like Rose’s—
widen with appreciation.
“This ceiling is going to be exquisite,” she commented, gazing up at the half-painted details on the older portion of the room—the part that wasn’t ruined. “A banquet of the gods, is it not? Fish and fowl . . . look, a lobster! How very charming.”
“I’m pleased you think so. I envisioned it both exquisite and somewhat amusing.” He hoped the King would be even half as impressed as she. “I’ve got Antonio Verrio painting it. You may have heard of him?”
“Heavens, yes. The Duke of Montagu brought him from Paris, did he not? I arranged his marriage. The duke’s, not the artist’s.” She ran a hand down the intricate oak carving on the wall beside her, a melange of fruit and vegetables.
“And who is responsible for this?”
“Grinling Gibbons, assisted by Henry Phillips.”
She nodded approvingly, still looking around. “The cornice is his work as well, if I’m not mistaken. Are you interested in my daughter, Mr. Martyn?”
He blinked at the rapid change of subject. Not to mention the subject itself. “Lady Rose is quite interesting,” he replied cautiously. “And please, call me Kit.”
“Kit.” She dropped her gaze to meet his. “That is not the sort of interest I was enquiring about, and”—a small smile curved her lips—“I suspect you know it. Do you want Rose?”
He wished there were furniture in the room so he could sit down. “Do I want . . .”
“I do not mean in a carnal sense,” she said, then her eyes twinkled. “Well, of course that is part of it, but do you want her as a wife?”
“A wife ?” Furniture or no, if this line of questioning continued, he was going to have to sit. The floor was looking mighty tempting. His knees felt weaker than the plaster that had recently crumbled. And he hadn’t the slightest idea what sort of reply Lady Trentingham was seeking.
He rubbed the back of his neck. Do you want her as a wife? Only in his most ludicrous dreams. If he answered yes, would Lady Trentingham berate him for aspiring far above his station? If he answered no, would she take offense on her daughter’s behalf?
She saved him from answering at all. “You would make me a fine son-in-law, but if you wish for that to happen, you’d do best to hide my approval from my daughter.”
Kit could hardly believe his ears. Elation sang through his veins, tempered by a rush of confusion. “I . . . does it not bother you that I’m not of noble birth?”
“I know a good man when I see one, and a title rarely has much to do with it. In my opinion, that is. I wish I could say my Rose felt the same way.” Her voice was laden with warning. “I’m afraid you’ll have your work cut out for you.”
He wondered if he was up to the task. But with the approval of Rose’s mother, he was damn well willing to try. “She told me she is allowed to choose her own husband.”
“Yes, she is. And furthermore, she is determined not to wed anyone of my choosing. I’m rather known as a matchmaker,” she added, but ’twas not a boast, just an honest bit of information. “Like my other daughters, she wants no part of any marriage I arrange.”
“I see.”
She cracked a smile. “Nevertheless—and unbeknownst to my children—I chose both Violet’s and Lily’s husbands.
I aim to make it three for three. How’s that for an impressive accounting?”
“My lady, I wish you every success in attaining that goal.” He’d never spoken more earnest words, since her success would mean his as well.
“I’m pleased to hear you agree. One more thing.” Her hand on his arm, she commanded his gaze. “My daughter is an innocent . . . and I expect her to remain one until the day she is wed. I’m well aware of the goings-on here at Court—”
“I’m no courtier,” he rushed to assure her. He waved an arm, encompassing the half-finished chamber. “I am only the hired help.”
“I’m glad to hear it.” She smoothed down her
widen with appreciation.
“This ceiling is going to be exquisite,” she commented, gazing up at the half-painted details on the older portion of the room—the part that wasn’t ruined. “A banquet of the gods, is it not? Fish and fowl . . . look, a lobster! How very charming.”
“I’m pleased you think so. I envisioned it both exquisite and somewhat amusing.” He hoped the King would be even half as impressed as she. “I’ve got Antonio Verrio painting it. You may have heard of him?”
“Heavens, yes. The Duke of Montagu brought him from Paris, did he not? I arranged his marriage. The duke’s, not the artist’s.” She ran a hand down the intricate oak carving on the wall beside her, a melange of fruit and vegetables.
“And who is responsible for this?”
“Grinling Gibbons, assisted by Henry Phillips.”
She nodded approvingly, still looking around. “The cornice is his work as well, if I’m not mistaken. Are you interested in my daughter, Mr. Martyn?”
He blinked at the rapid change of subject. Not to mention the subject itself. “Lady Rose is quite interesting,” he replied cautiously. “And please, call me Kit.”
“Kit.” She dropped her gaze to meet his. “That is not the sort of interest I was enquiring about, and”—a small smile curved her lips—“I suspect you know it. Do you want Rose?”
He wished there were furniture in the room so he could sit down. “Do I want . . .”
“I do not mean in a carnal sense,” she said, then her eyes twinkled. “Well, of course that is part of it, but do you want her as a wife?”
“A wife ?” Furniture or no, if this line of questioning continued, he was going to have to sit. The floor was looking mighty tempting. His knees felt weaker than the plaster that had recently crumbled. And he hadn’t the slightest idea what sort of reply Lady Trentingham was seeking.
He rubbed the back of his neck. Do you want her as a wife? Only in his most ludicrous dreams. If he answered yes, would Lady Trentingham berate him for aspiring far above his station? If he answered no, would she take offense on her daughter’s behalf?
She saved him from answering at all. “You would make me a fine son-in-law, but if you wish for that to happen, you’d do best to hide my approval from my daughter.”
Kit could hardly believe his ears. Elation sang through his veins, tempered by a rush of confusion. “I . . . does it not bother you that I’m not of noble birth?”
“I know a good man when I see one, and a title rarely has much to do with it. In my opinion, that is. I wish I could say my Rose felt the same way.” Her voice was laden with warning. “I’m afraid you’ll have your work cut out for you.”
He wondered if he was up to the task. But with the approval of Rose’s mother, he was damn well willing to try. “She told me she is allowed to choose her own husband.”
“Yes, she is. And furthermore, she is determined not to wed anyone of my choosing. I’m rather known as a matchmaker,” she added, but ’twas not a boast, just an honest bit of information. “Like my other daughters, she wants no part of any marriage I arrange.”
“I see.”
She cracked a smile. “Nevertheless—and unbeknownst to my children—I chose both Violet’s and Lily’s husbands.
I aim to make it three for three. How’s that for an impressive accounting?”
“My lady, I wish you every success in attaining that goal.” He’d never spoken more earnest words, since her success would mean his as well.
“I’m pleased to hear you agree. One more thing.” Her hand on his arm, she commanded his gaze. “My daughter is an innocent . . . and I expect her to remain one until the day she is wed. I’m well aware of the goings-on here at Court—”
“I’m no courtier,” he rushed to assure her. He waved an arm, encompassing the half-finished chamber. “I am only the hired help.”
“I’m glad to hear it.” She smoothed down her
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