Violet (Flower Trilogy) (43 page)

‘‘Twenty thousand?’’ She grabbed the letter from him. ‘‘Is that all they’ve offered?’’ she said, sounding disgusted.

‘‘All? All! Violet, ’tis twice the amount of your inheritance!’’

She looked up from the page. ‘‘But I asked for twenty-five. What makes them think they can get away with a contract for twenty?’’

He started laughing. And laughing. ‘‘T-t-t-twenty-five,’’ he forced out. ‘‘You asked for twenty-five.’’

‘‘And royalties. Was it not enough?’’ she asked. ‘‘I know your design is revolutionary, but I thought twenty-five thousand pounds was . . . well, you’re worth more than that, of course. You’re priceless.’’

‘‘
You’re
priceless,’’ he said. ‘‘Give me back that contract.’’

‘‘You’re not going to sign it, are you? I hope not.

They didn’t offer enough. We need to negotiate.’’

‘‘Oh, I’m signing it, Violet.’’ To make certain she wouldn’t stop him, he rolled the paper and stuck it in his breeches. ‘‘I wasn’t planning to do anything with the watch, remember? Thanks to you, I’m about to be a wealthy man.’’

Thanks to his ambitious, practical, intelligent wife—

a woman who embodied all the things he’d once thought unimportant in a female—‘‘someday’’ had just come a lot sooner than he’d ever dreamed.

His mind raced with plans. ‘‘I can sink more money into Lakefield or buy a second estate. Or both.’’ He grinned. ‘‘I can finance the publication of my brilliant wife’s book.’’

She cracked a small smile, a smile that stole his heart. ‘‘Do you suppose that can wait a while?’’ she asked. ‘‘I’m hoping to raise some children first, with your help.’’

She made him happy. Damn, he was happy. Happy with his wife, happy with his life.

‘‘Hmm,’’ he said, watching her suggestively. ‘‘I believe we’ll have to
make
those children first.’’ Then he lowered his lips to hers and poured all his love into a kiss.

‘‘Get up, lazybones, and get yourself dressed.’’

Violet was reading in bed when Ford burst into the chamber. ‘‘I’ve just had a message from Jason.

Cait is delivering their babe, and the family is gathering at Cainewood to celebrate. If we leave soon enough, you may even witness the birthing.’’

‘‘That would be nice,’’ she said dreamily, toying absently with the cover of her book.

‘‘What is that?’’ He walked closer. ‘‘
Aristotle’s
Masterpiece
again? Surely there is nothing in there you still don’t understand.’’ His lips curved in a half-smile, and he raised one devilish brow. ‘‘If so, I’d be willing to give you more lessons.’’

She sat up against the headboard and grinned. ‘‘I’m thinking I could give
you
lessons by now. But I’m suddenly interested in this particular chapter. Listen.’’

She patted the bed beside her and waited for him to sit. ‘‘ ‘Signs taken from the woman are these. The first day she feels a light quivering or chillness running through the whole body; a tickling in the womb, a little pain in the lower part of the belly—’ ’’

‘‘What the devil?’’

‘‘Just listen.’’ She turned the page. ‘‘ ‘Ten or twelve days after, the head is affected with giddiness, the eyes with dimness of sight—’ ’’

‘‘Violet—’’

Smiling to herself, she pulled off her spectacles.

‘‘ ‘—the breasts swell and grow hard, with some pain and prickling in them, the belly soon sinketh, and riseth again by degrees, with a hardness about the navel.’ ’’ Her husband’s breathing sounded a bit ragged, but she kept reading. ‘‘ ‘The nipples of the breast grow red, the heart beats inordinately, the natural appetite is dejected, yet she has a longing desire for—’ ’’

Ford’s hand clenched her arm. ‘‘What is the title of this chapter?’’

She turned back to the previous page. ‘‘ ‘Of the Signs of Conception.’ ’’

When she looked up, his heart was in his shining blue eyes. ‘‘Does this mean . . . ?’’

‘‘Yes,’’ she whispered, ‘‘I hope you are pleased.’’

And a heartbeat later, he gathered Violet in his arms, telling her without words just how very pleased he was.

Apparently being with child had some effect on her responses. When his mouth met hers, her head was affected with giddiness, and a delicious heat started spiraling through her, making her heart beat inordinately. His hands went to her breasts, and she felt some swelling and prickling . . .

