A Stolen Kiss (Victorian Love Book 1)

by M. A. Nichols

  Was Mrs. Bingham correct about him as well? Jack was not the sort to be swayed by public opinion; he claimed his reasons for marrying her were his own, and perhaps they aligned with Mrs. Bingham’s assertions.

  It was the more logical explanation. Mr. DeVere was using Lily to make Jack jealous, and Jack was simply responding in kind. It was just the sort of juvenile competition that gentlemen adored; Lily knew of the elaborate bets they made in their clubs.

  And yet, it did not feel right. Lily’s heart prodded her, whispering that Jack was not so conniving and callous. Brusque and controlling, certainly, but the gentleman she’d come to know did not align with the picture Mrs. Bingham painted.

  Grabbing a bolster pillow, Lily clutched it to her chest as she lay on the bed. She wore too many layers of petticoats for her to curl up as she wished to, so Lily contented herself with cozying into the pillows propped against the headboard.

  That day at the foundling home had been infuriating and wonderful, and there was no denying that it had altered their relationship, but Lily struggled to remember what had passed before their run-in with Mr. DeVere. The arguing she remembered clearly, but those wonderful moments sprinkled throughout the rest of the day were muddled together.

  Jack had grown markedly warmer throughout the afternoon, but had that been before Mr. DeVere or after? Was it a byproduct of genuine interest or merely a response to Mr. DeVere’s obvious flirting? Or had she merely imagined it all? Perhaps Jack had been pondering about investments and ledgers.

  Yet Lily could not accept that. So often, he watched her with an intensity that was more like an embrace than a mere glance. For her part, Lily didn’t know if she welcomed such sentiments from him, but there were moments when it felt as though an invisible cord were winding itself around them, pulling them together and binding them. As though gazing into his eyes was peering into a soul that reached out to touch hers.

  If only she were as forthright as Jack, then Lily would simply ask him what his intentions were, but she knew she had not the courage to do so. Lily could not bear the thought of hearing him say that he harbored no romantic notions about her; her pride could not stand another blow at present.

  It was best to simply guard her heart and await her parents’ return. If nothing else, they had far more insight and would help her see the truth of the situation. Or her elder brother might offer some clarity, but with his wife so close to her confinement, Lily refused to pull him away from their home in the country. Her aunt and uncle were no help in the matter; they meant well but were convinced that any marriage was better than none, which couldn’t be farther from the truth.

  All Lily could do was wait and see. If Jack were playing her false, then this engagement would suffer a quick and merciless death, but at present, Lily was willing to hold onto the hope that Jack was not a villain.

  Chapter 17

  A snap from the fireplace had Jack bolting upright, his muddled mind fighting to sift through the reality around him and the fading remnants of the dream. Clutching his mending, his lungs heaved as he stared into the flickering flames. Rigidly, Jack perched on the edge of the armchair, the sweat on his back having nothing to do with the fire’s heat or the warmth of the leather seat.

  The setting sun cast a few dying rays on his bedchamber, giving him a little light with which to see, but Jack could not turn away from the visions playing in his mind. It had been years since he had suffered from such vivid nightmares, but of late, those childhood phantoms had reappeared to plague him.

  Captain Furton was long dead. As a lad, Jack had spent many an hour daydreaming about the justice he would mete out on that miserable soul, but cholera had stolen that opportunity from him. A sad and pathetic end for a man who took pleasure in breaking those in his power; Jack still felt the sting of the cane against his back. Long after the dreams faded, Jack saw the haunted hopelessness in the eyes of the crew.

  With a few more breaths, Jack relaxed into his chair, letting his legs sprawl out in front of him as he straightened the nightshirt he’d been mending. But his hands would not cooperate.

  A knock sounded at his door, and with a quick salutation, Silas entered, but his footsteps paused as he caught sight of Jack.

  “Are you unwell?”

