Violet (Flower Trilogy) by Lauren Royal Page A

one.
    And she’d never, ever thought she might be able to see like a normal person. ‘‘May I try them on?’’ she asked, struggling to steady her voice.

    ‘‘Please do. I suspect I may have to play with the lenses as well, to give you optimal vision. The degree of concavity affects the amount of correction.’’
    She hardly understood what he was talking about, but she really didn’t care. Her head was buzzing. This man had made her spectacles. He was handsome and generous and warm. He lifted her chin with a finger, and she obediently raised her face, holding her breath while he fit the contraption in place.
    It felt strange there, precariously perched. She closed her eyes against the sensation, then opened them. Ford rose and stepped back—and he was still in focus.
    ‘‘Oh, my,’’ she breathed, unable to tear her gaze from his face. He stepped yet farther away . . . and she could still see him. He smiled that devilish smile of his, and she could see it all the way from where she sat.
    ‘‘Oh, my.’’ Suddenly she was looking everywhere.
    ‘‘I can see the bellpull,’’ she exclaimed, ‘‘and the clock across the room!’’ He had clocks all over his house, and this chamber was no exception. ‘‘I can read the time! On that clock, and that one, too!’’
    It seemed a miracle. She stood, walking on shaky legs to the window. With the spectacles on, she felt taller than before and almost tripped.
    Nothing had changed there, but it only made her laugh.
    ‘‘Look.’’ She leaned her palms on the windowsill, aghast at the beauty of the world. ‘‘I can see it—I can see everything! The clouds and the flowers and the leaves on the trees. Each individual leaf.’’
    ‘‘They’re working for you, then,’’ his voice came from behind her. ‘‘But odds are I can make them even better. We’ll have to figure out whether more or less concavity will be optimal, then with a day or two to remake them, I can—’’

    ‘‘No.’’ She whirled to face him. ‘‘You’re not taking these away from me.’’ She put her hands to the frames, tilting them crazily.
    He laughed, a deep sound of pleasure. ‘‘Let me at least make them fit.’’
    ‘‘No.’’
    ‘‘A minute, that’s all it will take.’’ His lips curved with amusement. ‘‘I left the sidepieces straight, you see? If I bend them around your ears, they’ll stay in place better.’’
    ‘‘A minute?’’
    His eyes met hers, that deep, compelling blue.
    Something flip-flopped in her stomach. ‘‘One minute,’’
    he promised.
    Reluctantly she released the spectacles, and he slid them off her face. The world immediately blurred.
    She hugged herself, a little thrill running through her as she watched him manipulate the metal. ‘‘Faith, what a difference they make. Jewel said something about you needing to find rocks. Perfect rocks. What did she mean by that?’’
    ‘‘I took her up into the hills, hunting for quartz for the lenses. Rock crystal.’’ He glanced up briefly, and she wished she could see his eyes better, see the heart-stopping glint she suspected was there. He refocused on his task. ‘‘Perfectly clear quartz is difficult, but not impossible, to find.’’
    ‘‘They’re not glass? They’re called eyeglasses.’’
    ‘‘True.’’ He smiled as he worked. ‘‘But plain glass does not have the properties needed for optical lenses.’’
    ‘‘How did you know that?’’
    Making a final adjustment, he shrugged, an almost elegant tilt of his shoulders. ‘‘My brothers would tell you I’ve wasted countless hours filling my brain with useless facts, when I could have been doing something productive.’’

    Her heart lurched at that thought. ‘‘Oh, but ’twas not useless at all. Look what you’ve done with that knowledge!’’
    ‘‘My family wouldn’t agree with you.’’ Finished, he moved close to put the spectacles back on her face.
    ‘‘They would much rather see me improve