A Stolen Kiss (Victorian Love Book 1)

by M. A. Nichols

  “We have made great strides at healing your reputation,” said her aunt with a pat on Lily’s forearm. “All may turn out right in the end, despite Mr. Hatcher’s refusal to act like a gentleman.”

  Lily kept her own counsel, for there was nothing more to say on the matter. Listening to the sounds of their heels against the pavement, she merely nodded as her aunt expected and tried to keep her stomach from turning. The whole situation was mortifying and having Uncle Nicholas announce that he had confronted Mr. Hatcher over this mess was a painful punctuation to a most disagreeable interlude.

  But Lily’s face flushed at the memory of those blessed moments before Mrs. Pratt’s interruption. If not for the scenes that had followed those enchanted kisses, that memory would remain a bright and pleasant thing to keep her company in the ensuing years—as she had hoped it would be. But now, it was nothing but a fitting end to her attempts in the marriage arena.

  Aunt Louisa-Margaretta prattled on as she did. Generally, Lily was happy to join in her effusive dialogue, but with all that had happened in the last day, she was worn through and had not the energy to feign interest.

  “I had thought to stop by Bedford Market before returning home,” said Lily as she caught sight of their carriage waiting at the end of the pathway. “It is not far from here, and it would be the perfect time to see it.”

  “I’m afraid we do not have the time,” said Aunt Louisa-Margaretta. “We are expected at the Lamptons’ for tea.”

  And that was precisely the reason why Lily wished to go to the market, though she would not say as much. Instead, she chose a more politic response. “They would not miss me, Aunt. And I am desperate to go to the market. I hear they have a beautiful selection of imports from all over the Empire.”

  The footmen stood at the ready as the ladies approached the barouche.

  Aunt Louisa-Margaretta scrunched her nose. “Wouldn’t you rather go to Bond Street? I can take you tomorrow if you are desperate to shop.”

  “It is not shopping, itself, but the marketplace that holds my interest. I wish to see the exotic wares they peddle,” said Lily. “One of the footmen can serve as an escort, and I shan’t be long. I promise.”

  “Do let her,” said Cousin Selina, coming over to stand beside Lily in a show of support. “Mrs. Lampton will have no other guests Lily’s age, and it must be difficult to spend her days socializing with strangers.”

  It took some convincing, but with Cousin Selina on her side, Lily was able to negotiate her aunt into agreeing. She felt like a small child begging her nursemaid for another few minutes of play before bedtime. Yet another reason to regret her decision to come to London. Being nearly thirty, she should be allowed a bit more freedom than the young misses, but her aunt and uncle did not agree.

  Giving her aunts and cousins-in-law a quick farewell, Lily set off in search of some peace with a footman trailing behind her. Of course, going to a crowded market was not an ideal place for such a venture, but there was a degree of anonymity that came from joining the bustling throng. If she wished to speak, she might, but otherwise, Lily was free to keep to herself and merely observe all the activity around her.

  Bedford Street was abuzz with people milling through the shops. Though the market was a regular feature on the street, most stalls were little more than carts and barrows lined in front of the buildings. Filling the gaps between them were those who hawked their wares from baskets or boxes slung from their necks and street performers who sang, danced, juggled or tumbled about. The thrum of commerce spilled out into the streets, clogging the roadway until a carriage wouldn’t dare attempt the journey.

  With a farthing, Lily acquired a small sack of cherries. Rolling the top of the brown paper down, she plucked one and popped it into her mouth. The fruit burst in her mouth; the sweet, sticky juices filling her taste buds with the first flavors of summer. Spitting the seeds onto the ground felt improper, but as others were doing so, Lily embraced the local custom as she strolled through the marketplace.

  Most of the wares were of no interest to Lily. She had no need for pots or produce, but she enjoyed seeing the array of goods for purchase. Then a flash of bright colors drew her eye to a barrow arrayed with shawls, and Lily’s breath caught. The display sat before a shop selling goods from the East, and Lily moved to get a better look. Her fingers brushed the feather-soft cotton, and Lily abandoned her cherries to pull the shawl free of the stack.

