“And women,” someone added, prompting giggles.
“Lord Chauncey has a set of the engravings on his bedchamber walls,” one lady slyly informed them. “I’ve seen them.”
“A crude set,” a second lady put in. “Copies. Nothing like the fine artistry of these originals.”
“You’ve seen them, too?” a third lady asked.
“You haven’t?” a fourth replied with an arched brow.
From the laughter that ensued, Rose concluded that Lady Number Three—and she—were the only women at court who hadn’t found their way into Lord Chauncey’s bedchamber.
Perversely, she was beginning to think she might have more in common with a woman like Nell than with these high-born ladies of her own class.
A wistful sigh came from one of the women. “I do so wish I could read Italian. These sonnets must be fascinating.”
“And far more tasteful than the pictures,” Rose said dryly.
As one, the assembled group stopped focusing on the book and swung to her instead. A few of them sidled closer, looking at Rose with more interest than resentment for a change.
“Can you read Italian?” one of them asked. Or rather, slurred. She was wearing the newly fashionable plumpers—cork balls inside her cheeks to round out her face.
Rose nodded. “Yes, I can read it.” Perhaps it wasn’t considered ladylike to study languages, but she was far past trying to impress these women.
And oddly enough, they didn’t seem disapproving. Quite the contrary. “Will you read this book to us?” one asked.
Rose’s face flamed at the thought. “I…I don’t read Italian that well,” she fibbed. “Not well enough to translate aloud.”
They all sighed together rather theatrically, their good-natured expressions hardening.
“But I’m translating the first sonnet tonight,” Rose found herself telling them. “For my friend. I could bring a copy to court, too, if you’d like.”
The brunette’s overly made-up eyes widened at this offer. “Would you?”
The pimply Lady W smiled. “We’d be most grateful.”
“Mosht grateful,” slurred the woman with the plumpers.
The blond Lady W stepped forward. “I must say, Lady Rose, that’s a very kind offer, indeed. I’m so pleased to have made your acquaintance here at court.”
TWENTY-NINE
“DIDN’T YOU sleep well, dear?” Mum frowned as Rose yawned for the dozenth time. “Perhaps you should go back to bed.”
“I slept fine, Mum.” And she had—for the three hours she’d actually slept. “I overslept, in fact. It’s past ten already, and I mean to visit Ellen at the pawnshop this morning.”
“The pawnshop?”
She crossed to the window to check the weather. “I never made it back to the bookshop yesterday, and Ellen said the pawnshop has books. Foreign books. And I need to return her cloak.” It looked sunny, so she decided against wearing her own.
“It’s amazing how quickly you’ve become friends.” Mum sounded pleased.
Rose made no reply. Friends didn’t lie to each other, yet she was about to do just that.
“Sometimes friendships are meant to be,” Mum went on. “Just like some men and women belong together.”
“Like the ones you introduce to be married?” With a forced laugh, Rose turned from the window. She collected her little purse and slid the cord over her wrist, then draped Ellen’s cloak over one arm. “The court leaves today for Hampton, as I hear it?”
“That’s right.”
“Will we go with them?”
“We could. Or we could catch our breaths at Trentingham first. What do you wish to do?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Rose hedged. She watched her mother reach for her own drawstring purse. “Where are you going?”
“You didn’t think I’d let you go to the pawnshop alone, did you? A young lady doesn’t parade around town on her own.”
Plenty of young ladies did, but Rose didn’t feel like arguing. She only hoped she could contrive a way to speak with Ellen in private. She’d die if her mother found out about I Sonetti—which was why she was somewhat keen on the idea of leaving court for a while. With all the ladies atwitter over the scandalous book, it might prove difficult to keep Mum in the dark.
Outdoors, the courtyards were teeming with servants hauling luggage, but there was no sign of any courtiers. “Have they left already?” Rose wondered, half hoping it was true. Maybe she’d arisen too late to go to Hampton Court, and the question would be decided, at least for today.
But as they skirted the Round Tower, Mum laughed. “I imagine they’re all still fast asleep.”
“I thought everyone was planning to leave early.”
“That, Lady Rose,” came a male voice, “depends on your definition of early.”
Rose turned to see the Duke of Bridgewater fall into step beside them. He looked very dapper this morning, with a broad-brimmed, ostrich-plumed hat shielding his golden head from the sun.
“And what is your definition of early, your grace?”
“Oh, before noon, I suppose. I’m certainly proud of myself for being up and about before the sun reaches its zenith.” Gabriel grinned, his blue eyes twinkling. “Most of us wake as the sun sets. I fear the court will find it tedious to have to rise and travel in broad daylight today.”
She laughed, enjoying the company of so pleasant and impressive a gentleman. Even for traveling, he was dressed to the height of fashion. His bright burgundy suit sported rows of gold buttons along the front edges of both the long waistcoat and the embroidered surcoat that went over it. The breeches beneath were secured at the knee with gold buttons, too. His lace cravat was tied at his neck in a wide bow, and, unlike Kit, he wore shoes instead of boots—heeled, with a double sole and small gold spurs.
She smoothed her scarlet silk day gown, wishing it were adorned with pearls or something else extravagant. She’d always thought herself 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
