Violet (Flower Trilogy) (33 page)

Chrystabel turned to face her, hope leaping in her eyes. ‘‘And what did you say?’’

‘‘I told him no,’’ she said, and watched that hope fade.

Regret filled her heart. Faith, she wished she’d said yes. At the moment she’d refused him, she’d been feeling closer to him than she’d imagined possible.

Closer to him than she’d felt to any other person ever.

She’d wanted to believe his offer was from the heart, that he loved her as he claimed, unreservedly. More than anything, she’d wanted to say yes.

But he’d just finished seducing her, after all. After taking her maidenhead, only a bounder would fail to offer a wedding in return. And all she could think at the time was that his offer hadn’t come from the heart—that it had been from duty instead. That she would be foolish to believe their lovemaking changed anything.

‘‘I told him no, Mum,’’ she repeated. ‘‘Do you not see? I want a marriage like you have, or none at all . . .’’

‘‘What makes you think you wouldn’t have that with him?’’

She wished she could explain it, but ’twas all too confused in her head. Maybe she
could
have that with him. She just didn’t know for sure, and until she did—

Mum was staring at her, waiting for an answer. An answer she didn’t have. ‘‘You’re not going to make me marry him, are you?’’

‘‘I’m a good judge of people,’’ Mum said quietly,

‘‘which is why I am so good at arranging marriages. I believe Ford is a good man. I also believe that he truly loves you. I’ve seen it in his actions and on his face. However, I would never make you marry anyone. I thought you knew that.’’

Tears sprang to Violet’s eyes. She felt relieved and frustrated all at once. A tiny part of her
wished
Mum would make her marry Ford, but that wasn’t the thinking part, the part of herself she trusted.

‘‘Your father and I raised you girls to think for yourselves,’’ Mum continued. ‘‘A folly for which we’ve suffered ridicule all our days. But the Lord knows, after all these years, we’d be fools to make you do anything now. You’re not likely to put up with it, and your sisters would stand beside you, would they not?’’

Despite Violet’s mood, a crooked smile curved her lips. No matter their constant bickering, her sisters would always be there for her. ’Twas comforting to know some things never changed.

Tomorrow all this fuss over turning twenty-one would be finished. And now that she’d refused his proposal, soon enough Ford would leave for London, probably not to return for months or years.

Everything would go back to the way it had been—

except for Violet herself.

Mum turned back to the window. ‘‘He’s here. No,
they’re
here.’’

‘‘Who?’’ she demanded. ‘‘Mum, have you invited someone without telling me?’’ She didn’t even want to see Ford today, and not only because she was sure she’d feel awkward with him after last night. She didn’t want to face anyone but her family on this, the official first day of her spinsterhood.

‘‘I would never have invited anyone else without asking you first. But there are others on the barge, too.’’

‘‘Harry,’’ Violet said with not a little relief. ‘‘And the stable hands.’’ She headed for the window. ‘‘He uses them as crew—’’ She broke off, staring toward the river. ‘‘Egad,’’ she breathed. Horror struck her heart. ‘‘Who
are
all those people?’’

By the time she made it downstairs and into the gardens, Violet was shaking, although whether from frustration, anger, or fear she knew not. But when she glimpsed Ford, she stopped and stared.

A little girl rode on his shoulders, a little boy hung on his leg, and a baby lay cradled in his arms.

Her heart suddenly hurt. He would make such a good father. And God knew—
she
knew after last night, she mentally amended with a blush—she would certainly enjoy making babies with him.

Her mother was right. She should have said yes.

The shaking stopped, replaced by trembling of another sort. If only he would still have her, she
would
say yes. And she wanted to ask him now. Whoever they were, she wanted all of these people gone. Despite her fears of awkwardness with Ford, she wanted to talk to him. She needed to know if she had ruined her chances last night—

‘‘Violet!’’ Spotting her, Ford came closer with an apologetic smile, dragging the little boy behind him.

‘‘This is my family.’’

His family. If she’d been thinking clearly at all, she would have realized that, of course. He proceeded to introduce everyone, and she smiled and exchanged pleasantries, trying to memorize names and faces. The two dark-haired men were his older brothers, the redhead his twin sister. Although Ford was the only one of the four blessed with those incredible blue eyes— the rest had eyes of green—they all bore a marked resemblance to one another, and she thought she might be able to keep them straight. Their spouses and all those children, however, were another matter altogether.

And she wanted to make a good impression. Suddenly that seemed very important.

