by Lauren Royal
“By all means, good sir,” the priest said, licking his fleshy lips. When he took the gold and hefted its weight in a hand, a wide smile emerged, revealing large, uneven teeth. “Bring two witnesses, and—since you seem to value speed—a pistol,” he added with a wink.
Despite himself, Kit laughed. “We’ve no need of a pistol—I’m the only party reluctant to this match.”
Hours later, Kit was waiting on the church’s steps when the Ashcrofts’ carriage pulled up. His sister stepped to the cobblestones, followed by Rose, who was carrying a bunch of flowers. He wasn’t surprised when Lady Trentingham emerged next, although he hadn’t expressly invited her.
Finally, Whittingham stepped down, dressed in a green wool suit that was ten or more years out of fashion. His brown hair was tied back in a neat queue. Somehow he managed to look both pleased and scared spitless.
Kit was happy to see that. Perhaps the fellow really did care.
Ellen marched up the steps and dragged Kit inside the church. Her gaze swept the sanctuary before swinging to fasten on him. “What on earth have you planned here?” she whispered fiercely.
“What a blushing bride you make,” he said, arching one brow. She’d changed into what had to be another borrowed garment, a confection of pale green satin with silver embroidery. It wouldn’t suit Rose’s high coloring at all, but looked perfect on his sister. The hue brought out the green in her eyes—or maybe they looked green because she was angry.
Well, she was about to get angrier.
“I’m going to ask Whittingham if he’ll take you without your dowry,” he informed her in an even tone. “And if he hesitates as much as a moment—one moment, Ellen—the wedding is off.”
“That’s so unfair!” she burst out.
Heads turned. “Hush!” he cautioned.
She moderated her voice, but not her demeanor. “You gave us your blessing.”
“With a condition. Should Whittingham love you, I wish you the best. But if not…well, I’d rather suffer your wrath than see you bound to a man only interested in your money.”
She crossed her arms, narrowed her eyes, and shut her mouth decisively. Remembering her words when he’d talked of withholding her dowry—I will never speak to you again—he figured she was following through on her threat.
That wouldn’t last. A married woman was no longer a child, and couldn’t afford to act like one.
“I’ve paid good money to see you wed quickly.” He put a hand on her arm, then frowned when she shoved it off. “Let’s adjourn outside and see this thing through.”
THIRTY-NINE
ROSE WATCHED brother and sister emerge from St. Trinity, Kit looking determined, Ellen furious. She wondered what had been said during their short time inside.
Thomas stepped forward. “Ellen has informed me you’re putting a condition on our marriage,” he said, looking directly at Kit.
He was a direct sort of person. Rose had come to know him a little better on the ride from the town house to the church, and she believed he would make a good husband for her friend.
If only Kit would allow it.
“That’s true,” Kit said. “You must be willing to take my sister without her dowry.”
Rose suspected Kit’s aim was to test the groom’s devotion, but Ellen released an angry huff. Yet Thomas, bless him, didn’t so much as blink. “I would take your sister if she came with a mound of debt. Ellen’s dowry would be welcome—I won’t lie—but I don’t want your sister for money, sir. I want her because I love her.”
It was such a pretty speech, Rose wanted to applaud.
But Kit just nodded, somehow contriving to appear pleased, relieved, disappointed, and resigned all at once. “Come along, then. Let’s get this done.”
Ellen let out a little squeal, then ran to Thomas and threw her arms around him.
“After the wedding,” Kit said, but not without a hint of good humor.
Regardless, Ellen chose to glare at him.
“Good luck, Ellen.” Rose handed her the bouquet of flowers she’d arranged while they were waiting for Thomas. It wouldn’t feel like a real wedding without flowers.
Though the bride smiled, she looked apprehensive until Thomas had drawn her down the aisle to stand before the priest. Then she took his hand and released a heartfelt sigh.
Some other people began to protest, but Kit pressed a small pile of gold into the priest’s plump hand—and that was that. The man wasted no time beginning the ceremony. He was the no-nonsense sort, with a booming voice, a big belly under his robe, and flushed, well-fed cheeks.
