Rose turned in a slow circle. “Something more like Windsor Castle’s decorations?”
“Very much.”
“That owner has no taste,” she declared.
Kit grinned. “Would you like to see upstairs?”
A small, exquisite stained-glass window threw colored light onto the curving staircase. “Another item I rescued,” Kit said, waving the book at it, too.
The bedchambers weren’t simply sleeping rooms; they were suites—and there were many. His sister’s was peacock blue with a lovely canopied bed, a sitting room with a settle, a desk, and a marble fireplace, and a mirrored dressing room that made both Rose and her mother jealous. This suite was also the only cluttered area in the house, with pretty little items decorating every flat surface. Rose wondered what his sister was like.
Kit’s chamber boasted more classic oak paneling, a red-draped half-tester bed, and a beautiful sitting room surpassed only by the luxurious dressing room. It had the biggest bathtub Rose had ever seen—not a tub that the servants had dragged upstairs, but a permanent one positioned before a fireplace.
Rose could imagine herself in a tub like that. She hoped the Duke of Bridgewater lived half so nicely. Many of the estates she’d visited were much too old and drafty, and she’d met quite a few men who seemed more than happy living with their grandmothers’ choices in decor.
When the Ashcrofts had seen and admired everything, Kit led them downstairs. “Ellen isn’t here,” he muttered darkly as though to himself. “Anywhere.”
“Ellen?” Rose asked.
“My sister,” he explained, rubbing the back of his neck. “Graves!” he called. The butler reappeared. “Will you send someone to Whittingham’s to seek out Ellen? Should she be there, I wish to see her directly.”
“Of course, sir.” The butler went off, presumably to fetch and instruct a footman.
“Well.” Kit set the book on a small marble-topped table in the entry. “I hope you enjoyed the grand tour.”
“I did.” In truth, Rose was overwhelmed. She’d never imagined a commoner could own such a lovely home. And Kit not only owned it, he’d designed it. He was responsible for the pleasing proportions of each room, the tasteful wall and window treatments, the spare but perfect accessories.
All it needed, she thought absurdly, was flowers. Yes, beautiful arrangements of flowers would be the crowning touch. Her fingers itched to design them. She’d use silver vases in simple, classic shapes to match the house.
Mum lifted the book. “It’s a shame you cannot read Latin.”
“Not just Latin. All foreign languages elude me.” Kit flashed a self-deprecating smile. “I’m astonished I managed to pick up English.”
“Rose could read the book to you. Couldn’t you, dear?”
Rose was still planning her flower arrangements. Red, she thought, would suit this entry perfectly. The black-and-white floor called for something bold.
“I desperately need to lie down,” Mum said, “but why don’t you stay here and translate this book for Kit? I’m certain he can find someone to escort me home.”
“Stay here?” Rose echoed, wrested from her vision of the multicolored arrangement she’d create for the lovely dining room.
“It’s early still, and you have nothing else to do until court this evening. It would be a kindness.”
She collected her thoughts and considered. Rose was not known for being kind—a perception she’d been trying to remedy. Inside, she’d never felt like the spoiled, selfish harridan others apparently saw, though she did understand why her recent behavior might encourage that view. Particularly her behavior toward Lily and Rand.
All this was to say: Rose could stand to do someone a kindness.
And besides the fact that she didn’t have anything else to do, she suspected translating a book about architecture might prove a fascinating challenge. She needn’t hide her unfeminine intellectual curiosity from Kit. Last summer he’d watched her work with Rand to decode Rand’s brother’s diaries—he already knew she had brains. Besides, he was just her brother-in-law’s friend and—now that he was building the greenhouse—her father’s hireling. What did she care if he thought her unfeminine?
“Rose?” her mother queried.
“Very well.”
Kit’s eyes brightened, suddenly looking more green than brown. “Graves! It seems we’ll be requiring dinner, after all.”
THIRTEEN
BEFORE ROSE could change her mind, her mother had departed, and she and Kit were in the beautiful paneled dining room, a lovely dinner of beef in claret and carrot pudding set before them.
To her surprise, she found Kit very good company.
“It’s odd,” she realized in the middle of their meal. “You’re quite easy to talk to.”
A forkful of carrot pudding halfway to his mouth, he laughed. “Do you always say exactly what’s on your mind?”
“Usually.” Unless she was with someone she thought of as husband material; then she had to watch her words. “Do you not find it odd at all? After all, we hardly know each other.”
“Perhaps we should get to know each other, then.” He sipped thoughtfully from a goblet of Madeira. “What’s your favorite color?”
“Red. Why?”
He met her eyes. “Color can say a lot about a person.”
“Oh, yes?” She took a swallow of the sweet wine. “What do you suppose red says about me?”
“I imagine that you’re strong-willed…and perhaps a bit daring.”
She liked that description. “What’s your favorite color?”
“The clear blue of a summer sky.”
“But your bedchamber is red,” she remembered.
“So it is.” He smiled and didn’t elaborate. “Do you prefer sweet or savory?”
“Pardon?”
“To eat. Sweetmeats or real meats, which is it?”
“Oh, sweets, most definitely,” she told him, relieved to be on a different subject. Enjoying this game, she eyed a cherry tart one of his serving maids had placed on the table. “But I’m not passionate about it.”
He raised a brow. “Passionate?”
Feeling herself blush, Rose was certain he’d taken her statement the wrong way. “Violet’s sister-in-law, Kendra—she’d have a wedge of that tart on her plate already. She always eats dessert first. In case she wouldn’t have room for it later.”
“Ah.”
Rose swallowed more wine. ”And you? Sweet or savory?”
“Give me a hunk of beef any day.” He speared a bite of meat and popped it into his
