Violet (Flower Trilogy) Read Online Free PDF Page B

stop on the dull wood floor. ‘‘Who is here?’’ Her gaze fastened on Rowan, and Violet knew he was in trouble. ‘‘You must be that boy the pretty lady told me about.’’ She glanced up at her uncle, appearing both surprised and pleased. ‘‘He looks like me ! I like him!’’
    While ’twas true Rowan was a handsome lad and shared Jewel’s coloring—jet-black hair and deep green eyes—the girl’s words were enough to send him skittering behind Violet again.
    Jewel followed him, poking him on the shoulder.
    ‘‘What’re you hiding for, huh? Do you not want to play?’’
    ‘‘No,’’ Rowan muttered. His fingers clawed at Violet’s skirts. She figured ’twas only a matter of seconds before he found his way underneath.
    Lord
    Lakefield
    looked
    panicked,
    though
    she
    couldn’t fathom why. ‘‘Do come in,’’ he urged, grabbing Violet quite improperly by the arm. Before the door shut behind her, she shot a helpless look back at the blur that was her maid Margaret in the carriage.
    She hadn’t intended to go inside.
    But here she was. Without withdrawing his hold, the viscount fairly pulled her down a hallway whose paneling was so worn, even with her bad eyes she could tell it needed refinishing. Behind her, Rowan held on like a drowning man. He was literally dragging his heels.
    Apparently undeterred, Jewel chattered cheerfully as she walked along beside him. ‘‘How old are you?
    Your mother said you were seven. Are you seven?
    I’m almost six. When’s your birthday? Mine’s next week. Mama said we would have a celebration. But now she’s ill.’’
    ‘‘I’m sorry,’’ Violet said to Jewel, since it was clear Rowan wouldn’t. Her heels clicked on the woodplanked floor. She could feel the warmth of the viscount’s fingers through her navy blue broadcloth sleeve.
    ‘‘Papa promised me she’d get well,’’ Jewel said.
    ‘‘And he always keeps his promises.’’ They turned into a drawing room decorated in various shades of red and pink. Or perhaps they’d once all been matching crimson, but some pieces had faded.
    Lord Lakefield dropped Violet’s arm and waved her toward a couch. She pried Rowan’s hands from her skirts in order to sit, and he dropped crosslegged to the floor, his gaze on his lap.
    What were they doing here? Violet wondered.
    Rowan was clearly miserable, and she hadn’t planned to stay in the first place.
    ‘‘Make yourself comfortable,’’ Lord Lakefield told her. ‘‘I will go ask for some refreshments. I rigged up a bell’’—he gestured at the wall where she assumed it was placed—‘‘but I’m afraid my staff is getting on in years. They’re a bit hard of hearing.’’
    Dazed, Violet nodded. ‘‘So is my father.’’
    ‘‘Pardon?’’
    ‘‘He’s half deaf. Although my sister sometimes claims he just doesn’t want to listen to whatever philosophy I’m spouting at the moment.’’ Egad, she was babbling just as much as Jewel.
    ‘‘Philosophy?’’ He blinked, or maybe he grimaced.
    She wasn’t sure which. ‘‘I’m certain whatever you have to say must be fascinating. If you’ll excuse me.’’ And with that, he took his long, lanky form out the door.
    She rose and wandered over to see where he’d pointed. A pull cord disappeared cleverly into a hole, attached, she assumed, to a bell. Her ears were still ringing with his words.

    ‘‘Fascinating . . .’’ she murmured to no one in particular. Apparently the man was trying to flatter her. No man ever thought a woman talking philosophy was fascinating.
    ‘‘Well,’’ she said aloud, glad she had the common sense to recognize an empty compliment, ‘‘Jean de La Fontaine has written that all flatterers live at the expense of those who listen to them.’’
    Jewel blinked. ‘‘Huh?’’ She blinked again, then knelt on the floor next to Rowan. ‘‘Do you think I’m pretty?’’ she asked.
    Ford hurried to the kitchen, not least because he had a feeling