Rose

by Lauren Royal

  “Good God, no. Mum just knows where to lay her hands on whatever she wants.” Rose searched for frankincense. “This is nothing, really. She has a whole little room at Trentingham where the walls are filled floor to ceiling with all her many supplies.”

  Ellen nodded distractedly.

  “What do you think?” Chrystabel asked, presenting her with the bottle.

  Ellen sniffed. “It’s lovely!”

  “A good scent can go a long way toward cheering one up.”

  So Mum had noticed Ellen’s melancholy mood, too, Rose thought. She added a few drops of myrrh to her mix and swirled it gently while her mother jotted a few notes on a card.

  “There,” Chrystabel said, looking up. Smiling at Ellen, she took the bottle from her, corked it, and handed it back. “Now I’ll be able to duplicate the scent should you wish for more later. Or we can alter the ingredients if you think you’d like something else.”

  “Oh, no, this is perfect.” Ellen smiled, but Rose couldn’t help noticing it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Thank you very much.”

  “You’re quite welcome, dear. I hope you’ll enjoy it.”

  Rose corked her bottle, too. “We’re going to my chamber, Mum.”

  “Good night, then.” Smiling absently, Chrystabel turned back to the perfume she’d been creating earlier.

  Rose’s bedchamber at Trentingham was hung with crimson silk, but here in town she had jewel tones—bright ruby, deep sapphire, and rich emerald. “This is beautiful,” Ellen said when they walked in.

  “Kit showed us your blue chamber when he gave us a tour of the house. It’s beautiful, too.”

  “I like it.” Though Ellen smiled, the expression quickly faded. “I suppose it’s as well, since I’ll likely live there all my days.”

  Taking Ellen’s bottle, Rose set both on her bedside table and fetched the book from where she’d hidden it beneath a pile of chemises. “Not all your days, surely.”

  “I suppose not. Just until Kit finds some hateful nobleman in need of money to marry me off to.”

  Rose sat on the bed, drawing Ellen down beside her. “He wouldn’t wed you to anyone you hated.”

  “He’s obsessed with raising our social status.” Ellen shifted to face her. “He’s convinced people judge him by that rather than his accomplishments.”

  “It’s the way of the world. But he should be proud of those accomplishments—”

  “Exactly what I tell him,” Ellen interrupted. “He shouldn’t care what people think. Do you know, I believe he doesn’t look on the Deputy Surveyor post as an accomplishment so much as a chance to be knighted. Kit really believes that people will look at him differently if there’s a Sir before his name.”

  Rose knew Ellen was waiting for her to disagree, but she couldn’t. People would look at Kit differently. Especially if he managed to impress King Charles to the point that he eventually awarded him a more prestigious title.

  She’d never thought about that possibility, but then she hadn’t known the position of Deputy Surveyor carried with it a probability of knighthood. That and more was certainly within the king’s power. If Kit were a member of the aristocracy—

  “Oh,” Ellen said suddenly, “I’m so tired of all of this.” She reached to flip open the book.

  Rose’s gaze dropped. Then her eyes widened as she read the Italian.

  “What?” Ellen turned to her, some color returning to her cheeks. “What does it say?”

  “‘Mettimi un dito—’” Rose started.

  “In English.”

  “Oh. Yes.” She blew out a breath. “Push a finger inside me…”

  That was a normal part of lovemaking, then? She’d believed it a figment of her imagination, entirely scandalous. And her body reacted at the mere thought of it. She felt herself dampen all over again.

  “What’s next?” Ellen asked as though it were very normal indeed.

  Rose blinked and refocused on the page. “…and then your yard, bit by bit…”

  The words made her think of Kit. Kit, who had liked it too much when she’d touched him there. Her gaze strayed to the engraving, the picture of a man kneeling between a woman’s spread thighs.

  She forced her eyes back to the text. “‘Alza ben questa gamba’…Raise my leg, and we shall play a new game…good God.”

  “Good God?”

  She looked up. “It doesn’t say that. I’m just…I’m sorry, but this is difficult. It worked much better for me when I could puzzle over it slowly and write it down.”

  “I don’t mind waiting.” Ellen, too, stared at the engraving above the sonnet, her muted words directed to the page.

