Rose (Flower Trilogy) (19 page)

The same fingers that were grazing her body over her gown had been under there mere minutes earlier. She could hardly believe she’d allowed it—encouraged it, if she were to be honest—but now, recalling those shared moments, she felt that heat simmering again, felt that urgent, exquisite ache.

The apple fritters were sweet and crispy, spiced with nutmeg, mace, and cinnamon. But she could hardly eat a bite.

These were not common reactions to a friend.

But she didn’t want anything more with Kit.

“ ’Twas delicious,” he said at last, rising from the table.

“But I must leave. I’ll have to head out to Windsor very early in the morning, and I need some sleep.”

“I know.” Ellen’s earlier gaiety disappeared as she and Rose walked him from the dining room to the door. “You’ll be back soon?”

“Day after tomorrow.” He stopped to kiss her on the forehead. “Be good, will you? In the meantime, I expect you to spend a lot of my money at the dressmaker’s. I trust that will give you some measure of revenge.”

“My earrings,” Rose reminded him.

“Oh.” He dug them out of his pocket and deliberately folded her fingers around them, holding her hand wrapped in both of his when he was finished. “I like your ears better without them.”

Her whole body flushed with heat, remembering his mouth on her earringless ears. He gave her a smoldering look—a knowing look—before he dropped her hand.

She expected his sister to comment, but Ellen just gave him a wan smile as he headed out the door, then sighed when his carriage rolled out of the square.

Rose drew a deep breath and released it slowly, willing her racing heart to calm. “Is something amiss?”

“I hate it when he’s nice. It almost makes me forget that I loathe him.”

“You don’t.”

“Not really. I’m just . . . very angry with him right now.

He shouldn’t have the right to dictate my life.”

“But he does.”

“But he
shouldn’t.
And it makes me sad to be at odds with him, because I know that he cares underneath.”

“Underneath? He cares every way that matters, Ellen—

any fool could see it.” Just like he cared for her, Rose . . .

any fool could see that, too. And Rose feared she was denying it much the same as Ellen.

“Whose side are you on?” Ellen asked. “I thought we were friends. You promised to intervene on my behalf.”

“I did.” Now it was Rose’s turn to sigh. “There in the square we talked of little but you and your situation.”

’Twas not quite a lie—they hadn’t
talked
about much else.

“He doesn’t want to listen. But I’d lay odds he listens other times, your brother. This is only because he wants what is best for you. What
he
thinks is best for you.”

“I know.” Looking very pale, Ellen sighed yet again.

Rose remembered Kit’s concern for his sister’s state of mind. “Shall we translate another sonnet?” she asked in an attempt to cheer her.

Ellen perked up. “Have you made any progress?”

“No. Mum and I lived in close quarters at Windsor, and when we arrived here yesterday I was fitted for new gowns and then went to bed. I needed to catch up on my sleep.

Unlike your brother, I’m afraid I’m only human.”

And she’d avoided looking at those pictures, reading those words . . . because they engendered 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 structure.

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.”

Chrystabel 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 is 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 all her essential oils.”

“Essential oils?”

“Distilled from flowers. At Trentingham in her perfumery, she has a fancy still that my brother-in-law built for her.”

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 do not 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. “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. “ ’Tis 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 finally said, looking up. She smiled at Ellen and 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. ’Tis beautiful, too.”

“I like it.” Ellen smiled, then the expression faded. “I suppose ’tis as well, since I’ll likely live there all my days.”

Taking Ellen’s bottle, Rose set both on her night 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 is obsessed with raising our social status.” Ellen shifted to face her. “He’s convinced people judge him by that rather than his accomplishments.”

“ ’Tis 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 still higher 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 and flipped open the book.

Rose’s gaze dropped; 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
normal
part of making love, then? She’d believed it a figment of her imagination, entirely scandalous.

And her body reacted at the mere thought of it. She felt herself dampen all over again.

“What is next?” Ellen asked, as though it were very normal indeed.

