‘‘That was not a philosopher. ’Twas Shakespeare in
Love’s Labour’s Lost
.’’
‘‘Oh.’’
‘‘But he was paraphrasing Plato. ‘Beholding beauty with the eye of the mind.’ ’’
Chrystabel grinned. ‘‘See, dear? Listen to Plato.’’
Rose and Lily burst into the room. ‘‘Look, Mum!’’
Lily waved a letter. ‘‘A messenger just delivered this from Lakefield. And he said he was instructed to wait for an answer.’’
‘‘The oldest messenger I’ve ever seen,’’ Rose added.
‘‘He was bald.’’ She said it as though that were the most disgusting thing she could imagine.
‘‘That’s not a messenger—that’s Harry, Lord Lakefield’s houseman.’’ As she’d hurried Rowan out the door, Violet had seen Hilda’s husband, cowering in a corner while his wife scolded him for his part in Jewel’s prank. The man was quite definitely bald, although Violet hadn’t found that at all off-putting.
Maybe beauty
was
in the eye of the beholder.
She rose and went to her sisters. ‘‘Let me see the letter.’’ She snatched it from Lily’s hand.
‘‘ ’Tis not for you,’’ Rose said, grabbing it from Violet. ‘‘It is addressed to Rowan.’’ So saying, she slipped a fingernail beneath the sloppy red wax seal and snapped it off.
‘‘Rose!’’ Chrystabel chided.
‘‘You wouldn’t want to just give him a letter without reading it first, Mum, would you? It could be improper for one so young.’’ Without waiting for her mother’s answer, Rose scanned the page. ‘‘The handwriting is rather messy,’’ she commented, then started reading.
‘‘ ‘Dear Rowan.’ ’’ She looked up. ‘‘Rather familiar salute, do you not think?’’
‘‘Goodness, Rose,’’ Lily said, uncharacteristically impatient. ‘‘Must you criticize every word?’’ She snatched the letter back from her sister. ‘‘ ‘Dear Rowan,’ ’’ she repeated. ‘‘ ‘I am sorry about your clothes. But it was funny. I hope you will come see the stars. Love, Jewel.’ ’’
‘‘ ‘Love, Jewel?’ Love?’’ Violet rolled her eyes toward the plastered ceiling. The murky curlicues up there seemed in keeping with the little girl’s intricate seduction.
Lily released a romantic sigh. ‘‘Yesterday when you brought Rowan back, you said Jewel was in love.’’
‘‘I was exaggerating. And to write it . . .’’ She couldn’t imagine declaring herself so casually on a piece of paper. Writing was permanent, important.
Once something was in writing, it was there forever.
’Twas one of the reasons she burned to publish a book.
‘‘I’m in love, too,’’ Rose declared.
Violet blinked. ‘‘With Rowan?’’
‘‘With Lord Lakefield, you goose. He’s so gorgeous.
And to instruct his niece to write a letter to Rowan . . .
well, it just goes to prove what a romantic he is.’’
Looking rather theatrical, she laid a graceful hand on her chest, exposed in the low neckline of her periwinkle gown. ‘‘Why, ’tis almost enough to make me over-look the fact that he’s poor as a church mouse.’’
‘‘What a thing to say, Rose!’’
Her hand dropped. ‘‘Well, lucky for me, it doesn’t matter, does it? Thanks to Grandpapa, when I turn twenty-one I’ll have enough money to nab whomever I like, rich or destitute.’’
Violet usually tried to be patient, but she couldn’t help gritting her teeth. ‘‘Thanks to providence, that won’t be for four years, by which time we can hope you will have grown up.’’
‘‘Girls,’’ Chrystabel warned. ‘‘That’s enough.’’ She turned to Violet. ‘‘Will you be taking Rowan to see the stars?’’
‘‘I’ll bring him,’’ Rose offered.
Taking a cue from her husband, Chrystabel pretended not to hear. ‘‘Violet?’’
‘‘Yes, I’ll do it, Mum,’’ Violet said with an elaborate sigh.
But it was mostly for show. She had to admit, she was curious to see the stars. And for some odd reason, she felt a need to save Ford from a frivolous girl like her sister. Not that she didn’t love Rose, but a man of his intellect deserved someone whose beauty was more than skin-deep.
And it
was
very well done of him to have made Jewel write an apology, though she wondered how he could have neglected to supervise its contents before sending the letter.
Hitching herself forward in one of the drawing room’s faded red chairs, Jewel jumped one of Ford’s checkers with hers and palmed her new captive. ‘‘Your turn. Will Rowan come tonight, do you think?’’
‘‘I know not whether he might come. I don’t understand children.’’
‘‘But Uncle Ford, you like children, don’t you?’’