Standing in the little old chapel, Rose shifted on her high-heeled shoes, wondering if she’d ever be a bride.
“Thomas Whittingham, wilt thou have this woman to thy wedded wife, to live together after God’s ordinance 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 off the plain, whitewashed walls, binding Thomas to Kit’s sister.
But Rose wasn’t listening to the ceremony. Instead, she focused on the bride and groom—their linked hands, their bodies ranged close, their eyes shining with a potent mixture of disbelief and euphoria.
Smiling as though she’d arranged this wedding herself, Mum leaned close and nudged Rose’s shoulder. “They’re perfect together, aren’t they?” she whispered.
Rose could only nod dumbly. Ellen and her pawnbroker were clearly in love…for Ellen, at least, it hadn’t been as easy to fall in love with a titled man as a commoner.
The priest cleared his throat and looked back down at his Book of Common Prayer. “Ellen Martyn, wilt thou have this man to thy wedded husband…”
Standing on Rose’s right, Kit sighed. “Have I done the right thing?”
“Oh, yes,” she breathed, wondering if she would do the right thing. For she feared that, like Ellen, she wasn’t finding it easy to fall in love with a title. The Duke of Bridgewater was handsome and rich and kind, and she’d tried to make herself fall in love with him, to no avail. And yet, with Kit…
Her feelings didn’t bear thinking about.
“…so long as ye both shall live?” the priest concluded expectantly.
“I will,” Ellen pledged, sounding happier than Rose remembered ever feeling.
A few more words, a ring slid onto her finger—something chosen from the pawnshop, no doubt—and Ellen was clearly and truly wed now, the new Mrs. Thomas Whittingham.
And Rose was more confused than ever.
When Thomas’s lips met Ellen’s, Kit looked to Rose. Her breath caught in her throat. His eyes seemed full of promises…but they were promises she couldn’t return.
She didn’t breathe easily again until they’d all headed back down the steps to her family’s carriage. The newlyweds received congratulations and hugs from the ladies while Kit stood stiffly off to one side.
“I’m so happy for you.” Rose embraced the bride with a happy sigh. Then she lowered her voice. “Are you nervous about your wedding night?”
“Hmm?” Ellen had been gazing dreamily at her new husband. “Oh, not a bit. Who needs those old sonnets when I’ve got Thomas?”
Rose chuckled, relieved that her friend wasn’t vexed with her for handing over I Sonetti. “Where will you go tonight?”
“Home. To the pawnshop in Windsor.” She smiled up at Thomas, then glanced at Kit and lifted her chin before turning back to Rose. “It will doubtless be late by the time we arrive, but I’ve no wish to stay in London.”
“We’re going home to Trentingham tomorrow,” Mum announced.
“Are we?” Rose asked, surprised. But right now the idea of home sounded wonderful.
“I miss your father. And Rowan. And I’m going to have your sisters and their husbands over for supper as soon as possible. In fact, I’ll send notes to them before we leave. Perhaps they can join us tomorrow nig
ht.” Without missing a beat, Mum turned to Kit. “Will you join us as well? My husband is likely impatient to see his greenhouse take shape. You did promise to work up a design before you left Lily’s wedding.”
“I did, didn’t I?” he said wryly. “But—”
“Rose mentioned you’ve got Whitehall under control. And you won’t be far from Windsor. Or Hampton Court, for that matter.”
Mum could be persuasive when she put her mind to it. Kit nodded. “I suppose since no red-and-white-liveried king’s man has shown up with bad news, I can take a day to sketch a design.”
“And one night to relax before jumping back into the fray.”
“And one night,” he agreed, his gaze straying to Rose.
She ordered herself not to blush.
It took a few more minutes for plans to be nailed down. Rose and her mother would take Ellen and Thomas back to the town house to fetch Ellen’s things. Kit would return to Whitehall, spend the balance of the day making certain everything there would proceed smoothly, then go on to Trentingham Manor in the morning.
