It was perfect. It was true love. He wrote to his mother about Jennie and began rehearsing a proposal in his mind.
And then it all went horribly wrong.
Jennie didn’t realize anything until it had already happened. She was in the back kitchen, her arms full of laundry, when Mary rushed in, wide-eyed and breathless. “Mercy on us!”
“What?”
Mary fanned her face. “I don’t know! Mr. St. James got a letter, which Lawrence promptly took away as is his manner. But when Mr. St. James came home, he read it, jumped on his horse, and rode out like the devil was after him!”
“What was in the letter?” Jennie demanded in surprise.
“Don’t know. I think Mrs. St. James wants to know, too, she’s out there badgering Mr. Lawrence about it.”
Jennie dropped the laundry and ran for the front of the house. True enough, Kit stood outside, hands open in innocence, shaking his head to whatever Mrs. St. James was saying to him. Miss Bianca was demanding and had a temper, but she was never cruel, and she would understand Kit wasn’t to blame.
When her mistress came inside, silent and ashen, Jennie rushed to attend her. “Is aught wrong?” she ventured.
The reply was a long time coming. “I don’t know,” said her mistress softly.
The house was quiet and tense that night. Miss Bianca didn’t eat and refused to go to bed. Jennie sat on the upstairs landing with Kit, whispering nervously over the candle.
“Didn’t he say anything?”
Kit had his head in his hands. “Just that he had to go to Stoke, posthaste.”
Jennie bit her lip and put her hand on his arm. He seized it and threaded his fingers through hers.
“I hope he’s back soon,” he murmured.
But there was no sign of the master the next morning. Mrs. St. James sent Kit into Stoke to find him, or find out about him, but he brought back no good news—in fact, no news at all. St. James wasn’t even in Stoke. He’d left and gone somewhere else.
Jennie had never seen Miss Bianca so quiet. Her face was like a mask, and she shut herself up in the parlor all day. Jennie found Kit in the kitchen. He had the jar of boot black in his hand and a pair of boots in front of him, but he wasn’t moving. “You need to tell her all,” she urged him.
“I did.”
Jennie shook her head impatiently. “No, not about yesterday—all. Everything you know about him.”
Kit’s shoulders hunched. “He swore me to secrecy . . .”
“And now he’s run off and left her, when she’s finally fallen in love with him,” Jennie exclaimed. She knew her lady well.
“He’ll come back.”
Jennie blew out her breath. “If you say. But I think you ought to tell her everything, so you don’t get any blame if he’s involved in something wicked.”
She needn’t have argued. Mrs. St. James called for Kit later that day. When he came back to the kitchen later, Jennie was almost in tears, waiting.
“I told her everything,” he said at once. “All I know, which isn’t much.” He looked at her with dark eyes. “I hope she won’t sack me.”
“Did she—?”
“No,” he said at her horrified question. “But she wanted to know more than I could tell.”
That night they sat up again, simply holding hands on the landing. Jennie knew as well as he did that without a gentleman in the house, there was no need for a valet. And now that Kit had confessed to keeping secrets from her, Miss Bianca might not be keen to keep him on in any other capacity.
“She’ll forgive him,” Jennie said quietly but confidently. “I know her. As long as he comes home and has a reason, she’ll forgive. Him and you.”
“I hope you’re right,” was all he could reply.
It was Ellen who brought the news the next night. She burst into the kitchen, breathing hard from running down the hill, and cried, “Mr. St. James has brought a madwoman into the house!”
Jennie tore off her apron and raced to Perusia Hall to get the full story from her mother. The whole house was in uproar, but Jennie got bits of information from her parents. She hurried back to tell Kit, who had been upstairs when Ellen made her hysterical announcement.
“The woman is his aunt,” she reported. “She looks mad but Mrs. Bentley told Mam she might just be ill. Mrs. St. James received her very kindly, and Mam thinks she’ll forgive Mr. St. James, seeing how unwell his aunt is and how abused she was.”
“That’s good news,” exclaimed Kit. “He had good reason to go!”
Jennie nodded. “She’ll understand. She’ll rip up at him, mind, for frightening her so.”
Kit laughed—in pure relief—and before Jennie knew it she was in his arms, despite Mary’s raised brows and Cook’s knowing smile.
All Jennie’s predictions came true over the next few days. The St. Jameses stayed at Perusia Hall with the poor woman, who was called Mrs. Croach. Ellen persisted in thinking her mad, but Jennie’s mother wasn’t so sure. And either way, the St. Jameses were reconciled, so Kit’s position looked secure once more.
He proposed a few days later, in the afternoon while their employers were at the factory. With Cook’s assistance, he lured Jennie out into the meadow beyond the stone wall of the yard, where the sun shone brightly and the field was lush with wild heather.
“What is it?” she kept asking. Kit just smiled and led her onward until they reached the large poplar tree that gave the house its name.
“Here’s what it is,” he told her, taking her hand and clasping it against his heart. “I love you, Jennie. I can’t imagine
