AN HOUR LATER, Mum set down her goblet. “Violet tells me Jewel is going home tomorrow.”
“Yes.” Ford sprinkled salt on his spinach tanzy and returned the spoon to its little dish. “I hope she also told you I’ve invited her to a Royal Society event at Gresham College.”
“She has,” Mum said, “and she’ll be delighted to attend. Monday evening, is it?”
A tiny gasp escaped Violet’s lips. She’d never given Ford an answer, and she’d wanted to do that for herself.
She nudged her mother’s foot beneath the table, but Mum pretended not to notice.
“Yes, Monday.” Ford took an experimental bite of the rich spinach omelette, then displayed his irresistible smile. “I trust you’ll be in London by then? I’ll need the direction of your town house.”
“More brown sauce, did you say?” Father frowned. “I don’t see any brown sauce…”
Nobody paid him any attention.
“We’re in St. James’s Square,” Mum answered again for Violet. “In the northeast corner, the house of light gray stone.”
“Excellent. The celebration begins at ten, so I’ll be by at half past nine.”
Ignoring Rose’s chatter, Violet stabbed a stewed prawn with her fork, a bit more forcefully than necessary. If her mother and Ford kept planning her life as though she weren’t around to hear it, she feared she might scream.
Seated between her sisters across the table, Lord Randal Nesbitt gave her a sympathetic smile—a smile nearly as charming as Ford’s. Those smiles were lethal, she decided. They should be outlawed. She wondered if they’d practiced together at school. Did boys do that? Rose and Lily practiced their smiles all the time.
Perhaps noticing the glance that passed between Violet and his friend, Ford reached for her hand beneath the table.
Heavens, what if someone noticed? She struggled to breathe normally. But she didn’t move her hand away.
Feigning nonchalance, she smiled back at the viscount’s friend. He did seem nice. He hadn’t even mentioned her spectacles. She wondered if that was because Ford had already told him about them, or if he was just very polite.
Violet’s father signaled to the maid stationed against the wall. “Dinah, could you fetch more brown sauce for Lord Lakefield, please?”
His wife plucked a grain of rice from his cravat. ”No, darling, we were speaking of the town house. I told you we’re going to London, remember?”
“Yes, to order gowns for Violet, since she’s finally taking interest.” Father stirred some of the butter sauce from the prawns into his rice. “From that Madame Blowfont woman.”
“Beaumont,” Rose clarified loudly, sprinkling cinnamon on her own rice.
Faith! Did they have to shout about her lack of fashion sense in front of Ford? Out of the corner of her eye, Violet saw him stifle a grin and straighten his smart white cravat.
She wished she could slide beneath the table. And then melt into the floor.
“Gowns?” Mum said, trying to come to Violet’s rescue. “Of course she needs new gowns, but that’s not the focus of our holiday. Everyone knows my eldest daughter cares more about learning than clothing.” She looked to Ford’s friend. “You must forgive my husband. He’s a bit hard of hearing and often misunderstands.”
“What?” Father asked, proving her point.
“Nothing, my love.” Mum’s musical laughter tinkled through the room, a sound of relief. “See what I mean?”
“Violet did order a new ball gown,” Rowan said in defense of his father.
Ford squeezed Violet’s hand.
Rose flashed her most sophisticated smile at Lord Randal. “What brings you to visit, my lord?”
In midnight blue silk with spills of silver lace, tonight she resembled an enchanting water sprite. She’d been fluttering her eyelashes at the newcomer all evening, reminding Violet of Jewel. Not that she blamed her sister. Like Ford, Lord Randal wore no wig, and he had a stunning mane of long, dark blond hair. He was tall and lean, with a poet’s face and eyes of steely gray—the most intense eyes Violet had ever seen. When he looked at a person, he really looked at her, as though he could see right into her soul.
Shame about the mustache, though. Luckily, that could be fixed.
Eating single-handed, Ford used his fork to cut a bite of the tanzy rather awkwardly. “I’ve asked Rand to translate that old book for me, Lady Rose. He’s a fellow now at Oxford—he specializes in ancient languages.”
“Languages?” The cinnamon spoon slipped from Rose’s fingers and clattered to the table.
When Ford squeezed Violet’s hand again, she stuffed a prawn in her mouth to smother a giggle.
Rose sent her a brittle smile. “Violet,” she said sweetly, lifting the salt cellar, “would you care for some salt on your roast chicken?”
That stopped Violet cold. She shook her head violently.
Rose turned back to Lord Randal. ”I’m conversant in a few languages myself,” she announced. It was the first time Violet had ever heard her sister volunteer that information to a gentleman. “Perhaps we can work on the translation together?”
