The drawing showed not only the architectural detail but also an elevation complete with an altar cloth, alms dish, candlesticks, candles, and books. The lovely columns, carving, and molding looked much more modern than she supposed the rest of Whitehall to be. “It’s beautiful.”
“Can you see the original Tudor window behind?” When he leaned close, touching a finger to the sketch, she smelled frankincense and Kit. “Wren designed this to be the same width, so the two would appear harmonious together.”
Chrystabel reached for the drawing and nodded. “Why didn’t he build it himself?”
Kit waved a hand. “He has far more important projects. Besides, I’ve a suspicion Charles wanted to see me spread thin. Projects at Windsor, Whitehall, and Hampton Court all at once…plus my own. It’s a test, you understand? If I can complete all three of the Crown’s projects successfully, and on time, he will know he’s found the right Deputy Surveyor.”
“And the fire threatened this deadline,” Rose said.
“Seriously. But fortunately it’s a small project, and the damage could have been worse. I hope to overcome my bad luck a second time.”
He was still tense, his answers clipped, his gaze settling too often on his sister. Rose tried again. “Hampton Court is a larger project, isn’t it?”
“The largest of the three. A whole new building. Apartments for the Duchess of Cleveland—”
“Barbara, the king’s longtime mistress,” Ellen interrupted, apparently having recovered some spirit. Derision laced her voice. “He is allowed to have whatever lovers he wants.”
Kit turned to her with a lethal raised brow. “Charles married where he was advised to. If you wish to take Thomas as a lover after you wed a peer, that will be between you and your husband.”
Ellen glared. Kit stabbed another bite of chicken. Rose shifted on her petit-point seat.
She and her siblings squabbled, of course, but they rarely harbored true animosity. She wished these two would get along. “Is Charles wanting large apartments for the duchess?” she asked.
He chewed and swallowed. “Larger than my house. He wishes their five children to have rooms there as well. I’m certain he’ll be scrutinizing this project most of all.”
“Did Wren do those plans, too?”
“No, I did. Top to bottom, start to finish, the building is mine. Thankfully, nothing has gone wrong with it.”
“Yet,” Ellen said.
He set his jaw. “When I’m finished with Harold Washburn, he won’t be making any more trouble.”
Chrystabel pushed back from the table, looking at Ellen. “Shall we begin your first lesson? Something sweet to complete supper?” When Ellen shrugged and began to rise, Chrystabel looked to Rose. “Perhaps you can entertain Kit while we work. A turn in the square might be nice.”
“Kit must leave,” Ellen said. “He needs to get to Windsor.”
Kit pulled out Rose’s chair. “It’s late already. I believe I’ll return to Whitehall tonight and leave early in the morning.”
For a moment Ellen stood there openmouthed.
“What?” Kit asked.
“You plotted all along to get me and my luggage here, didn’t you? No wonder you didn’t bring your own things. You had no intention of leaving for Windsor at all.”
“We came tonight because we were invited. And I’ve urgent business in Windsor that I intend to take care of tomorrow. It doesn’t matter whether I travel there tonight or tomorrow morn. But believe what you wish…you will, anyway.” He sighed. “Come along, Rose. I could use some fresh air.”
THIRTY-THREE
OUTSIDE, TORCHES burned brightly before each of the houses around St. James’s Square, bathing the neighborhood in a pale, hazy glow.
As they crossed to the fenced square, Rose felt Kit’s hand warm on her back. He slipped his other hand into his pocket and pulled out a small rock. “It’s quiet,” he said, turning it over and over with his fingers.
“Until recently, I wouldn’t dare come out here at night.” She paused to unlock the gate. “There were no rails—the square was just a big open area between the houses, used as nothing more than a receptacle for offal and cinders, not to mention all the dead dogs and cats of Westminster. Squatters lived among the filth, and there were thieves galore.”
Kit gestured at all the stately three-story redbrick and stone houses. “Are these not the homes of dukes and earls?”
“Mostly. It was a travesty.” The gate banged closed behind them as they entered the square. “Once Parliament approved their application for permission to put up rails and plant trees, the dukes and earls wasted no time seeing it done.”
The dirty pavement had been replaced by soft grass and wide, curving paths with benches scattered throughout. Young trees rustled in the light breeze. When Kit slung his free arm around her shoulders, she couldn’t bring herself to pull away.
Her will seemed to vanish whenever he touched her.
He was still playing with the rock. “What is that?” she asked.
He looked down as though surprised to see it there. “A piece of my first building,” he said with a small, sheepish smile. “A little chunk of brick.” He handed it to her.
It held the warmth of his body and felt smooth, though she knew it must once have been angular. “Was it a church? A mansion? A theater?”
A rueful laugh broke the quiet of the night. “It was a warehouse. But I assure you, it’s the most beautiful warehouse to ever grace God’s green earth.”
“I’m sure it is,” she said, imagining a redbrick warehouse with triangular pediments over the windows and white marble columns flanking the doors. Smiling, she handed back the chunk.
He sobered as he slipped it into his pocket. “Will you watch over my sister?” he asked quietly.
“Why? Do you expect Ellen will run off and elope?”
She’d meant the question to be facetious, but he took it seriously. “From here? No. She won’t have time to get a message to Whittingham and pull off such a trick before I return.” His voice dropped. “I’m just worried
