He couldn’t imagine how that had happened. Most builders worked from a single set of plans, but he preferred to err on the side of caution and always made a careful duplicate. Had he been not-so-careful? The discrepancy was more than disturbing, but he’d set aside the problem for the evening when he decided watching over Rose was more important. And he didn’t want to think about it again now.
Before she could ask more questions, he stopped beneath the clock tower and turned to face her. “I’ll let you know if I find anything conclusive,” he said, the pad of his thumb tracing circles on her palm.
Her eyes went soft when he raised her hand to his lips. But she was still distant, hesitant. She hadn’t yet crossed that crucial barrier. She wasn’t yet his.
“Come along,” he murmured, starting forward again. “It’s been quite a night.”
Just as they reached Base Court, a shooting star streaked across the sky.
“Look,” she breathed, closing her eyes to make a wish.
He wished, too, then turned and took her face in both hands. “What did you wish for?”
“I cannot tell you, or it won’t come true.”
“Fair enough.” It made him smile to think she believed such fancies. “Shall I tell you what I wished for instead?”
“I think I know,” she whispered and left it at that.
It wasn’t the answer he wanted, but for now it would have to do.
FIFTY-FOUR
HAMPTON COURT was quiet in the middle of the night, Kit’s building dark now except for the circle of light thrown by his lantern. Scents of fresh-cut wood and hardening mortar assaulted his nose, and his footsteps echoed in the empty rooms as he wandered them for the last time.
Tomorrow the building was coming down.
Two more days spent poring over the numbers had confirmed his suspicions: the building was flawed. He’d double-checked his calculations, remeasured, triple-checked again. The conclusion was always the same. If left standing, the structure would eventually collapse.
Oh, it wouldn’t fall today or tomorrow—not even this year. In fact, it could be ten or twenty or fifty years before the inherent weakness resulted in disaster. It would certainly remain standing until long after he was appointed Deputy Surveyor, most likely so long after that he doubted he’d ever be blamed.
But when the collapse occurred, the consequences could very well be deadly.
Was his design at fault? Or had someone tampered with the plans? Since the two copies he had didn’t match, he couldn’t be sure. The fact that they were different lent credence to the theory that Harold Washburn—or someone else—had sabotaged this project.
But it didn’t matter. It was Kit’s project, Kit’s responsibility.
There was nothing for it. Although it meant he would miss his deadline and any chance at the appointment and knighthood, he’d had no choice but to order the structure torn down and rebuilt from scratch. He couldn’t live with himself knowing there were potential deaths looming ahead—not even when he suspected those at risk had yet to be born.
All he had left now was a journey to Windsor and the difficult task of explaining his failing to Wren. Then—while his dreams were torn down along with this building—he would go to Trentingham as promised. Once there, he would finalize the plans for Lord Trentingham’s greenhouse…and tell Lady Trentingham why he was no longer worthy of marrying her daughter.
He grabbed an exquisite carved panel—that, at least, could be salvaged—and exited the building without looking back.
He’d long ago learned there was no point in that.
FIFTY-FIVE
“OH, JUDITH,” Lily breathed, staring at the gown the maid had just laid out on her friend’s bed. Palest blue, Judith’s wedding dress had a wide neckline and golden ribbons crisscrossing the stomacher. The underskirt was cloth-of-gold. “It’s so beautiful.”
A happy sigh escaped Judith’s freshly painted lips. “I always dreamed of wearing blue for my wedding.”
“Me, too,” Violet said.
Lily grinned. “Me three.”
Rose’s sisters had both worn blue, and they were both happily married. Rose brushed her fingers over the gown’s shimmering fabric, ordering herself not to be envious. After all, she’d received so many proposals she’d lost count, and she’d probably have more if she hadn’t slighted so many gentlemen.
It had been her choice to refuse them.
Besides, she would never wear a gown like this. It might be lovely, but it was entirely too pale and insipid. If Rose ever managed to marry, she intended to do so in red.
Judith wandered across her feminine mauve room to her dressing table. “Shall I wear patches?” she wondered.
Rose turned to her pretty, plump friend. “Just one. A heart. But we must powder your face first.” She handed Judith’s patch box to Lily so she could find a suitable shape, then dipped a fluffy brush into a packet of Princess’s Powder. “Are you nervous?”
“Of course not,” Judith said, but her smile was trembly. She held out a wine cup for Violet to refill. “Why should I be nervous? My dear Grenville is a good man.”
Rose dusted Judith’s cheeks. “Of course he’s good. He’s titled and has money.” And if he wasn’t exactly handsome, she added to herself, at least he wasn’t pockmarked or ugly. A girl could look at him without wincing.
If she’d gained nothing else from court, she’d learned it wasn’t easy to find perfection. Perhaps compromise wasn’t such a bad thing.
“No, I mean Edmund is ever so good.” Judith peered at herself in the mirror. “He adores children, though his first wife couldn’t give him any. He makes certain all the orphans on his estate find families and homes. No one, young or old, is ever allowed to go hungry, and—”
“That’s just being decent,” Rose interrupted.
Violet set down the wine bottle with a little clunk. “But decency is important. And rare.”
Still riffling through the patch box with a fingertip, Lily nodded. “I’d choose decency over money and