  At first glance, it was a simple shawl with no obvious decoration. The color—a bright cerise—was captivating enough on its own. However, another color was woven through it, giving the deep reddish-pink a hint of sapphire as though the shawl had a fine mist of blue covering it. She had seen shot cotton before, but the combination of colors and their vibrancy entranced her.

  Truly, it was silly to feel such a strong pull for a little bit of fabric, but something in the color leaped out at her, seizing her attention in such a manner that Lily could not look away from it. She did not need another shawl, but she could not leave it behind, either. Especially, when she fully opened it to discover that it was quite larger than many others she owned. It was perfect for her larger frame, as though it had been made for her.

  A short man with a pristine apron approached, his coin pouch jingling. “That does look lovely on you. Quite remarkable.”

  As Lily had every intention of purchasing the shawl, the proprietor’s flattery and persuasion were wasted on her, but the fellow seemed determined to follow the usual steps of negotiation. He waxed poetic about the quality of the item, and its rarity before Lily finally asked, “What is the price?”

  Chapter 5

  Giving a farewell nod, Jack stepped out of the teashop, grateful to be finished with that meeting. As importing tea was a vexing business, it was no surprise that his discussion with Mr. Bendimore had been equally irritating. High demand or not, he was ready to wash his hands of that commodity. The East Indian Trading Company’s tactics in India and China were underhanded at best, and it was time to rid their company of that business. There was money aplenty to be made in other industries.

  A couple of children approached him, their filthy hands reaching as they pleaded for any coins he had to spare, and Jack tossed a few pennies to each of them as he went on his way. But as his thoughts returned to the business at hand, a flash of a bright shawl caught his eye and drew him straight to Miss Kingsley.

  What in the blazes was she doing there? Was he to get no respite from her? He had never noticed the lady before, yet she now haunted his steps. Of course, Jack refused to acknowledge that he wasn’t wholly irritated by that idea. Any lightness of spirit he felt was purely due to the blessed relief of being finished with his meeting. Nothing more.

  With the hustle and bustle around them, Miss Kingsley did not notice that he was standing feet from her. But then, she appeared wholly occupied with a display of shawls. Clutching one, she began discussing prices with the shopkeeper, and Jack snorted at her ineptitude.

  “It is lovely,” she said, as though her posture and expression did not reveal how desperately she coveted the item. The lady had no sense when it came to bartering.

  “Yes, it is,” said the shopkeeper. “It was made from the finest Indian cotton by the best weavers that country has to offer. I fear that these are the only ones left of the shipment. Though it arrived only yesterday, most of them have been snatched up by eager customers.”

  Rolling his eyes at that tripe, Jack wondered why the fellow bothered inflating its value at all, for Miss Kingsley looked eager to part with her money. She had surrendered any power she had before the conversation had begun, and even now, she was retrieving coins from her purse before the price had been decided.

  “For quality this fine,” said the shopkeeper with a speculative nod at the shawl, “I can give it to you for seven shillings.”

  That exorbitant price was irritating enough to make Jack’s blood boil, but what made his temper truly flare was that Miss Kingsley made only the slig
htest attempt at bargaining before dropping the coins into the shopkeeper’s hand.

  Stepping forward, Jack glowered at the fellow and snatched Miss Kingsley’s money from his grasp.

  “I beg your pardon, sir!” the thief blustered, though he quieted soon enough at the sight of Jack’s dark scowl.

  “Seven shillings for that frippery is outrageous,” said Jack, dropping two coins in the man’s palm. “Now, wrap the lady’s purchase before I think better of giving you that much.”

  At least the shopkeeper had the good sense not to argue, for he scurried to do Jack’s bidding without another word of complaint. Seeing the crook put in his place soothed a bit of his burning temper, but then, he noticed Miss Kingsley staring at him with those wide brown eyes of hers.