“Perhaps,” Lord Randal said, smoothing his mustache. “Ford tells me you’ve already examined the book.” Violet thought his voice sounded a touch too deep, as though he were trying to sound older.
He and Rose were made for each other.
“Yes, I’ve examined it. But not for very long.” Rose licked orange butter sauce off her lips. “Perhaps together—”
“Beatrix!” Lily stage whispered. “How on earth did you get in here?” She leaned down to scoop up a small striped cat, settling it on her lap.
“Lily,” Mum said. “Not when we have company.”
“She’s lonely.” Lily stroked the cat’s fur before reluctantly setting her back on the carpet. “She had a bad day.”
Lord Randal cocked his head. “Pray tell, how does a cat have a bad day?”
On his other side, Rose touched him on the arm, a clear bid for his attention. “Lily here claims she can feel her animals’ emotions. She collects injured creatures. Cats, birds, rabbits, the odd squirrel. She’s turned our old barn into a menagerie, or rather an infirmary for damaged critters. She even has a mouse.”
Lily nodded. “His little leg was broken, poor thing.”
Ford scooted his chair closer to Violet’s, sending her breathing back into turmoil. But a quick scan of the table assured her no one had noticed. The others were all looking at Lord Randal, who in turn had focused his intense gray gaze on Lily.
“Cats and mice together?” he asked.
To Violet it seemed he was looking into her youngest sister’s soul, but Lily, bless her, appeared entirely unaffected. “I have but three cats at the moment, and they’ve been with me since they were kittens. When creatures are raised side by side, they can learn to be brothers and sisters. Even cats and mice.”
“Fascinating,” Lord Randal said.
“Lily dreams of building an animal home,” Rose announced.
“A what?”
“An animal home,” Lily repeated softly. Like Violet, she’d never shared her dream outside the family. Reaching a hand beneath the table, she slipped the cat a bit of chicken while measuring their guest’s reaction with her steady blue gaze. “A nice clean building where hurt or abandoned creatures can be brought to live. People who work there will care for them until they are healthy enough to return to the wild or they find a home with a family.”
Lord Randal ran his tongue over his teeth, then nodded slowly. “That’s a very nice idea. And innovative, too.”
Violet sent him an approving smile. “Our grandfather encouraged us to be innovative,” she told him, trying to ignore Ford’s thumb tracing circles on her palm. “Or rather to follow our dreams. And, as he put it, leave our marks on the world.”
“And what is your dream, my lady?”
Violet took a bite of chicken, stalling for time. Although she’d told Ford her dream and he hadn’t laughed, it remained difficult to share with another.
Then Ford shifted his hand to lace their fingers together, and his reassuring warmth loosened her tongue. “I wish to write a book about philosophy,” she blurted, shoving her spectacles higher on her nose. “My own ideas. And use my inheritance to publish it some day and distribute it far and wide. Of course,” she hastened to add, “I have a lot of studying and thinking to do before then.”
Lord Randal didn’t laugh. “Of course. An admirable dream, Lady Violet.” He turned to Rose. “And your dream, my lady?”
“I…I dream of falling in love,” she said, and prettily lowered her lashes.
No one had much to say to that. Violet only just managed to stave off a laughing fit by squeezing Ford’s hand as hard as she could.
Jewel broke the silence first. ”Oops!” She dropped her napkin and dove to the floor to go after it. “Pretty kitty,” came her voice from beneath the table.
“Jewel…” Ford warned. But she didn’t come up. Instead, Rowan slipped off his chair to join her.
An alarmed meow came from somewhere below.
“Poor Beatrix. What are they doing to you?” Leaning down, Lily swept the cat back to her lap. She rubbed its small, furry head with a finger. “Go out now, Beatrix. I shall come to you later.”
Beatrix did go out, leaping gracefully from Lily’s lap to the patterned carpet, her striped tail high in the air.
“She obeyed.” Admiration lit Lord Randal’s eyes. “A cat complied with your command.”
“Holy Hades,” came Rowan’s voice muffled from below. “Look, Jewel.”
“Language, Rowan!” Mum admonished.
Jewel’s head popped up. “Uncle Ford, are you holding hands with Lady Violet under the table?”
“No!” Ford yelped, raising both his hands, fingers spread to prove his point.
It was the second time Violet had seen him blush. Knowing her own face must be redder than Trentingham’s roses, she was sure the truth was obvious.
Lily gasped. Rose smirked. Mum’s mouth curved into a smile.
“What’s that?” Father mumbled.
It was a long supper.