Rose (Flower Trilogy) (33 page)

“No,” she sighed, still fluffing.

“Stop!” Judith laughed, brushing at her dressing gown.

White powder flew everywhere. Particles coated the surface of her dark wood dressing table and floated in a sunbeam that came through the window. “Edmund won’t be able to find me under all this powder.”

“Sorry.” Rose dusted more on her own cheeks, though her scratch was all but healed. “Is Grenville nervous?”

“He doesn’t seem to be. Of course, he’s been married before. He’s not worrying about tonight.”

Violet touched her hand. “Are you worried, Judith?”

“A little.” Looking away, Judith grabbed her goblet and took another swallow of wine.

“I think you’re a lot worried,” Lily said, prying the goblet from her fingers. Judith had downed half a bottle already, and there were still hours left before her wedding.

“You don’t want to be slurring your vows.”

“The marriage bed is nothing to fear,” Violet told her.

“Are you sure?” Judith asked.

“Of course she’s sure.” Rose nervously tweaked the bouquet of flowers she’d made for Judith to carry. “All brides fret about it, but they all survive, do they not?”

“Are
you
fretting?” Violet asked her.

“Why should I fret? I’m not getting married.”

“But if you were?” Lily pressed.

She thought of
I Sonetti
and all those awkward positions.

“No, I’m not fretting.”

“Mama told me it would hurt,” Judith whispered.

Rose nodded knowingly. “But only for a moment.”
That
part she didn’t find worrisome. She’d heard it described as

“a little pain,” and she believed it.

But she wished she’d never seen that blasted Italian book.

“Based on the upper floor’s loads,” Kit said, “I was concerned that with any additional loading the building would eventually collapse. As it stood, ’twas near the maximum tolerance of the span. I cannot believe I miscalculated something so basic.”

“Neither can I,” Wren said pointedly, pacing his office in Windsor Castle. His eyes suddenly narrowed as he stopped and turned to Kit. “Are you saying someone else miscalculated? Purposefully lengthened the span? Altered your plans?”

“I’ll not say that.” Kit met the older man’s gaze. “The project is my responsibility. The error is mine, and I’ll absorb the costs of rebuilding.” When he first started out, a problem of this magnitude might have landed him in debtor’s prison. Thankfully, he could easily afford it now.

Wren nodded as he walked him to the door. “This won’t go past this room. I expect Charles will be pleased with the final results, even though you’ll miss the deadline. You’ll doubtless see more commissions, and your reputation won’t suffer.”

That was some consolation. Thanks to Wren’s confidentiality, Kit’s source of income wasn’t endangered.

Just his dreams. His knighthood. His chances of winning the woman he loved.

“Thank you,” he told Wren as he opened the door.

“Though the project won’t come in on time, it
will
be done right.”

“From you, I expect no less.” Wren watched him step outside. “I’m sorry about the appointment.”

“I wish Rosslyn well with it,” Kit said and closed the door behind him. So that was that. He took a deep breath and headed to Windsor’s Upper Ward to check the progress on the new dining room.

Following a complete inspection, he felt a little better.

Everything seemed to be proceeding well and on schedule.

He had high hopes that the successful, timely completion of this beautiful chamber would help ensure more commissions from the Crown.

Somewhere in town, a clock struck noon, reminding him he’d best get on his way to Trentingham if he wanted to arrive at a decent hour. But he didn’t want to rush to Trentingham, regardless of his promise—not today. He felt drained. The interview with Wren had sucked the very life right out of him.

Tomorrow morning would be better, he decided, heading out of the castle. He was in no hurry to confess his failure to yet more people, and that greenhouse was hardly an emergency. The groundbreaking wasn’t scheduled until tomorrow, anyway.

He looked forward to a long, hot bath, followed by a good night’s sleep. Here in Windsor, in his own house, he’d no doubt rest easier than he had in weeks. Especially since he no longer had to worry about his projects. Or, he thought dejectedly, about whether he would win the appointment he’d been working toward all of his adult life.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Martyn,” the old guard called as he passed through the castle gate.

“Afternoon, Richards,” Kit returned. The next thing he knew he was standing in front of a pawnshop.

