheritance.’’
Lady Trentingham was direct—in that way, she reminded him of his twin sister. But the news hurt, even though he’d suspected as much from the start. ‘‘How can she think that?’’ he wondered aloud. ‘‘I’ve told her I love her.’’ Despite everything, hearing those words from his mouth prompted an embarrassed half-smile. ‘‘I never thought I’d be sharing that with her mother.’’
‘‘And I would suggest you not tell her you did. If Violet knew I condone this match, she would run the other way. I’ve something of a reputation as a matchmaker, and my daughters are all dead set against becoming one of my statistics.’’
‘‘I’ll not breathe a word.’’
Condone this match
still rang in his ears, making his heart soar with premature glee. He’d hoped Violet’s parents weren’t an obstacle, but now he knew for sure. That left only the lady herself. ‘‘What can I do to convince her?’’
‘‘ ’Twill not be easy,’’ Lady Trentingham warned.
‘‘My daughter decided she was unmarriageable long before she met you. Old convictions are difficult to overcome.’’ She discreetly cleared her throat. ‘‘And I’m afraid the condition of your estate is doing little to convince her you’re not in need of her funds.’’
He’d known that, too. ‘‘What if I told you I
am
short of funds, but that’s not the reason I want to marry her?’’
They reached the river and turned, her brown eyes reminding him of Violet’s as she met his gaze for a long, silent moment. ‘‘I’ll give you points for honesty,’’
she said at last with a nod of approval. ‘‘But I fear