  Jack leveled a look at the fellow, but Silas did not quell as so many others did. Generally, Jack preferred his partner not to cower and scurry away, but at times like this, Jack wished he would. Crossing his arms, Silas leaned against the wall next to the fireplace and watched Jack as though an answer would appear with a little patience, but Jack had no desire to delve into that quagmire. Instead, he offered another.

  “It occurred to me that I need a house,” said Jack.

  Silas watched him with knowing eyes, but the fellow allowed the change in subject. “I cannot imagine your new bride wishing to live under our roof.”

  “I must speak with our solicitor about it.”

  Stepping forward, Silas sat on the abandoned ottoman in front of Jack. “That would be sensible, though I suggest speaking with Miss Kingsley as well.”

  Jack tugged at the linen in his hands and readied his needle. “Whatever for?”

  “She will have an opinion on the matter.”

  With quick work, he laid several stitches along the frayed hem. “A house is a house.”

  Silas gave a bark of laughter. “You are a brilliant man in many ways, Hatch, but in others, I fear your wits are sadly lacking. A house is not just a house. It will be her home, and Miss Kingsley will have an opinion.”

  Jack paused and sighed, his shoulders slumping. “It is four walls and a roof. What does it matter?”

  But Silas merely shook his head in that infuriating manner of his as though he were the greatest sage and Jack were the greatest simpleton. “At times, you have a talent for obtuseness, Hatch. Like why are you sitting here in the growing dark when you are expected at Miss Kingsley’s side tonight?”

  Shoulders slumping, Jack’s head fell against the chair. His head and body ached at the thought of stepping out his bedchamber door. As much as he enjoyed Miss Kingsley’s company, he could not stomach the thought of another evening out in public.

  “I have work to be done,” said Jack. That was true enough. With Lily taking so much of his time and focus of late, much of his tasks had been piling into great mountains that he was struggling to keep at bay. His time during the Season was not one of frivolity and keeping pace with Lily and his work was draining.

  However, even as he made that excuse, his stomach gave a sour twist. She’d spoken of this evening enough times that Jack knew it was important, and he wanted to be at her side throughout it.

  If only he could have one evening to himself, Jack could face another week of the social whirl, but just the thought of going out tonight eradicated the last of his reserves.

  “She did not invite me,” said Jack. “We have spoken about it many times, yet she never expressly said she wished me to attend. Her aunt and uncle will be there. And a concert is such a tedious way to spend an evening.”

  He did not need to look at Silas to see the disapproving scowl on his face; Jack felt it well enough without the visual evidence. His own heart echoed the same feeling at the treacherous words he’d spoken.

  Pulling out his pocket watch, Jack was relieved to see that there was enough time for him to change and arrive before the entertainment began, but it would be close. Getting slowly to his feet—for that was the only speed his exhausted body would allow—Jack gave Silas a brusque farewell and ushered his friend out the door before ordering a footman to ready a carriage. Quickly, Jack changed his clothes and was out the Byrnes’s front door. His pocket watch counted the minutes.

  Jack supposed he should be grateful to miss the inane conversation that preceded events such as this, but he still had to suffer through the concert itself. In his travels, he’d heard many fine folk musicians, but their music was lively and engaging; anything showcased tonight was bound to be pretentious a
nd dull.

  As far as Jack was concerned, there were only two blessings that would come from tonight. The first was that he’d arrive just as it began and make a quick escape after. The second was that his attendance would please Lily.

  With quick work, Jack made his way to the Ollerton’s townhouse and into their ballroom. The room was simply arrayed, though the gilded walls and ceiling required no further ornamentation; the Ollertons may claim no connection to the old or noble families, but their wealth was unparalleled and on display in the rococo flourishes.

  The chairs were mostly filled, but Jack found an unoccupied one in the back and slipped into it as the music began. Though he nearly shot out of it when he caught sight of DeVere near the front. As Lily had discussed this evening with the fellow, Jack ought to have been prepared to see him, but a thread of dissatisfaction worked its way through Jack’s heart, which only intensified as he sat through several performances that sounded so similar that only the applause told him when one ended and the next began.