His brother-in-law’s pawnshop, to be precise. Kit still had the damnedest time thinking of Ellen as married. But something inside him knew he had to come to grips with that—the same something that had sent him here without conscious decision.

He hoped she fared well. And there was only one way to find out. He drew a deep breath and opened the door. At the jingle of the bell, Thomas emerged from the back.

“Mr. Martyn,” he said, clearly surprised. And apprehensive, Kit thought. Well, in a sense, he couldn’t blame the man.

But they were kin now, for better or worse, so he’d best set the fellow at ease. “Call me Kit,” he said. “Please.”

“Kit.” The younger man nodded.

“I’ve come to see my sister.”

If anything, Thomas’s eyes grew more hooded. “She’s upstairs. I’ll fetch her.”

“No. I’ll go up.”

“I’m sorry, sir—I mean Kit. But I’m not sure she wants to talk to you.”

That hurt. Kit had hoped Ellen would be over her snit long before now. She’d won their battle, after all. She’d fought to live over a pawnshop, and live here she did.

He wanted to see the place, see how she was living.

Whether she and her baby were healthy. Whether she and her pawnbroker were happy. They’d be happy after he gave them her dowry, of course, but he hoped they were happy now without it. That his sister hadn’t made a mistake marrying for love.

Before he turned over all that money, he needed to see Ellen’s happiness with his own eyes. He was not taking no for an answer.

“I’ll go up,” he repeated. “You can show me the way or I’ll find it myself.”

“Very well.” Thomas handed a key to the young man behind the counter, then Kit followed him through a storage room and up a narrow staircase.

When Thomas opened the door, Kit sniffed appreciatively. “Smells like apples.”

“The only thing your sister knows how to cook is apple fritters,” Thomas said with a wry quirk of his lips. “I’ve been eating them ’til they’re coming out of my ears.”

Kit looked at him sharply, but the words had been said in good humor. It seemed the man loved Ellen whether she could cook or not.

The living quarters were nicer than he’d expected. The main room was small and the floor was bare wood, but it was polished and everything was clean. There was plenty of fine furniture and, in Kit’s opinion, entirely too many knickknacks—all of which he suspected came from the shop. He guessed that some of the best merchandise found its way upstairs. A hidden benefit to this business.

And Ellen doubtless loved all the knickknacks. In fact, he wouldn’t be surprised to find she’d dragged most of them up here herself. His heart lifted to think she was probably very happy here, indeed.

“Where is she?” he asked.

“In the bedchamber. She naps often these days.”

A subtle reminder of his sister’s condition. Kit nodded.

“Will you wake her or shall I?”

He saw the other man draw a steadying breath. “Wait here.” Thomas opened a door and slid into the room beyond, closing it firmly behind him.

Kit paced while he waited, peeking into another chamber to find a kitchen with a small fireplace and a scrubbed table for eating.

That seemed to be it—just the main room, kitchen, and bedchamber. He wondered where the babe would sleep, though he knew full well that entire families lived in single-room homes—why, this place would be a palace to the common cottager. Hell, he and Ellen had lived like that until the Plague had claimed their parents.

But when he built the new shop for his sister in London, he would design it with much larger living quarters attached. A proper house.

The bedchamber door opened and shut again, startling him. “She’ll not see you,” Thomas said.

“Pardon?”

“Ellen doesn’t wish to speak with you, Mr. Martyn.”

Fuming, Kit didn’t bother correcting Thomas’s use of his name again. “She doesn’t have a choice.”

He crossed the room—in all of three strides—and threw open the bedchamber door. “Ellen.”

She lay on a huge four-poster bed—much too big for the room—with her back to him.

“Ellen.” He sighed. “I wish not to play games.”

She rolled over and stared at him with those eyes that were so like his. Her pretty mouth was thinned into a straight, forbidding line.

She said nothing.

“ ’Tis a nice home,” he conceded, feeling like an idiot talking to himself. “I hope you’re happy here.”

Nothing.

A heavy silence hung for a moment before Kit’s frustration gave way to anger. “This is about the money, isn’t it?”

Not a word. Not even a blink. ’Twas as though she stared right through him, as though he were not even there.

His heart fisted in his chest as the anger turned to hurt.

He swallowed hard. “When you’re ready to talk, Ellen, you know where to find me.”