He’d never thought he had. But as he looked at his charming niece, he didn’t have the heart to say so. ‘‘I like you.’’ Studying his position on the black-and-white board, he lifted one of his dark-stained counters.
‘‘And I’d wager Rowan does, too,’’ he added to put a smile on her face. ‘‘He seemed much more fond of you after your jest. That was brilliant, baby. You certainly know your way to a young man’s heart.’’
Click-click-click.
Three diagonal jumps over her natural wood pieces, and his darker man was at her end of the board. ‘‘King me,’’ he said with a self-satisfied smile.
Draughts. He was reduced to playing draughts. And she’d beaten him three times already. He couldn’t remember the last time someone had beaten him at draughts; he must have been seven years old.
For all his intentions to come home to Lakefield and bury himself in intellectual pursuits, the opposite seemed to be happening. He was concentrating on children and fretting over his shabby estate. Rather than unlocking the secrets of the universe, his efforts were focused on convincing a lady named Violet to spend as much time here as possible.
Jewel crowned his piece with one of the hostages she’d taken. They both looked up as Hilda came in.
‘‘Where is Harry?’’ the housekeeper demanded. ‘‘He seems to have disappeared.’’
Ford shrugged. ‘‘I know not.’’ There didn’t seem to be much he knew these days.
‘‘He went to Rowan’s house,’’ Jewel said nonchalantly, jumping two more of his men.
Hilda smoothed her wide white apron. ‘‘And why is that?’’
‘‘I asked him to take a letter there.’’
‘‘A letter?’’ Raking his fingers through his hair, Ford frowned at the board, where his pieces seemed to be disappearing at an alarming rate.
‘‘A letter to Rowan,’’ his niece clarified. ‘‘An ap-ap—’’ She glared at him, as though daring him to help her. ‘‘An a-pol-o-gy.’’
‘‘You wrote a letter?’’ Hilda asked.
‘‘You wrote a letter?’’ Ford echoed. ‘‘All by yourself?’’
‘‘Well, I know how to write, you know. Mama taught me. What is so hard about that?’’
Ford took his turn, removing none of Jewel’s pieces.
‘‘ ’Tis not the writing of it, baby, ’tis thinking to do so in the first place. I’m very impressed.’’
‘‘Mama says even a tomboy should have good manners.’’
‘‘I like the way your mother thinks,’’ Hilda said.
‘‘Besides, I like getting letters. Nobody ever sends me letters.’’ Melting at her pout, Ford made a mental note to send her a letter after she went home. ‘‘I thought a letter might make Rowan like me.’’
‘‘He likes you,’’ came a voice from the doorway.
Harry walked in, his florid face split by a big smile.
Suddenly Hilda’s face wore a frown instead. ‘‘You could tell me when you leave,’’ she scolded, then immediately bustled out past him.
‘‘Women,’’ Harry muttered. ‘‘Always so demanding.’’ He turned to Jewel with a courtly bow. ‘‘Present company excepted, of course.’’
Ford stared. Clearly the girl had won him over. Just as she had Rowan.
She looked so innocent in her powder blue gown.
So young and vulnerable. But his niece apparently had fully developed her feminine wiles and ingenuity.
Jewel bounced on the ancient chair, so hard he feared it might break. ‘‘What did Rowan say?’’
‘‘Well, I didn’t talk to him, you understand.’’ Harry related the information as seriously as if he were a hired spy. ‘‘But his sister came out and said he would visit after dark to see the stars.’’
Jewel squealed and wriggled in her chair, so excited she botched her next few moves.
As a consequence, Ford won the game, though he too felt a twinge of excitement. He realized he was looking forward to the visit of the boy—and his intriguing older sister.
Rowan climbed into the carriage and motioned his sister after him. ‘‘Hurry, Violet. ’Tis dark already.’’
‘‘The sky isn’t going away.’’ Still amazed his attitude had reversed so quickly, Violet took her cloak from her mother and settled the forest green velvet over her shoulders. ‘‘Where is Margaret?’’
‘‘I gave her the evening off, dear. Hilda and Harry will be there. And Lord Lakefield is a gentleman. I’m sure we can trust him to behave.’’
Especially with the likes of her, Violet imagined, wondering why she found that familiar truth suddenly distressing.
‘‘I’ve instructed Willets to come back for you at ten,’’ Chrystabel added, referring to their coachman.
‘‘Two hours ought to be plenty long enough to stare at the sky.’’
Violet looked up. ‘‘I wonder what I might see there?’’ Except for a milky blur, Violet had never seen the stars.
‘‘The stars are beautiful,’’ her mother said. ‘‘Like diamonds sparkling on a black velvet gown.’’
Smiling at the fanciful description, Violet gazed at the heavens. She wondered if the stars really twinkled, and if she might be able to wish on one.
