Free Violet (Flower Trilogy) by Lauren Royal

purple petals, more graceful than Violet could ever hope to be. ‘‘What, pray tell, is your problem with this development?’’
    Violet seated herself at the table and grabbed a bunch of flowers. ‘‘He doesn’t want to go alone. And I don’t want to go with him.’’
    ‘‘Now, Violet. Who said that thing about being charitable? You read it to me last week.’’
    ‘‘Francis Bacon again,’’ she sighed. ‘‘ ‘In charity there is no excess.’ ’’
    ‘‘A wise man. ’Twould be a charity, for certain, for you to bring Rowan to play. He’s bored here in the countryside with Benjamin away.’’ Benjamin was his favorite playmate. ‘‘And a charity to Jewel, as well, stuck in that house with no other children. And you’d be giving Lord Lakefield some respite. Surely he has better things to do than watch that girl.’’
    ‘‘So I should do it instead? Am I not allowed to have better things to do? Can Rose not go?’’ Agitated, she started plucking petals.
    Mum frowned at Violet’s busy hands. ‘‘Rose is too young, I’ve told you.’’ She tossed a bare stem into a basket. ‘‘Besides, she has no sense where men are concerned, and I’ve heard her jabbering about the
    ‘handsome viscount.’ ’’
    ‘‘And he’d take advantage of her, but not me, is that what you’re saying?’’
    ‘‘Violet—’’
    She plucked faster. ‘‘No, it’s true, Mum, and we both know it. I’m plain next to Rose and Lily. And men pretend to be deaf rather than listen to me prattling about my interests.’’
    Chrystabel touched her arm. ‘‘Violet, your father really is hard of—’’
    ‘‘No man will ever show interest in me unless it’s for my inheritance.’’ Ten thousand pounds. A sizable amount. Added to her dowry of three thousand, it would tempt many men to wed a mule.

    Her hand fisted, crushing the flower. ‘‘I’m not a featherbrain, Mum. I know that.’’
    Because she’d seen her parents’ own successful marriage—because she would settle for nothing less than their true love for herself—she was sure she would never wed. But Mum would never stand to hear such a thing. And as Violet had said, she wasn’t a featherbrain, so she knew better than to say that aloud.
    She sighed again, knowing that mere weeks from now, when she turned one-and-twenty and came into the money from her grandfather, the offers could very well begin to come fast and furious. She’d have a harder time putting Mum off then.
    But she would persevere. And someday—many years from now when she was a content, old spinster—
    she would use her inheritance to fund her dream.
    ‘‘Violet.’’ Her brown eyes filled with concern, Chrystabel gently pulled the bruised bloom from Violet’s hand. ‘‘You may not look like your sisters, but you’re a very pretty girl. Especially to those who love you. Which philosopher said that beauty is brought by judgment of the eye?’’
    ‘‘That was not a philosopher. ’Twas Shakespeare in Love’s Labour’s Lost .’’
    ‘‘Oh.’’
    ‘‘But he was paraphrasing Plato. ‘Beholding beauty with the eye of the mind.’ ’’
    Chrystabel grinned. ‘‘See, dear? Listen to Plato.’’
    Rose and Lily burst into the room. ‘‘Look, Mum!’’
    Lily waved a letter. ‘‘A messenger just delivered this from Lakefield. And he said he was instructed to wait for an answer.’’
    ‘‘The oldest messenger I’ve ever seen,’’ Rose added.
    ‘‘He was bald.’’ She said it as though that were the most disgusting thing she could imagine.
    ‘‘That’s not a messenger—that’s Harry, Lord Lakefield’s houseman.’’ As she’d hurried Rowan out the door, Violet had seen Hilda’s husband, cowering in a corner while his wife scolded him for his part in Jewel’s prank. The man was quite definitely bald, although Violet hadn’t found that at all off-putting.
    Maybe beauty was in the eye of the beholder.
    She rose and went to her sisters. ‘‘Let me