At his approach, she smiled. “What news? Have they decided to banish us back to Staffordshire?”
He didn’t smile back. “They’ve not heard from Captain St. James in weeks. He returned to Scotland and hasn’t come back as planned.”
Her eyes grew wide. “But then . . . that means . . .”
Grimly he nodded. “This could be ours.”
“No,” she said, stricken. “What about the showroom in London, and the Cheapside shop? What about Fortuna?”
“I’m afraid,” he said, “if they cannot locate my cousin the captain, and the duke departs this mortal vale, there may be no choice.”
Together, silently, they surveyed the castle. From outside the main walls, it rose forbidding and impregnable, ancient and commanding. Max had never wanted it, although he had once thought the power and wealth that came with the castle wouldn’t be unwelcome.
Now, though . . . Now he already had everything he wanted—his aunt, restored mostly to herself. A home of his own, not nearly so grand as this one but happy and comfortable. A purpose to his days, with people who respected him and depended on him. And Bianca, who surpassed everything he’d ever thought a wife could be, at his side and in his heart.
What the bloody hell would he do with Carlyle, if the captain had met an unfortunate end and ceded his place in the succession?
“Well,” Bianca said after a long pause. “It looks like a prison to me. You’re very fortunate I love you so much.”
Max laughed, his somber mood breaking. “That is in fact the most fortunate thing about me, my love. And if I must inherit this monstrous pile of stones and become as stuffy and priggish as Wimbourne, I shall only bear it because of you.”
She laughed, and he kissed her. “I think we had better run for it while we can,” she confided.
Max glanced again at the imposing stone walls as they turned toward the carriage. A prison, indeed. “And pray very earnestly for Captain St. James’s health and safety.”
Announcement
If you loved meeting so many wonderful characters in ABOUT A ROGUE, and you’re wishing for just a little bit more, you’re in for a special treat.
When he accepts a job as Max St. James’s valet, Kit Lawrence doesn’t expect it to last. But then he meets Jennie Hickson, maid to the new Mrs. St. James, and suddenly he’s hoping to make it last the rest of his life . . .
Turn the page to read
ABOUT A KISS,
a bonus short tale.
About a Kiss
The best thing that ever happened to Christopher Lawrence was getting sacked.
He hadn’t thought so at the time, when his employer, Lord Percy Willoughby, was frantically throwing belongings into a trunk and shouting at him to hire a carriage. His main hope, of being paid his wages owed, was dashed when Lord Percy rushed out the door, mumbling a half-hearted promise that he would send for Lawrence as soon as he smoothed things over with his father.
Kit knew that for a lie. Lord Percy would be quite some time explaining this mess to the Earl of Hulme. He had returned from Vauxhall Gardens the previous morning, so drunk he was barely on his own two feet, moaning about a disastrous run of cards. The scribbled debts of honor had been presented the following morning and sent Lord Percy haring back to Northumberland.
Which left Kit unemployed and desperate when Maximilian St. James offered him a position. He’d accepted on the spot.
Aside from recognizing Mr. St. James as a friend of Lord Percy’s, Kit knew little about him. Another gambler, he’d supposed, probably a rogue, too. He’d resigned himself to seeking another position within the year.
It turned out, though, that Mr. St. James needed a valet because he was to be married. Kit was somewhat confused about who the bride was, but when all was said and done, he found himself installed in a quaint half-timbered cottage in the tiny town of Marslip, sharing the laundry and the servants’ stair with a girl called Jennie Hickson, lady’s maid to the new Mrs. St. James.
After that, Mr. St. James could have stopped paying him, cursed him, and thrown things at him, and Kit would have stayed. Because Jennie was there.
Jennie Hickson was elated to be promoted to lady’s maid. At Perusia Hall, where her parents were butler and housekeeper and her cousin Ellen was ladies’ maid to the Misses Tate, she had only been Ellen’s assistant. That meant she was assigned the worst chores, like laundry and mending, while Ellen got to learn hair arranging and how to make cosmetics.
