“VERY INTERESTING,” Violet said, staring at the dried top of a pineapple.
Lily smiled sweetly at their father. “What an exciting project.”
“It’s an ugly thing,” Rose said.
Father gave her an indulgent smile—or perhaps he hadn’t quite heard her. All plants were beautiful to him, and he’d been known to take offense on their behalf. “I’m going to plant it in a big pot and keep it here in the Stone Gallery at nights and all winter.”
Violet didn’t find the plan surprising, since he was already trying to grow oranges indoors. The long, narrow chamber, which was lined with windows and occupied the entire ground floor of the west wing, had been used in Tudor times to take exercise in inclement weather. But now one could hardly walk two steps without bumping into a plant.
Rowan’s foot tapped on the black-and-white marble floor. “How many pineapples will it grow?”
“I’m not sure.” Father frowned. “Maybe only one.”
“One? We’ll eat it in a trice!”
“But then I’ll have another top, and I can grow more—”
“And by the time Rowan is married with children,” Rose finished for him, “we ought to have a decent crop. Anyone want to go riding?”
It seemed a long time since Violet had exercised anything but her heart. “I’m game,” she said.
“Me, too,” Lily added.
“Me three.” Rowan scratched his head. “No, make that four.”
They all laughed.
“Be back in time to dress for supper!” Father called after his children as they trooped outside.
A few minutes later they were mounted on their horses and riding along the river. Violet took the lead and automatically headed toward Lakefield, hoping Ford was back from Oxford. She wanted to see him, to talk things through now that she’d had time to think. She hoped she could get him alone somehow, away from her siblings where they could speak in private.
The sun felt warm on her skin, and Socrates’s white hide was tickly against her legs. She leaned into a turn, loving the wind in her hair, the effortless movements of the animal beneath her. Suddenly she felt like she’d been cooped up in the house entirely too long. The fresh air was marvelous. She decided she should leave her books behind and go out more often.
“We should ride the other way,” Rowan said.
Lily pulled up alongside him. “Why is that?”
He shook his head ruefully. “I don’t want to see Jewel.”
Three days had passed since he’d drunk the chocolate, and he was still scratching. And doubtless still hearing Jewel’s laughter in his ears.
Rose laughed now. “Jewel went home with her parents, you goose.”
“Rose!” Seeing their brother flinch at the word goose, Violet sent her a warning look. “But she’s right, Rowan, Jewel is nowhere near…”
Her words trailed off as Lakefield House came within sight.
“Oh my,” she said, staring at the decimated garden. “What do you think happened?”
“A storm,” Rowan guessed. “With lots of blowing.”
Lily’s eyes sparkled with amusement. “I expect we would have felt the effects of that at Trentingham.”
Rose shaded her eyes with a hand. “Is that a hole in the roof?”
They drew nearer. “Oh my,” Violet said. “Is that—oh my.”
“On the ladder there.” Lily cocked her head. “Is that the viscount?”
Rose drew breath and released a very unladylike holler. “Lord Lakefield! Is that you?”
Her voice carried so well, even their father would have turned his head. Which the fellow on the ladder did, to reveal a face splattered with paint. His clothing wasn’t faring any better. As they rode closer and came to a stop near the house, Violet watched a white blob roll down Ford’s hair and land on one of his boots.
She burst out laughing.
He backed awkwardly down the ladder and limped over to gaze up at her on her horse. He crossed his arms, then dropped them, grimacing at the white handprints he’d just made on his clothing. “What’s so funny?”
At that, her sisters burst out laughing, too.
With a supreme effort, Violet got herself under control. “What on earth,” she asked, “do you think you’re doing?”
“I told you I was going to fix this place up.”
Another little giggle escaped. “I didn’t think you meant to do it yourself.”
But her heart melted a little. Was he doing this for her?
Clasping her sides, Rose gasped, “It looks worse than when you started!”
Ford’s jaw tightened, but he ignored her and addressed Violet. ”May I speak with you for a moment? In private?”
She looked to her sisters, but this, after all, was what she had come for. So she shrugged and handed her reins to Lily, slid off Socrates, and followed Ford around the corner of the house.
The moment they were out of sight, he pinned her against the stone wall.
Her gasp of surprise was covered by his lips. The familiar weakness stole over her, and her muscles went limp as his mouth slanted over hers. He smelled of Ford and paint, and his body pressing her against the house reminded her of that day in the woods, and how he’d felt crushed against her…
Breathless, nearly senseless, she pulled back, then looked down at her gown and let out another gasp.
”Sorry,” he said. “I’ll buy you another.”
“I’m more concerned with what my family will think.”
He ran a paint-stained finger down her arm. “They’ll think I couldn’t help myself, because I’m in love with you. Which is true.”
She heaved a frustrated sigh. “It’s not that I don’t want to believe you. But I need to feel certain, and I can’t seem to do that because every time we’re together, you make me feel so…”
“In love?” he suggested.
“Confused. I can’t think straight when…when you touch me,” she finished in a whisper, her cheeks heating. “And I—”
“Oh, Violet!” Rose’s voice called sweetly from the front of the house. “Are the two of you all right back there?” Lily’s and Rowan’s giggles drifted around the corner.
Violet’s flush deepened. It was bad enough having to admit such personal things aloud to Ford. She couldn’t bear the humiliation if her siblings overheard.
“It seems,” Ford said dryly, “that we can’t talk in private here. Will you take supper with me tonight?”
“I can’t tonight. We’re having my favorite, chicken and artichoke pie, to celebrate…” She trailed off, realizing she’d almost revealed to Ford that she’d spent the last few days pleading illness and hiding out in her bedchamber, so her special birthday supper had had to be postponed until tonight. “Um, never mind. At any rate, I’m having supper with my family tonight.”
“Will you come after supper, then? Once your family is abed?”
Her mouth fell open. “Are you…you can’t be suggesting I sneak out of my house and come to you? Alone? In the middle of the night?”
“Not alone, no. I’ll wait below your window.”
“You want me to climb out a window? That would be highly impro—”
“Yes, highly improper. But nothing will happen, I promise. I won’t even touch you.” To demonstrate, he retreated a step and clasped his hands behind his back. “I want you to be able to think clearly—clear enough to realize the truth.”
She crossed her arms over her chest. “Can’t I just call on you tomorrow? With my parents’ permission? Or can you call on me?”
He shrugged. “Wouldn’t you rather talk in private—truly in private? We’re always getting interrupted by your family, or mine, or my nosy servants. Wouldn’t it be nice to have just one conversation without anyone else getting in the way?”
As if to prove Ford’s point, Harry suddenly appeared out of nowhere. “Is this the right color, milord?”
Violet jumped.
“Beg pardon, milady.” With a heavy grunt, Harry set down two buckets of what looked like paint. “Didn’t mean to startle you. Am I interrupting something?” His gaze flicked between Ford and Violet with interest.
The two exchanged a look. Silently, she nodded her assent.
“Not at all, Harry. The color’s perfect.” Ford clapped his houseman on the shoulder. “Will this do for all the trim?”
Harry laughed. “Not hardly. There’s more in the cart.” He left, presumably to retrieve the rest.
As Ford walked Violet back to her siblings, she noticed he took care not to touch her. “I’ll be there, waiting, at midnight,” he said quietly. “Beneath your window.”
Under her breath, she muttered, “I am not climbing out a window.”