Without another word, he turned and left. He’d be damned if he’d give Ellen a fortune when she wouldn’t speak to him. Never mind that he hadn’t planned to withhold it past the first week or two as a test—he wouldn’t
buy
his sister’s love. Every penny of that dowry had been saved out of
his
love for
her,
but apparently she couldn’t see that.

Thomas followed him down the stairs and all the way to the entrance. “She’ll come around, sir. I’m sure of it.”

Kit opened the door but stopped short of stepping outside. “How is she?” he asked toward the street.

“Well. We’re happy together, sir.”

“Kit.”

“Kit. I know how lucky I am to have married your sister. I’m going to take care of her.”

“See that you do,” Kit said, then slowly turned. He measured the man a long moment before he decided he trusted him.

Or maybe that he had no choice.

“Tell her I love her,” he said quietly, then pushed out into the cool October air, the bell jingling too merrily as the door shut behind him.

Standing in the old village church, Rose shifted on her high-heeled shoes, watching another wedding.

The
third
one this year.

“Lord Edmund Grenville, wilt thou have this woman to thy wedded wife, to live together in the holy estate of Matrimony? Wilt thou love her, comfort her, honor, and keep her in sickness and in health; and, forsaking all others, keep thee only unto her, so long as ye both shall live?”

“I will.” The confident words boomed through the ancient stone sanctuary, binding Lord Grenville to Judith.

But Rose wasn’t listening to the ceremony. Instead she was noticing how joyful the bride looked. Judith clutched the flowers Rose had arranged for her, a smile curving her lips, her body ranged close to Lord Grenville’s. A
good
man, Judith had described him. Decent.

Rose’s mother sighed happily, delighted that this introduction had worked well enough to culminate in marriage.
The
Big Book of Weddings Arranged by Chrystabel
was getting thicker. She leaned closer until she bumped against Rose’s left side, her voice made breathy by emotion. “They’re perfect together, are they not?”

Rose could only nod dumbly, wondering if she’d ever find anyone perfect. These two were so clearly in love, Rose knew they belonged together. But she imagined herself standing in Judith’s place and the Duke of Bridgewater standing in Grenville’s . . . and she knew she wouldn’t be as happy.

Was Gabriel decent? She knew not. In truth, she didn’t know him at all. And she’d tried, hadn’t she? He was handsome and kind and generous, but he didn’t seem a man who cared to be known.

And he’d kept money that belonged to someone else.

The priest cleared his throat and looked back down at his
Book of Common Prayer.
“Lady Judith Carrington, wilt thou have this man to thy wedded husband . . .”

Standing on Rose’s right, Violet leaned closer to Ford and wrapped an arm about his waist. Ford was decent, too, Rose thought, watching him squeeze her sister around the shoulders. His first love used to be science, but when he found Violet—and responsibilities—he’d not hesitated to put them first.

Sun streamed through the stained glass windows, glinting off Violet’s spectacles. “Oh, is this not romantic?” she sighed.

“Yes,” Rose whispered to no one in particular, remembering Ellen’s wedding, which hadn’t been romantic at all.

Yet Ellen had been just as thrilled to marry her love as Judith was today. Ellen’s dowry could have bought her a titled man, but she’d wed a pawnbroker instead. Her Thomas was decent. He’d wanted Ellen even though she hadn’t come with the money they’d expected.

Lily’s husband, Rand, was decent as well. He’d worked hard to become an Oxford professor, but he’d been willing to give that up when other duties were thrust upon him.

After falling hard for Lily, he’d even agreed to marry another woman in order to save a man’s life.

Thank God that hadn’t been necessary.

Lily poked Rose from behind. “Your wedding will be next,” she whispered.

Rose hoped so. But first she would have to find a man who would make her as happy as her sisters and Ellen and Judith. A decent man, a man she could admire.

Gabriel wasn’t that man. She’d tried her best to fall in love with him, but it hadn’t happened. She would have to keep looking. She couldn’t face Court again soon, but she would ask Mum to take her to the Queen’s birthday celebration at Whitehall next month.

“. . . so long as ye both shall live?” the priest concluded expectantly.

“I will,” Judith pledged, her voice clear and true. So clear and true that no one in the church had any doubt she meant that pledge with all her heart.