About a Kiss: A companion story to About a Rogue

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.”
“Mam. He’s not a macaroni.”
“All the same,” said her mother, “you be watchful.”
Jennie was. When they reached London several days later and Kit was waiting in the hall of a tall, elegant house, she watched him. She watched him as he ran errands for Mr. St. James, and handled the London servants, and managed the busy schedule Mr. St. James kept. He was unfailingly calm, capable, and good-humored. It was hard not to watch him, and she liked him more and more.
On their first half day out, he kept his promise and took her to the museum at Montagu House. Mindful of her mother’s warning, Jennie wondered if he would try anything, but aside from offering his arm at times, he treated her as if she were a great lady. They wandered the museum together, marveling and sometimes gawking at the curiosities displayed there, especially the collection of objects from the South Seas.
“Could you imagine what it would be like, to see such people?” she asked softly as they regarded a remarkable costume bearing a label of “Mourning Costume, from Tahiti.”
“I used to think I would do like Captain Cook, and sail around the world to see it all,” he replied. “I wanted to see Antigua, where my mother was raised, and India. My