Rose was settled in the carriage and halfway to St. James’s Square before she realized that in all the time since before the wedding began, Ellen hadn’t said one word to her brother.
FORTY
ROSE’S FAMILY was almost more than Kit could take. They were loud. They were boisterous. And there were so blasted many of them.
Rose’s older sister, Violet, had brought along her husband Ford, the Viscount Lakefield, and their three children—two of whom were infant twins and prone to wailing—plus Ford’s niece, ten-year-old Jewel.
Kit’s friend Rand was there with his new wife, Rose’s younger sister, Lily. Lily, as usual, was surrounded by animals—a cat she’d brought, along with a sparrow and a squirrel that had followed her. Her mother had ordered the latter two outside during supper, but they were watching through a window.
And then, of course, there were Lord and Lady Trentingham. And their ten-year-old son, Rowan.
With Rose and Kit—and not counting the creatures—that made eleven people around the table in Trentingham Manor’s white-paneled dining room, plus two in cradles nearby. Kit was unwillingly reminded of his school days, eating in an enormous hammerbeam-ceilinged hall with shouts and conversation coming from all angles. He half expected a food fight to break out.
It seemed quite a racket to one who was used to dining with only his sister.
Ellen. She’d be settled in at the pawnshop by now, and he wondered how she was doing. Was she happy with her pawnbroker husband? They’d be happier, of course, when he gave them the money he’d saved for her dowry, but he thought he’d wait a little while for that. A week or two, at least. Let them get used to each other first—such a windfall was likely to be unsettling, indeed.
In the meantime, he hadn’t wanted to be alone at his house in Windsor, imagining his baby sister and her new husband getting “settled” down the street. So Lady Trentingham’s invitation had been welcome, even though heaven knew he had better things to do.
But his projects were under control, and the day had gone well enough. Lord Trentingham had been happy with Kit’s ideas for the greenhouse, and Kit had gone only half hoarse shouting all his explanations. He’d order the materials and hire a foreman when he returned to Windsor. The earl was anxious to get his plants inside before winter, so Kit had promised him an accelerated schedule. The groundbreaking was planned for ten days hence.
“This all must be very disturbing,” Rand said.
“Hmm?” Kit had been so deep in his thoughts he hadn’t even noticed that sweets had been put on the table. “Are you talking to me?”
“Wake up, you dolt.” Rand elbowed him in the ribs and laughed. “We’ve been talking about the problems you had at both Windsor and Whitehall.”
“They’re resolved now,” Kit said. His plate had been removed by a footman, and he hadn’t noticed that, either. Someone set a smaller, clean plate in front of him.
“Are you sure?” Jewel’s deep green eyes were wide in her delicate, heart-shaped face.
She seemed as concerned as an adult might, so he answered her seriously. “I’m convinced Washburn didn’t set the fire, so I don’t expect him to try anything else.”
“But how can you be sure?”
Seated to Kit’s left, Rose passed him a platter of small currant cakes, her soft floral fragrance wafting to his nose along with the fruity scent of the baked goods. “The fire was probably not intended,” she told Jewel.
“Exactly.” He took three cakes and passed the plate to Rand. “My men aren’t supposed to smoke on the job, but I wasn’t there to watch.”
Lord Trentingham frowned. “Is it a bath house?”
Kit blinked. “Pardon?”
“Your building project, is it a bath house? You said the men aren’t supposed to soak?”
“Smoke, darling, not soak.” His wife leaned to brush a few cake crumbs off her husband’s cravat.
“It could have been someone else.” Taking six cakes for himself, young Rowan sounded a bit gleeful at the prospect of uncovering intrigue. “Not this Washburn, but someone else.”
“Let’s hope not.” Kit used one of the cakes to scoop sweet whipped cream from a dish. “It was most probably accidental. These things happen.”
“Bee stings do happen,” the earl put in. “They’re a right nuisance out in the garden.”
No one corrected him this time.
Jewel waved a currant cake. “Accidents at two of your buildings? Aren’t you wondering if your other building might have a problem, too?”
