good!’’ The sound of clapping hands accompanied Jewel’s childish voice. ‘‘We must hurry, then, so there will be time for it to start drying. And we need something fun to put at his place, so he’ll not be looking.’’
‘‘Brilliant, Lady Jewel. I’ve just the thing . . .’’
Their voices faded around a corner of the house.
Shaking his head, Ford focused on the gears held in his hand. His thoughts returned to his current project, which was much more interesting than mud.
Watches were so inefficient—the single hand only approximated the hour. Within the last few years, another hand had been added to clocks, one that ticked off the minutes and made time-keeping much more precise. But since watches weren’t pendulum-driven, the mechanism that drove a clock’s minute hand wouldn’t work inside them.
Yet it should be possible to add a minute hand to a watch. A more accurate personal timepiece would be practical, functional—a true benefit to mankind.
And after years of thought and experimentation, Ford was so close to making it work . . .
‘‘Your guests have arrived, my lord.’’ Bustling in, Hilda started flicking a dust rag at his various instruments. ‘‘Do you not think you should be downstairs?’’
Chapter Five
Rowan clinging to her skirts, Violet followed Jewel toward Lord Lakefield’s dining room, wondering how it was that Mum had talked her into bringing the poor boy again.
And her maid Margaret hadn’t even come along this time! Mum had given the woman half a day off.
Margaret was courting, and Mum—who had introduced her to the ‘‘nice footman’’ from a neighboring estate—thought this a perfect chance for the maid to spend some time with her beau.
How very like Mum to risk her own daughter’s reputation for the sake of someone else’s romance.
Question Convention. Sometimes, Violet thought, the Ashcrofts took their motto a bit too seriously.
Most of Lakefield had seen better days, but the dining room struck Violet as particularly dreary. The paneling was so dark it looked almost black, and although the built-in cupboards boasted glass in the doors, there were few dishes displayed inside. The room’s color scheme was an uninspiring me´lange of browns. Everything was clean, though—the viscount had a decent housekeeper in Hilda.
‘‘Here, Rowan,’’ Jewel said brightly as they entered.
‘‘Sit here.’’ She pulled out one of the faded tan chairs.
‘‘Right here. I put a toy here for you.’’
‘‘At the table?’’ Violet asked.
‘‘Uncle Ford lets me play at the table. As long as I leave him to his thoughts.’’
Violet would lay odds Jewel’s parents didn’t feel the same way. But she smiled as she watched her brother race to the chair and claim the toy, a cup and ball.
‘‘Rowan . . .’’ she prompted.
‘‘My thanks,’’ he murmured absently, making the ball fly up and catching it in the cup with a satisfying—
to him, anyway— bang . He grinned and did it again.
Well, his mood was improved, at least. Perhaps this wouldn’t be as bad as the first visit.
‘‘Oooh, you’re very good at that,’’ Jewel all but purred, sidling up to the boy. When Rowan smiled, Violet thought perhaps she could learn a thing or two from the girl about flirting.
Jewel touched him on the arm. He looked up at her, and she fluttered her lashes. ‘‘Rowan, will you show me how to do that? I’m just a butterfingers. I miss the cup every time.’’
Faith. Rose could learn a thing or two from her about flirting.
But then Jewel reached for the toy, and Rowan jerked away, his frown back in place. ‘‘Mine.’’
‘‘Rowan,’’ Violet scolded, silently cursing her mother for sending her here again. ‘‘Behave yourself.’’
Crestfallen, Jewel’s smile vanished. Knowing what it was like to feel awkward with boys, Violet studied the girl. The sash on Jewel’s powder blue dress was tied very crookedly in back—the viscount’s
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