Rose (Flower Trilogy) (28 page)

“Lady Rose!” Courtiers dispersed as Gabriel strode toward her. “I’d like a word with you, if you will.”

Kit shrugged, swiped a roll of linen off the ground, and walked away.

Rose faced the duke. “Yes?”

“In private.”

Still shaky, she let him take her arm and lead her from the courtyard, under Henry VIII’s clock tower, and into Base Court. Her high heels wobbled on the cobblestone paths that crisscrossed the grass, but Gabriel seemed happy enough to steady her. In the galleries, a few lights flickered from apartments where courtiers had sought their lodgings, but the night was still young, and most everyone was returning to the Presence Chamber.

“My dear Rose,” Gabriel started.

“A duel!” she interrupted loudly, the words echoing in the deserted courtyard. “I cannot believe you challenged that fool to a duel.”

He hurried her into one of the galleries. The corridor was breezy, but the torches along the walls gave off heat as well as light. “I will never let anyone impugn your honor,” he said gallantly.

“I appreciate your sentiments, Gabriel, but a duel!” The red tiles here were smoother beneath her feet than the cobblestones. She felt steadier, more in control. True, part of her had been secretly thrilled to see a man—a duke, no less!—leap to defend her honor. But a larger part had been terrified. “Not only is dueling barbaric, ’tis illegal.”

As they walked past a diamond-paned window, the glass reflected his elegant shrug. “I don’t see anyone hurrying to arrest me. Featherstonehaugh deserved it.”

“That may be, but I was taking care of him myself.”

“You shouldn’t have to take care of yourself.” They heard the low murmur of people talking in an apartment, and he waited until they’d strolled past it. “Rose, I . . . I want to take care of you. I wish to make you my wife.”

She stopped walking, the corridor suddenly silent without the rhythmic clicks of her heels. “Are you asking me to marry you?”

He turned to face her and crowded her against the brick wall. It felt rough and cool behind her back. “Yes,” he said.

“I am not very good at this, am I? I am better with actions than words.”

He was a duke, and surely that was good enough.
A duke,
asking for her hand. He tilted his head and moved nearer, brushing her lips with his. His technique really wasn’t that bad. He didn’t smell of frankincense and myrrh, but he didn’t smell unpleasant, either. And he was a duke.

“Rose, will you marry me?”

Of course she would. She wasn’t brainless. She opened her mouth. This was what she’d been waiting for. “No.”

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 slid from behind him 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?”

’Twas 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 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.

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 ’twas 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.

Like Rose had been 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. No matter 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 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. “ ’Tis not wise to go out there alone,” he warned. “The privy garden would be safer.”

“I’m not allowed in the privy garden. Do you not know the meaning of the word ‘privy’?”

“I’ll get you inside. I’m on my way there now.”

She looked at the assortment of items he’d brought. “To do what?”

“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.

“No. At least not yet. But I’ve a feeling in my bones that something is wrong. I intend to measure every square foot of the building.” ’Twas 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 stared 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 a cloister to you?” he found himself asking.

She glanced around as they walked. “Maybe. A little.

Why?”

“I keep thinking Cardinal Wolsey built this place like an Italian cardinal’s palace. Something about the feel of it, the layout. Henry the Eighth would have ruined it when he rebuilt, but underneath . . .”

They crossed Clock Court, Rose’s measured steps matching the cadence of Henry’s great astronomical timepiece.

“Are there records of the construction?”

“None of which I’m aware.” He sighed. “Someday I just hope to see an old cardinal’s palace. To journey to Italy and stand in the middle of one and see if I’m right, if it shares the same feeling.”

He waited for her to say she’d like to come with him, but she didn’t. Her skirts swished against the cobblestones, and as they passed the fountain with its paltry gurgle of water, hoots of revelers filtered down from the Presence Chamber.

“The Court seems in high spirits following the duel,” he remarked.

“I’m sure they are,” she replied dryly. “Louise said ’twas the most exciting thing that’s happened in weeks.”

“Why are you not with them?”

She clamped her lips and walked faster, entering Cloister Green Court.

And there she stopped. “Listen.” The courtyard was bordered by the King’s and Queen’s apartments on two of its four sides. “Do you hear Charles’s dogs? How odd—he usually keeps them with him at Court.”