Out of the mouths of babes. Kit sighed. “Perhaps I should go to Hampton Court and make certain everything there is progressing smoothly.”
“Rose and I are going to Hampton Court,” Lady Trentingham volunteered cheerfully.
Kit wasn’t surprised.
Her husband had actually heard that. “Not too soon, I hope, Chrysanthemum.”
“Well, we won’t want to wait too long. The court is there, after all, and Rose will want to see the duke.”
Rose’s sisters turned to her in unison.
“The duke?” Violet asked, leaning down to swipe her son’s spoon off the floor for at least the tenth time.
Lily fed a bit of cake to her cat under the table. “What duke?”
“The Duke of Bridgewater.” Rose hid her face by raising her goblet to her lips—although Kit knew it was empty. “We’ll talk about this later.”
FORTY-ONE
NOT TOO MUCH later, Rose found herself upstairs flanked by her sisters, the three of them lying crosswise on her oak four-poster bed, staring straight up.
“Tell us about the duke,” Violet said to the underside of Rose’s crimson velvet canopy.
“He’s very generous and handsome and kind,” Rose returned morosely. “He gave me these ruby and pearl earrings.”
Her sisters both turned to look. Violet touched a finger to one of the delicate drops. “They’re lovely.”
“Goodness!” Lily exclaimed. “He sounds perfect. Exactly what you were looking for. Do you think he likes you?”
“Very much.” Rose sighed. “I won’t be surprised if at Hampton Court I receive my first proposal.”
Violet came up on an elbow. “Then why do you sound so gloomy?”
When Rose turned her head to see Violet, her sister’s warm brown eyes looked too concerned behind the lenses of her spectacles. She focused back up on the canopy. “I don’t care for the way he kisses.”
“Oh…” her sisters said together in a way that made it clear they considered this as important a problem as she did.
Rose wasn’t sure whether she was glad or frustrated at that fact. Part of her wished they’d tell her to marry the duke and be done with it.
“Is his kissing…sloppy?” Lily asked.
“No.”
“Rough?” Violet wondered.
“No.”
“Then what?” they both chimed.
&nb
sp; “I’m not sure. There’s nothing wrong with his kissing that I can point out specifically—I just don’t enjoy it.” Rose crossed her feet where they hung off the end of the bed. She uncrossed them. Her voice dropped miserably. “For the longest time, I didn’t like anyone’s kissing. I thought something was wrong with me. Until…”
Now Lily came up on an elbow. “Until what?”
Rose felt hemmed in. She looked at her older sister, then her younger, then back to the canopy. “I’ve met one man who’s different. Whose kissing makes me…”
“Swoon?” Violet suggested.
Rose pulled a face. “I suppose. But he’s totally unsuitable.”
“In what way?” Lily’s voice was sweetly sympathetic.
“In every way. He’s a commoner. And he works for a living.”
“Rand works,” Lily said defensively. “Don’t you think being a professor is a lot of hard work?”
“But Rand doesn’t have to work. He works because he wants to. Gemini, he’s a baron, and someday he’ll be a marquess.”
“That wasn’t always the case, and he never minded working. And it didn’t bother me to think of marrying him when he did have to work. In fact, it didn’t bother you, either, if I recall correctly. You were perfectly willing to chase Rand when he was only a professor.”
“He was never only a professor.” Rose didn’t care for Lily’s affronted tone, nor for the reminder of how foolishly she’d pursued her sister’s husband. “Even before he became an earl, he was Lord Randal Nesbitt.”
“There’s nothing wrong with work,” Lily insisted.
“Of course there isn’t!” Frustrated, Rose pushed herself up to sit on the edge of the bed. She rubbed her face as her sisters came up beside her. “It’s only that I had a plan for my life, and this man isn’t part of it.”
“Is he poor?” Violet asked.
“No,” she said, thankful she could say that at least, else she’d get the same kind of tirade from Violet that she’d just heard from Lily. Violet’s husband, after all, had been poor as a churchmouse when they met.