  Reaching into his pocket, Jack pulled out the pocket watch. Not yet a quarter of an hour, and there was likely much more to endure until he would be free to disappear to his bedchamber again. Jack fought against the urge to fidget and tucked the watch back in its proper place and folded his arms.

  Several more minutes of torture were endured until Lily finally rose and came to the front. Jack straightened, positioning himself so he had a clear view of her. The tension in her neck had his own straining, and his brows pinched together at the brittle smile she gave the audience.

  Eyes narrowing, Jack willed her to straighten her spine; the bright and fiery Lily he’d come to know had been replaced by a quivering coward that shook like a mouse staring down a hungry cat. Broadcasting such nerves was foolhardy, and Jack wished he could tell her she ought not to cower.

  The first notes of the piano filled the air, and all other thoughts fled at the sound of her voice rising above it. Her song wove through the irritation and exhaustion, erasing all else but the clear melody. It was a siren’s call, entrancing him as no other performance ever had.

  Jack Hatcher was no fool. He knew few valued Lily Kingsley, but he’d long ago accepted that most humans were gifted with little intelligence, and never was it more apparent than tonight.

  The lady standing before them was more than a mere woman. She was the personification of beauty and grace, kindness and compassion. She was so much more than Jack thought possible for one person to be, and as she sang, he reveled in the warmth flooding through him as he watched that lovely creature. His Lily.

  *

  Mr. DeVere was staring at her again. Of course, that was to be expected when one performed, but he’d chosen a prominent seat, and his ridiculous smile was too distracting. The first string of notes warbled, and Lily struggled to give them life. As much as she enjoyed his flirtation, now was not the time for Mr. DeVere’s amorous glances.

  Tripping over the lyrics, Lily’s cheeks flushed, which made her tremble all the more. This was her easiest piece of the evening and if she had not strength for it, there was no hope for the others. But those worries only added to her fluster.

  Pulling her gaze from him, Lily let her eyes drift over the crowd, seeing them but refusing to connect with any individual. Looking into their faces intensified the deep-seated nerves threatening to strangle her voice. And she did a reasonable job of it until she noticed the familiar dark hair at the very back.

  Focusing, Lily’s eyes connected with Jack’s.

  His gaze had weight and feeling, as though his eyes caressed her skin. Reason warned her not to read into his expression, but that invisible bond she’d felt stirring between them tightened as their gazes locked. Her heart flooded with warmth, casting her mind back to that moment they’d shared in the library, when he held her tenderly and captured her in that kiss. Her heart thumped in her chest, but the trembling in her hands ceased. The audience faded from her awareness, and Lily sang for him alone.

  Lily had chosen the song before meeting Jack, but she felt the lyrics in a whole new manner, for they spoke for her and her heart. She sang of the battle between fire and ice, hope and fear, confusion and clarity, and all the blessed and wretched sentiments warring for a home inside her.

  Applause thundered, and the world came into focus, leaving her flushed and trembling at the realization that her performance had provided a musical window into her heart. Lily gave a quick curtsy before moving from the makeshift stage to her seat. The other musicians beside her whispered their congratulations, and Lily smiled and nodded, murmuring the appropriate responses, but she felt too raw and overwhelmed to do much else. Turning her eyes away from the next performer, she stared at the floor, but there was little solace to be found at present.

  She did not understand Jack Hatcher, but Lily was coming to understand herself. The depths of her feelings were in question, but there was no ignoring what had just passed between them. Perhaps it was only she who had felt that connection between them, but Lily knew she had been deeply affected by it.

  The minutes passed as she tried to make sense of her heart, but before she came to any conclusions, it was time for her next performance. Thankfully, it was a trio, which put less focus on Lily. Though they stood on stage as equals, the audience would focus on the soprano and baritone, who provided the bulk of the sound, and not the mezzo-soprano who added the necessary harmony and little more. However, that did not keep Lily’s nerves at bay.

