Chase Family Collection: Limited Christmas Edition

by Lauren Royal

  She smoothed her red silk day gown, wishing it were adorned with pearls or something else extravagant. She’d always considered her clothes fashionable, but the ladies here made her feel like a country frump.

  “I’m so glad to see you’re feeling better this morning.” The duke took her arm. “Please tell me you’re coming along to Hampton Court.”

  She exchanged a glance with her mother, who shrugged, apparently leaving the decision up to her. “We’re just on our way to the pawnshop,” she said, evading an answer.

  “The pawnshop?”

  If Rose could judge by the duke’s tone, he and Kit held similar opinions regarding pawnshops. “We’re not pawning anything,” she assured him with a laugh. “Just visiting a friend there.”

  “A friend?” Sounding slightly disturbed, he gripped her arm tighter. “I shall accompany you, then, at least as far as the door.”

  “That’s not necessary,” Rose protested.

  “I was planning to take a walk in the Great Park, anyway. A brisk morning stroll does wonders for a man’s constitution. I usually leave from the castle, but I can enter off Park Street, no harm done.”

  There was no arguing with him, it seemed. They walked through the Lower Ward, Rose wishing some of the ladies were around to see her on the arm of the tall, handsome duke. Perhaps she should go to Hampton Court, because she sensed she was on the verge of snagging him.

  Beyond the gateway, it was a short stroll down Castle Hill and a left onto the High Street. The pawnshop was right there, as Ellen had said. Three golden balls—the pawn trade’s age-old symbol—dangled from a bracket that projected from the building. As they approached, Rose couldn’t help but notice the business looked prosperous. A wooden sign overhead said Whittingham’s Pawn Shop in fresh gold paint.

  Then she lowered her gaze from the sign to find a gorgeous pair of earrings in the window. Set in delicate gold filigree dangles, rubies sparkled and pearls gleamed. “Oooh,” she breathed, fingering her few coins through the thin fabric of her drawstring purse.

  Dozens of items crammed the window, but the earrings stood alone as dainty works of art. She fairly itched to own them.

  “Aren’t these earrings beautiful?” She gazed at them on their bed of black velvet. “If we go to Hampton Court and there’s gaming tonight, maybe I’ll be lucky enough to win them.”

  “They match your gown superbly,” Gabriel observed. “I think this is your lucky day.”

  “Pardon?”

  He grinned. “I’ve never patronized a pawnshop before, but wait here, ladies, if you will.” He bowed and then entered the shop, a bell jingling as he pushed the door open.

  Rose pressed back against the building to avoid a careening carriage. “Mum, do you expect he’s going to buy those earrings for me?”

  Chrystabel shrugged and smiled. “It seems so.”

  A masculine hand went into the window, square with pale hair sprinkled on the back. Rose watched the earrings and the hand disappear. “I hope he won’t think I belong to him afterwards.”

  “Does that mean you don’t want to?” Chrystabel raised a brow but didn’t wait for an answer. “In any case, they’re only earrings. A trifling item for a man like the duke.”

  Rose breathed a sigh of relief, for the truth was, she wanted the earrings. She could hardly wait to see them on her ears. She hoped someone had pawned a mirror.

  A moment later, the duke stepped back outside and presented the jewelry to her with a flourish. “Enjoy, my lady.”

  The rubies sparkled even more in the sunshine; the pearls shone like they held secrets; the gold was intricate, fashioned by a talented hand. Chrystabel slipped into the shop as Rose fumbled with the first earring.

  “Here, let me help.” Gabriel took it from her and stepped close to fasten it on her lobe.

  He still smelled of too much perfume, but Rose didn’t care. “Thank you, your grace.”

  “It’s nothing.” He reached for the other earring. “Beautiful women deserve beautiful things.”

  She turned her head to allow him greater access. “I love them.”

  “I’m glad. I want to see you happy, Lady Rose.”

  She smiled. He truly was very nice, and generous and handsome and a duke, too. When he was finished, she tucked her long ringlet curls behind her ears, the better to display her new treasures.