When Miss Cathy Tate was supposed to marry Mr. St. James, Ellen had begun instructing Jennie in those skills, somewhat smugly. Ellen was a bit full of herself, soon to be maid to Mrs. St. James, while Jennie would be left behind at Perusia Hall.
Then Miss Tate eloped in the night with the curate, Miss Bianca married Mr. St. James in her sister’s place, and everything was turned on its head. Now Jennie was moving to Poplar House with the new and unexpected Mrs. St. James, while Ellen was left to sulk at Perusia Hall with no lady to attend at all, which reduced her to parlor maid.
“Are you ready for this, daughter?” her mother asked as Jennie excitedly bundled up her possessions.
“As ready as ever, Mam! ’Tis still Miss Bianca, whom I’ve waited on these ten years.”
Her mother raised an eyebrow. “Waited on, when she never wanted her hair done or an elegant dress! You’ve had it easy, Jennie, and now she’s a married lady. It won’t be the same.”
“Mam!” Jennie laughed. “Didn’t you hear her going at it with Mr. Tate this morning? She’s the same as she was.”
Mrs. Hickson frowned in reproof. “Aye, but Mr. St. James is a London gentleman. He’ll want his wife dressed finer than any Marslip lady. And mark my words, no matter how they cut up at each other today”—no one had missed the black looks Miss Bianca had given her new husband at the wedding breakfast—“she’ll come around. Miss Bianca—no, Mrs. St. James!—has a good heart. She won’t stay angry at him forever.”
Jennie rolled her eyes. “I know! And here I am, your own daughter, hoping to hear you wish me luck, instead of hearing all the ways I’m not ready and not good enough.”
At this, her mother smiled. “Of course you are! You’re ready, and good, and I am very proud of you.” She hugged Jennie and kissed her cheek. “Say farewell to your papa and be on your way. Mustn’t keep Mrs. St. James waiting!”
Jennie laughed, and her father helped carry her things down the hill to Poplar House and into her little room at the top of the back stairs. The window looked out on the hill toward Perusia Hall. She gazed at it and smiled as her father pointed out that she could see her parents’ windows in the servants’ wing from here. “Give us a wave now and then, Jennie,” he said as he hugged her before heading back to the main house.
She hummed as she unpacked her things. Ellen had bragged about this room, thinking it would be hers. It was neat and comfortable, and larger than her old room in Perusia. Jennie grinned at herself in the small mirror, adjusting her cap. She could hear Mrs. St. James’s voice floating up the stairwell from the kitchen, meaning she had best hurry down.
She stepped out onto the narrow landing and came face-to-face with a man coming up the stairs. “Oh! Sorry!” she said instinctively.
He stopped cold. “For what?”
Jennie blinked. Down a step, he was the same height as she was. He was young, probably about Miss Bianca’s age, with copper skin and close-cut black hair, and sinfully long eyelashes. “I beg your pardon, miss, but you did me no wrong.” He stepped aside to let her by.
Jennie blushed. “You must be Mr. St. James’s man.”
He managed a graceful bow, even in the cramped stairwell. “Christopher Lawrence, miss.”
“Oh!” She laughed from nerves, him bowing to her like she was a lady. “Jennie Hickson, sir. I do for Mrs. St. James.”
He smiled again, his teeth white and perfect. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss Hickson. Please call me Kit.”
She blushed harder, ’til she cou
ld feel the heat in her face. “Oh, right! Great pleasure. Kit? Kit. Call me Jennie,” she squeaked, and slipped past him.
Down the stairs she clattered, fanning herself with one hand. Goodness, Mam hadn’t warned her about this. Mr. St. James’s man was fearfully handsome.
For the first few weeks in Marslip, Kit kept his guard up, trying to learn his new employer’s ways.
St. James and his wife did not get on well. That was plain to see from the frosty looks the lady gave him, and the barbed words they exchanged.
It was just as plain that Mr. St. James found his wife much more appealing than she found him. His gaze would follow her across the room, and he would stop speaking for a moment if her voice floated through the wall that divided their bedrooms.
Kit found that promising. All the money in the marriage, he had quickly learned, came from the bride’s family. If the pair of them separated, Kit could easily find himself on the streets again. But as long as Mr. St. James stole those hungry, intense looks at his wife when he thought no one was watching, there was a good chance the man would sort out how to win her affections.
