She was getting nowhere in her search.
TWENTY
“BURNING THE midnight oil, eh, Martyn?”
Working in the blaze of torches and candelabrum for the second night in a row, Kit looked up from his plans to see the Earl of Rosslyn. He offered his old friend a wry smile. “Oil lamps are a bit dim for my purpose, but you’ve got the gist of it, yes.”
Rosslyn paced the chamber with an elegant swagger, his tall walking stick clicking as he went. He paused, watching men and supplies go in and out of the two sizable holes cut in the ceiling that gave access to the area above, where Kit’s crew was busy reinforcing the structure. “It’s coming along nicely.”
“Thank you.” While unsurprised that his rival should check on his progress, Kit was pleased with the man’s pleasant tone. “And your own projects?”
“Oh, fine, fine.” Rosslyn pulled a tortoiseshell snuffbox from his pocket. “You’ve done an excellent job recovering here, Martyn. But then, you always were up to the task, weren’t you?”
Kit could remember a few occasions, back in their school days, when Rosslyn hadn’t been up to the task. But then, he’d had no compelling reason to excel, as Kit had. The secure life of a peer had been awaiting him.
“What made you become an architect?” Kit asked. Surely an earl didn’t need a profession.
Having partaken of a pinch of snuff, Rosslyn sneezed. “Monuments.”
“Monuments?”
“I wish to leave something behind. Something so men will say there went Gaylord, the Earl of Rosslyn.”
The man wasn’t as shallow as Kit had thought. “Your theater in London is a masterpiece,” he conceded.
“I rather prefer my last church. But I thank you.” Rosslyn tucked the snuffbox back into his pocket. “Well, the ladies are waiting. I shall leave you to it.” He turned on a high heel and swaggered toward the door, letting loose another sneeze followed by an “Oof!”
“Pardon me!” Lady Trentingham exclaimed.
“My apologies, my lady.” Holding his walking stick in a wide stance, Rosslyn swept her a deep bow. “I was just leaving.”
She turned and watched the man mince away.
“Lady Trentingham,” Kit called over the bangs and scrapes of construction.
Rose’s mother looked over and smiled. “Good evening,” she greeted him, her own voice carrying well. He supposed that came of dealing with her half-deaf husband. She walked farther into the dining room, lifting the hem of her gown to step over a few boards and skirt her way around a sawhorse. “My, that scaffolding went up quickly.”
“That’s why I’m here,” he told her, shooting a glance to his crew. “I long ago learned that my presence makes all the difference.” He rolled up the plans. “Can I help you with something?”
She met his gaze, her own forthright. “I’m wondering what happened this afternoon with my daughter.”
Kit slanted a look at Ellen. She’d stopped sulking and had her nose buried in her book. He would have to take a look and see what she was finding so fascinating.
In the meantime, though, he’d rather not have her hear his answer to Lady Trentingham’s question. In fact, he was damned uncomfortable at the thought of answering the question at all. No matter that she’d encouraged his suit, the Countess of Trentingham was unlikely to approve of Mr. Christopher Martyn kissing her high-born daughter before there was a formal commitment.
He supposed there was nothing for it, but he wouldn’t humiliate himself in front of his sister. “Would you mind stepping out onto the terrace?” he asked Rose’s mother. “I feel the need for some fresh air.”
The pounding of hammers and scraping of saws receded as they exited the room, leaving a pleasant quietness in their wake. The terrace was deserted, and for a minute or so, Kit procrastinated, listening to the tandem sounds of their footsteps, the thud of his heavy boots and the click of her feminine heels.
“I know you told me Rose is innocent,” he began at last. “But—”
Her laughter was startling. “So you kissed her, hmm? Good for you. I suspected as much when she came in babbling about what an excellent idea it is for a woman to kiss a man before she marries him.”
“Before she marries him?” he echoed. His heart suddenly threatened to beat its way out of his chest. He and Rose had enjoyed a nice afternoon, and an incredible kiss, but surely she wouldn’t be swayed that easily. “She cannot be thinking to marry me,” he said, hoping against hope he was wrong.
“Oh, no. Not yet, anyway. At the moment, she seems to be looking for another man with your skill. Interviewing them, you might say.”
Now his heart threatened to stop. “She’s kissing other men?”
“Not very successfully, from what I can tell. And unfortunately, she seems to be acquiring quite a reputation. As a mother, I’m a mite concerned about that. I’m considering leaving tomorrow; I believe Rose could benefit from a short break from court.”
Kit’s head was spinning. Though he knew full well he had no right to be vexed at Rose for kissing other men, he couldn’t control his gut reaction.
His gut didn’t like it.
And if Lady Trentingham wasn’t angry he’d kissed her daughter, what did she want with him?
He slid a hand into his pocket. “Charles is leaving Windsor anyway, and everyone else will follow him, of course. To Hampton Court.”
“A perfect excuse, then, should I decide to take our leave.” She walked to the edge of the terrace and gazed over the half wall at the darkened Thames Valley. “As for Rose being innocent…”
He came up beside her. “Yes?”
“Well, for the record, my daughter may tell you that I heartily approve of kissing.”
He blinked. “You heartily approve?”
“Yes, of kissing and—in your case—most anything else it takes to convince Rose you’re the only man for her.” She paused—for effect, he suspected. “Do you understand?”
His fingers gripped the top of the wall so tightly that stone scraped flesh.
