In the meantime, he hadn’t wanted to be alone at his house in Windsor, imagining his baby sister and her new husband getting “settled” down the street. So Lady Trentingham’s invitation had been welcome, even though heaven knew he had better things to do.
But his projects were under control, and the day had gone well enough. Lord Trentingham had been happy with Kit’s ideas for the greenhouse, and Kit had gone only half hoarse shouting all his explanations. He’d order the materials and hire a foreman when he returned to Windsor. The earl was anxious to get his plants inside before winter, so Kit had promised him an accelerated schedule. The groundbreaking was planned for ten days hence.
“This all must be very disturbing,” Rand said.
“Hmm?” Kit had been so deep in his thoughts he hadn’t even noticed that sweets had been put on the table. “Are you talking to me?”
“Wake up, you dolt.” Rand elbowed him in the ribs and laughed. “We’ve been talking about the problems you had at both Windsor and Whitehall.”
“They’re resolved now,” Kit said. His plate had been removed by a footman, and he hadn’t noticed that, either. Someone set a smaller, clean plate in front of him.
“Are you sure?” Jewel’s deep green eyes were wide in her delicate, heart-shaped face.
She seemed as concerned as an adult might, so he answered her seriously. “I’m convinced Washburn didn’t set the fire, so I don’t expect him to try anything else.”
“But how can you be sure?”
Seated to Kit’s left, Rose passed him a platter of small currant cakes, her soft floral fragrance wafting to his nose along with the fruity scent of the baked goods. “The fire was probably not intended,” she told Jewel.
“Exactly.” He took three cakes and passed the plate to Rand. “My men aren’t supposed to smoke on the job, but I wasn’t there to watch.”
Lord Trentingham frowned. “Is it a bath house?”
Kit blinked. “Pardon?”
“Your building project, is it a bath house? You said the men aren’t supposed to soak?”
“Smoke, darling, not soak.” His wife leaned to brush a few cake crumbs off her husband’s cravat.
“It could have been someone else.” Taking six cakes for himself, young Rowan sounded a bit gleeful at the prospect of uncovering intrigue. “Not this Washburn, but someone else.”
“Let’s hope not.” Kit used one of the cakes to scoop sweet whipped cream from a dish. “It was most probably accidental. These things happen.”
“Bee stings do happen,” the earl put in. “They’re a right nuisance out in the garden.”
No one corrected him this time.
Jewel waved a currant cake. “Accidents at two of your buildings? Aren’t you wondering if your other building might have a problem, too?”
Out of the mouths of babes. Kit sighed. “Perhaps I should go to Hampton Court and make certain everything there is progressing smoothly.”
“Rose and I are going to Hampton Court,” Lady Trentingham volunteered cheerfully.
Kit wasn’t surprised.
Her husband had actually heard that. “Not too soon, I hope, Chrysanthemum.”
“Well, we won’t want to wait too long. The court is there, after all, and Rose will want to see the duke.”
Rose’s sisters turned to her in unison.
“The duke?” Violet asked, leaning down to swipe her son’s spoon off the floor for at least the tenth time.
Lily fed a bit of cake to her cat under the table. “What duke?”
“The Duke of Bridgewater.” Rose hid her face by raising her goblet to her lips—although Kit knew it was empty. “We’ll talk about this later.”
FORTY-ONE
NOT TOO MUCH later, Rose found herself upstairs flanked by her sisters, the three of them lying crosswise on her oak four-poster bed, staring straight up.
“Tell us about the duke,” Violet said to the underside of Rose’s crimson velvet canopy.
“He’s very generous and handsome and kind,” Rose returned morosely. “He gave me these ruby and pearl earrings.”
Her sisters both turned to look. Violet touched a finger to one of the delicate drops. “They’re lovely.”
“Goodness!” Lily exclaimed. “He sounds perfect. Exactly what you were looking for. Do you think he likes you?”
“Very much.” Rose sighed. “I won’t be surprised if at Hampton Court I receive my first proposal.”
Violet came up on an elbow. “Then why do you sound so gloomy?”
When Rose turned her head to see Violet, her sister’s warm brown eyes looked too concerned behind the lenses of her spectacles. She focused back up on the canopy. “I don’t care for the way he kisses.”
“Oh…” her sisters said together in a way that made it clear they considered this as important a problem as she did.
Rose wasn’t sure whether she was glad or frustrated at that fact. Part of her wished they’d tell her to marry the duke and be done with it.
“Is his kissing…sloppy?” Lily asked.
“No.”
“Rough?” Violet wondered.
“No.”
“Then what?” they both chimed.
“I’m not sure. There’s nothing wrong with his kissing that I can point out specifically—I just don’t enjoy it.” Rose crossed her feet where they hung off the end of the bed. She uncrossed them. Her voice dropped miserably. “For the longest time, I didn’t like anyone’s kissing. I thought something was wrong with me. Until…”
Now Lily came up on an elbow. “Until what?”
Rose felt hemmed in. She looked at her older sister, then her younger, then back to the canopy. “I’ve met one man who’s different. Whose kissing makes me…”
“Swoon?” Violet suggested.
Rose pulled a face. “I suppose. But he’s totally unsuitable.”
“In what way?” Lily’s voice was sweetly sympathetic.
“In every way. He’s a commoner. And he works for a living.”
“Rand works,” Lily said defensively. “Don’t you think being a professor is a lot of hard work?”
“But Rand doesn’t have to work. He works because he wants