Kit quickly fell into an easy camaraderie with the other servants. Mary, the downstairs maid, was friendly and helpful. Cook was a kindly woman whose tarts and puddings made his eyes roll back in his head in ecstasy. And Jennie . . .
Jennie made his heart leap.
She had curly black hair and big brown eyes and a habit of humming as she worked. She laughed a great deal and was treated by her mistress more like a younger sister than a maid. When not attending Mrs. St. James, Jennie spent her time in the kitchen, mending and shelling peas and chattering with Mary and Cook.
And amazingly enough, Jennie seemed as intrigued by him as he was by her. When he sat down to repair the lace on Mr. St. James’s ivory satin coat, torn after the wedding, Jennie leaned over to watch how he did it. Kit showed her.
“Pick up the threads on the point, see?” He demonstrated, weaving the needle through the ragged lace threads. “Then pull, but lightly or it won’t lie smooth.”
She sat back, looking impressed. “You do fine work.”
He laughed, finishing the repair. “Adequate! Anyone who looks closely will spot it.” He bit off the thread and winked at her. “But they will have to look closely.”
“Miss Bianca—that is, Mrs. St. James—never went in for much lace, and when she does wear it, she takes care. Nary a spot or a tear.” Jennie was fixing a cloak hem, ripped out from being stepped on.
“I don’t envy those ladies’ maids in London,” Kit replied. “So much lace and embroidery, and the kerchiefs made of gauze! My mother said they’re as delicate as spiderwebs, and just as simple to mend.”
“Is she in service, then? Your mum?”
“She was.” Kit threaded his needle anew and set about reattaching a button. “Now she tends my sister’s children, which I suppose is more than service.”
“Oh?” Jennie wiggled forward eagerly in her seat, and Kit felt an unwarranted bolt of pleasure. “What about your pa?”
“Purser on a trading ship.”
She drew back admiringly. “A world explorer! And I’ve never been out of Staffordshire.”
Kit grinned. “Where would you go?”
“Spain,” she said at once. “Or Italy. Or Turkey, to see the palaces, or America, to see the wilderness. Even Scotland!” She sighed. “Seeing Liverpool is probably the best I’ll ever do—if I even get that far.”
“What about London?” Mr. St. James had already told him they were going to town soon on business.
Jennie’s eyes grew luminous. “Wouldn’t that be lovely! What’s it like? You lived there, aye?”
“Aye.” He smiled back at her. Jennie’s wide-eyed enthusiasm for everything had thoroughly charmed him. “You’ll like it.”
She blinked. “But—no, I won’t be going. Mrs. St. James is attached to Perusia and her workshop. I’ll be right here, mending and ironing . . .”
Kit leaned closer. “I bet you sixpence he’ll find a way to persuade her to come, and then you’ll have to come, too,” he whispered.
“I shouldn’t wager.” She sat back, but her eyes still shone. “Sixpence?”
He waited hopefully.
She laughed. “Oh, you’re a wicked one, Mr. Lawrence, but I’ll take that bet. And hope I lose!”
“So will I,” he replied. If he had to spend a month in London, let Jennie be there, too.
As it happened, she did lose. With eyes like saucers she came down a few days later and told him. “I owe you sixpence.”
Kit stopped blacking the boot in his hand and grinned. “Knew you would.”
She flapped one hand at him with a fleeting smile. “Did you really know?”
He shrugged. “I guessed.”
She sat down next to him, her skirt flowing over his shoes. Kit tried not to twitch. “What will it be like?”
He leaned forward, and she responded in kind. She smelled softly of lavender water, which she sprinkled on the clothes before ironing them. He loved the way she smelled on ironing days. “Busy.”
Her pretty pink lips parted, and then she burst out laughing. “Of course it will be! But how? What is town like? Are there thieves on every corner and children starving in every alley? Do the King and Queen come out where folks can see them? Tell me!”
Kit grinned. “I doubt we’ll see the King or the Queen, but I daresay you’ll see many fine shops, the park, Pall Mall, the market . . . and whatever you do on your days out.”