  “Stunning,” he pronounced. Then he leaned close and pressed his lips to hers.

  She tried to act enthusiastic, because truly, a kiss was a small price to pay for such beautiful earrings. But she was glad that Ellen’s cloak over her arm gave her an excuse not to embrace him.

  Thankfully, the kiss was short. Gabriel was too polite to attempt a seduction in broad daylight on Windsor’s High Street. But short as it was, all Rose could think was that his kiss was nothing like Kit’s.

  When Gabriel pulled away, he reached into one of the deep pockets in his breeches and pulled out a handful of coins. A small, secret smile curved his lips as he counted them, dropping each into a little leather pouch. “It’s just as I thought.”

  Rose touched her new earrings, assuring herself they were still there. “What’s that?”

  “The fool gave me too much change. A crown more than I was due.”

  “It was good of you to notice. I’m sure he’ll appreciate its return.”

  He blinked his nice blue eyes. “Return? Why the devil should I return it?”

  “It’s dishonest not to. Besides, I imagine he needs it much more than you do.”

  “A pawnbroker? I think not.” He tucked the pouch into his pocket. “The knaves prey on the most unfortunate, paying pence on the pound for their goods, then charging exorbitant fees for their return. Ten percent a month—and when the poor clodpolls cannot pay, the brokers sell their goods at an enormous profit.”

  Rose reached up to finger the ruby earrings. She didn’t like to think of them as belonging to a poor clodpoll. Surely they hadn’t. “So you’ll just keep the money?”

  “His loss, my gain. A wise man is more careful when doing business.” The duke patted the leather pouch where it was hidden inside his pocket. “Now I must be off for my walk. I’ll need to get back to the castle in time to see all my luggage is safely transported.” He executed a small, formal bow. “Your servant, my lady. I hope to see you at Hampton Court late this afternoon.”

  “Thank you for the earrings,” Rose called as he walked away. Then she went into the shop.

  The bell on the door was still jingling as she headed toward a pockmarked blond man who was polishing a glass counter. Though he was younger than she had pictured Ellen’s Thomas, he looked very industrious indeed. And certainly not like a knave who preyed on the unfortunate.

  “Lady Rose!” Ellen came running over. “Thomas and I were just having the most lovely conversation with your mother. And the duke bought you earrings, did he?” Her eyes danced. “Mercy me, imagine that.”

  “Kit loaned me this last night,” Rose said, handing over Ellen’s cloak.

  Ellen looked at her sharply. “When?”

  “Later, when it grew cold.” Rose dug in her drawstring purse and pulled out a silver crown. “Mr. Whittingham gave Bridgewater too much change. He asked me to return it.”

  Ellen set the cloak aside, effectively distracted from wondering how she’d come by it. “That wasn’t Thomas’s doing, but the new apprentice he’s training.” Her disapproving gaze went to the young man behind the counter. “Thomas will have a word with him for certain.”

  Rose felt sorry for the boy. “I’m sure it was an honest mistake.”

  “Fear not, Thomas doesn’t beat the lad. But he must learn to be more careful.” Ellen took the coin gratefully. “Please thank his grace for returning this, next time you should see him. Thomas needs every penny, because he dreams of moving the shop to London—to the Strand, no less!” She laughed as she walked over to add the crown to the till.

  Noticing a fine gilt-framed mirror perched on the wall,
Rose went over to admire her new earrings. She turned her head this way and that, watching the rubies catch the light. “Where is your Thomas?”

  “In the back, talking to your mother. Come, I cannot wait for you to meet him.”

  “Just a minute.” She sidled closer to Ellen and pulled the paper out of her purse. “Here,” she whispered, passing it to her.

  “The sonnets?”

  “One of them. It took me half the night.” She didn’t mention that was because she’d spent the majority of the time goggling at the engravings.

  And thinking about Kit.

  “Thank you.” Ellen tucked the paper into her skirt. “Thomas will enjoy reading this.”

  From the glint in Ellen’s eyes, Rose suspected the two of them would enjoy it together.

