VIOLET LOOKED UP from her philosophy book, muttering under her breath. She’d read the same page four times and still didn’t understand it. It had been three days since the morning her parents hauled her home from Ford’s house—three days during which she couldn’t concentrate on anything and snapped at everyone within earshot.
“Violet?”
Exasperated, she swung toward the door. “Yes?” she spit out, then bit her lip. Her mother didn’t deserve her misplaced ire. Especially considering how sympathetic and forgiving she’d been about Violet’s midnight escapade—once she’d calmed down enough to hear her daughter’s account.
Of course, Violet had had to endure quite a bit of hollering first. She could still detect a faint ringing in her ears.
Regardless, it wasn’t Mum’s fault that Violet was too plain and odd to find true love.
She closed her eyes momentarily, then opened them, drawing on her last reserve of patience. “What is it, Mum?”
“There’s a gentleman here to see you. Not Ford,” she added in a rush, and Violet was chagrined, knowing the leap of hope must have shown in her eyes. “His friend,” Mum said gently. “Lord Randal Nesbitt.”
Rand? Why would Ford’s friend want to see her? “Are you sure he isn’t here to see Rose, Mum? She’s the one who likes languages.”
“He asked for you. He’s waiting in the drawing room.”
Sighing, she reached for her spectacles. In a fit of melancholy that terrible morning, she’d tried to put them away in a drawer, because they’d reminded her too much of Ford. Of her dreams, dashed and broken. But after three or four hours of walking around half blind, she’d decided that was ridiculous. She wasn’t going to forget him anyway, and there was no point in bumping into things for the rest of her life.
She slid them on and made her way downstairs to the drawing room.
When Violet entered the chamber, Lord Randal stood. “Ford doesn’t know that I’m here, my lady, and I’d prefer to keep it that way.”
“As you wish.” She waved him back to the cream-colored chair and took the matching one for herself. “What’s this all about?”
Mum had served him tea and left another cup on the table for Violet. Rand raised his cup and sipped. “Ford wrote to me two days ago, and I thought you should know.”
“Know what?” Taking a biscuit from a tray, she nervously broke off a piece. “I’m confused. I can’t imagine what you mean.”
He inclined his head. “My apologies. I’m just so shocked, I wasn’t sure how to…well…he asked me to sell Secrets of the Emerald Tablet. To take bids on it and then contact Mr. Isaac Newton.”
“Sell Secrets of the Emerald Tablet?” Unheeded, crumbs sprinkled her lap. She remembered Ford clutching the book the day he found it. His declaration that he’d never sell it. His eyes glittering with excitement every time another bit was deciphered. “It’s his favorite thing in the world, his chance to discover the Philosopher’s Stone and bring it to all of humanity. He’d never sell it.”
“Never say never.” Casting her a wry look, Lord Randal used his napkin to dab a drip of tea from his mustache. “According to Ford, Newton has offered to pay double the highest bid, and he wishes to collect. It’s the only path he can see clear to winning your heart.”
That heart skipped a beat. Involuntarily, Violet pressed a hand to her chest. “I don’t understand…”
Appearing thoughtful, he passed his tongue over his teeth. ”I’ve known Ford since we were lads together at Oxford, but never have I known him in love. Until now.”
“You’re mistaken, my lord.”
“What makes you think so?”
She rolled her eyes. “Look at me, Lord Randal. Really look. I’m not a girl who inspires love—”
“What are you talking about?” he interrupted.
She lifted her cup and sat straighter in her chair. “I have a mirror, and two good eyes.” Her free hand went to her beloved spectacles. “Well, bad eyes, actually, until Ford made me these, but—”
“Two good eyes and half a brain,” he interrupted again.
She must warn Rose he had terrible manners, she thought absurdly.
Then his intense gray gaze pierced hers, demanding her attention. “Ford loves you, Lady Violet. And no matter what you think, you’re a fine-looking girl, but that’s not the reason why. He loves your spirit and your intelligence and the way you listen to his ideas. And the way you have ideas of your own.”
“And he loves my money.”
“No. That he hates. Because it’s the reason you won’t take him at his word.” He gave her a moment to digest that. “Ford is a third son, the third son of a man who squandered the family fortune fighting the king’s war. Under the circumstances, he’s doing all right for himself. He’s in a bit of financial trouble now, but nothing he cannot handle if he moves carefully, except—”
“His estate is being foreclosed upon.”
Lord Randal grimaced. “The foreclosure is a fact, but beside the point. He’s working with his solicitor to resolve that.”
She looked down at her cup, held between trembling hands. Could that be possible? She hadn’t read the entirety of that long letter.
“Ford’s problem, Lady Violet”—he waited for her to look up—“is he’s lacking enough funds to both rescue his estate and remodel it for you as he promised.”
“Which is the reason he wants my money.”
“No. He’s convinced you won’t wed him unless he has enough money that you’ll be forced to believe he doesn’t need yours, which is why he’s selling the book.” He paused to let that sink in. “He’s trading the book for you, Violet.”
“Oh, good heavens.” Her cup clattered to the table, and she dropped her head in her hands.
Ford loved her.
He’d told her so, over and over, and she’d stubbornly rebuffed him. She’d questioned his honor at every turn, taken any excuse to keep her defenses raised. Not even his extraordinarily charming tour through the home he’d dreamed up for her could make her admit what she knew in her heart…
Ashamed, she felt hot tears prick her eyes. That he would go to the point of selling his most cherished possession…
“I cannot let him do it.”
Lord Randal stood and, raising her from the chair, wrapped his arms around her shuddering form. “I was hoping you’d say that.”