She blinked and felt as surprised as Gabriel looked. “I’m sorry,” she added quickly. Out of habit she almost added that her heart belonged to another, but surely that wasn’t true. “I must go,” she said instead.
Avoiding his stunned gaze, she sidestepped free and ran down the gallery toward her lodging. The heavy old door creaked when she opened it. She slammed it shut and leaned back against the thick wood, a hand to her trembling mouth.
How could she have refused him? Had she not been waiting for this proposal? Had she not come here to Hampton Court hoping to receive it? Had she not refused other perfectly suitable men because she wanted a duke?
How could she have turned down a duke—and a perfectly nice one, at that? One who had fought and risked his life for her? Never mind that he’d fenced circles around the earl—he couldn’t have known the man was so incompetent when he issued the challenge.
There was nothing for it. She would have to seek him out and change her answer to yes.
But not tonight. She couldn’t face him tonight. Furious at herself, she straightened and wandered toward the bedchamber. “Mum? Harriet?”
It was empty. “Harriet, where are you?”
No one was here. Not her mother, not her maid, not her mother’s maid, either. She threw herself facedown on the bed.
The boned bodice of her gown poked into her, so after a moment she rolled over. But there were whalebone splints in the back, too, not to mention the bulky lacing that ran down her spine.
Where the devil was Harriet? Rose cursed the maid along with whatever fool was responsible for dictating court fashion. She’d claimed to be able to care for herself—well, she could slap an impudent courtier, all right, but she couldn’t manage to undress herself when her blasted gown was laced down her back.
The apartment was too silent. She sat up and sighed. She didn’t really want to undress—she’d been hoping to finally try gaming tonight.
But first she would take a walk—a calming walk, out in Hampton Court’s immense public gardens—and steel herself to change her answer to Gabriel tomorrow.
She’d bet the Duchess of Bridgewater would never find herself without a maid.
FIFTY
NOTEBOOK, RULER, and rope in hand, Kit left his assigned lodging in Master Carpenter’s Court and made his winding way through the palace.
Base Court smelled of cut grass, and it was quiet after the excitement of the duel earlier. Or at least it should have been quiet. As Kit approached the covered passage known as the Great Chamber, an odd pounding reached his ears. “Open up!” a woman shouted, clearly agitated.
That reminded him of Rose’s agitation earlier this evening. He wondered what had possessed him to try to soothe her during the duel. After all, she’d flatly turned down his proposal, and given that she’d nearly gone out of her mind at seeing the duke put his life at risk, it was clear she seemed bent on marrying the lucky bastard.
Regardless of her mother’s encouragement, Kit liked to think he was a man who knew when to give up.
Crossing in front of the Great Chamber, he looked to see who was making such a racket, then stopped and stared. As though he’d conjured her with his musings, there stood Rose, banging her fists on the huge oak doors that led to the bridge over Hampton Court’s moat.
“Rose!” he called. Apparently he had yet to give up. “Wherever do you think you’re going?”
She turned, her hands clenched at her sides. “To the gardens, if a guard will ever be pleased to let me out. I wish to take a peaceful, solitary walk.”
He stepped deeper into the musty passageway. She looked beautiful in her anger, her eyes shining with a luster that matched the pearls on her fancy gown. “It’s not wise to go out there alone at night,” he warned. “The privy garden would be safer.”
“I’m not allowed in the privy garden. Don’t you know the meaning of the word privy?”
“I can get you inside. I’m on my way there now.”
“To do what?” she asked, glancing at the assortment of items he carried.
“My project is there. The new apartments for the king’s old mistress Barbara. I wish to check…everything,” he finished with a sigh.
A trickle of water dripped from somewhere overhead. “Have you found something amiss?” she asked.
“Not yet. But I’ve a feeling in my bones that something’s wrong. I intend to measure every square foot of the building.” It was a fool’s task, he feared, as well as a long, tedious one. But he wouldn’t rest easy until he’d completed it. And he needed to do it when no one was watching, trying to distract him—or worse, covering anything up. “Come along. Their Majesties are at court, so the garden will afford you the solitude you’re seeking.”
She grabbed a lantern off the ground. “I shall help you measure.”
In the torchlight that danced on the old brick walls, he gazed at her. “Why?”
Her dark eyes grew hooded. “I have nothing else to do. I’ve no wish to return to court until later, when the gaming is underway. And your task would go faster with help, would it not? I’ve been called selfish, but I like to think I would be there to help a friend.”
He wondered about some of her brave speech, not least why she hesitated to return to court. But he focused on her last sentence. “Are we friends, Rose?”
“Yes,” she said firmly, and then more uncertainly, “I hope so.”
A part of him—the part that didn’t know when to give up—still hoped for more than her friendship. But it would do for now. “Come on, then,” he said. “Lead the way.”
She raised the lantern and started across Base Court, teetering a little on the cobblestones in her fashionable high heels. Such a lady, his Rose.
“Does this feel like
