by Lauren Royal
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 won’t 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 don’t wish 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.
“It’s 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. It was as though she stared right through him, as though he weren’t 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 wasn’t about to give Ellen a fortune when she wouldn’t speak to him. Never mind that he hadn’t planned to withhold it much longer, if any longer at all—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.
“She’s 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 his brother-in-law 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.
FIFTY-SEVEN
STANDING IN the old village church, Rose shifted on her high-heeled shoes, watching another wedding.
The third one this year.
“Edmund Richard Henry, Viscount 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 close, bumping against Rose’s left side. “They’re perfect together, aren’t they?” she whispered.
Rose could only nod numbly. 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 didn’t know. 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 hadn’t hesitated to put them first.
Sun streamed through the stained glass windows, glinting off Violet’s spectacles. “Oh, isn’t this romantic?” she sighed.
“It is,” 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 heaven that hadn’t been necessary.
Lily poked Rose from behind. “Your wedding will be next,” she whispered.
Rose hoped so. But first she’d have to find a husband who would make her as happy as her sisters and Ellen and Judith. A decent man. Someone she could admire.
Gabriel wasn’t that man. She’d tried her best to fall in love with him, but it hadn’t happened. What could she do but keep looking? She’d have to return to court, much as the thought distressed her. But not today. It was too soon. 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.
A few more words, a new sapphire ring slid onto Judith’s finger, and she was clearly and truly wed now, the new Lady Grenville.
And watching that, Rose knew she wouldn’t wed until she found a love as decent and true.
When Lord Grenville lowered his lips to meet Judith’s, Rose smiled through a sudden film of tears. She wasn’t sure whether they were happy or sad tears…perhaps they were a little of both.
MANY HOURS later, Chrystabel sighed happily as she closed her bedchamber door. “Another wedding.”
Her husband wrapped her in his arms. “Another wedding night.” He kissed her thoroughly before setting her away, his hands moving to detach the stomacher that covered her laces. “Will we be celebrating Rose’s wedding soon?”
“I wish I knew.” She went to work on the knot that secured his cravat. “I’m fairly certain she won’t be accepting Bridgewater, but that doesn’t mean she’ll end up with Kit.”
“You sound worried, my love.”
“Our daughter is stubborn.”
He skimmed one long brown curl off her face. “What will you do next to push Rose and Kit together?”
“Nothing.” The fire on the hearth threw his face into shadows. “I’ve done what I can. The rest is up to them. But with any luck, we’ll have another wedding night before too very long.”
“Ah, Chrysanthemum.” Taking her face in both his hands, he claimed her lips. “You know we’ve no need of a wedding to have a wedding night.”
She sighed into his kiss, thinking this was all she wanted for her daughter. To know that after more than twenty years of marriage, Rose would still feel as loved as she had on her wedding day.
FIFTY-EIGHT
JUDITH’S wedding celebration had lasted through the wee hours, and Rose had stayed till the end
. The sun was high in the sky by the time she awakened the next day, hearing strange noises beneath her window.
Bangs and scrapes and shouts.
Construction.
Kit.
She rang for her maid. “Hurry,” she said when Harriet arrived. “The purple gown—no, the red and black damask.” The maid pulled it from the wardrobe and helped her wiggle into it. “Hurry.”
“I’m going as fast as I can, milady.” She laced Rose up the back.
“Tighter.” Rose wanted to look her best.
Harriet pushed her onto a chair and began combing through her tangled curls. “Whyever are you in such a rush?”
Rose gulped down some chocolate and nibbled on some bread. “I’d forgotten that today is the groundbreaking.”
“I see.” The maid twisted up the back of her hair. “I expect you’re more interested in the builder than the building, hmm?”
Rose didn’t care for the sound of that hmm. “Mr. Martyn is just a friend. After the lunacy of court life, I simply crave a sane conversation.” Kit had always been easy to talk to.
Harriet met her gaze in the mirror. “Hmm,” she said again.
“How is your love life?” Rose asked to distract her.
The maid’s freckled face lit with a smile as she chose a red ribbon. “Walter has said he will visit. I believe he will ask for my hand.”
It was on the tip of Rose’s tongue to protest, to tell Harriet she had no business getting married when she needed her. But she was feeling expansive this morning. “Where will you live?” she asked instead.
“We haven’t yet decided. And I don’t really care. Does it matter, so long as you’re together with the one you love?”
Rose’s ebullient mood plunged. Even Harriet was in love.
Love, love, love. All around her, people were in love. In that way, it had been easier to be at court. At least there she wasn’t constantly reminded just how lacking she was in love. At court, lust ruled the day—no one else at court seemed to be in love, either.
Except maybe Nell Gwyn. And the king’s poor, long-suffering queen.
“Are you finished?” she asked.
“One moment.” Harriet tied the ribbon and stepped back. “You look lovely, milady.”
“Thank you.” Rose darkened her lashes with the burnt end of a cork and slicked on some lip gloss from a little pot. She considered a patch or two, but hadn’t the patience. In no time at all, she was downstairs, out the door, and hurrying through her father’s gardens.
On impulse she paused to pluck a few colorful blooms, gathering them into a makeshift bouquet. Still arranging them, she rounded the corner of the house.
And there was Kit.
Was there anything quite so masculine as a man in charge, giving orders? The greenhouse site looked chaotic, but somehow, at the same time, Kit seemed to have everything under control.
The air smelled of newly turned earth and freshly cut wood. Kit’s dark hair glinted in the sunshine, and a metal T-square flashed as he used it to point here and direct workmen there. He’d spread plans on an improvised table balanced across two sawhorses, and he kept looking down at them and back up.
