Thinking back on his recent conversation with Tremaine, Henry couldn’t for the life of him align the selfish woman his friend had described with the one sitting beside him. She didn’t seem to have a single malicious bone in her body. But on the other hand, he couldn’t understand her reason for wanting to marry an old man unless it had been to acquire his title and fortune. And the fact that she came from few means was not exactly a point in her favor, so he could understand why Tremaine would assume the worst of her. Still, Henry was sure he was missing something. The facts didn’t quite add up.
He reached for his glass and took a sip, aware that she’d given her attention back to her own plate. To his left, Gabriella was telling her husband about the latest spider she’d caught. An impressive find, apparently. Henry shuddered. He’d never cared for insects and was of the opinion that they didn’t belong in the City. So he allowed himself to continue his contemplations instead while enjoying his close proximity to Viola.
She’d tried to hide the fact that she could not read without spectacles, which was silly, even though he did understand her. Because the only people who ever ventured out in public with such an accessory tended to be well into their dotage and beyond the point of caring what others might think. Viola, however, definitely cared. She had not wanted him or anyone else to know she had an impairment. She also hadn’t wanted them to see what she looked like wearing spectacles, which was why he’d tried to ease her mind a little by suggesting he rather fancied the idea of seeing her like that.
In response, her cheeks had turned a delightful shade of pink, the color sweeping down her neck and out of sight since he’d sworn not to glance at her décolletage again. Doing so when she’d first arrived had been enough. A series of dastardly thoughts had followed, like the idea of kissing his way across that wide expanse of creamy perfection, of licking the swells of her breasts, of dipping his finger beneath the taut fabric and...
He’d forced a laugh and led his guests toward their table in the hope of concealing his inappropriate reaction.
Coventry grinned at something Amelia was saying and Henry smiled, reminded of the happiness his own brother had found with his wife, Juliette. He hoped they were both enjoying their travels. His smile broadened and he popped the last bite of food into his mouth. Of course they were, because they had each other. In spite of scandal, they’d found the sort of companionship and love Henry dreamed of.
Sipping his wine, he gave Viola a cautious look as she dabbed her mouth with her napkin. For now, there was no denying his desire to court her and wed her was based on everything other than love, like physical attraction and admiration. It was too soon for it not to be, but surely with time love could bloom, could it not? After all, his reasons for choosing to pursue her weren’t based on attraction alone. It also had to do with her drive, her kindness toward others and her obvious determination to resist his charms, which only made him want her more. He genuinely enjoyed her company, was thrilled when he’d witnessed the pleasure she found in card play and was pleased by her fondness for puzzles. He could already picture them working out riddles together in the Sunday paper and trying to best each other at games.
And she had the meanest-looking dog he’d ever seen. He wasn’t sure why he found that so endearing, but there was just something charming about the unexpectedness of it. Add to that the various layers of her personality, of which he suspected there were many, most of which he’d yet to discover. And since he also had a penchant for puzzles, it only made sense that he wanted to solve her.
“The way I choose to decorate the space is extremely important,” she was telling Gabriella. Henry’s ears perked up. He listened with greater attention while the waiters cleared their plates. “I want it to be different from anything else people are used to, which is why I decided to aim for a Persian theme.”
“Are you talking about the rejuvenation center?” he asked, recalling the intricately carved wooden door he’d seen there, the impressive mosaic floor and the elaborate mural artwork adorning the walls. It had brought to mind every story he’d read in his well-used copy ofThe Arabian Night’s Entertainment.
Viola nodded. “Yes. It’s time for me to start purchasing furniture and decor. Unfortunately I haven’t had time yet, and with the grand opening coming up, I really must get started on it. The only problem is, I’m not sure where to look for Persian-looking things, which worries me a little.”
“I wish I could help,” Gabriella said, “but the only foreign design elements I’ve seen in recent years have been Greek, Roman and Egyptian.”
“Those have been quite the rage,” Coventry said, joining the conversation. “My aunt redid her entire home in the Greek style a couple of years ago. Cost her husband a fortune!”
Henry considered the problem carefully before saying, “Perhaps I can help.” Viola’s eyes brightened to a shade that revealed a hint of blue.Fascinating. “There’s a large market in Woolwich where vendors sell a hodgepodge of furniture and knickknacks from all over the world—things merchants have picked up and can’t get rid of in any other way. I’ve always enjoyed taking a stroll there to see the things they put on display. Picked up an automaton from there last year for next to nothing. When I had it evaluated I was told it was made by Pierre Jaquet-Droz or possibly by one of his sons.”
“I’ve never heard of him,” Coventry said. The waiters, who’d now arrived with the main courses, set the plates before them.
“Neither had I,” Henry said, “but it turns out he was a late eighteenth-century watchmaker who designed and built these animated dolls to advertise his business, which also specialized in mechanical birds.” He proceeded to cut his pork.
“How intriguing,” Viola said with the sort of interest Henry wished he could hold in the palm of his hand and admire forever. “So what can yours do?”
He smiled, pleased to have piqued her curiosity. “He can write.” And with that statement, Henry stuck a piece of meat in his mouth.
“He?” all three ladies asked in unison.
Knowing he had them—and most especially, Viola—riveted, Henry swallowed his bite and grinned. “My automaton is a boy. Looks like he’s about five years old.” He reached for his glass and paused with his fingers around the stem. “He can pen a custom text up to forty letters in length.”
Silence. And then, “But how?” Viola asked.
Henry set his glass to his lips and drank while savoring this moment. His heart beat a steady rhythm, aligning itself completely with her advancing curiosity, which was like an army whose march he’d redirected.
“A crank winds the mainsprings and then there are stacks of gears that determine the text. When he writes, he dips his quill in ink and even follows the nib with his eyes. It’s really quite astounding.” Deliberately, Henry chose not to offer a viewing of it. If Viola desired to see the automaton, he wanted her to ask. So he ate a bit more food while the rest of the party did the same and then he said, “So, considering my own find, it wouldn’t surprise me in the least if the sort of decor you require can be located at the Woolwich market.”
“Perhaps we ought to ride out there tomorrow and take a look,” Gabriella suggested.
Viola beamed. “Oh, indeed, I would love that. Thank you, Gabriella.”
“Can you spare the morning, Lowell?” Amelia asked.
“I have no other plans,” he said.
“Are you sure it’s no inconvenience?” Viola asked him softly, as if she felt obliged to do so while secretly hoping he wouldn’t say that it was.
“Not at all,” he assured her. “I believe it will be most diverting.”
“We’ll need two carriages,” Coventry said.