  Before her marriage, Mrs. Ridlington had been the darling of London opera, and Mr. Mills was one of the finest singers to grace the stage. Lily was both honored and terrified that they’d invited her to join them; Miss Morton or Mrs. Lowe had superior voices to Lily and far more stage presence.

  Lily’s gaze sought out Jack’s again, and he straightened in his seat as the three performers took their places in front. Mrs. Ridlington reached over to give Lily an encouraging squeeze of her hand before the accompanist began the introduction.

  Mozart was a favorite of hers, and in Lily’s humble opinion, Soave sia il vento was among his best songs. The lyrics were a simple prayer for the safe travels of their loved ones, but the harmonies were breathtaking, resonating through her and resting in her ear with such beauty that it brought tears to her eyes.

  And all the while, Jack held her gaze as though nothing else existed but her. His strength flowed through that invisible bond that connected them, filling her with a power beyond her own capability. And Lily infused the music with her heart, sending back to him the passion she felt with each perfect note.

  The song ended with more applause, and the singers gave their bows before the others left Lily alone on the stage for her final aria. Jack had so distracted her that she’d forgotten it was so soon, but though a shiver of fear ran along her spine, it faded into nothing. When she’d chosen this challenging piece, it had seemed a foolhardy thing. But now, Lily didn’t know why she’d been so afraid. The opening notes played on the pianoforte, and Lily welcomed them with a smile.

  The piece was flirtatious and confident, the song of a lady determined to seize the opportunity to love and be happy. It started slowly and built to trills and runs that stretched Lily’s capabilities, but her voice soared with ease, and she found herself surrendering to the part she played, adding the mark of comedy and laughter the song demanded that she’d never felt comfortable displaying before. Lily threw herself into the music, drawing out the flourishes and meeting the dramatic end with strength and clarity.

  When the final note finished, the room burst into applause. Her aunt and uncle got to their feet, and the others thundered their approval, but it was Jack’s smile that Lily treasured.

  Chapter 18

  Giving the appropriate curtsies, Lily surrendered her place on the stage and was met with more whispered congratulations as she took her seat.

  “You were marvelous,” whispered Mrs. Ridlington, taking Lily’s hand in hers. “I don’t know if I have ever heard that perfo
rmed so well. It is a shame that your talent is not showcased in the theater.”

  Lily blushed, a denial coming to her lips, but before the treacherous words escaped her lips, Lily held them in check.

  “Thank you,” she replied instead, allowing the compliment to warm her through.

  The next performer took their place, leaving Lily free to her thoughts. She preferred a quiet corner to gather herself after such a performance, but this would have to do. Singing in front of others was a thrill that both enlivened her soul and wore her to threads.

  The strains of the music filled the room, and Lily took a moment to compose herself. She did not know if it was her performance or the silent moment that had passed between her and Jack, but Lily’s heart felt strained to its breaking point. The days of frantic preparation for this concert preceding this moment had weakened her, leaving her unable to withstand the emotions overcoming her.

  Unfortunately, the final applause sounded before Lily felt ready to face it. The others dragged her along as the performers gathered in front together to take their final bows. Where any other time, Lily might welcome such acknowledgment, it merely added to the confusion raging in her heart and mind. As hostess, Mrs. Ollerton stepped forward to give another plea for contributions and the likes, but Lily could not focus on the words.

  The moment the lady finished, Lily wove through the others, hurrying to find a quiet place. She needed another moment or two or twenty before she would be ready to face the masses. But she was not quick enough.

  “You were perfection, Lily! Your voice is always so lovely, but tonight you were magnificent,” said Aunt Louisa-Margaretta, grabbing Lily in a hug before glancing at her husband. “Wasn’t she?”

  “It’s a shame your parents weren’t here to witness that,” said Uncle Nicholas, beaming at her as he wove his wife’s arm through his. “We couldn’t be prouder of you. And not just for the music, but all that you’ve done here. This is a triumph, Lily.”