“But you didn’t.”
“No.” He gave her a funny little smile. “Thankfully.”
For some reason that made Jennie’s heart skip a beat. “And now you can only see it in a museum with me.”
He shrugged, but a flush crept up his tawny cheek. “I rather like it that way.”
Kit loved London.
Not for the dirt, or the noise, but for the energy of the city and the steady stream of things happening and because Jennie was constantly coming to him to ask advice.
“Mrs. St. James needs new stockings, where shall I buy some?” she would ask one day. “Mrs. St. James wants her hair powdered for the dinner tonight, where do I get powder?” was another question. Then the next night, “How can I get out this pomade from her gown?”
And Kit would direct her to the right shop or show her how to lift grease from silk. She was even fun to work with, humming some tune slightly off-key as she sponged and dabbed at stains, making him laugh with her occasional exclamations of frustration or delight.
When the St. Jameses decided to go to Vauxhall with some of Mr. St. James’s friends, Kit felt a tremor of alarm. Not only was that where Lord Percy had met his downfall, it was clear Mr. St. James had once been very like Lord Percy: notorious at Vauxhall.
Muting his alarm was the fact that Mr. St. James had been sober and steady in all the time Kit had worked for him, and that the man really did not want to go to Vauxhall. It was Mrs. St. James who was keen to see the pleasure garden at night.
“She’s trying to ruin me,” he said morosely to Kit, of the Countess Dalway, who had invited them.
Kit sympathized. He also associated Vauxhall with ruin. But since Mrs. St. James wanted to go, they would go. Kit suspected his master was unable to deny his wife.
Jennie was almost as excited about the outing. “Oh, Kit, she spoke of wearing fancy dress, and how the fine ladies go dressed as queens and goddesses!” she told him. “Can you imagine?”
He could. “Do you know what Madam will wear?”
Jennie had shaken her head, but her impish smile suggested she had an idea. “It’ll be splendid, though!”
As it happened, she was. When Mrs. St. James swept down the stairs in a black satin gown looking like Queen Elizabeth, Kit noted how stunned the lady’s husband looked. That’ll keep him out of trouble, he thought, and went to find Jennie, who was in raptures over the gown and the paste jewels and the hair.
“Mrs. Farquhar’s maid, Thérèse, showed me how to dress it—even Ellen doesn’t know the like!” She heaved a huge sigh of contentment. “I feel like a real Londoner now!”
Kit laughed. “Good. Come with me, you fine London miss.”
She took his hand and let him lead her up up up the stairs. With their employers away for the night, they had the evening free. Kit led her through the narrow hallway past the servants’ rooms on the top floor, and pushed open a window at the back of the house. The roof leveled off outside, and he scrambled out, helping Jennie behind him.
“Oh my!” She clutched his arm and stared, open-mouthed at the view.
London spread in front of them, lamps winking in the indigo blue twilight. The dome of St. Paul’s glowed in the distance, presiding over a city settling down to sleep or to revels, depending on the citizen. Up here the air was cool and fresh.
Kit produced a bottle and two glasses from beside the chimney. “Since you’re a real Londoner now, you should have some champagne.”
Jennie’s eyes grew wide. “Did you—Where did that—?”
“I bought it,” he assured her. “Don’t worry. I didn’t pinch it from the cellar.”
“I’ve never had it.” She took a glass and sniffed it nervously.
“It’s wine. You don’t have to drink it, but I thought you might like it.”
She took a tiny sip and looked at him in amazement. “You bought this? How can you afford such stuff?” Another sip.
Kit poured his own. He’d decided he liked champagne while with Lord Percy, who was wont to leaving unfinished bottles sitting around, and wave his hand and say Kit should have the rest. Lord Percy was usually blue-gilled when he said it, but he never flew into a temper the next day. Even a bit flat, champagne was fine stuff, and Kit had decided it was a hard-earned benefit of working for him.
Now he sat down on the wide ledge, with his back against the chimney. There was just room for two people out here, and his feet dangled off into space, some forty feet from the ground.
Jennie sat beside him, tucking her skirts around her. “’Tis beautiful out here.”
“It is.” He watched her from the corner of his eye. Since coming to London she’d started wearing her hair differently. It showed off her lovely neck and her perfectly adorable ears.
She glanced at him and smiled. “Thank you for all your help,” she said shyly.
“Anyone could tell you where to buy stockings.”
“I know,” she whispered. “But I prefer to ask you. I hope you don’t mind.”
“I prefer it above you asking anyone else.”
They sat for a moment in blissful companionship. Jennie was so easy to be with, so warm and kind. She never nattered at anyone, or pestered or harangued. Martha, hired from the register-office, had remarked on how friendly Jennie was for a lady’s maid.
“Are you pleased with Mr. St. James?” she asked after a few minutes.
His brows went up. “Yes.”
She sipped her wine. “Then you expect to keep working for him for a long time?”
“I hope to.” He did. Not only was St. James a decent fellow, he paid good wages, on time. Kit had been able to put aside a small sum just since starting with him.
And then there was that other