  She followed Ellen into the back. The shop was deceiving, because although it looked large enough on the inside, even more space was hidden behind. Here, apparently, was where Thomas kept the goods that he was holding for customers to return and claim—and he had more in that category than goods for sale. Items were piled up on shelves and stacked in trays and spilling out of trunks—a treasure trove, as Ellen had said.

  “Mr. Whittingham has been telling me all about the history of pawning,” Chrystabel said after the introductions.

  Rose traced the silver embroidery on a deep green velvet surcoat. “There’s a history?”

  “Most certainly.” Thomas had brown hair, blue eyes, and a strong chin that lent him a mature air although he looked no older than five-and-twenty. “Pawnbroking can be traced back over three thousand years to ancient China, and there are also records of it in early Greek and Roman history.”

  Thomas seemed intelligent, too. More learned than she’d supposed a pawnbroker would be—and certainly more learned than Kit seemed to give him credit for. “And the three gold balls?” she asked. “From where did that symbol come?”

  “In times past, the Medici family in Italy were well-known moneylenders. Legend says one of the Medicis battled a giant and slew him with three sacks of rocks. The three balls became part of their family crest, and eventually, the sign of pawnbroking.”

  “It’s an honorable business,” Ellen put in. “Where else can the common people find money should they need it? It’s not as though they can approach noblemen for loans. Pawning has saved many families’ homes and farms—they consider themselves lucky to have a broker to turn to.”

  Rose remembered Gabriel’s opinions about preying on poor clodpolls. “Even when they cannot afford to redeem their pawned goods?”

  “Sometimes they just choose not to.” Ellen lifted her chin. “It’s a business, after all. Thomas is entitled to make a living.”

  “Of course he is,” Chrystabel said.

  Rose turned to Ellen’s love. “However did you get into this trade?”

  “My father was a pawnbroker, and his father before him.”

  She hadn’t thought of a pawnshop as something a man could inherit. In fact, she’d never thought about pawnbroking at all. It was unlikely she would ever require such a service. But she had to admit, standing here amongst neatly tagged jewels and guns, tools, household goods, swords, and clothing…the business wasn’t nearly as seedy as she’d assumed.

  She wondered if Kit had ever really looked at Whittingham’s shop with an open mind. Not to mention listened to the man’s plans. She smiled at Thomas. “Ellen was telling me you wish to move to London.”

  “I do, as did my father before me. He saved for twenty years towards that goal. Trade in London would be much brisker—there are so many more people.”

  “So many more destitute people,” Rose put in.

  “We can help them,” Ellen said. “This trade isn’t about taking advantage, no matter its reputation.”

  Rose hadn’t missed the we. “Why the Strand?” she asked.

  Thomas waved an arm at the trays and trays of jewelry—clearly the most often pawned item. “The Strand is home to many of London’s goldsmiths. Whittingham’s could compete favorably, drawing customers—paying customers, not pawning ones—from the patrons who frequent the area. The real estate there, however, can be prohibitively expensive. My father never did manage to save enough to make the move. And prices are still rising—the Great Fire made London’s remaining developed land even more precious.”

  “But after we’re wed…” Ellen murmured, then left it at that.

  Rose knew she was thinking about her dowry. Eleven thousand pounds—surely more than enough to open the fanciest shop on the Strand. But she also knew that Kit wasn’t going to be happy turning that money over to this man.

  The bell tinkled in the outer room, signaling another customer. “Pray excuse me,” Thomas said.

  As he left, Chrystabel turned to examine a sword with a jewel-encrusted hilt. “Isn’t this beautiful?”

  “It is, Mum.”

  She hefted its shining weight, watching sapphires and emeralds twinkle in the light from the small, barred windows. “If this isn’t claimed, I’ll be tempted to buy it for your father.”

  Rose couldn’t imagine he’d be too impressed—the sword wasn’t a flower or plant, after all—but she knew her mother liked for him to look nice when they went out in public. “I’m certain he’d love it, Mum.”

  Chrystabel looked up from the sword. “You’ve a fine young man, Ellen.”

