That was news to Rose, but she thought it a fine idea. Not least because it would give her some time to think about Gabriel…and Kit, blast him. He might be frantic with worry and wearing a simple blue wool suit instead of embroidered silk and gold, but she could no longer deny he roused feelings in her that Gabriel never would.
Feelings she didn’t want.
Mum squeezed her shoulder. “Perhaps,” she added, “we can have Kit and Ellen to supper, since they’ll be in London, too.”
“That would be nice,” Kit allowed, “assuming I can leave the project. Assuming there’s still a project to leave. Now, we must be off. Excuse us, please.”
As she watched him herd his sister out the door, Rose realized he hadn’t even taken Ellen to task for escaping to the pawnshop this morning.
He had to be very worried indeed.
THIRTY-ONE
THREE DAYS later, Ellen strode into Whitehall’s Chapel Royal. “I’m ready, Kit.”
Kit swept the newly framed altar with one more glance before turning to his sister. “You’re all packed?”
“Yes. My maid is seeing everything brought to the carriage. How about you? You’ve spent two solid days in this chapel. Have you eaten? Slept? Are your things all packed?”
“I have enough at the house in Windsor,” he said, neatly evading her other questions. If he needed to forgo food and rest to accomplish his goals, so be it. What he didn’t need was Ellen nagging him.
She bent to scoop up some wood scraps and toss them onto a pile. “I’m so glad we’re returning to Windsor.”
Reaching into his pocket, Kit fingered the heavy vellum invitation that had arrived yesterday, a gracious request from Lady Trentingham to join her and her daughter for supper. If his plans worked out, Ellen wouldn’t be returning to Windsor, but he wouldn’t argue with her now. “I thought you loved staying here at Whitehall, where you can pretend you’re a fine courtier.”
“I loved it before I loved Thomas. Now I know that was only a childish game.”
Evening was falling, and he’d dismissed his crew for the day, so he picked up the last of the tools himself. “It’s not a game, Ellen,” he said as he put them into a crate. “You can be that woman.”
“I don’t want to be that woman. I want to be Thomas’s woman instead.”
He bit back a retort, preferring to savor a good day’s work. The situation here at Whitehall hadn’t been as bad as he’d feared. Although the fire had destroyed the half-built altar, the building had remained intact. Yesterday he’d hired extra men—triple his original crew—and procured new materials. The progress today had been gratifying, surpassing his revamped schedule. Save for elusive bits of ash and the lingering scent of burned wood, all evidence of the fire was gone, and the new altar was framed already.
Disaster had been averted again. But he didn’t like the way things were going. The continued mishaps were jeopardizing his likelihood of being appointed Deputy Surveyor. Ellen could doubtless make a good marriage anyway, thanks to the dowry he’d saved for her, but should he fail to win the post he feared his chances with Rose would be dashed.
He had no explanation for the fire, as he’d had for the problem at the castle. But he suspected something foul was afoot. In short, he reckoned the blame landed squarely on one man’s shoulders: Harold Washburn, the foreman he’d fired at Windsor. Kit intended to seek the man out. And he preferred not to have his sister along to distract him. Not there at the scene and not at his house in Windsor, either—for he knew better than to believe she’d stay meekly at home. Not with her lover so close.
Kit wasn’t the sort of man to lock his sister in a guarded bedchamber. Sometimes he cursed himself for that weakness.
He folded the drawing of the new altar and slipped it into his pocket, then rolled the rest of the plans and tucked them under one arm. “Let’s go. Lady Trentingham will be waiting.”
Since the king and his followers were lodged at Hampton Court, Whitehall Palace was quiet. They exited into a large, grassy courtyard, their footfalls crunching on the gravel path as they followed it toward the gate. “I don’t like traveling late at night. There could be highwaymen.” Ellen pouted. “Can’t we just go straight to Windsor?”
Kit heard: Can’t we just go straight to Thomas? “It would be rude to refuse Lady Trentingham’s invitation. Besides, don’t you want to see Rose?”
“You want to see Rose.”
“So what if I do?”
“She’ll never be yours. Can’t you see, Kit? Your winning her is as unrealistic as your wanting me to marry a title.”
“Who said I want to win her?”
She snorted. “You look at her the same way Thomas looks at me.”
He didn’t like to think of any man looking that way at his sister. “If I’m appointed Deputy Surveyor, perhaps I’ll soon be Sir Christopher Martyn.”
“Is that what you’re counting on? It won’t change you.”
“Exactly my point. I’m good enough for anyone now, and so are you. But you cannot argue that perception makes all the difference, and a change in rank will affect how outsiders look at us both.”
“I don’t care what outsiders think. I care only about Thomas.”
Every discussion with Ellen was circular—back around to Thomas. Kit counted to ten, and then, as they crunched past the Banqueting House, changed the subject. “I wish I’d built that.”
“It’s pretty,” she conceded. “But considering the rest of the palace is so old, it stands out like a sore thumb.”
“Inigo Jones designed it with a basilica in mind.” He nodded a greeting to the guard at the gate. “I heard the construction costs ran to more than fifteen thousand pounds. I believe it was the first modern building
