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 night.” 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,