Wait, she thought, with what little sense she had left. He always made her feel those things.

Always.

They were going to be late to Cainewood.

Author’s Note

Of course Ford didn’t really invent frames to hold spectacles on the face—credit for that goes to a London optician named Edward Scarlett, who came up with the idea in 1730. The first spectacles for reading were made in the late thirteenth century (and the first ones for distance about three hundred years later), but before Scarlett’s innovation they were just held to the face or balanced on the nose—momentarily helpful, but not something one could wear all day long. I like to think that if Ford Chase had really lived, he’d have been brilliant enough to invent eyeglass frames half a century earlier.

Although the minute hand began appearing on watches around 1675, it is not clear who managed it first. Obviously someone missed a chance at a profitable patent! Everyone agrees the two-handed watch was developed in England, but some historians claim that Daniel Quare was the first to sell such a timepiece, while some say it was Thomas Tompion or others. But what
does
seem to be clear is that the minute hand was made possible by Robert Hooke’s 1660 invention of the spiral spring, which brought watches from a totally unpredictable performance to within two or three minutes’ accuracy a day.

A true genius, Robert Hooke did much more than revolutionize timekeeping; he also made important contributions in chemistry, meteorology, astronomy, and physics. Yet while other scientists of the time, such as Isaac Newton, Christopher Wren, and Robert Boyle, are much revered, Hooke has been largely forgotten. Newton and Wren were both knighted, so why not Hooke, arguably a greater scientist? In 2003, Gresham College is marking the three hundredth year of Hooke’s death by a series of lectures designed to resurrect his reputation. For more information about this conference and Gresham College in general, visit their Web site at www.gresham.ac.uk.

The Royal Society really was welcomed back to Gresham College in 1673, ‘‘with six quarts of each of canary, of Rhenish wine and of claret, and with fine cakes, macaroons and marchpanes,’’ as the City Archives describe an account of their entertainment. But the actual date of the celebration was Monday, December 1. I took the liberty of tweaking history a bit in moving the event to the warm summertime, so Ford could decorate the piazza. All of the people I mentioned at the ball were members at the time, including John Evelyn, best known for his diary that has given us a window into the Restoration period, and John Locke, whose ideas were a powerful influence on the subsequent history of the Western world. Thomas Jefferson called Locke one of ‘‘the three greatest men that have ever lived, without any exception,’’ and drew heavily on his writings in drafting the Declaration of Independence.

Along with these men of note, I enjoyed bringing Hooke and the other scientists—and yes, alchemists—

to life. Although the mere idea of making gold from base metals is a laughable one today, up until the mid-eighteenth century it was considered a serious science.

During the 1600s, most of the luminaries of the day practiced alchemy, King Charles included. Ironically, it was his chartering of the Royal Society that eventually led to alchemy’s decline. In that ordered environment, modern chemistry and the new scientific methods taught men to free themselves from the old traditions and question theories that had prevailed for centuries.

Although I invented the title
Secrets of the Emerald
Tablet,
Alexander the Great did claim to have discovered the Emerald Tablet in the tomb of the legendary Hermes, and medieval alchemist Raymond Lully was said to have written a treatise about it that subsequently disappeared. No one knows the title, however, and although other writings attributed to Lully survive, that particular one was never found.

A combination sex manual and advice to midwives,
Aristotle’s Masterpiece
first appeared in the late 1600s and by the turn of the century was a veritable best-seller—likely to be found in any newlywed couple’s home. Reflecting the attitudes of the time, this book presented sex as an act of pleasure without sin or guilt.

In later years, of course, society became much more straitlaced about such matters, yet the
Masterpiece
saw countless reprintings up until about 1900.

As usual, the homes I used in this story were based on real ones that you can visit. Though I moved it to the Thames, Lakefield House was loosely modeled on Snowshill Manor in Gloucestershire. Snowshill was owned by Winchcombe Abbey from the year 821 until the reign of Henry VIII in the sixteenth century, when, with the dissolution of the monasteries, it passed to the Crown. Thereafter it had many owners and tenants until 1919, when a man named Charles Paget Wade returned from the First World War and found it for sale. The house was derelict, the garden an

overgrown

jumble

of

weeds,

including—of

course!—a sundial. Wade bought Snowshill and restored it, removing the plaster ceilings, moving partitions

back

to

their

original

places,

unblocking

fireplaces, and fitting Tudor paneling to many of the rooms to recapture the original atmosphere. He scorned the use of electricity and modern conveniences, so the house appears today much as it would have during Ford’s time. Wade never lived in the house, instead using it to showcase his amazing collection of everyday and curious objects, literally thousands of items including musical instruments, clocks, toys, bicycles, weavers’ and spinners’ tools, and Japanese armor. The home is now owned by the National Trust and open April through October for viewing of the house and collection.