  “Thank you. I think so. I just wish I could convince Kit.” She sighed, then took Rose’s arm. “Come out front. Thomas has so many wonderful things for you to see.”

  “I want to see the books. Especially foreign ones.”

  But as they stepped back into the main room, they spotted Kit through the window, striding purposefully toward the door. Ellen gripped Rose’s arm tighter. “Mercy me, I’m in trouble. I was hoping to return home before he woke.”

  Even the bell sounded angry when Kit slammed into the shop. “We must leave, Ellen. I’ve had word there’s a problem at Whitehall. A fire.”

  Ellen’s green-brown eyes widened. “Whitehall has burned?”

  “Not the entire palace. Just the east end of the Chapel Royal where I’m building the new altar.” He swore under his breath. “Come along.”

  Ellen set her jaw. “I don’t want to go to London. I’ll stay here.”

  “No, you won’t.” Despite his normal tanned complexion, Kit looked paler even than Bridgewater. And he hadn’t noticed Rose. He shot a glance to Thomas instead, then glared back at his sister. “Do you think me a simpleton? If I leave you here, you’ll elope. You’re coming with me.”

  “We’re going to London, too,” Mum announced, surprising Rose.

  Kit looked surprised, too. “Lady Trentingham. And Lady Rose.” His startled gaze met Rose’s, disturbing her as much as ever. Something seemed to be fluttering in her stomach.

  Chrystabel moved closer put a hand on Rose’s shoulder. “My daughter’s favorite seamstress, Madame Beaumont, resides in London. Rose needs to order some new gowns if we’re to spend more time at court.”

  That was news to Rose, but she thought it a fine idea. Not least because it would give her some time to think about Gabriel…and Kit, blast him. He might be frantic with worry and wearing a simple blue wool suit instead of embroidered silk and gold, but she could no longer deny he roused feelings in her that Gabriel never would.

  Feelings she didn’t want.

  Mum squeezed her shoulder. “Perhaps,” she added, “we can have Kit and Ellen to supper, since they’ll be in London, too.”

  “That would be nice,” Kit allowed, “assuming I can leave the project. Assuming there’s still a project to leave. Now, we must be off. Excuse us, please.”

  As she watched him herd his sister out the door, Rose realized he hadn’t even taken Ellen to task for escaping to the pawnshop this morning.

  He had to be very worried indeed.

  Thirty-One

  THREE DAYS later, Ellen strode into Whitehall’s Chapel Royal. “I’m ready, Kit.”

 
Kit swept the newly framed altar with one more glance before turning to his sister. “You’re all packed?”

  “Yes. My maid is seeing everything brought to the carriage. How about you? You’ve spent two solid days in this chapel. Have you eaten? Slept? Are your things all packed?”

  “I have enough at the house in Windsor,” he said, neatly evading her other questions. If he needed to forgo food and rest to accomplish his goals, so be it. What he didn’t need was Ellen nagging him.

  She bent to scoop up some wood scraps and toss them onto a pile. “I’m so glad we’re returning to Windsor.”

  Reaching into his pocket, Kit fingered the heavy vellum invitation that had arrived yesterday, a gracious request from Lady Trentingham to join her and her daughter for supper. If his plans worked out, Ellen wouldn’t be returning to Windsor, but he wouldn’t argue with her now. “I thought you loved staying here at Whitehall, where you can pretend you’re a fine courtier.”

  “I loved it before I loved Thomas. Now I know that was only a childish game.”

  Evening was falling, and he’d dismissed his crew for the day, so he picked up the last of the tools himself. “It’s not a game, Ellen,” he said as he put them into a crate. “You can be that woman.”

  “I don’t want to be that woman. I want to be Thomas’s woman instead.”

  He bit back a retort, preferring to savor a good day’s work. The situation here at Whitehall hadn’t been as bad as he’d feared. Although the fire had destroyed the half-built altar, the building had remained intact. Yesterday he’d hired extra men—triple his original crew—and procured new materials. The progress today had been gratifying, surpassing his revamped schedule. Save for elusive bits of ash and the lingering scent of burned wood, all evidence of the fire was gone, and the new altar was framed already.