  “Have you…done that?” Rose asked after a moment.

  Her friend burst into tears.

  “Gemini. I’m so sorry.” Rose turned to her, taking her hands, cursing herself for not thinking before talking—as usual. “What is it?”

  “I…” Ellen searched her eyes, her own overflowing. “I just…” She seemed to swallow past a huge lump in her throat. “I just miss Thomas, is all,” she whispered finally.

  If this was love, Rose wasn’t sure she wanted anything to do with it. Ellen looked more miserable than she’d thought possible. She’d never seen anyone so desperate—not even Lily when she feared Rand would have to marry someone else.

  “You’ll see Thomas soon,” she soothed, squeezing Ellen’s hands. “You live in Windsor, after all. Kit cannot keep you away forever. I imagine he just wanted to conduct his business there quickly and then get back to Whitehall where he’s needed.”

  “But he’s not needed at Whitehall—not anymore. The crisis has passed, and the project will go smoothly without him.”

  “Well, that’s good, then. He’s coming back day after tomorrow. You heard him say that, didn’t you? If he isn’t needed here in London, then surely he’ll take you back to Windsor.”

  “I think not.” With a great effort, Ellen choked back the last of her tears. “He told me today that Thomas will never see a penny of my dowry.”

  Rose didn’t think Kit would follow through with that threat, but it wasn’t her place to tell Ellen. “Is that what this is about?”

  “No. Well, maybe.” She bowed her head, looking up at Rose through damp lashes. “What if Thomas doesn’t want me without the money? We’ve spent so much time dreaming of the day when—”

  “Don’t be a goose.” Rose reached to lift Ellen’s chin. “I know the look of love in a man’s eyes, and I can assure you Thomas is besotted. He doesn’t want you for your money, Ellen—you need to put that right out of your head.”

  Ellen looked like she wanted to believe her. “Do you think?”

  “I know.” Rose felt her age and then some. Ellen was so young. So vulnerable. Rose remembered Kit’s concerns and her promise to watch over his sister. “Would you like to sleep in here instead of the other room? We can talk all night like my sisters and I used to when one of us was upset.”

  Tears leaked again as Ellen nodded. “You’re so kind, Rose.”

  Nobody had ever described Rose as kind. Her own eyes felt watery as she rang for her maid to prepare them both for bed.

  THIRTY-FIVE

  “GOOD MORNING, Ellen.” Rose stretched beneath the quilt, then slowly rolled over. “Ellen?”

  Ellen wasn’t there.

  Rose sat up and squinted at the clock on her mantel. Seeing it was only seven in the morning, she groaned. Breakfast wouldn’t be served until nine.

  Yawning, she absently lifted one of the bottles off her bedside table. The cork came free with a soft pop, and she inhaled deeply, closing her eyes.

  Frankincense and myrrh. Kit. Almost. Something was missing. That woodsy something. She’d have to locate and add that elusive ingredient before she gave the bottle to the duke.

  Thinking she’d better find Ellen, Rose yawned again and slid from the bed. She tied a red wrapper over her white night rail, slipped her feet into a pair of quilted satin mules, and padded out of her chamb
er, taking the bottle with her.

  Ellen wasn’t in the room she’d been assigned, either. Through the open door of her mother’s sitting room, Rose glimpsed two maids busy about their day’s work, one opening the shutters while the other cleaned the fire grate.

  “Have either of you seen Ellen Martyn?” she asked.

  “Nay, my lady,” they chorused in unison. “Perhaps she’s still abed?” one of them guessed.

  “No, she’s not.”

  For one panicked moment, Rose wondered if Ellen had escaped and gone to Thomas after all, but then she shook herself and headed for the staircase. Just because the upstairs maids hadn’t seen her didn’t mean that Ellen wasn’t here. She could easily be in the dining room having an early breakfast. Or perhaps in the large basement kitchen. Their cook would be long awake, baking the day’s bread, and she wasn’t the type to let anyone in the house go hungry.

  There was no need to fret. In fact, Rose thought, pausing in front of the perfumery and looking at the bottle in her hand, maybe she could take the time to perfect this scent. Half guilty knowing her mother would be a much more solicitous hostess, she pushed down on the door’s latch and shoved it open.