Trentingham Manor was inspired by another National Trust property, The Vyne in Hampshire (which I also relocated to sit on the bank of the Thames).

Built in the early sixteenth century for Lord Sandys, Henry VIII’s Lord Chamberlain, the house acquired a classical portico in the mid-seventeenth century (the first of its kind in England) and contains a grand Palladian staircase, a wealth of old paneling and fine furniture, and a fascinating Tudor chapel with Renaissance glass. The Vyne and its extensive gardens are also open for visits April through October.

To see pictures and learn more about the people and places in
Violet
, please visit my Web site at www.LaurenRoyal.com, where you can also enter a contest, sign up for my newsletter, and find recipes for some of the seventeenth century foods that Violet and Ford enjoyed in this story. My favorite is the Cream Toast that they ate on the bank of the Thames, but I adore reader mail, so I hope you will e-mail me at [email protected] and tell me which one
you
like the best!

If you missed the stories about Ford Chase’s siblings, you can find them in my previous books. In
Amethyst
, Colin Chase, the Earl of Greystone, falls for Amethyst Goldsmith, a completely unsuitable jeweler’s daughter.
Emerald
is the tale of Jason Chase, the Marquess of Cainewood, and Caithren Leslie, a Scottish lass that he mistakenly believes to be a notorious bounty hunter. And in
Amber
, Kendra Chase meets her match in Patrick ‘‘Trick’’ Caldwell, a moody, mysterious highwayman who is really another man altogether.

For a chance to revisit Ford and Violet, watch for my next novel,
Lily
, due in 2003 from Signet Books.

In the meantime, I hope to hear from you! If you’d rather send a ‘‘real’’ letter than e-mail (I answer both!), write to P.O. Box 52932, Irvine, CA 92619, and please enclose a self-addressed, stamped enve-lope, especially if you’d like an autographed book-mark and/or bookplate.

If you loved
VIOLET,
don’t miss the next
novel in Lauren Royal’s marvelous new
Flower
trilogy! The Ashcroft sisters return,
with all the sparkling wit, unforgettable
passion, and delightful daring that have made
them romance’s most charming—and
unconventional—siblings.

Turn the page for a special early preview of
Lily

A Signet paperback coming in Spring 2003

‘‘What?’’ Lily Ashcroft laughed as her friend Judith Carrington pulled her toward a carriage.

‘‘What is so important that you couldn’t wait until we got to Violet’s house to tell me? So important that you almost made me drop my niece, not to mention almost dislocated my arm dragging me out of there?’’

She paused before climbing in, waving at her parents and sister Rose, lest they think she’d abandoned them. They were a handsome family, she thought suddenly, her father tall and trim, his eyes a deep green, his real hair still as jet-black as the periwig he wore for this special occasion. Her mother and Rose were both dark-haired and statuesque, elegant in their best satin gowns, Mum’s a gleaming gold, Rose’s a rich, shimmering blue.

Looking at them, one would never guess they were so eccentric.

Her mother waved back distractedly, holding her two-year-old grandson, Nicky, as she busily ushered guests out the door to their waiting transportation.

Feeling Judith’s hand on her back, Lily laughed again and lifted her peach silk skirts to duck inside the carriage.

‘‘What?’’ she repeated.

‘‘Oh, just this.’’ Judith pulled the door shut and settled herself with a flounce. ‘‘I’m betrothed.’’

‘‘Betrothed?’’ Lily blinked at her friend. ‘‘As in you’re planning to wed?’’

‘‘Well, Mama is doing the planning. It is ever so exciting. Can you believe it, Lily? Come September, I’m going to be a married woman.’’

‘‘No, I cannot believe it.’’ The third of her friends to marry this year. Yesterday they’d been children; now suddenly they were supposed to be all grown up.