ROSE WATCHED brother and sister emerge from St. Trinity, Kit looking determined, Ellen furious. She wondered what had been said during their short time inside.
Thomas stepped forward. “Ellen has informed me you’re putting a condition on our marriage,” he said, looking directly at Kit.
He was a direct sort of man. Rose had come to know him a little better on the ride from the town house to the church, and she believed he would make a good husband for her friend.
If only Kit would allow it.
“That’s true,” Kit said. “You must be willing to take my sister without her dowry.”
Rose suspected Kit wanted to make sure the man was devoted, but Ellen released an angry huff. Yet Thomas, bless the man, didn’t so much as blink. “I would take your sister if she came with a mound of debt. Ellen’s dowry would be welcome—I won’t lie—but I don’t want your sister for money, sir. I want her because I love her.”
It was such a pretty speech, Rose wanted to applaud.
But Kit just nodded, somehow contriving to appear pleased, relieved, disappointed, and resigned all at once. “Come along, then. Let’s get this done.”
Ellen let out a little squeal, then ran to Thomas and pressed her lips to his in a fervent kiss.
“After the wedding,” Kit said, but not without a hint of good humor.
Regardless, Ellen chose to glare at him.
“Good luck, Ellen.” Rose handed her the bouquet of flowers she’d arranged while they were waiting for Thomas. It wouldn’t feel like a real wedding without flowers.
Though Ellen smiled, she looked apprehensive until Thomas had drawn her down the aisle to stand before the priest. Then she took his hand and released a heartfelt sigh.
Some other people began to protest, but Kit pressed a small pile of gold into the priest’s plump hand—and that was that. The man wasted no time beginning the ceremony. He was the no-nonsense sort, with a booming voice, a big belly under his robe, and flushed, well-fed cheeks.
Standing in the small, old chapel, Rose shifted on her high-heeled shoes, wondering if she’d ever be a bride.
“Thomas Whittingham, wilt thou have this woman to thy wedded wife, to live together after God’s ordinance in the holy estate of matrimony? Wilt thou love her, comfort her, honor, and keep her in sickness and in health; and, forsaking all others, keep thee only unto her, so long as ye both shall live?”
“I will.” The confident words boomed off the plain, whitewashed walls, binding Thomas to Kit’s sister.
But Rose wasn’t listening to the ceremony. Instead, she focused on the bride and groom—their linked hands, their bodies ranged close, their eyes shining with a potent mixture of disbelief and happiness.
Smiling as though she’d arranged this wedding herself, Chrystabel leaned close and bumped against Rose’s left side. “They’re perfect together, aren’t they?” she whispered.
Rose could only nod dumbly. Ellen and her pawnbroker were clearly in love…for Ellen, at least, it hadn’t been as easy to fall in love with a titled man as a commoner.
The priest cleared his throat and looked back down at his Book of Common Prayer. “Ellen Martyn, wilt thou have this man to thy wedded husband…”
Standing on Rose’s right, Kit sighed. “Have I done the right thing?”
“Oh, yes,” she breathed, wondering if she would do the right thing. For she feared that, like Ellen, she wasn’t finding it easy to fall in love with a titled man. The Duke of Bridgewater was handsome and rich and kind, and she’d tried to make herself fall in love with him, to no avail. And yet, with Kit…
Her feelings didn’t bear thinking about.
“…so long as ye both shall live?” the priest concluded expectantly.
“I will,” Ellen pledged, sounding happier than Rose remembered ever feeling.
A few more words, a ring slid onto her finger—something hastily chosen from the pawnshop, no doubt—and Ellen was clearly and truly wed now, the new Mrs. Thomas Whittingham.
And Rose was more confused than ever.
When Thomas lowered his lips to meet Ellen’s, Kit looked to Rose. Her breath caught in her chest. His eyes were full of promises…but they were promises she couldn’t return.
She didn’t breathe easily again until they were all heading back down the steps to her family’s carriage.
“Where will you go tonight?” she asked Ellen.
“Home. To the pawnshop in Windsor.” She smiled up at Thomas, then glanced at Kit and lifted her chin before turning back to Rose. “It will doubtless be late by the time we arrive, but I’ve no wish to stay in London.”
“We’re going home to Trentingham tomorrow,” Chrystabel announced.
“Are we?” Rose asked, surprised. But right now the idea of home sounded wonderful.
“I miss your father. And Rowan. And I’m going to have your sisters and their husbands over for supper as soon as possible. In fact, I’ll send notes to them before we leave. Perhaps they can join us tomorrow night.” Without missing a beat, Chrystabel turned to Kit. “Will you join us as well? My husband is likely impatient to see his greenhouse take shape. You did promise to work up a design before you left Lily’s wedding.”
“I did, didn’t I?” he said wryly. “But—”
“Rose has indicated you’ve got Whitehall under control. And you won’t be far from Windsor. Or Hampton Court, for that matter.”
Mum could be persuasive when she put her mind to it. Kit nodded. “I suppose since no red-and-white-liveried king’s man has shown up with bad news, I can take a day to sketch a design.”
“And one night to relax before jumping back into the fray.”
“And one night,” he agreed, his gaze straying to Rose.
Her skin heated all over.
It took a few more minutes for plans to be nailed down. Rose and Chrystabel would take Ellen and Thomas back to the town house to fetch Ellen’s things. Kit would return to Whitehall, spend the balance of the day making certain everything there would proceed smoothly, then go on to Trentingham Manor in the morning.
Rose was settled in the carriage and halfway to St. James’s Square before she realized that in all the time since before the wedding began, Ellen hadn’t said one word to her brother.