‘‘Are those spectacles?’’ one of the women asked.

The raven-haired one. Egad, who was she?

Disgusted with herself, Violet pulled off the eyeglasses and forced a smile. ‘‘Yes. Ford made them for me and designed these frames to hold them on my face.’’ She handed them to the beautiful, amethyst-eyed woman. ‘‘The members of the Royal Society were all very impressed.’’

As had happened at Gresham College, they all passed them around, exclaiming over them and trying them on and praising Ford for his brilliance. Watching with a plastered-on smile and a sinking heart, she realized she couldn’t remember who anyone was except Jewel. Too many names, too many faces. Too many people at a party that was supposed to have been private.

She wasn’t happy about that, but she was happy to be by Ford’s side. Belying her expectations, he was treating her with the same mix of teasing respect he always had. Perhaps he did still want her.

She needed to know. She wanted nothing more than to slip away and lose herself in his arms. Tell him she would be honored to become his wife. But his family was here. And hers.

The sun was hurting her eyes, or maybe it was all these people making her head ache. Her blurred gaze wandered to the summerhouse. One door stood open, and it looked blessedly dim and peaceful inside.

Maybe . . .

Her mother rang a bell, and everyone looked up.

‘‘My husband wishes to speak,’’ she called.

Egad, Violet thought, Father was going to embarrass her in front of Ford and all his family.

One of Ford’s sisters-in-law returned her spectacles, and she shoved them back on her face. Everyone began moving to where her father stood by a table covered by a bright white cloth. As they walked, Ford slipped an arm around her waist, and she glanced around to see who might have noticed, catching the eye of one of his brothers. Jason or Colin? Whoever he was, he winked at her, and despite everything, a smile burst free.

With all her heart, she wanted Ford’s family to like her.

She turned when her father cleared his throat.

‘‘Due to the terms of my own father’s will, the age of one-and-twenty holds unusual significance in our family. And I’ve two special surprises,’’ he announced,

‘‘to celebrate our Violet’s birthday.’’

Theatrically he whipped off the cloth, revealing a table covered in an artistic arrangement of fruits and fancy sweets, plus one homely cherry tart set off to the side.

‘‘A pineapple?’’ Lily gasped, staring at the centerpiece, a prickly brown fruit raised on a pedestal. ‘‘Is it real? Wherever did you get a pineapple?’’ Pineapples were so rare in this part of the world, King Charles had himself painted with one.

‘‘May I try it?’’ Rowan yelled. ‘‘Oh, please, please!’’

‘‘Please, please!’’ four other children echoed, taking up the chant. ‘‘Please!’’

‘‘There is not enough for everyone,’’ Ford said loudly, sweeping his siblings with an accusatory glance before looking back to the young ones. ‘‘You were not invited here, remember?’’

‘‘Nonsense,’’ Father said. ‘‘Yes, it is real, and yes, everyone may try it. A bite, at least. But first’’—he paused and looked toward the door—‘‘here comes the second surprise.’’ Four housemaids and two footmen approached, each holding a thick green bottle in one hand and stemmed glasses in the other. ‘‘The new French champagne. Who will have a taste?’’

‘‘Me!’’ Rowan yelled. ‘‘Me! Me!’’

‘‘Me! Me!’’ Ford’s nephews and nieces joined in.

‘‘You’re too young,’’ Rose told Rowan. ‘‘Champagne is too costly to water down.’’

Father looked to Mum. ‘‘Wash her gown in champagne?’’

‘‘Water down the champagne, darling. But we’ll not be doing that.’’ Mum scanned the gathering. ‘‘Rowan may certainly have a taste,’’ she announced, ‘‘as may anyone else whose parents agree.’’

The maids poured while the footmen bore the esteemed pineapple back to the kitchen to be sliced.

Father handed the glasses around and raised his in a toast. ‘‘To our Violet, on the anniversary of her birth.’’ The center of attention, Violet felt her face burn. ‘‘May she live in health and happiness another one-and-twenty years times three.’’

‘‘Here, here,’’ everyone said, smiling in her direction.

Whoever they all were.

She looked down and took a cautious sip. ‘‘ ’Tis like drinking stars,’’ she breathed. She’d never tasted anything like it. It tickled the back of her throat.

Rowan spewed his mouthful onto the grass.

‘‘Zounds, I’ve got bubbles up my nose. Ick.’’ Violet cringed at his lack of manners, but at least no one had to worry about him drinking too much, since he immediately set down his glass.