  The bottle crashed to the planked wood floor. “Ellen!”

  Tears welling in her eyes, Ellen held a dropper in one hand and a vial in the other. Looking away from Rose, she tilted her head back and deliberately emptied the last glistening drop into her mouth.

  “Ellen!” Skidding on glass and perfume, Rose ran to her, not wanting to believe what she’d just seen. “Whatever are you doing?” She grabbed the vial from her hand. “Pennyroyal?” Her heart pounded. “Are you trying to kill yourself? Essential oils are poison, pennyroyal most of all!”

  Ellen’s skin looked as white as her night rail. Sweat beaded on her forehead. As her red-rimmed eyes met Rose’s, the glass dropper fell from her slack fingers and shattered on the floor.

  She doubled over. “I think I’m going to be sick.”

  “It’s just as well, else I’d stick my finger down your throat and make you sick!” Rose ran for the chamber pot that sat beneath a sideboard and rushed back to plunk it on the worktable.

  She held Ellen’s head—and her own tongue—while spasms wracked the younger woman’s body, purging her of the poison. Over and over, but it wasn’t enough for Rose. When Ellen swallowed convulsively, holding back another spasm while she slumped against the table, Rose couldn’t hold her tongue any longer.

  “All of it,” she demanded. Ellen’s knees buckled, and Rose held her up by sheer force of will. “More! I want to see that there’s nothing left in your stomach. Nothing, Ellen, you hear me? Else my finger will go down your throat. More!”

  At long last, a series of dry heaves left Rose satisfied. She slung an arm around Ellen’s shoulders and led her to a chair.

  Still shuddering and frightfully pale, Ellen sank down. “I’m sorry,” she murmured, a shaky hand to her mouth. Tears spilled and ran down her cheeks. “I’m so sorry.”

  Rose took the chair beside her, a hand to her still-racing heart. She thought she’d caught Ellen in time. She’d call her mother and a doctor to make sure, but first she had to catch her breath.

  She’d never been so scared in her life.

  “Good God, Ellen, I know you’re unhappy, but surely things aren’t bad enough to end it all.”

  The younger woman’s eyes widened. “I wasn’t trying to,” she whispered. “I swear it. I didn’t know pennyroyal was that dangerous.”

  Cautious relief sang through Rose’s veins, but something still didn’t fit. “Why, then?” Suddenly chilled, she hugged herself, running her hands up and down her arms. “Pennyroyal is a powerful herb. Did you know that pregnant women shouldn’t eat or drink anything containing pennyroyal, for fear of bringing on their courses?”

  Ellen clenched her hands together in her lap and stared at them. “How do you know that?”

  “I’ve all kinds of foreign books to practice my languages. Many of them are herbals…”

  Rose’s voice trailed off as she stared at her friend’s miserable, huddled form—and understanding dawned.

  “You’re with child, aren’t you?” she breathed, not a question, but a statement. “You were trying to rid yourself of it.”

  Ellen’s fingers clenched harder; her tears flowed faster. Words spilled out between sobs. “The midwife said to brew pennyroyal tea, but I didn’t have any leaves, and then I saw your mother’s oils…”

  “Oh, Ellen!” Aghast, Rose slid from her chair to kneel at Ellen’s feet. She grabbed her hands. “How could you?” The younger woman’s tears fell warm on all their clasped fingers. Looking up, Rose searched her face. She hadn’t been attempting suicide, thank heavens, but… “How could you even think of doing something so wrong?”

  Ellen blinked and met her gaze, a sudden spark of anger making her eyes flash green. “There are worse wrongs,” she returned vehemently. “How about bearing a child out of wedlock? Disappointing my brother? Or defying him to marry the man I love?”

  She wrenched her hands from Rose’s and dashed at her tears.

  “Which is more wrong, Rose? A babe will leave me no choice but to go behind Kit’s back—no choice, no choice at all! I tried to talk him into letting me wed Thomas—I tried! But I cannot try anymore, don’t you see? Not with Thomas’s child growing inside me. My options are gone. I can have another child, but I’ll never have another brother. I need more time…”

  Rose swallowed, trying to understand, trying to be a good friend.