“Oh my,” she gasped. “I didn’t think of that! What did you do on your days out?”
Kit shrugged. He’d gone to boxing matches, both to watch and to fight. Lord Percy hadn’t minded and had even gone along and watched him fight a few times. Wagered on him, too, which Kit had not liked. The last thing he’d needed was to be blamed for one of Lord Percy’s gambling losses. “I could show you the Museum, in Great Russell Street,” he offered. “And St. Paul’s.”
“Would you?” she asked, in such a tone of wonderment that Kit’s blithe agreement faded on his tongue. He looked at her, and saw realization dawning in her eyes.
She realized he fancied her.
He waited, tense, afraid to speak and spoil his chance.
Slowly, hesitantly, she smiled. “Would you?” she repeated, softer and with an undercurrent of hope.
“I would.” His mouth curved in spite of himself. “I would very much like to.”
“Well.” She looked down, her cheeks pink. “I shall ask Mrs. St. James if we might have the same day out.”
He was very proud of himself for staying in his seat, one arm still inside the half-polished boot, and not leaping up with a euphoric shout. “’Tis a plan, then.”
Jennie seized the first excuse she could find to bolt up the hill to Perusia Hall. Her father said her mother was in the linen closet, and Jennie ran up the stairs.
Mrs. Hickson popped out of the closet, a frown on her face. “Jennie! Why be you clattering about like a boy?”
“Mam, oh Mam, we’re going to London!” she burst out, too excited to apologize.
“What?” came a cry of dismay from the closet. Ellen appeared in the doorway, a half-folded sheet in her hands. “London?”
Oh dear, she hadn’t realized Ellen was there. She forced herself to calm down. “Yes. Mr. St. James has business in town, and Mrs. St. James decided to go, too.”
Ellen’s eyes filled with tears. Mrs. Hickson patted her shoulder and handed her a stack of linen from the shelf near the door. “Take these down to the laundry, Ellen. They need boiling.”
Slump-shouldered, her feet dragging, Ellen took the pile of yellowed linens and went down the back stairs. Mrs. Hickson waited until she was out of sight, then pulled Jennie into the closet and shut the door.
“London!” she said, half-excited, half-worried. “And you’re to go, too?”
Jennie nodded eagerly. “For a month.”
Her mother bit her lip, but then smiled
and folded her into an embrace. “You must be doing just fine, if Miss Bianca wants you with her in London.”
“Have you been there, Mam?” she demanded.
“No, never. Your father’s been, twice, but not for many years. You should ask him about it.”
“I will.” She hesitated. “Ellen’s fair disappointed, isn’t she?”
Her mother sighed. “Ellen’s had her share of disappointment lately. She’ll be right again when Miss Cathy comes home. When do you leave?”
“Within the week. Mam, Kit—that is, Mr. Lawrence—says he’ll show me St. Paul’s on our day out. Isn’t that kind of him?”
“Hmm, very kind of Kit,” said her mother with a thoughtful glance.
Jennie blushed, but it was dim in the closet and she hoped her mother wouldn’t see. “He’s left already, to make arrangements. He used to live in London, of course, before he came to Mr. St. James . . .”
“And he’s a kind one, is he?”
“Yes.”
“And a handsome one,” added her mother.
“Mam!” Now there was no way her blush would be unnoticed.
“What? You think I lost my eyesight when I married your papa?” Mam raised her brows. “And who are his people?”
“His mother was lady’s maid to a planter’s wife on Antigua,” said Jennie. “And she worked for several ladies in London and Liverpool when she came to Britain. She taught him how to mend and clean something amazing, Mam! You’d be dazzled by how he fixes lace. And his pa is a ship’s purser, sailing around the world.”
“Hmph.” But Mrs. Hickson’s eyes were soft. “And it’s his skill with lacework you admire, is it?”
Jennie straightened. “Of course.” Then she couldn’t stop a small grin. “As you said, he’s also marvelously handsome!”
Her mother laughed and embraced her. “You be watchful of him, when you’re off in London. Those London macaronis will break your heart.”
About a Rogue EPB Page 30