Rose blinked and refocused on the page. “. . . and then your yard, bit by bit . . .” The words made her think of Kit.

Kit, who had liked it too much when she’d touched him there. Her gaze strayed to the engraving, the picture of a man kneeling between a woman’s spread thighs. She forced her eyes back to the text. “
Alza ben questa gamba
. . . Raise my leg, and we shall play a new game . . . good God.”

“Good God?”

She looked up. “It doesn’t say that. I’m just . . . I’m sorry, but this is difficult. It worked much better for me when I could puzzle over it slowly and write it down.”

“I don’t mind waiting.” Ellen, too, stared at the engraving above the sonnet, her muted words directed to the page.

“Have you . . . done that?” Rose asked after a moment.

Her friend burst into tears.

“Gemini. I’m so sorry.” Rose turned to her, taking her hands, cursing herself for not thinking before talking—as usual. “What is it?”

“I . . .” Ellen searched her eyes, her own overflowing. “I just . . .” She seemed to swallow past a huge lump in her throat. “I just miss Thomas, is all,” she whispered finally.

If this was love, Rose wasn’t sure she wanted anything to do with it. Ellen looked more miserable than she’d thought possible. She’d never seen anyone so desperate—not even Lily when she feared Rand would have to marry someone else.

“You’ll see Thomas soon,” she soothed, squeezing Ellen’s hands. “You live in Windsor, after all. Kit cannot keep you away forever. I’m certain he just wanted to conduct his business there quickly and then get back to Whitehall where he’s needed.”

“But he’s
not
needed at Whitehall—not anymore. The crisis has passed, and the project will progress smoothly without him.”

“Well, that’s good, then. He’s coming back day after tomorrow. You heard him say that, did you not? If he’s not needed here in London, then surely he will take you back to Windsor.”

“I think not.” With a great effort, Ellen choked back the last of her tears. “He told me today that Thomas will never see a penny of my dowry.”

Rose didn’t think Kit would follow through with that threat, but it wasn’t her place to tell Ellen. “Is that what this is about?”

“No. Well, maybe.” She bowed her head, looking up at Rose through damp lashes. “What if Thomas doesn’t want me without the money? We’ve spent so much time dreaming of the day when—”

“Don’t be a goose.” Rose reached to lift Ellen’s chin. “I know the look of love in a man’s eyes, and I can promise you that Thomas is besotted. He doesn’t want you for your money, Ellen—just put that right out of your head.”

“Do you think?” Ellen looked like she wanted to believe her.

“I
know.
” Rose felt her age and then some. Ellen was so young. So vulnerable. Rose remembered Kit’s concerns and her promise to watch over his sister. “Would you like to sleep in here instead of the other room? We can talk all night like my sisters and I used to when one of us was upset.”

Tears leaked again as Ellen nodded. “You’re so kind, Rose.”

Nobody had ever described Rose as kind. Her own smile was watery as she rang for her maid to prepare them both for bed.

“ Good morning, Ellen.” Rose stretched beneath the quilt, then slowly rolled over. “Ellen?”

Ellen wasn’t there.

Rose sat up, swung her legs off the bed, and squinted at the clock on her mantel. She groaned. ’Twas naught but seven in the morning, and breakfast wasn’t until nine.

Yawning, she absently lifted one of the bottles off her night table. The cork came free with a soft pop, and she inhaled deeply, closing her eyes.

Frankincense and myrrh. Kit. Almost. Something was missing. That woodsy something. She’d have to locate and add that elusive ingredient before she gave the bottle to the duke.

Thinking she’d better find Ellen, Rose yawned again and slid from the bed. She tied a red wrapper over her white night rail, slipped her feet into a pair of quilted satin mules, and padded out of her chamber, taking the bottle with her.

Ellen wasn’t in the room she’d been assigned, either.

Through the open door of Chrystabel’s sitting room, Rose glimpsed two maids busy about their day’s work, one opening the shutters while the other cleaned the fire grate.

“Have either of you seen Ellen Martyn?” she asked.