Before he handed over all that money, he needed to see Ellen’s happiness with his own eyes. He was not taking no for an answer.
“I’ll go up,” he repeated. “You can show me the way or I’ll find it myself.”
“Very well.” Thomas handed a key to the youth behind the counter, then Kit followed him through a storage room and up a narrow staircase.
When Thomas opened the door, Kit sniffed appreciatively. “Smells like apples.”
“The only thing your sister knows how to cook is apple fritters,” Thomas said with a wry quirk of his lips. “I’ve been eating them till they’re coming out of my ears.”
Kit looked at him sharply, but the words had been said in good humor. It seemed the man loved Ellen whether she could cook or not.
The living quarters were nicer than he’d expected. The main room was small and the floor was bare wood, but it was polished and everything was clean. There was plenty of fine furniture and, in Kit’s opinion, entirely too many knickknacks—all of which he suspected came from the shop. He guessed that some of the best merchandise found its way upstairs. A hidden benefit to this business.
And Ellen doubtless loved all the knickknacks. In fact, he wouldn’t be surprised to find she’d dragged most of them up here herself. His heart lifted to think she was probably very happy here, indeed.
“Where is she?” he asked.
“Napping in the bedchamber.”
Kit frowned. He’d never known Ellen to nap. ”Will you wake her or shall I?”
Her husband drew a steadying breath. “Wait here.” Thomas opened a door and slid into the room beyond, closing it firmly behind him.
Kit paced while he waited, peeking into another chamber to find a kitchen with a small fireplace and a scrubbed table for eating.
That seemed to be it—just the main room, kitchen, and bedchamber. He wondered where their children would sleep, though he knew full well that entire families lived in single-room homes—why, this place would seem a palace to the common cottager. He and Ellen had lived like that until the Great Plague had claimed their parents.
But when he built the new shop for his sister in London, he would design it with much larger living quarters attached. A proper house.
The bedchamber door opened and shut again, startling him. “She won’t see you,” Thomas said.
“Pardon?”
“Ellen doesn’t wish to speak with you, Mr. Martyn.”
Fuming, Kit didn’t bother correcting Thomas’s use of his name again. “She doesn’t have a choice.”
He crossed the room—in all of three strides—and threw open the bedchamber door. “Ellen.”
She lay on a huge four-poster bed—much too big for the room—with her back to him.
“Ellen.” He sighed. “I don’t wish to play games.”
She rolled over and stared at him with those eyes that were so like his. Her pretty mouth was thinned into a straight, forbidding line.
She said nothing.
“It’s a nice home,” he conceded, feeling like an idiot talking to himself. “I hope you’re happy here.”
Nothing.
A heavy silence hung for a moment before Kit’s frustration gave way to anger. “This is about the money, isn’t it?”
Not a word. Not even a blink. It was as though she stared right through him, as though he weren’t even there.
His heart fisted in his chest as the anger turned to hurt. He swallowed hard. “When you’re ready to talk, Ellen, you know where to find me.”
Without another word, he turned and left. He wasn’t about to give Ellen a fortune when she wouldn’t speak to him. Never mind that he hadn’t planned to withhold it much longer, if any longer at all—he wouldn’t buy his sister’s love.
Every penny of that dowry had been saved out of his love for her, but apparently she couldn’t see that.
Thomas followed him down the stairs and all the way to the entrance. “She’ll come around, sir. I’m sure of it.”
Kit opened the door but stopped short of stepping outside. “How is she?” he asked toward the street.
“She’s well. We’re happy together, sir.”
“Kit.”
“Kit. I know how lucky I am to have married your sister. I’m going to take care of her.”
“See that you do,” Kit said, then slowly turned. He measured his brother-in-law a long moment before he decided he trusted him.
Or maybe that he had no choice.
“Tell her I love her,” he said quietly, then pushed out into the cool October air, the bell jingling too merrily as the door shut behind him.
FIFTY-SEVEN
STANDING IN the old village church, Rose shifted on her high-heeled shoes, watching another wedding.
The third one this year.
“Edmund Richard Henry, Viscount Grenville, wilt thou have this woman to thy wedded wife, to live together 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 through the ancient stone sanctuary, binding Lord Grenville to Judith.
But Rose wasn’t listening to the ceremony. Instead she was noticing how joyful the bride looked. Judith clutched the flowers Rose had arranged for her, a smile curving her lips, her body ranged close to Lord Grenville’s. A good man, Judith had described him. Decent.
Rose’s mother sighed happily, delighted that this introduction had worked well enough to culminate in marriage. The Big Book of Weddings Arranged by Chrystabel was getting thicker. She leaned close, bumping against Rose’s left side. “They’re perfect together, aren’t they?” she whispered.
Rose could only nod numbly. These two were so clearly in love, Rose knew they belonged together. But she imagined herself standing in Judith’s place and the Duke of Bridgewater standing in Grenville’s…and she knew she wouldn’t be as happy.
Was Gabriel decent? She didn’t know. In truth,
