The fire in the grate sputtered and died, leaving nothing but glowing embers—and still Rose lay sleepless. At long last, she forced herself to remember the first engraving.
The beautiful one.
Her skin tingled where the sheets seemed to caress her…and she wished they were male hands instead. The man in the engraving hadn’t had a clear face. Shutting her eyes tight, she tried to picture the duke.
But the face she saw was Kit’s.
THIRTY
“DIDN’T YOU sleep well, dear?” Chrystabel frowned as Rose yawned for the dozenth time. “Perhaps you should go back to bed.”
“I slept fine, Mum.” And she had—for the three hours she’d actually slept. “I overslept, in fact. It’s past ten already, and I promised Ellen I’d visit her at the pawnshop this morning.”
“The pawnshop?”
She crossed to the window to check the weather. “I never made it back to the bookshop yesterday, and Ellen said the pawnshop has books. Foreign books. And I need to return her cloak.” It looked sunny, so she decided against wearing her own. “It’s amazing how quickly we’ve become friends.”
“Sometimes friendships are meant to be. Just like some men and women belong together.”
“Like the ones you introduce to be married?” With an indulgent laugh, Rose turned from the window. She grabbed her little purse and slid the cord over her wrist, then draped Ellen’s cloak over one arm. “The court leaves today for Hampton; did you know that?”
“Of course.”
“Will we go with them?”
“Do you wish to?”
“I’m not sure.” Rose didn’t want to make this decision. She watched her mother reach for her own drawstring purse. “Where are you going?”
“You didn’t think I’d let you go to the pawnshop alone, did you? A young lady doesn’t parade around town on her own.”
Plenty of young ladies did, but Rose didn’t feel like arguing. She only hoped she’d be able to slip Ellen the translated sonnet without Chrystabel noticing. Not that there was anything wrong with what she was doing, but it wasn’t something she felt like sharing with her mother.
Outdoors, the courtyards were abuzz with servants hauling luggage, but there was no sign of any courtiers. “Has the court left already?” Rose wondered, half hoping they had. Maybe she’d arisen too late to leave for Hampton Court, and the decision would be out of her hands, at least for today.
But as they skirted the Round Tower, Chrystabel laughed. “I imagine they’re all still fast asleep.”
“I thought everyone was planning to leave early.”
“That, Lady Rose,” came a male voice, “depends on your definition of early.”
Rose turned to see the Duke of Bridgewater fall into step beside them. He looked very dapper this morning, with a broad-brimmed, ostrich-plumed hat shielding his golden head from the sun.
“And what is your definition of early, your grace?”
“Oh, before noon, I suppose. I’m certainly proud of myself for being up and about before the sun reaches its zenith.” He grinned, his blue eyes twinkling. “Most of us wake as the sun sets. I fear the court will find it tedious to have to rise and travel in broad daylight today.”
She laughed, enjoying the company of so pleasant and impressive a man. Even for traveling, he was dressed to the height of fashion. His bright burgundy suit sported rows of gold buttons along the front edges of both the long waistcoat and the embroidered surcoat that went over it. The breeches beneath were secured at the knee with gold buttons, too. His lace cravat was tied at his neck in a wide bow, and, unlike Kit, he wore shoes instead of boots—heeled, with a double sole and small gold spurs.
She smoothed her red silk day gown, wishing it were adorned with pearls or something else extravagant. She’d always considered her clothes fashionable, but the ladies here made her feel like a country frump.
“I’m so glad to see you’re feeling better this morning.” The duke took her arm. “Please tell me you’re coming along to Hampton Court.”
She exchanged a glance with her mother, who shrugged, apparently leaving the decision up to her. “We’re just on our way to the pawnshop,” she said, evading an answer.
“The pawnshop?”
If Rose could judge by the duke’s tone, he and Kit held similar opinions regarding pawnshops. “We’re not pawning anything,” she assured him with a laugh. “Just visiting a friend there.”
“A friend?” Sounding slightly disturbed, he gripped her arm tighter. “I shall accompany you, then, at least as far as the door.”
“That’s not necessary,” Rose protested.
“I was planning to take a walk in the Great Park, anyway. A brisk morning stroll does wonders for a man’s constitution. I usually leave from the castle, but I can enter off Park Street, no harm done.”
There was no arguing with him, it seemed. They walked through the Lower Ward, Rose wishing some of the ladies were around to see her on the arm of the tall, handsome duke. Perhaps she should go to Hampton Court, because she sensed she was on the verge of snagging him.
Beyond the gateway, it was a short stroll down Castle Hill and a left onto the High Street. The pawnshop was right there, as Ellen had said. Three golden balls—the pawn trade’s age-old symbol—dangled from a bracket that projected from the building. As they approached, Rose couldn’t help but notice the business looked prosperous. A wooden sign overhead said WHITTINGHAM’S PAWN SHOP in fresh gold paint.
Then she lowered her gaze from the sign to find a gorgeous pair of earrings in the window. Set in delicate gold filigree dangles, rubies sparkled and pearls gleamed. “Oooh,” she breathed, fingering her few coins through the thin fabric of her drawstring purse.
Dozens of items crammed the window, but the earrings stood alone as dainty works of art. She fairly itched to own them.
“Aren’t these earrings beautiful?” She gazed at them on their bed of black velvet. “If we go to Hampton Court and there’s gaming tonight, maybe I’ll be lucky