He suppressed a smile. “You’re not hearing Charles’s dogs.”

“I am. Can you not hear them yipping?”

“ ’Tisn’t dogs you hear, Rose. ’Tis people.”

“People? Doing what?” Her eyes narrowed and then widened. “You cannot mean . . .”

Despite his efforts, a grin broke free. “Yes.”

“ ’Tis a couple making love?” Trust her to say it out loud when he’d avoided being direct. In a complete reversal of mood, a little giggle escaped her lips. “Good God, do people really sound like that in bed?”

“Some people,” he said, struggling to maintain his dignity. “Not everyone.”

More giggles filled the courtyard, mad giggles, giggles that warmed his heart. “I-I’m n-never g-going to s-sound like that,” she choked out as the yipping went on. “Gemini, would you listen to her? She sounds as though she’s in pain!”

He thought he heard a little snort, but surely Rose wouldn’t snort. “She’s not, I assure you,” he said, giving in and laughing along with her.

He’d never in his life laughed so much as he had since he met Rose. It felt good. Lest he drop them, he set down his things and put his hands on her shoulders, and
she
felt good.

“With any other man,” she chortled as the yipping built to a crescendo, “I’d have pretended I didn’t hear that.”

“You thought it was dogs,” he reminded her. “You couldn’t have pretended.”

“Well, a courtier wouldn’t have pointed out my mistake.”

The yipping stopped while Kit just stared at her.

“I didn’t intend that in a negative fashion,” she said quickly in the sudden quiet. “I’m very glad we are friends.”

Kit was glad, too, but he feared that was all they would ever be.

After a silent moment, she drew a deep, audible breath.

“Do you not feel small here?” she whispered. “In the dark with the towering buildings all around looming over us?”

He squeezed her shoulders. “Yes.”

“Look at all the different shaped chimneys silhouetted against the sky.” She gazed up for a quiet moment, then lowered her eyes to meet his. “It must be wonderful to create something so monumental.”

She knew. She knew how he felt. “I’m only creating one building,” he reminded her.

“Still, ’twill be part of this whole.” Her sigh sounded wistful, calmer than before their bout of laughter. “Show me what you’re creating.”

He scooped up his things and guided her out the back of the palace, nodding to the sleepy guard. Before them, lime trees stretched into the dark distance, and moonlight reflected off Charles’s Long Water, a manmade canal inspired by one at Versailles. Kit drew Rose to the right, where at the corner of the palace another guarded gate marked the entrance to the privy gardens.

“Harriet!” Rose exclaimed. “Whatever are you doing here?”

In the torchlight from the gatehouse, her maid blushed.

“Just passing the time, milady. Your mother introduced me to Walter.” Harriet motioned to the guard. “You haven’t need of me, have you?”

“I certainly do . . . not . . . no.” Rose shook her head.

When Kit pushed open the gate, Walter cleared his throat. “The garden is for the King’s pleasure only, I’m afraid.”

“I’m here to work,” Kit said succinctly.

“At this hour?” The man looked between them. “With her?

Pardon me, Mr. Martyn, but it doesn’t seem as though—”

“She has volunteered to assist me.” Kit raised his supplies.

“Ah, let them go,” Harriet cajoled with much more familiarity than Kit expected from one so newly introduced.

“Trust me, Walter, my mistress will not be dallying with the likes of him.”

That
attitude, unfortunately, Kit did expect. As he ushered Rose through the opened gate, the fragile closeness he’d felt in Cloister Green Court disappeared like sawdust in the wind.

“Trust my mother to find a man for my maid,” Rose grumbled. “She thinks she can match every last soul with his or her perfect mate.”

Kit shut the gate. “Do her introductions often result in marriages?”

“Usually, which is annoying as anything.”

He hid a smile. “Not to the people involved, I’ll wager.”

“Well, she’s not involving me.” She hurried toward the new construction. “Show me what you’re building.”

He walked her through the new apartments, the main rooms and all the bedchambers for the Duchess of Cleveland and the five children she’d borne King Charles. Most of them were all but grown already, but the King had granted them titles and he played a large part in their lives.