A frown appeared between Kendra’s brows. “The curly-haired girl with the never-ending questions?”
He nodded. “I brought her back with me. If I had a shilling for every question she asked on the way here, I’d be able to restore Greystone tomorrow.”
Kendra smiled. “And our town house?” She spooned up a bite of cake; Kendra always ate dessert first, in case she might not have room for it later.
“The town house is safe—Lincoln’s Inn Fields was never in danger. The fire stopped short of Chancery Lane and Essex House. But the burned parts smolder so hotly, no man would venture in. The first rain started this afternoon, though—I reckon that will help.”
“It rained but a few minutes.” Kendra glanced out the diamond-paned windows. “I shouldn’t think it would help much.”
“Perchance it rained more in London.” Colin shrugged. “Though with all the homeless, I suppose we should hope not…”
He was having trouble concentrating with Amy seated beside him. A rose scent drifted over from her direction. Having left her weak and stricken and sleep-shrouded, he’d been astonished when the old Amy entered the dining room.
Well, not quite the old Amy. Not precisely. This Amy was more subdued and sort of Kendra-ized, wearing a dress he recognized as Kendra’s, with her hair coaxed into long, Kendra-like ringlets.
And she wore not a speck of jewelry. That separated her most from the old Amy. That, and her reserve. She seemed to be eating in a trance-like state.
But he felt the same something between them nonetheless.
“And Charles?” asked Ford.
If Colin could inch his chair to the right…
No, too obvious.
If he moved his knee beneath the table…
Ford banged down his goblet impatiently. “Colin? How is the king holding up?”
Jason kicked Colin again.
“Ouch!” Colin blinked. What had Ford been asking about? “Oh, Charles. Heavens, he’s in his glory. He hadn’t much time to chat, though.”
He rubbed his ankle, thinking he’d deserved the kick. What was it about this girl that made him forget anyone else existed? Why could he think of nothing but touching her?
He was worse than flustered. He was…sappy!
Thank heavens he was leaving for Greystone in the morning.
Before he turned into a complete dolt.
NINETEEN
AMY SPOONED soup, letting the conversation swirl around her. The buzz was calming, soothing. Like layers of flannel protected jewelry, the family’s chatter protected her from her own thoughts.
“Did you pay Charles a visit at Whitehall?” Kendra asked Colin.
The question startled Amy from her trance.
At Whitehall? she mouthed silently. Was this family on intimate terms with the king? She sneaked Colin an incredulous sidelong glance, then chided herself.
Why should she be surprised? The Chases lived in a castle, after all. Jason was a marquess, Colin an earl, Ford a something-or-other…a viscount, that was it. Titles all granted by Charles, Kendra had told her, explaining the unusual situation.
Colin shifted beside her. “No, Charles rode out to Moorfields. The stories of his heroism during the fire spread quickly, and those who didn’t witness it are as loyal as those who did. He sat on his horse in the midst of the crowd, the ruins of St. Paul’s in the background, smoke hanging over the rubble of the City, and he vowed, by the grace of God, to take particular care of all Londoners, by means of grand plans for rebuilding. Cheers went up…” Colin grinned. “Old Charles is a popular man these days.”
Painted by Colin’s vivid words, Amy could picture the scene in her head: King Charles, seated tall atop his horse, addressing his adoring subjects. It was history in the making, and she loved history.
She sighed in satisfaction.
“What are these plans?” Jason asked. “Did he elaborate?”
“He issued a proclamation that all new construction should be done according to a proscribed plan, so that London would—let me see if I can remember his words—‘rather appear to the world as purged with fire to a wonderful beauty and comeliness, than consumed by it’ and ‘no man whatsoever shall presume to erect any house or building, great or small, but of brick or stone.’ I think I got the words right, but that was the gist of it, regardless.”
Amy smiled to herself at Colin’s precise descriptions; it had been the same when he showed her the castle. Dates, words…he paid attention to detail.
But one detail she was certain of was that he didn’t want her here. He’d as much as said he couldn’t wait to get rid of her. Still, she could swear she felt a warmth emanating from him, an inviting warmth that seemed to reach out and draw her in.
It was the very oddest feeling. And confusing.
“It sounds like a good plan,” said Ford.
Colin nodded. “Charles also decreed wider streets so buildings on one side cannot catch fire from the other. He’s appointing Christopher Wren as…let’s see…’Deputy Surveyor and Principal Architect for Rebuilding the Whole City.’” He smiled at the grandiose title. “Wren is charged with drawing up a plan of boulevards and plazas and straight streets.”
“Charles announced all of this?”
“He told me of Wren privately. It’s not official yet. Wren was supposed to have the plans ready to submit today, and then an announcement will be made.”
“A new London, rising from the ashes,” Amy murmured, staring at one of the chamber’s enormous tapestries, but imagining instead what this bright new city might look like.
Colin turned to her. “What did you say?”
“Nothing,” she mumbled.
He looked at her with that soul-piercing gaze of his, then cleared his throat and turned back to the others. “Did you know that Wren’s plan for restoring St. Paul’s was accepted by the Commission just two weeks ago?”
“And now St. Paul’s is burned to the ground,” Jason said with a mournful shake of his head. “If I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes,
