“Yes, you will,” Rose said, pleased. Court was going to be so much more pleasant now that the women here liked her.
“And will you be bringing the translations?”
“Gemini!” With all the turmoil surrounding Ellen, she’d completely forgotten to work on any more of them. “I’ve done two,” she hedged, not mentioning she didn’t have them with her.
“Excellent,” the lady said before walking off, the train on her fur-trimmed cloak dragging behind her.
“What translations?” Chrystabel asked.
“Some poetry. Italian. Nothing important.”
“Oh, I see,” Chrystabel said as though she didn’t see at all. “Come along, then, let’s ready ourselves.”
Their lodging was again just a sitting room and one bedchamber, no fancier than the one they’d been assigned at Windsor Castle. But at least the rooms were larger. In no time at all, Chrystabel was settled at a creaky wooden dressing table with Anne working on her hair, while Harriet helped Rose into the new emerald gown she’d chosen to wear.
When a knock came at the door, Harriet went to answer and came back with a vase full of colorful fall flowers. “For you, Lady Rose.”
Rose rushed to take them. “Lovely!” She rearranged the greenery more evenly and moved a yellow bloom from the right side to the left before reaching for the card. “They must be from the duke.”
But they weren’t.
For dear Lady Rose, the card said in a heavy, dark hand. I wished for red roses to match your lips, but alas, they are not in season. Please accept this small token of my affection with my hopes of spending some time in your company this evening. Yours, Lord Somerville.
“How did he know I was here?” she wondered.
“News travels swiftly at court,” her mother said.
Harriet’s pale green eyes looked wistful in her freckled face. “Oh,” she said with a heartfelt sigh. “How I would love for a man to send me flowers.”
She’d barely finished lacing the back of Rose’s gown when another knock came at the door. This time she returned with a small wooden box. Inside was a dainty pearl bracelet.
“It goes well with my earrings,” Rose said, wondering if she should wear the rubies tonight even though they didn’t match her green dress. “How very thoughtful of Gabriel.”
But the bracelet wasn’t from him, either. The creamy sheet of vellum that had arrived with the box was lettered neatly in fine black ink. For Lady Rose, though pearls cannot match the luster in your eyes. Passionately, Baron Fortescue.
“Passionately?” Rose held out her wrist so Harriet could fasten the bracelet’s clasp. “I barely remember the man.”
“Oh,” Harriet said, “how I would love for a man to give me jewelry.”
A third knock on the door brought a platter of delicate sweetmeats and another note: No sugar can match the sweetness of your demeanor.
No one had ever called Rose sweet. “I vow and swear,” she declared, popping a marzipan swan into her mouth, “I’ve never heard such ridiculous comparisons in my life.”
Her mother moved to give her a turn at the dressing table. “They’re just trying to impress you, dear.”
“If any of them could kiss half decently, I would find that a lot more impressive.”
“Oh,” Harriet said, “how I would love for a man to kiss me.”
By the time Rose was ready for court, she had two new bracelets, a sapphire stomacher brooch, and four bouquets of flowers in addition to the half-eaten platter of sweets.
None of it was from Gabriel.
Hampton Court had no keeps, no crenelated curtain wall, nothing like the huge central mound of earth at Windsor with its tall Round Tower. Instead, the palace was a virtual rabbit warren of buildings surrounding courtyards large and small.
Rose walked from Base Court through Clock Court with her mother, the pearls on her beautiful new gown gleaming in the light from torches set on the walls at intervals. They climbed the Great Stairs. As they were crossing the cavernous blue-ceilinged great hall on their way to the Presence Chamber, a lord walking the other direction stopped and doffed his plumed hat.
“I hear you have a copy of I Sonetti, my lady.”
Rose couldn’t remember having met him, and the man had a distinct gleam in his eye; one that made her uneasy. “I do,” she told him cautiously.
“I should enjoy a private viewing.”
“I think not,” she said and swished past him.
“I Sonetti?” Chrystabel asked when they reached the other end of the chamber.
“The Sonnets. Italian poetry.”
“Why should you not want to show it to the man?”
“I don’t even know him!” Rose burst out, and then added in as calm a voice as possible, “Besides, I’m here to see the duke. If he has plans to make me his wife, I don’t think he’d appreciate me sharing any book with another man privately.”
The Presence Chamber was stunning, with great tapestries on the walls and a gilded ceiling. The king and queen sat under a canopy fashioned of cloth-of-gold. After the tedious ceremony of presentation, Chrystabel wandered off and Rose decided to look for Gabriel. But she’d barely scanned the chamber when Baron Fortescue appeared and made a bow. “My dear Lady Rose, I’m most honored to see you wearing my bracelet.”
He was dressed in mulberry satin with bunched loops of aqua ribbons. Rose had always admired men of fashion, but it seemed to her that lately the fashions had turned rather frivolous. And she remembered Lord Fortescue better now, most specifically that he was, as Lily had put it, a sloppy kisser.
She didn’t wish to hurt him, but she certainly didn’t want to encourage him. “The bracelet matched my gown,” she told him. “Thank you.”
“My pleasure. I hear, dear lady, that you’ve learned the secrets of I Sonetti.” He grinned, displaying buck teeth. “I’m hoping you’ll be