  *

  Good heavens. Mr. Hatcher was standing beside her. Though the day was far from warm, a hot flush swept over her as she stared at him, and Lily’s eyes darted away from his and back again, unable to stay fixed on him nor remain turned away.

  The whole reason for enlisting Mr. Farson had been to avoid such interludes. His had been a convenient set of lips, and nothing more. But now, she was stuck with nerves strung taut and a desperate desire to flee to Canada herself so that she might avoid facing the gentleman she had accosted the previous night.

  Breath coming in quick bursts, Lily’s stomach rolled and buckled until she was afraid that she might disgrace herself further by becoming quite sick in front of him. Mr. Hatcher watched her, which did nothing to ease the tightening of her chest, and Lily knew she must say something; an apology at the very least.

  Lily opened her mouth, but she did not know what to say. In all her lessons on decorum, none had addressed this situation, and it was beyond mortifying.

  “I do apologize, Mr. Hatcher.” Lily winced at the trite and awkward statement. Shaking her head at herself, she attempted a more intelligent statement. “With everything that has happened, I have not had the opportunity to tell you how very sorry I am that my mistake has caused you so much trouble.”

  The gentlemen remained mute, which made Lily’s mouth run away with her. If he would only say something or give any indication of what his feelings were on the matter, she might be able to rein in her tongue, but he simply watched her as she tripped and fumbled over her words.

  “And of course, I feel wretched about my uncle’s visit this morning. I give my word that I did not mean for any of this to happen nor did I encourage him to hound you. What happened between us was merely a mistake, and I would never dream of holding you responsible for my reputation. There has been no harm done.”

  One of Mr. Hatcher’s dark eyebrows rose, and she tripped over her words. Though he had Mr. Farson’s build, Mr. Hatcher’s features were far more pleasing. She’d heard many a lady wax poetic over the eyes or smile of their love, but Lily had always thought a strong jawline was particularly attractive, and Mr. Hatcher had that in spades. His looks were not overtly handsome, but Lily struggled to maintain her composure around the fellow.

  Mr. Hatcher finally deigned to speak—though it was not words Lily wished to hear. “Then your mystery beau has not been frightened away?”

  Lily’s cheeks blazed as bright as her newly acquired shawl, and she gave an inward groan. There were so many embarrassing confessions tied to that answer that she could not breathe. Perhaps she could settle on a partial truth.

  “I have no beau, Mr. Hatcher,” she said, retrieving her abandoned bag of cherries while fighting to keep her cheeks from looking like one of those fruits. “I was to meet an old friend who is emigrating. It was to be a farewell.”

  There, that was not a lie. Mr. Hatcher may infer meanings as he pleased; he need not know that the kiss was meant to bid farewell to her chances at courtship and marriage. Luckily, the shopkeeper returned with her package, leaving her free to escape.

  “Do enjoy your shawl, miss,” said the shopkeeper with a nod of his head, and Lily smiled, thanking him for his assistance.

  “Ridiculous,” grumbled Mr. Hatcher.

  Lily blinked at the gentleman. “Pardon?”

  *

  Miss Kingsley was a most ridiculous creature. Jack could think of no better description than that. The shopkeeper had been robbing her blind, and yet, she thanked him for it.

  “You needn’t terrorize the poor fellow,” said Miss Kingsley.

  Jack gave her a questioning raise of his brow.

  “That scowl of yours could burn flesh, and the shopkeeper does not deserve such treatment, sir,” she said while clutching her package.

  “I cannot abide bullies or thieves.”

  “And he was neither.”

  His teeth ground under the pressure of his jaw, and Jack wondered why Miss Kingsley was determined to be so naive. But even as he thought to abandon her to her own devices, Jack continued to speak as if she had pulled the words from him.

  “He was cheating you, Miss Kingsley. That shawl was worth exactly what I paid him and not a farthing more.”

  “But it was worth far more than that to me.” As she spoke, Miss Kingsley squeezed the package and smiled as though it was the greatest of prizes and not a bit of spun cotton.

  “So, you would allow yourself to be mistreated?”

