He’d meant to be stern, but all resolve fled the moment he saw her looking so fragile. He leapt from his seat and wrapped her in his arms, then all but carried her to one of the blue brocade chairs. “You shouldn’t be up and about. I wasn’t thinking. I ought to have—”
“I’m perfectly recovered.” Avoiding eye contact, her listless gaze scanned the room and lit on I Sonetti. Her only reaction was a sullen glance at Rose.
“You don’t look it. You’re not dressed…”
“I just didn’t feel like getting dressed today, that’s all.” But she was lying. Something about her was different. Flat and dull, as if she couldn’t summon enough energy even to feel irritated with him. As if she couldn’t be bothered.
Had he done this to her?
Feeling worse than ever, he shuffled back to the writing desk to retrieve the hastily scribbled missive. When he handed it to Ellen, she scanned the single page with disinterest.
Then a soft gasp escaped her lips.
“What is it?” Rose asked.
“A letter to Thomas.” Ellen looked up at Kit, her uncomprehending eyes a murky brown. “You’re…you’re allowing the marriage?”
“Insisting on it,” Kit corrected. “On one condition.”
She swallowed hard, clutching the paper to her chest. “What?”
Kit gazed down at her, his heart pounding a mile a minute. He’d thought reading the note would make her happy. Shouldn’t she be acting happy? Instead she still seemed different and wrong. Was she through being his sister? Or…heaven forbid, could it be the poison? Could it have hurt her mind somehow? Changed her permanently?
“How?” he asked abruptly. “How could you have been so stupid?”
“I don’t know.” Her eyes filled. “I thought I had no other choice.”
The tears wrenched at him, but at least they were a sign of emotion. Any emotion was an improvement over that awful nothingness. He decided to go on yelling. “No other choice but to abandon your honor and risk your life? And all for a blasted pawnbroker?”
“Kit,” Rose said in warning.
But her interference wasn’t necessary, since Ellen had already launched herself from her chair. “How dare you?” she bellowed, eyes blazing a hot, liquid green.
Kit wanted to cheer.
Except then Ellen would have killed him.
So he cheered on the inside, where he also breathed a sigh of relief. He would recognize that righteous fury anywhere. That was one hundred percent Ellen, his Ellen. He hadn’t lost her after all.
But he could have.
The sobering thought made him clench the chip of brick in his pocket until it could have turned to dust. “Don’t you know how much I love you?”
Her gaze dropped to the floor. It was so quiet he could hear the ticking of the mantel clock. Finally she nodded—then looked up. “Don’t you know how much I love him?”
Kit rubbed the back of his neck until Rose prodded him with a foot. He sighed. “Are you sure, Ellen? You’re only sixteen, and you can’t change your mind later. Are you sure?”
“I’m sure.”
He nodded. “Very well.”
“Very well…?”
“You have my blessing,” Kit said grudgingly, then nearly toppled over when his sister plowed into his chest.
She gushed gratitude and apologies, and for a while he just let her, holding her and savoring the fact that she was all right. And occasionally meeting Rose’s eyes, which looked bright with either tears or amusement. Or both.
After Ellen had calmed down, pulled away, and blown her nose, she brought out the letter to Whittingham again and perused it happily.
Kit turned to Rose. “Can you send a rider to Windsor to deliver the note? And an extra horse so Whittingham can ride back with him. I left my carriage at Whitehall, and it’s too slow in any case.”
She looked between him and his sister. “Of course.”
“Good,” he said to her, and to Ellen, “I will see you wed today.”
Both girls stared at him incredulously. Rose spoke for the two. “They cannot marry today!”
“Tonight, then. However long it takes the groom to show up, we’ll wait.”
“What’s the rush?” Ellen’s eyes turned suspicious. “Does it have to do with your condition—”
“It will take weeks,” Rose was saying, “for the banns to be called. Unless Thomas can manage to obtain a special license from the Archbishop of Canterbury.”
Kit scoffed. ”Have you never heard of a privileged church? There are one or two directly outside the City walls. Places where a couple can marry without posting banns, without a license. Without waiting.”
“Kit,” Ellen began.
“That doesn’t sound legal,” Rose said, frowning at Kit.
He shrugged. ”They claim to be outside the jurisdiction of the Bishop of London and therefore free to make their own rules.”
“Kit,” Ellen repeated.
Deferring her with a hand, he continued, “The marriages stand, and that’s good enough for me. Now, the church I’m thinking of was called…Saint something, I believe. Anyway, it was in the Minories. I’ll find it.” Kit turned to his sister. “I was hoping to see you wed in a cathedral, but a privileged church will have to do.”
“Kit,” she cried.
He blinked. “What?”
“The condition,” she gritted out. “You mentioned a condition?”
“Oh.” He grimaced, unwilling to start another fight with Ellen just now. “You’ll find out soon enough,” he told her, and refused to say more.
THIRTY-EIGHT
KIT EVENTUALLY remembered that the privileged church was called St. Trinity. Following a bit of deliberation, it was decided he’d go ahead and arrange matters while Rose and his sister waited for Whittingham. They would all meet Kit at the church.
It took an hour for him to reach St. Trinity—an hour during which he cursed himself ten times for not watching more closely over his sister. For not protecting her better. For allowing her to maneuver him to the point where he had no choice.
But there was nothing left to do except make the best of it. If Whittingham could prove he truly loved Ellen, he could have her.