She positioned herself in front of the table, so the next time he looked up, he’d see her.
“Rose,” he said briskly, then looked back down.
“Kit?”
“Hmm?”
She shifted uneasily, stepping closer. “Aren’t you going to ask me if I want a kiss?” she said, trying to tease one of those glorious smiles from him.
“No.” He waved at a man pushing a wheelbarrow full of bricks. “Over there,” he directed, pointing with the T-square. Once again, he consulted his plans. “And you’ve no need to worry,” he added toward the neatly inked lines. “I’m not going to try to convince you we belong together, either.”
She should be relieved, but she wasn’t. Something was wrong. She held out the bouquet. “I brought these for you.”
“What for?”
“I’m hoping to celebrate you winning the Deputy Surveyor post.”
He finally met her gaze. “I lost it.”
“Oh, Kit.” The flowers fell to the ground as she moved around the table to lay a hand on his arm. “Tell me.”
“There was a problem at Hampton Court.” He glanced down at her fingers, then scanned the bustle of construction and sighed, setting down the T-square. “Wait here a moment.”
Rose watched him cross the site, looking confident as ever as he consulted with a short, hook-nosed man. Kit gestured with his competent, callused hands, and she wondered when she’d come to prefer them over the smooth, elegant hands of the aristocracy. He ran one of them through his dark hair, and she wondered when she’d come to prefer bold coloring over the pale English ideal.
When he returned, he led her around the house toward the gardens. “It was structural,” he admitted flatly. Their shoes crunched on the gravel path. “I ordered the building torn down. It was destined to eventually collapse.”
“You could have been killed!” She put her hand to her racing heart, staring at his profile as they walked, imagining her life without him and suddenly realizing it would be tedious and dreary.
When had their friendship come to mean that much to her?
But the gaze he turned on her was sad, not alarmed. “I was never personally in danger.” He stopped beneath the huge tree her father called his twenty-guinea oak. “I’ll still build it,” he said with a half-hearted shrug that didn’t fool her. He was more upset than he was willing to admit. “But I’ll do it right. And there’s no rush anymore, since I’ve no chance to make King Charles’s tight deadline.”
“And that’s why you lost the appointment?”
He didn’t have to answer. His hand slipped into his pocket to grip that little piece of his first building—that tiny symbol of his past success—and in the dappled light beneath the tree, his expression said it all.
Her heart broke for him. “I know how much you wanted that post.”
“I wanted the knighthood that went with it. I was hoping…” He sighed. “Never mind.” Looking more defeated than she’d ever seen him, he dropped to sit on the grass, his back against the massive trunk. “It was my fault,” he said resolutely, and then almost in a whisper, “but it may not have been my mistake.”
She sat across from him, carefully settling her skirts. “What do you mean?”
“Do you remember me mentioning the set of plans at Hampton Court didn’t match the ones I kept with me? It could have been my error reproducing them, but—”
“Someone could have made changes,” she finished for him. “Harold Washburn?”
“Perhaps.” He slipped the chunk of brick back into his pocket. “But I should have been there, checking, double-checking—”
“You had too many projects. You couldn’t be everywhere at once.”
“Which just goes to show that the king was right to test me, because the Deputy Surveyor of the King’s Works would have many more projects at a time than I’ve had these past weeks.” He pulled a long green blade from the ground and chewed the end, looking pensive. “But I’ve been…distracted. It could have been my error. And in any case, it was my project. My responsibility. Which was why I had to tear it down even though the problem would likely have stayed hidden for years—”
“Years?” She blinked. “Are you saying you could have finished the project and accepted the post—”
“I couldn’t.” At her frown, he tossed the green blade to the lawn. “Can’t you see, Rose? When the building collapsed—however far in the future—people might have died. It could have been the mother of the king’s children—or his children themselves. And even if it didn’t happen until I was long gone—not only from the project, but from our good green earth—I couldn’t have lived with myself knowing the possibility existed. Better to lose a post than lose my honor and my very soul.”
And suddenly it came clear.
Kit—her dear friend—
was the most decent man she knew.
How could she not have seen it? How could she have chased after a title when something better was waiting right here for her? Someone who put others’ safety before his own cherished goals? Someone who made her heart quicken with a mere glance and her knees melt with a single kiss?
Someone—perhaps the only one—she could honestly talk to about anything.
“Will you marry me?” she asked.
A thundercloud swept over his face. “That is terribly cruel.” He scrambled to his feet. “Do you know, Rose, I’m usually amused by the way you tend to say whatever comes into your head.” Clearly disgusted, he began to walk away. “But that was just plain cruel.”
Jumping up to run after him, she grabbed his hand and jerked him to a halt. “I meant it, Kit.”
“What?” He swung to her, glaring.
“You’re the best person I know. I want to be your wife.”
He focused hard on her, searching for the truth, perhaps finding it but unable to believe. It seemed he was also unable to talk. He opened his mouth, but a long moment passed before any words came out.
“I’ll never be Deputy Surveyor,” he finally said slowly. “I’ll never be a knight, let alone a baron, or a viscount, or an earl—”
“You’ll be Kit Martyn, the man I love.”
His eyes cleared. The tension drained from his face. He took a step closer, and her heart raced.
“No more kissing other men?”
She might have been offended if he wasn’t suddenly looking at her in that way that made her stomach dance. “None of them were any good at it, anyway,” she said flippantly.
He threw back his head and laughed. “Do you promise to always speak your mind? I do so love that.”
“Will you kiss me, already?”
The next thing she knew she was in his arms, their lips clinging together.
And nothing had ever felt so glorious.
FIFTY-NINE
“I’VE ASKED Kit to marry me.”