  Though she wasn’t a woman to sigh over other people’s babies, she couldn’t imagine not wanting her own. She squeezed Ellen’s fingers. “Don’t you want Thomas’s child?”

  “Of course I do.” Ellen’s tears flowed even faster. “But—”

  “You’re going to have it,” Rose said through gritted teeth. Ellen was her friend, and she’d promised Kit she’d watch over his sister. He wouldn’t want Ellen to lose her baby—she was sure of it. “If I have to stay with you day and night, I’ll be here to make certain you do nothing to harm your child.”

  If you haven’t harmed it already.

  A heavy silence descended as the words hung between them, unspoken.

  Only time would tell. Until a day or so passed without Ellen’s menses coming upon her, Rose would wonder whether she’d caught her in time.

  But a little color had sneaked back into Ellen’s cheeks. Though her face was wet with tears, her forehead was no longer slicked with sweat. Her body had stopped shuddering.

  Rose saw reason to hope.

  She got to her feet, bringing Ellen up with her, and wrapped her into a fierce hug. A hug that encompassed both the woman and the new life within her. “You won’t have a child out of wedlock,” she promised into Ellen’s wavy dark hair. Drawing away, she offered her friend a shaky smile. “Now Kit will have to allow you to marry Thomas.”

  “He won’t.”

  “He will. Once he hears you’re with child—”

  Ellen stepped back. “I cannot tell him that.”

  “What do you mean, Ellen? You must.” Rose’s gaze dropped to the other woman’s middle. “He’ll figure it out soon enough in any case, so you might as well tell him now.”

  “I couldn’t. He’d kill me.”

  “He wouldn’t!”

  “He thinks I’m his virginal baby sister. Have you any idea how he’d look at me? He’d think it his failure, and—”

  “You’d rather lose your child than confess to your big brother?”

  “No!” Ellen had gone white again. Into the tense silence that followed, she released a long, shuddering breath. “I just…I cannot tell him,” she whispered.

  Rose didn’t understand—couldn’t understand—but she wanted to be a good friend. And she could tell Kit anything.

  “Then I’ll tell him for you,” she said simply. “But first, we send a footman to fetch the doctor.”

  THIRTY-SIX

  “GOOD AF
TERNOON, Mr. Martyn,” the guard at Windsor Castle’s gate greeted.

  “Afternoon,” Kit muttered back.

  After all, there was nothing good about it.

  He’d arrived at Harold Washburn’s meager rooms on Peascod Street only to find them empty. The only neighbor he could locate informed him that Washburn had carted his belongings out days before.

  Of course. As he walked from the Lower Ward to the Upper, Kit cursed himself for a fool. It was obvious enough that if the man had set fire to Whitehall, he’d left Windsor in the time since Kit had dismissed him. Kit had assumed Washburn would return home, but without employment, there was no longer anything to hold him here.

  He could still be in London—or anywhere.

  Though Kit itched to confront the bastard, he hadn’t the time to mount a full-scale search, not while seeing his projects to successful completion. He would have to hope that the arson at Whitehall had satisfied the man’s thirst for revenge—that he wouldn’t try anything more.

  When he finally reached Windsor’s dining room, he breathed a sigh of relief. Here, at least, everything seemed to be going right. The ceiling was nearing completion. The scaffolding was coming down, and new plaster was going up. Over in a corner, men labored to put a fine finish on the last pieces of oak paneling. Pleasant aromas of fresh-cut wood and sawdust filled the air.

  The scent of building. It never failed to invigorate him.

  “Well done,” he told his new foreman. They spread out the plans and went over them together, then discussed the final schedule.

  “Seen Washburn lately?” Kit asked when they were finished.

  Though he hadn’t expected an affirmative answer, the foreman nodded. “Just yesterday, in fact. Been parading about town with some mighty fancy doxies.”

  Celebrating his successful revenge, Kit thought, seeing red. And spending the money he’d pocketed by purchasing inferior materials.

  Through the anger, though, the new knowledge lifted his spirits. Apparently Washburn was here in Windsor, after all.