He rose and stretched for a brief moment, then padded across his small lodging to open the door. “Lady Trentingham.” He blinked.
How had she found him? The courtiers weren’t lodged near Master Carpenter’s Court.
“May I come in?”
“Of course,” he said, suddenly aware of his state of half-dress: no shoes, no stockings, no coat, no cravat. Just breeches and a shirt, the latter unlaced at the neck and the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He began turning them down.
“No need to do that for me,” she assured him as she stepped inside. “I’ve seen a man’s arms and feet before. And a chest.” Her brown eyes danced with mischief. “Has Rose seen yours?”
“No!” he said quickly.
She gave a mournful shake of her head. “Then you’re not doing a very good job. However do you expect her to be consumed by lust if you’re always dressed to face a snowstorm?”
He couldn’t believe the conversations he found himself in with Rose’s mother. He waved her toward one of the two chairs that flanked the Spartan room’s small table and took the other for himself. “I gave my word that Rose would remain chaste.”
“I haven’t forgotten.” She sat, fluffing her skirts. “But a little temptation wouldn’t be amiss. This is going to take more than kisses.”
How did she know he’d scaled it back to kisses? And was she right? Had that been a mistake?
“Have you tried some romance?” she asked.
“I picked her up and carried her. And I carved our initials into a tree trunk. The mere act had me choking back laughter, but she loved it.”
“Excellent. You must do some more of that.”
He wasn’t sure he could come up with anything more. “I’m a very straightforward kind of fellow, Lady Trentingham. I wasn’t raised here at court. I’m not good at gallant gestures.”
She glanced at the carefully drawn plans he’d spread on the table. “You seem creative enough to me. I’m sure if you put your mind to it, you’ll do just fine.”
Designing buildings wasn’t creative—it was logical, mathematical. Certain requirements had to be met, certain loads had to be supported, certain shapes were inherently beautiful.
But he’d learned by now there was no arguing with Lady Trentingham. “I’ll try,” he told her.
“Excellent. The fact that Rose refused the duke’s proposal after he dueled on her behalf—I take that as a very good sign.”
“The duel…” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I realize it’s not my place to say this, my lady, but matters at court seem to be getting a bit out of hand. I think it might be best if you took Rose and left—as soon as possible.”
“We’re leaving tomorrow. Her friend Judith is marrying later this week, and she’d never forgive us if we missed her wedding.”
“No, I mean you should leave today. Before…” Hoping Rose would forgive him, he plunged on. “Are you aware that your daughter is in possession of a book? A very—”
“I Sonetti?” she interrupted.
“She shared it with you?” He couldn’t imagine a mother-daughter relationship like that, but then nothing about the Ashcroft family seemed normal.
Question Convention, he thought with an internal sigh.
Lady Trentingham’s lips quirked. “Of course she didn’t share it. But she’s carried it from place to place for days. I’m not unobservant.”
Somehow he didn’t find that statement surprising. “Then you’ll know why you must leave. Word has gone round that Rose has this book, and people—men—have decided she’s…she’s…”
“Wild? A wanton?”
“And worse,” he snapped. He didn’t want to think of Rose like that. And he knew it wasn’t really true.
Her mother sighed. “I’m aware of that, too. It’s unfortunate, and certainly not in my plans. But she’s in no danger of being compromised—”
“I wouldn’t be so certain.”
“I’m watching her. If it makes you feel any better, keep in mind that those lecherous courtiers may be driving her straight into your arms.”
Perhaps she had a point that, in the scheme of things, all those men with wandering hands might be doing him a favor. But that didn’t mean he liked it. “Take her home,” he begged. “As soon as I’ve convinced myself that everything is right here, I’ll come straight to Trentingham. Without these unwelcome distractions, I’ll be able to concentrate my efforts on making her find me irresistible.”
“Excellent. But we’ll leave tomorrow. Rose would never forgive me if she missed the masked ball. Even now, she’s wearing her fingers to nubs sewing blooms on a gown.”
“Blooms?”
“Her costume. She’s going as a flower arrangement.”
Despite his worry, he smiled. It was so Rose. “I thought she would be sleeping.”
“She did, for a while. But then she raided the palace’s gardens and set both our maids to work. The three of them are stitching madly.”
He sighed, giving up. “What are you going as?”
“A mother. I’ll watch her, Kit.”
“You do that,” he said.
But he would watch her, too.
FIFTY-THREE
EVERYTHING looked so beautiful!
The masked ball was held in the great hall rather than the Presence Chamber, and instead of candelabra and oil lamps, the huge room was lit by liveried yeomen holding tall, flaming torches. Overhead, the gold stars on the painted hammerbeam ceiling winked on their field of bright blue.
Dancers twirled in the blazing light. King Arthur was paired with a glittery-winged butterfly, and Robin Hood danced with Aphrodite. An angel and a devil seemed to be getting along well, and Zeus was kissing Anne Boleyn.
Decked out in a gown covered neckline to hemline with fresh flowers, Rose watched from a corner, drinking in the splendor and trying to puzzle out everyone’s identity. All the faces were covered by full or half masks, but a few courtiers weren’t difficult to spot.
Beneath Caesar’s crown of laurel leaves, his half mask failed to cover King Charles’s mustache, and as the tallest man in the room, the monarch’s height would have given him away regardless.
The Duchess Mazarin had come as a shepherdess, and her servant Mustapha was her little black sheep. Apparently shepherdesses wore no stays of any
