“Hmm. And with Rose?”
He would never get used to the countess’s abrupt changes of subject. “Rose?”
“Are you making progress there?” Her tone made it clear she thought not.
He felt his face reddening as he recalled the excruciating scene in the orangery. He’d made progress, all right. “I’m working on it.”
“Such a shame your work has kept you so occupied.”
“Yes. Well…” Perhaps it was time to clarify this point. “Architecture is my life, Lady Trentingham. Though I hope to make Rose my life, too, she will always have to share my attention with my work.”
“I wouldn’t want to see her wed an idle fool…too much attention can be as detrimental as too little. But I hope you wouldn’t ignore her, either.”
“Never.” Small chance of that. Rose Ashcroft was the type of woman no man could ignore.
“I’m glad of it.” Her eyes scanning the room, the countess tapped her fan against her chin. “I’ve been thinking about my Rose. I do believe she’s the most romantic of all my daughters.”
“Romantic?”
“Indeed. Violet, you may not know, is quite pragmatic and logical. And Lily, bless her heart, is straightforward as they come. Love, for Lily, either is or isn’t…though if a being is alive, she’s likely to place it in the former category.” She smiled, the soft smile of a doting mother. “But Rose…”
“You’re saying a bit more”—Kit swallowed—“romancing is in order?” What might that entail? Flowers? Sonnets? He’d had never had much room in his life for romance.
”It would certainly not be amiss.”
“I see. Well.” He would have to think more on this tomorrow, after he’d satisfied himself that the Cleveland project was flawless. “My lady, I’m afraid I have much to do…”
“Oh, I’ve no doubt of that. Given that my daughter has already received several proposals this evening—”
“What?” Kit felt as though a bucket of ice water had been dumped over his head. “B-but—proposals?”
Lady Trentingham smiled. “I’m glad you grasp the urgency of the situation.”
“Has she…?”
“Accepted? Heavens, no. But the Duke of Bridgewater has only just made an appearance.”
A rushing sound filled Kit’s ears as he tucked his sketch of Rose into the building’s plans and hastily rolled them up together. “I believe I’m finished for the moment.” He turned to Lady Trentingham without a trace of irony. “May I escort you back to court?”
The twinkle in her eye revealed amusement at his sudden change of plans. Clearly this was a woman who enjoyed watching her puppets dance at the ends of her strings.
”I’d be delighted,” she said, taking his arm. “But might we first make a tiny detour to my apartments?”
Kit gritted his teeth. “By all means, my lady.” Despite his feeling of urgency, courtesy forbade refusing such a reasonable request.
Her smile widened, telling him she saw through his polite facade. “It won’t take a moment to fetch Harriet and see that she meets the charming guard at the gate.”
At least she wielded her powers in the name of love rather than villainy.
THIRTY-FOUR
AS THE EVENING wore on, Rose received a brooch in the shape of a bow set with precious gemstones, a locket filled with a hopeful suitor’s hair, another bouquet of flowers, and two more proposals. Every bachelor at court, it seemed, had proposed.
Except the duke.
There were a few new gentlemen in attendance here at the palace, but they seemed ruder than those Rose had met at Windsor. One of them hadn’t even asked her name before attempting to maneuver her behind the tall, exquisitely painted screen that set off one end of the Presence Chamber, serving the same purpose as the curtains in Windsor’s drawing room.
She hadn’t allowed any kissing tonight, recoiling from the prospect of intimacy with these boorish men. Perversely, just as I Sonetti had mended her relations with the court ladies, it had gone and spoiled them with the gentlemen. Rose wished heartily that she’d never laid eyes on the troublesome book.
All her life she’d yearned to come to King Charles’s dazzling court, but now that the shine had worn off the place, it was beginning to seem rather bleak. When she ought to be dancing and flirting and falling in love, instead she found herself dodging offensive proposals and seeking refuge in the company of the king’s notorious mistresses.
“My lady.” Another suitor bowed before her. “I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure of an introduction.”
“Lady Rose Ashcroft,” she said flatly, barely stifling a yawn. Her flirtatious nature seemed to have deserted her somewhere around the fourth or fifth proposal.
He swept her an even deeper bow. “The Earl of Featherstonehaugh. Would you honor me with a dance?”
He’d said the magic words. “I’d be delighted.“ A pity to saddle herself with such a preposterously long name—which she knew from an item in the Gazette was spelled Featherstonehaugh though it was pronounced Fanshaw—but she’d long since given up searching for perfection. At least he was polite enough to ask for a dance. And he hadn’t mentioned the blasted book. Perhaps, being a newcomer, he hadn’t heard about it.
She downed the rest of her wine, handed her cup to a serving maid, then let him lead her onto the dance floor. The musicians were playing a lively country tune, and the accompanying dance was performed in two lines, not affording much chance for conversation. Instead, she sized up the earl as they progressed.
He was a certified fop. His wide, powdered periwig draped in curls down his fuchsia brocade-clad chest. Long rows of fancy solid gold buttons adorned both his coat and waistcoat, and the coat flapped open with the movements of the dance, flashing a blinding yellow satin lining. In addition, there was enough white lace spilling from his cravat and cuffs to choke a horse.
His outfit, she decided, would look much better on the Duchess Mazarin.
But if he turned out to be a good kisser, perhaps she could teach him