Excitement fluttered in her stomach. ‘‘I’ll see you later, then, Mum.’’ She kissed her mother’s floral-scented cheek and followed Rowan into the carriage.
A short while later they mounted Lakefield House’s steps. Rowan didn’t hide behind Violet this time.
Jewel opened the door before Violet could lift the knocker, but Violet had anticipated that and didn’t fall into the house.
Too bad, since Ford was there to catch her.
He was still wearing the nice suit, making her feel underdressed in her simple cotton gown. But that was absurd—they were only here to look at the sky.
Instead of ushering her in, he stepped outside, a bit too close for her comfort. ‘‘I have the telescope set up in the garden,’’ he said. ‘‘Follow me.’’
For such a tall man, he moved gracefully. As he headed down the steps, she realized she’d been holding her breath.
Breathe
, she commanded herself. This was ridiculous.
He was just a man. She couldn’t remember ever being this nervous around one, but that was probably since she’d done an admirable job of avoiding them altogether.
Surely these feelings would disappear once she got to know him better. Which she seemed destined to do should Rowan have his way.
Holding a torch, Ford led her around the side of the house and down a path toward an area so overgrown she’d be loathe to call it a garden. More like a jungle, she thought, hiding a smile.
The children tagged along behind, their voices coming out of the darkness. ‘‘Are you angry with me?’’
Jewel asked Rowan.
He seemed to consider for a moment. ‘‘Will you help me plan a jest on my sisters?’’
‘‘Of course I will.’’
‘‘Then I’m not angry.’’
Listening to the exchange, Violet made a mental note to be on the alert for ‘‘jests.’’ If Rowan thought gluing someone to a chair was acceptable, God knew what he and Jewel would come up with together.
In the midst of a tangle of vines sat a ring of scraggly hedges. They all followed Ford through an opening in the greenery. A new one, from the looks of it.
‘‘Uncle Ford hacked at the plants with an ax today,’’
Jewel proudly informed them. ‘‘After Harry came back and said you would come. Wasn’t that nice?’’
Violet thought she heard Ford groan.
A circle of wooden benches looked newly uncovered as well. Apparently he’d been busy. In the center, atop a stone sundial, a long tube sat balanced on three spindly legs.
Ford gestured at it with a flourish. ‘‘The telescope.’’
‘‘How nice,’’ she replied, hoping she sounded suitably impressed. But the telescope was not exactly awe-inspiring. Just a skinny, thin thing. Her hopes plummeted. This did not look like an object that could work magic.
‘‘Quarter moon tonight,’’ he said, grasping the tube and maneuvering it to point in the moon’s direction.
Curious, Violet moved closer. Over the fresh scent of cut plant life, she could smell his own fragrance, something spicy. And a trace of scented soap. Patchouli, she decided, recalling the aroma from one of her mother’s vials. Some years ago, Father had arranged for a number of the minty shrubs to be brought from India. He’d planted them in his own magnificent garden so Mum could distill the leaves.
‘‘A partial moon is fortunate for viewing.’’ Ford had closed one eye, the other focusing through the tube.
‘‘A full moon can be too bright and make the stars around it fade.’’ He made a final adjustment. ‘‘Would you like to see?’’
‘‘Me first!’’ Jewel said.
Rowan jumped up and down. ‘‘No, me!’’
Jewel stepped in front of him. ‘‘Me!’’
‘‘Well, normally I’d say ladies first,’’ Ford said, ‘‘but seeing as how Rowan suffered this afternoon, I think he should have the first peek. Hurry, though, or you won’t be able to see it.’’ Since Rowan was so short, Ford lifted the boy to the eyepiece.
‘‘Zounds,’’ Rowan breathed. ‘‘There are big, dark spots on it.’’
‘‘They’re called craters.’’ Ford raised a foot to the pedestal of the sundial and settled Rowan on his knee, looking more comfortable with the boy than Violet would have expected. ‘‘What do you think of it?’’
‘‘I wish to fly up there and visit.’’
‘‘Me, too.’’ Ford laughed. ‘‘But I expect neither of us will get our wish.’’
Now Jewel was jumping up and down. ‘‘I want to see. Oh, please let me see!’’
‘‘Very well.’’ Ford set Rowan down, then readjusted the telescope before lifting his niece. ‘‘Hurry, so Lady Violet can have a turn.’’
‘‘Oooh,’’ Jewel said.
‘‘Why must she hurry?’’ Violet wondered. ‘‘The moon stays out all night.’’
‘‘Yes, but the Earth moves, you see—it spins. That’s why we have night and then day. And because of the spinning, we’re moving relative to the moon, so it doesn’t stay in the telescope’s sight for very long.’’ He set his niece on her feet and waved Violet toward the instrument. ‘‘Your turn.’’