This late at night, she’d expected the room to be deserted, but it wasn’t. Across the chamber, Kit and Ellen were having words again.
Did the man never sleep?
“Let me see it,” he said, reaching toward his sister. “Why should it be a secret?”
“It’s mine,” Ellen shot back, clutching a book to her chest. “Why do you have to stick your nose into everything that’s mine?”
Dazed, Rose just watched. It struck her that in his fine but plain suit, with his gleaming black hair free instead of tucked beneath a wig, Kit looked anything but aristocratic. His skin was browned from working outdoors, and he carried his lean, rangy body with easy authority, not the controlled movements necessary to carry off the weight of layers of heavy fabric and ribbons.
In an odd way, she found the lack of fussiness appealing. But she wanted an aristocratic husband.
It was a good thing he was just a friend.
“Rose!” Ellen exclaimed, spotting her and abandoning Kit to hurry over. “I was hoping to see you tonight.”
“Were you?” Rose asked.
“I brought a book I’d like you to translate.”
“Did you?” Her gaze still fastened on Kit, Rose seemed to be reduced to two-word responses.
“Will you try?” Grabbing Rose by the arm, Ellen pulled her down the length of the chamber. “I’m dying to find some fresh air—this place is filled with sawdust.”
Before Rose could protest, Ellen had propelled her out a door at the end of the chamber. As it shut behind them, Rose sneaked another glance at Kit. The last she saw of him was those wicked green-brown eyes.
It should be a crime for a commoner to be so attractive.
TWENTY-TWO
ELLEN LED ROSE down a long back corridor, around a corner, and out into a small brick courtyard. Unlike Horn Court with its uniformed guards and staircase to the king’s chambers, this area was lit by a single torch and held nothing but stacks of building supplies and a weathered wooden table with two chairs. Rose gratefully dropped onto one of them, amused to hear assorted bangs, scrapes, and curses coming from the building to her right.
“We’re nearly back where we started, aren’t we?”
Ellen took the second chair. “The dining room is on the other side of that new wall, yes.”
Despite the sounds of construction, the courtyard seemed private enough. “So…why wouldn’t you show Kit the book?”
“He wouldn’t like it. I fear he’d make certain I never saw Thomas again.”
“Oh?” Though Rose felt drained, her curiosity was stronger. “May I see it?”
“In a minute.” Ellen laid the book on the table and ran a finger over the gold lettering that gleamed in the torchlight. “Kit drew a picture of you.”
“I know. I saw it. It was very well done. I had no idea he was an artist.”
“He’s not. Or not anymore. He used to draw all the time, and paint, too.” Ellen’s voice was so melancholy, Rose’s throat tightened just hearing it. “Da used to bring extra wood home from his work—he’d spend hours sanding it smooth and cutting it to size so Kit could paint on it. And Mama would bring home leftover paints. The lady she worked for painted landscapes as a hobby.”
“They sound like they were very devoted parents.”
Ellen nodded, still absently tracing the gilt title. “They were. But Kit hasn’t painted since they died. Not anything. He says he’s too busy, but I’m not sure I believe him.”
“He does seem very busy,” Rose said gently.
Ellen’s eyes, so like Kit’s, went from sad to furious in a heartbeat. Brown to green. “All he wants to do,” she said between gritted teeth, “is make money and add it to my dowry. He thinks he can buy me a titled husband. I don’t want a titled husband. I want Thomas.”
Rose had never been afraid to ask questions when she wanted answers. “How much is your dowry?”
“He adds to it constantly. Half of every penny that comes his way. Last I heard, it was up to eleven thousand.”
“Pounds?”
“Pounds.”
“Gemini,” Rose breathed, stunned. “Mine is only three thousand.” Hardly a pittance—three thousand pounds was ten years’ income for a gentleman. “I have another ten from my grandfather, but that money is mine to control.”
Ellen pushed back her unruly dark hair. “Kit doesn’t let me control anything.”
“He just wants what’s best for you.” Rose was sure of it. She was also sure Kit was going about it in a typical male, pigheaded way, but she wouldn’t say that, at least not now. “He took responsibility for you so young,” she said instead. “Only sixteen, wasn’t he?”
“And I was six.”
“Well, then, of course he couldn’t let you make your own decisions.”
“But I’m older now. Why can’t he see that I’ve grown up? I hate being at odds with him. I hate the harsh words. I love him—but I love Thomas, too.” Ellen fought to hold back tears. “Will you help me persuade him?”
“Me?” Rose blinked. “Why should Kit listen to me?”
“He drew you,” Ellen reminded her. “He hasn’t drawn anything but buildings in twelve long years.”
And he’d kissed her, too, but Rose wouldn’t be telling Ellen that. “I suppose I can try,” she promised her. “But I’m not at all sure I can make any difference.”
Pigheaded. That was Kit. But Rose also thought he was right—at least where Thomas was concerned.
A pawnbroker, for heaven’s sake!
“Do you know, Ellen,” she ventured carefully, “it might be a good idea for you to kiss Thomas before you decide you want to marry him.”
“Kiss him?” Dashing away the tears, Ellen burst out laughing. “Mercy me, that’s precious.”
For a moment Rose was confused, but then she just felt like a fool. Of course Ellen had kissed her love. The girl was eighteen, and Rose had contrived to be kissed long before that.
She just hadn’t enjoyed
