Read Online Violet (Flower Trilogy) by Lauren Royal - Free Book Online Page A

opportunity. ‘‘But you can look at it whenever you’re here.’’
    ‘‘When may I come back?’’
    ‘‘To play with Jewel?’’ He knelt by the lad’s chair and, after removing his shoes, poured the water over his lap.
    ‘‘Zounds, that is cold!’’
    ‘‘It will dissolve the glue.’’ Standing, he attempted to pull the boy off the chair by gripping him under the armpits. ‘‘I thought you didn’t like Jewel.’’
    At that, Rowan squirmed.
    ‘‘Hold still, will you?’’ Ford put his foot on the chair’s lower rung to keep it down. ‘‘You’ve certainly seemed to do your best to avoid her so far. And after this trick—’’
    ‘‘ ’Twas clever,’’ the boy admitted.
    ‘‘Yes, it was.’’
    ‘‘Lady Jewel is . . . different,’’ Rowan said. ‘‘I’ve never met a girl who would plan what she did. My sisters sure would never. Lily only cares for her animals, and Rose only wants to go to balls. And Violet . . . Violet always has to learn new things. Can you imagine a girl liking to study?’’

    Yes, Ford agreed silently, Violet was the oddest of the bunch. Certainly nothing like the type of woman he’d be looking for if he hadn’t sworn off women altogether.
    While he mused on that, Rowan’s breeches finally came unstuck with an impressive sucking sound. Ford knelt to unlace them and began to pull them down.
    ‘‘No!’’ The lad’s hands clenched on Ford’s shoulders. ‘‘I’ll be arse-naked.’’
    Ford sighed. ‘‘I’ll go find you some clean breeches.’’
    When he returned, Rowan waved a hand at some bottles of chemicals. ‘‘What are those for?’’
    ‘‘Alchemy.’’ Ford made a show of shutting the door behind him. ‘‘There. You are safe from prying eyes.’’
    The boy snatched up Ford’s brown breeches and hurried to put them on. ‘‘What’s alchemy?’’ he asked, staring down with dismay at the gaping waistband.
    ‘‘Alchemy is a science.’’ Ford leaned to tug the laces tighter, but ’twas hopeless. He scanned the tables and shelves, searching for twine, silently cursing himself for the room’s usual state of disarray. ‘‘We alchemists—King Charles is one, too—are working to find the Philosopher’s Stone.’’
    Rowan clutched the breeches with both hands. ‘‘Violet likes philosophy.’’
    ‘‘Well, the Philosopher’s Stone has little to do with philosophy. ’Tis a name for a secret—a way to turn other metals into pure gold.’’
    ‘‘Holy Chr—’’ The boy caught himself this time. ‘‘I mean . . . can you do that?’’
    ‘‘No. Or not yet. No one can, though many are trying. ’Tis said that in days past, men have done it more than once, but the secret has always been lost.’’ Finally locating the twine, he fetched it and knelt by the boy.
    ‘‘Why did the men not write it down?’’
    ‘‘At least one did, in a book—a very ancient book called Secrets of the Emerald Tablet . But the book is lost, too.’’

    ‘‘Are you looking for it?’’
    ‘‘No. ’Tis been lost for a very long time. Almost three centuries. After all that time, perhaps ‘lost’ is not the right word. I suspect ’twas probably destroyed.’’
    ‘‘Maybe in a fire,’’ Rowan suggested, sounding fascinated at the prospect.
    ‘‘Maybe.’’ Making a mental note to keep the boy far away from combustibles, Ford bunched the breeches around his waist and circled it with the twine. ‘‘But if the secret has been figured out before, it stands to reason we should be able to repeat that success, does it not? That is what half of this equipment is for,’’ he concluded, knotting the twine tight. ‘‘Alchemy.’’
    The crotch hung almost to the boy’s knees, and the kneebands to his ankles, but he didn’t seem to notice.
    Apparently relieved to be decently covered at last, he smiled happily and lifted a bottle of bright yellow fluid.
    His eyes gleamed when he looked back to Ford.
    ‘‘Can I help you find the