‘‘ ’Tis an acquired taste,’’ a man told him. The blond one. Trick, Violet remembered, congratulating herself.

Well, that was one memorable name.

Lily looked awed. ‘‘Have you drunk it before?’’

He nodded. ‘‘ ’Tis all the rage at Court.’’

‘‘Have you been to Court, then?’’ Rowan asked.

Jewel elbowed him. ‘‘Of course he has, you goose.

He’s a duke!’’

Rose sighed. ‘‘I’ve never been to Court. Father will not allow it. He says ’tis not a place for nice, unmarried girls.’’

‘‘A wise decision,’’ Ford said dryly. He dropped his voice to whisper in Violet’s ear. ‘‘The bucks there would have an innocent like her for supper.’’ Her eyes widened at this news, though she felt certain Rose could handle herself. ‘‘Have you never been, either?’’

he asked.

Sipping the sparkly drink, she shook her head. ‘‘Is it beautiful?’’

‘‘Yes, and it can be amusing or boring, depending on who deigns to show up that particular day. But I was raised with the Court in exile . . . I imagine you would find it exciting.’’

She’d felt more at home among the Royal Society than she’d expected. ‘‘Maybe now that I’m twenty-one, Father will take me someday.’’

‘‘I was thinking
I
could take you,’’ he said with that devilish smile. ‘‘After we’re wed.’’

He sounded terribly confident, which normally would have irked her. But this time, her heart sang instead. Despite her refusal last night, he hadn’t given up on her. Held captive by his gaze, she remembered how it had felt to lie with him, skin to skin, heart to heart. A rush of warmth shuddered through her.

She wanted to tell him yes. Here. Now. Her gaze went wistfully to the summerhouse again, but this was no time to sneak away, not while she was the center of attention. Yet she was dying to tell him, and if he had whispered a private message to her, she could do the same . . .

She leaned up on her toes. ‘‘Ford—’’ she started.

‘‘The pineapple!’’ Rowan squealed, and the moment was lost. They all turned to see a footman approaching, bearing a silver bowl filled with small cubes of yellow fruit. ‘‘I hope I like it better than the champagne,’’ Rowan said as the man put it down.

‘‘Have you tried
this
already?’’ Rose asked Trick.

He shook his head. ‘‘Never.’’

‘‘I’ve seen pineapples before at parties, but only as a decorative centerpiece,’’ Ford’s sister said. ‘‘I suspect someone is making a fortune renting the things so people can impress their friends.’’

Mum laughed at the idea. ‘‘Do you expect they actually spoil before anyone eats them?’’

‘‘I imagine so,’’ one of those dark-haired brothers said. Jason, she thought as he curved his arm around the waist of the only blond woman in the group.

‘‘From what I understand, most of them rot on the way from the islands. But this one looks perfect.’’

‘‘I hope it is,’’ Father said. ‘‘I’ve heard it said that if I dry the crown for a couple of days, I may be able to plant it and grow pineapples, providing I can keep the plant warm during the winter. They are supposed to have pink flowers that look like a pinecone.’’ He lifted the bowl and held a spoon out to Ford. ‘‘As our guest, will you honor us by trying it first?’’

‘‘But this is Violet’s day.’’ Ford took the spoon, scooped up a cube, and moved it toward her lips.

He’d fed her in the piazza at Gresham, and now, as then, it seemed a most intimate act. Her gaze darted around to see how their families were reacting, but everyone only looked expectant. And the moment the fruit touched her tongue, she forgot to be self-conscious. Flavor burst in her mouth.

‘‘Oh my,’’ she said, chewing slowly. ‘‘ ’Tis the sweetest thing I’ve ever tasted!’’

The others scrambled to try it.

‘‘Do you like it?’’ Violet asked Rowan.

He grinned, yellow pulp showing through his teeth.

‘‘ ’Tis much better than champagne.’’

‘‘Now, that I’m not so sure of.’’ Lily daintily sipped from her glass. ‘‘The champagne is light and delicious, while the pineapple is sweet but . . .’’

‘‘Acidic?’’ Ford suggested.

‘‘Well, I’m not exactly certain what that means, but it sounds about right.’’

He smiled and grabbed a bottle to refill her glass.

‘‘Acids react with a base to form a salt.’’

Jewel looked up to the sister-in-law with the beautiful raven hair. ‘‘Uncle Ford is smart, isn’t he, Mama?’’

‘‘I assume your Uncle Ford is
very
smart,’’ the woman said with a smile, ‘‘since I only understand half of what he says.’’