And she’d avoided looking at those pictures and reading those words, because they gave rise to dangerous feelings. But whatever would lighten Ellen’s mood, she was more than willing to do.
“Come upstairs,” she invited.
Unlike Kit, Ellen showed little interest in the house itself. Instead, she skimmed a hand over a marquetry hall table. “Thomas had something like this,” she said. And a Chinese vase. “And like this. He just sold it last week.” And a silver lantern clock. “He has something like this now.”
Mum called to them through an open door. “Good evening.” She sniffed at a bottle and made a note on a little card. “Come in,” she urged, choosing a vial and lowering a dropper into it.
“What’s this?” Ellen asked as they stepped into the room.
“My mother makes perfume,” Rose explained. “This is a laboratory of sorts.” She waved at the racks of vials. “Those are her essential oils.”
“Essential oils?”
“Distilled from flowers. In her perfumery at Trentingham, she has a fancy still that my brother-in-law built for her. That’s where she makes the oils.”
Squinting in the candlelight, Ellen peered at the rows of labels with their tiny, neat black lettering. “Are some of them made from herbs, too?”
“Oh, yes,” Chrystabel said. “Many herbs make lovely top notes. Rosemary, for example, has a lavenderlike fragrance, and pennyroyal is minty—”
“Pennyroyal?” Ellen’s head jerked up. “In perfume?”
“Not often, but sometimes.” Chrystabel added two drops to her blend and swirled the bottle. “Do you know much about perfumes?”
“Nothing.” Ellen’s gaze swept the assorted vials again. “Except that I like them.”
“Shall I make a blend for you, then?” Chrystabel set down the bottle and chose an empty one. Using a little silver funnel, she poured in alcohol and water from two pewter flagons, then turned back to Ellen. “Should we start with pennyroyal?”
“No,” Ellen said quickly. “I…” She swallowed hard. “I don’t actually care for mint.”
Chrystabel nodded slowly. “You seem like a dreamer. A floral, then. Orange blossoms, and maybe some vanilla. Lilac, I think…” She went off into a dreamworld of her own as she concocted a mix that would fit Ellen perfectly.
Rose chose another empty bottle.
“I cannot believe how many oils she has,” Ellen whispered to her, as though speaking aloud would break Chrystabel’s spell.
Rose took up the little funnel and a flagon. “She works all spring, summer, and autumn, converting the plants to oils,” she said, filling the bottle with alcohol and water. “Some oils she has to buy—as talented as my father is in his gardens, he cannot make everything grow in England.”
Ellen’s gaze continued sweeping over the labels. “But so many. They’re not alphabetical?”
“Good God, no. Mum just knows where to lay her hands on whatever she wants.” Rose searched for frankincense. “This is nothing, really. She has a whole little room at Trentingham where the walls are filled floor to ceiling with all her many supplies.”
Ellen nodded distractedly.
“What do you think?” Chrystabel asked, presenting her with the bottle.
Ellen sniffed. “It’s lovely!”
“A good scent can go a long way toward cheering one up.”
So Mum had noticed Ellen’s melancholy mood, too, Rose thought. She added a few drops of myrrh to her mix and swirled it gently while her mother jotted a few notes on a card.
“There,” Chrystabel said, looking up. Smiling at Ellen, she took the bottle from her, corked it, and handed it back. “Now I’ll be able to duplicate the scent should you wish for more later. Or we can alter the ingredients if you think you’d like something else.”
“Oh, no, this is perfect.” Ellen smiled, but Rose couldn’t help noticing it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Thank you very much.”
“You’re quite welcome, dear. I hope you’ll enjoy it.”
Rose corked her bottle, too. “We’re going to my chamber, Mum.”
“Good night, then.” Smiling absently, Chrystabel turned back to the perfume she’d been creating earlier.
Rose’s bedchamber at Trentingham was hung with crimson silk, but here in town she had jewel tones—bright ruby, deep sapphire, and rich emerald. “This is beautiful,” Ellen said when they walked in.
“Kit showed us your blue chamber when he gave us a tour of the house. It’s beautiful, too.”
“I like it.” Though Ellen smiled, the expression quickly faded. “I suppose it’s as well, since I’ll likely live there all my days.”
Taking Ellen’s bottle, Rose set both on her bedside table and fetched the book from where she’d hidden it beneath a pile of chemises. “Not all your days, surely.”
“I suppose not. Just until Kit finds some hateful nobleman in need of money to marry me off to.”
Rose sat on the bed, drawing Ellen down beside her. “He wouldn’t wed you to anyone you hated.”
“He’s obsessed with raising our social status.” Ellen shifted to face her. “He’s convinced people judge him by that rather than his accomplishments.”
“It’s the way of the world. But he should be proud of those accomplishments—”
“Exactly what I tell him,” Ellen interrupted. “He shouldn’t care what people think. Do you know, I believe he doesn’t look on the Deputy Surveyor post as an accomplishment so much as a chance to be knighted. Kit really believes that people will look at him differently if there’s a Sir before his name.”
Rose knew Ellen was waiting for her to disagree, but she couldn’t. People would look at Kit differently. Especially if he managed to impress King Charles to the point that he eventually awarded him a more prestigious title.
She’d never thought about that possibility, but then she hadn’t known the position of Deputy Surveyor carried with it a probability of knighthood. That and more was certainly within the king’s power. If Kit were a member of the aristocracy—
“Oh,” Ellen said suddenly, “I’m so tired of all of this.” She reached to flip open the book.
Rose’s gaze dropped. Then her eyes widened as she read the Italian.
“What?” Ellen turned to her, some color returning to her cheeks. “What does it say?”
“‘Mettimi un dito—’” Rose started.
“In English.”
“Oh. Yes.” She blew out a breath. “Push a finger inside me…”
That was a