  Miss Kingsley cocked her head to the side, her brows drawing together. “I would hardly say that I was being mistreated. The fellow has a family and mouths to feed—not to mention those who are in his employ. A few shillings mean little to me and a world of difference to him and his staff.”

  He did not know the shopkeeper’s situation, but Jack doubted the man was hurting for money—and certainly not enough to justify the exorbitant sum he’d demanded from Miss Kingsley. Though some crude instinct wanted to set the lady straight concerning the ways of the world, Jack could not bring himself to snuff out that brightness shining through her. The lady stood there with the same dewy-eyed optimism and kindness that he had seen in many of the youngest sailors before the navy had beat it out of them.

  Whatever doubts he’d harbored concerning Miss Kingsley’s honesty evaporated like morning mist beneath a blazing sun. Anyone looking into the lady’s sparkling eyes as she clutched that silly package with such pleasure could not doubt her sincerity.

  Straightening her spine, Miss Kingsley turned to leave, but Jack knew he had a duty to fulfill. Reaching over, Jack took the parcel from her and motioned for her to continue on her way. When she did not move forward as prompted, he sighed.

  “I am to accompany you home,” he said.

  Miss Kingsley’s brows drew together, and she stared at him as though he were a raving Bedlamite. “I thank you for your thoughtfulness, Mr. Hatcher, but I do not need your assistance. I have an escort.”

  “You mean your footman, who is keener on flirting with the grocer’s daughter than doing his duty?” asked Jack, nodding at the young fellow who was currently chatting with a comely lass and completely unaware of anything his mistress was doing.

  “I only brought him to appease my aunt,” she said, reaching for her parcel, but Jack kept hold of it. “I am of an age where there is no need for constant escorts and chaperones.” Then she blushed, and Jack thought it made Miss Kingsley look quite fetching, though he’d never thought red cheeks enticing before.

  She stumbled over her words as she added, “Though after our interlude last night, I see how you might believe I need one.”

  “I was not worried about your reputation, Miss Kingsley, but rather, your safety. It is unwise to wander the streets of London on your own.”

  Miss Kingsley’s brows rose. “This is hardly a dangerous section of the city, and my uncle’s home is not far.”

  “Then it shouldn’t take us long,” said Jack, nodding for her to continue on her way as he shifted her package under his arm. Miss Kingsley’s lips pinched together as she stared at him. Perhaps she hoped he would leave things be, but they would be standing here a long time if she thought him so easily thrown over.

  Resignation pla
yed across her face before Miss Kingsley went on her way with a sigh, and Jack couldn’t decide if he should be offended that she was so disgruntled or amused at the way she bristled when her feathers were ruffled; the lady was such an odd combination of timid and bold.

  They walked along together, and Miss Kingsley offered up a small sack of cherries, though she looked thoroughly displeased to do so. Jack huffed to himself, wondering what was to be done about a creature so determined to be used by others. No doubt, she had been sheltered from life’s harsh realities and lived in a blissful state of ignorance as to how the world would mistreat her if she showed such kindness.

  But regardless, Jack shook his head at her offering, and Miss Kingsley tucked the remnant cherries in her reticule.

  The lady walked stiffly beside him and seemed disinclined to speak, which Jack did not mind as he felt no need to converse. He was there to do his duty and escort the lady home. Without some assistance, Miss Kingsley was as likely to wander straight into the arms of trouble as naught, and it would cost Jack only a bit of his time to ensure she was safe.

  Before long, Miss Kingsley’s attention veered from him to the other stalls and shops. The pair strolled through the chaos of the marketplace, and Jack watched the lady as she stopped to admire the wares. Few were grand or elaborate. Mostly, they were little more than trinkets, yet her eyes shone as she examined each one. For all her excitement over such paltry offerings, Jack wondered how she would react to the array of genuine treasures that were to be found in the markets of the Far East or the Indies. Compared to those he’d visited in his youth, the Bedford Market was nothing more than a breeding ground of cheap imitations.