“I earned that money. I mean to have it. He could dictate my life when I was a child, but not anymore.”
“How on earth do you expect Kit to understand how you’re feeling if you don’t talk to him? This is childish, Ellen. You’re a married woman, an expectant mother. Try to see his side. And you must come to our wedding. If not for Kit, do it for me.”
Tears welled in Ellen’s eyes. “I cannot. If he doesn’t love me enough to give me my dowry even though I defied him, I cannot.”
Rose’s gaze strayed out the window to where Kit was pacing across the street, clearly as miserable as his sister. She wished he would just give Ellen the money and end this painful stalemate, but unlike his sister, she could see his side, too.
Her heart went out to him. “I’m sorry, Ellen, but I cannot beg you anymore, either. I pray you change your mind,” she said and went outside to join him.
Kit whirled when he saw her. “How is she?” he immediately asked.
“Healthy, save for some expected sickness in the mornings. And the babe is well, too. But she still doesn’t want to see you.”
His jaw tensed as he took her hand to start the walk back down the hill to his house, where Violet and Lily were waiting to return home.
She squeezed his fingers. “Do you know, I believe Ellen’s pregnancy may be affecting her thinking and her feelings.”
“Whatever would make you believe that?”
“It’s common enough for increasing women to be weepy and such.” He didn’t look convinced. “In any case, Ellen is young. Surely when her child is born she will grow up quickly. In the meantime,” she added carefully, “if you want her at our wedding, you only have to give her—”
“I cannot,” he interrupted. “I won’t buy my sister’s love.”
Rose held her tongue as they walked, listening to the sounds of horses clopping past, children playing chase, and a woman in one of the tall houses scolding her poor sod of a husband.
After a while, Kit sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. “Thank you for trying.”
“There’s no need for thanks,” she said softly.
She hadn’t tried hard enough. Someway, somehow, she would come up with a plan to get these two to make up.
Kit had witnessed his sister’s wedding, and Ellen would be there for his.
SIXTY-SIX
“ROWAN, WAKE up!” Back at Trentingham three days later, Rose shook her brother’s bony eleven-year-old shoulder. “Wake up!”
He stretched and yawned, opened his eyes, then promptly closed them. “It’s still night.”
“But it’s almost morning. And I need you to do me a favor.”
He rolled over, presenting her with his back. “What?”
“I want you to pretend to be ill.” She tousled his wavy black hair. “It could be fun.”
“Fun?”
“Mum will take care of you.” She sat on his blue-draped oak bed. “She’ll bring you treats and sit and play cards.”
“No, she won’t.” With a groan, he turned to face her. “She’s taking you to London today, remember? To fetch your wedding gown. Being ill alone is no fun at all.”
“She’d never leave you ill. You’re her precious baby.” When he grimaced, she rushed on. “I’ll pay you.”
He sat up. “How much?”
“A shilling.”
He made a rude noise.
“Very well, then, a crown.”
“Maybe.” At last Rowan looked interested—but skeptical, too. Rose’s brother was no half-wit. “I still think Mum will want to go with you to London…” His green eyes narrowed. “You don’t want her to go with you, do you? Why don’t you want her to go with you?”
“Never mind why. Will you do this for me or not? A crown, Rowan. A nice, shiny—”
“She won’t let you go alone.”
“I’ll take Violet, then. And Lily, too, if Mum insists—she’s at Hawkridge at the moment, and it’s right on the way. Will you do it?” He still looked hesitant, blast him. “Think of it as a practical joke,” she added, grasping at straws.
“A practical joke?” He perked up. He’d loved practical jokes ever since his little friend Jewel, Ford’s niece, had played one on him four years ago. In fact, they hadn’t been friends at all until the girl had humiliated him with that prank. Rose had never been able to figure that out.
But she wasn’t averse to using it to her advantage. “Yes, a practical joke. Jewel will be so jealous when you tell her all about it at my wedding.”
“What will I have to do?”
“Hardly anything.” She moved aside, revealing the items she’d arranged on his bedside table. “I brought powder to make your face pale—”
“Makeup?”
“Just a little. You can run around the room till you’re all hot and sweaty. Then jump back into bed, I’ll fluff a little powder on, and we’ll put a hot cloth on your forehead.” She gestured to the bowl of steaming water she’d brought with her.
“I can moan a lot,” he suggested with a grin.
“Excellent. I’ll hide everything beneath your bed. Then when Mum comes in you’ll be all hot and feverish and moaning and groaning…she won’t want to leave you, I’m sure.”
His eyes brightened with the thrill of conspiracy. “Can I puke?”
She winced, but nodded. It was a brilliant if disgusting idea. “Can you make yourself puke?”
“For two crowns,” he said. “Bring me some food.”
SIXTY-SEVEN
IN MADAME Beaumont’s London shop, Rose twirled in the red satin gown.
“It’s gorgeous,” Lily breathed. “Whoever would have imagined red for a wedding?”
“Perfect,” Madame Beaumont said in her fashionable French accent—never mind the seventeen years she’d lived here since the Restoration. She waved one arm in an expansive fashionable French gesture. “Absolument parfait.”
The gown had a low, scooped neckline and full three-quarter sleeves from which a froth of fine white Brussels lace spilled to Rose’s wrists. The underskirt and stomacher were both embroidered with thousands of seed pearls in scrolled designs, and the overskirt had love-knots all over it—small satin bows, loosely sewn so they could be torn
