He was dressed in mulberry satin with bunched loops of aqua ribbons. Rose had always admired men of fashion, but it seemed to her that lately the fashions had turned rather frivolous. And she remembered Lord Fortescue better now, most specifically that he was, as Lily had put it, a sloppy kisser.
She didn’t wish to hurt the fellow, but she certainly didn’t want to encourage him. “The bracelet matched my gown,” she told him. “Thank you.”
“My pleasure. I hear, dear lady, that you’ve learned the secrets of I Sonetti.” He grinned, displaying buck teeth. “I’m hoping you’ll be willing to share them.”
Was that why he’d given her the bracelet? She was tempted to tear it off, but there was no reason, after all, to ruin such a pretty trinket. “If I knew any secrets,” she told him archly, “I’d scarcely share them with a man who wasn’t my husband.”
To her consternation, his grin widened. “I entertain fond hopes of being that man.”
“You what?”
“Will you marry me, dear Lady Rose?”
Good heavens, she’d just received her first proposal. This was it—the achievement she’d despaired of ever reaching. The moment she’d looked forward to ever since little Robin Bedingfield had pushed her in a puddle and made her cry, and Mum explained why all the boys were mean to her.
A proposal!
And she felt about as happy as she had sitting in that dirty, freezing puddle.
Better she live all her days as a spinster than bind herself to Lord Fortescue and his sloppy kisses. “Please accept my apologies,” she said, “but my heart belongs to another.”
Though he sighed, he didn’t look surprised. “Best wishes, then, my lady.”
No sooner had Lord Fortescue taken his leave than Lord Somerville made his way over. He raised her hand and kissed it reverently. “I hope you received my flowers.”
“They’re beautiful, my lord. I thank you.” If she remembered correctly, he was an affable fellow whose kiss had been humdrum but not especially off-putting. And his suit was adorned with gold braid rather than ribbons. Perhaps he would ask her to dance. She had always dearly loved to dance.
“I hear you’ve a copy of I Sonetti,” he said instead.
“Not anymore.” If she had his flowers here, she would have dumped them on his head. “And before you ask, I’ve no secrets to share with the likes of you.”
“Ah, I’ve heard tell of your desire for the state of matrimony. In that case, dear Lady Rose, I must ask you to do me the honor of becoming my wife.”
Rose’s first instinct was to scream at the top of her lungs, but causing a scene would only serve to increase her mortification. “It would be an honor,” she said tightly, “but I’m afraid my heart belongs to another.”
“I see.” He swept her a courtly bow. “The duke is a lucky man.”
Dazed, she made her way to a velvet-covered settle. A month ago she’d despaired of ever receiving a proposal, and now she’d collected two in the space of five minutes!
In the next hour, Gabriel failed to appear and four more courtiers proposed to Rose. Two of them were superb catches, men of positions as attractive as their persons. Men Rose would have thrown herself at a month ago. But suddenly she couldn’t stomach the thought of marrying any of them.
And the ones who didn’t propose were even worse, apparently taking her for some sort of lust-crazed doxy. Rose had warned off three of that type already when two more approached as a team. “We hear you have a copy of I Sonetti,” one of them started, a lascivious gleam in his eye.
They both crowded close—so close Rose could tell one of them truly needed a bath. “We were wondering—” the second man began.
“Leave her alone,” Nell Gwyn interrupted, shoving herself between them.
The first one turned on her. “Criminy, Nelly, we were only—”
“Hoping to share her, you beasts.” Raising her dainty hands, she pushed on both their chests. “Go on. Be gone.”
“I don’t even have it anymore!” Rose hollered after them as they scurried away.
“But you did?” Nell asked the moment they were out of earshot.
“What?”
“Have a copy of I Sonetti. It’s all they’ve talked of for days.”
“Yes, I did.” Rose sighed, fearing her mother was bound to hear the gossip. Judging by the dearth of ladies, at least half the women at court were presently crammed into the attiring room, squealing over her translated sonnets. ”But I cannot imagine why everyone finds it so blasted fascinating.”
“The ladies, they’re just curious. They want to know what’s behind all the whispers and scandal. But the gentlemen…well, if you’re not looking for a tumble or two, you’d best stay in company and be watchful.”
From what Rose had seen, there was nothing gentlemanly about these animals. “Surely not all men are such base creatures.”
“Some may approach you with flowery words, but they are men. Inflamed most easily.”
“Then perhaps I should carry a bucket of water.”
Nell laughed, making Rose appreciate the woman’s easy temper, not to mention her helpful advice. Once again, Rose wondered how one so thoroughly indecent could be the only decent person at court.
“Do you know,” Rose said, “you are one of few here who haven’t asked to see I Sonetti. Don’t you want to view the scandalous engravings and read the poems?”
“I’ve no need of such things,” Nell assured her blithely.
“Most ladies seem to think they’d learn something pleasing to their men.”
“Not I.” Nell leaned closer. “Charles”—she dropped her voice to a confidential murmur—“is a very catholic lover.”
Rose frowned. “I thought you were both Protestant.”
Nell’s lips curved into a fond half smile. “I mean that he’s not very imaginative. His tastes run to the simple. However,
