ROSE’S FAMILY was almost more than Kit could take. They were loud. They were boisterous. And there were so damn many of them.
Rose’s oldest sister, Violet, had brought along her husband, Ford, and their three children—two of whom were infant twins and prone to wailing—plus Ford’s niece, ten-year-old Jewel.
Kit’s friend Rand was there with his new wife, Rose’s younger sister Lily. Lily, as usual, was surrounded by animals—a cat she’d brought, along with a sparrow and a squirrel that had followed her. Her mother had ordered the latter two outside during supper, but they were watching through a window.
And then, of course, there were Lord and Lady Trentingham. And their eleven-year-old son, Rowan.
With Rose and Kit—and not counting the creatures—that made eleven people around the table in Trentingham Manor’s white-paneled dining room and two in cradles nearby. Kit was unwillingly reminded of his school days, eating in an enormous hammerbeam-ceilinged hall with shouts and conversation coming from all angles. He half expected a food fight to break out.
It seemed quite a racket to a man who was used to dining with only his sister.
Ellen. She’d passed her wedding night by now—not that it had been the proper wedding night he’d wanted for her—and he wondered how she was doing. Was she happy with her pawnbroker? They’d be happier, of course, when he gave them the money he’d saved for her dowry, but he thought he’d wait a little while for that. A week or two, at least. Let them get settled first—such a windfall was likely to be unsettling, indeed.
In the meantime, he hadn’t wanted to be alone at his house in Windsor, imagining his baby sister and her new husband doing God knew what down the street. So Lady Trentingham’s invitation had been welcome, even though he damn well knew he had better things to do.
But his projects seemed stabilized, and the day had gone well enough. Lord Trentingham had been happy with Kit’s ideas for the greenhouse, and Kit had gone only half hoarse shouting all his explanations. He’d order the materials and hire a foreman when he returned to Windsor. Lord Trentingham was anxious to get his plants inside before winter, so Kit had promised him an accelerated schedule. The groundbreaking was planned for ten days hence.
“This all must be very disturbing,” Rand said.
“Hmm?” Kit had been so deep in his thoughts he hadn’t even noticed that sweets had been put on the table. “Are you talking to me?”
“Wake up, you dolt.” Rand elbowed him in the ribs and laughed. “We’ve been talking about the problems you had at both Windsor and Whitehall.”
“They’re settled now,” Kit said. His plate had been removed by one of Trentingham’s footmen, and he hadn’t noticed that, either. Someone set a smaller, clean plate in front of him.
“Are you sure?” Jewel’s deep green eyes looked wide in her delicate, heart-shaped face.
She seemed as concerned as an adult might, so he answered her seriously. “I’m convinced Washburn didn’t set the fire, so I don’t expect him to try anything else.”
“But how can you be sure?”
Seated to Kit’s left, Rose passed him a platter of small currant cakes, her soft floral fragrance wafting to his nose along with the fruity scent of the baked goods. “The fire was probably not intended,” she told Jewel.
“Exactly.” He took three cakes and passed the plate to Rand. “The men aren’t supposed to smoke pipes on the job, but I wasn’t there to watch.”
Lord Trentingham frowned. “Has Whitehall become overrun with mice?”
Kit blinked. “Pardon?”
“You said the men aren’t supposed to poke mice?”
“Smoke pipes, darling.” Lady Trentingham leaned to brush a few cake crumbs off her husband’s cravat. “The men aren’t supposed to smoke pipes.”
“It could have been someone else.” Taking six cakes for himself, Rowan sounded a bit gleeful at the prospect of uncovering intrigue. “Not this Washburn, but someone else.”
“Let’s hope not.” Using one of the cakes to scoop sweet whipped cream from a dish, Kit worried the children might be right. “It was most probably accidental. These things happen.”
“Bee stings do happen,” Lord Trentingham put in. “Especially out in my gardens.”
No one corrected him this time.
Jewel waved a currant cake. “Accidents at two of your buildings? Aren’t you wondering if your other building might have a problem, too?”
Out of the mouths of babes. Kit sighed. “Perhaps I should go to Hampton Court and make certain everything there is progressing smoothly.”
“Rose and I are going to Hampton Court,” Lady Trentingham volunteered cheerfully.
Kit wasn’t surprised.
Her husband had actually heard that. “Not too soon, I hope, Chrysanthemum.”
“Well, we won’t want to wait too long. The court is there, after all, and Rose will want to see the duke.”
Rose’s sisters turned to her in unison.
“The duke?” Violet asked, leaning down to swipe her son’s spoon off the floor for at least the tenth time.
Lily fed a bit of cake to her cat under the table. “What duke?”
“The Duke of Bridgewater.” Rose hid her face by raising her goblet to her lips—although Kit knew it was empty. “We’ll talk about this later.”