The 12th Kiss

by Laura Hogg

  "Leafy, or Relief if you prefer, is American. She is a pioneer and has seen trauma in her life as well. She has not been pampered or sheltered, I will have you know, though the male members of her family tried. Relief found a way around that."

  The Viscount smirked.

  "Cheltham, you often have that cynical smile on your face. Why?"

  He shifted in his seat. “You have said that Miss Moore is a distrustful person. That probably comes from having seen the world and all the people in it. I have not been to all of the places she has been to, only some. I have not needed to. A simple stroll on the streets of London Town will make anyone believe in the selfish motivations of people, Raphael."

  "I suppose that not everyone is selfish. Leafy is not. Her uncle is not."

  "So not everyone deserves to be doubted. They should be screened first though, before trusting them right?” he said mockingly.

  "That is not a fair statement. Leafy is a beautiful woman. She must be careful."

  "I agree."

  "You should understand, Cheltham."

  "I do. Where do you come from exactly?"

  "New York, like my family."

  "How old are you?"

  "Nineteen.” Raphael dropped his gaze.

  "Interesting. The same age as Miss Moore. You resemble her mildly. Are you her cousin?” He lowered his head, trying to get a closer look at his friend. Raphael scooted to the far corner of the seat.

  The Viscount couldn't get a good look in the dark anyway.

  "Let's talk about something else. Where are we going?"

  "To fight crime, lad."

  Raphael's face lit up, from what he could tell. “Good. I am very well pleased to hear that."

  "To the back slums. We will not use a weapon unless the situation turns dire."

  Raphael grinned. “Something to prove, Cheltham?"

  "Only to ourselves, my friend. So nothing but a bunch of fives tonight unless our lives depend on the use of more!” He stated, smiling and throwing up his fist. “I have a change of clothes here."

  When they arrived on the boisterous, streets filled with the effluvium of city life, the smoke, urine, and various other indefinable scents, they stepped out and began to walk. It started to sprinkle rain.

  Raphael stuck his tongue way out of his mouth and closed his eyes. He stretched out his hands, waving his fingers.

  "Raphael?"

  "The raindrops are little bits of life itself, and I want to feel them on an intimate level.” He opened his eyes and spun around exuberantly.

  Lord Cheltham faced his friend, smiling widely. “What are you doing, lad?"

  "Ah, Cheltham, I am enjoying the dog's soup!"

  "The what?” He laughed.

  "The rain water, you deuced lord. You need to walk out a little farther from your fancy townhouse once in a while."

  "That's why I accompany you, my good boy! It seems I have much to learn. Dog's soup, that's bloody funny!"

  Seven

  "You are the finest friend I have ever had! This is better than fighting just for the sake of fighting,” the Viscount informed his young friend. They had enjoyed a great night fighting crime.

  Genuine cheer lightened his heart. He gloried in the shared moments of victory and usefulness of his actions with his young friend.

  They celebrated the exciting evening drinking, singing like happy sailors had done in the past, when celebrating battles won against the French on the high seas when Napoleon seemed to rule the world. When at last they said good night, Lord Cheltham slapped Raphael on the shoulder.

  "Perhaps I will bring you with me to the P.C. one of these times."

  "The P.C.?” Raphael asked.

  "My pugilistic club. See me serve it out to some poor fellow.” Pride welled in the Viscount's heart.

  "I am sure you are one who beats Banaghan.” Raphael shook his head, staring at his feet.

  "Who is Banaghan?"

  Raphael laughed, raising his gaze to him.

  "It's an Irish expression. I spent some time in Ireland. It means that I believe you have some fine stories to share concerning your fighting skills."

  "Many, and they are all true!"

  "Let's hear them then!"

  "Some other time, my friend! Raphael you're a colonist, so you know American ways well,” he grinned, teasing his friend.

  Raphael smirked. He was too young to remember colonial days, and the Viscount knew it. Lord Cheltham was playing with him, knowing the lad didn't consider America to be the colony that many Englishmen still called it.

  "Do I ever sound American to you, lad?"

  Raphael gave him a look of wonder and raised his brow.

  "At times. Why?"

  "I have done research, read papers and books, spent some time there—"

  "Does this have anything to do with Relief being American?"

  "Everything, lad. She does not seem the type to fall in love with a starched Englishmen.” Lord Cheltham chuckled then continued. “I never see myself that way, but I suppose a wild American might.” Lightness filled his heart.

  Raphael showed his pleasure with an obvious smile. He was not offended with the good-hearted teasing. “She carries the influence of many cultures. She is not strictly American in her mannerisms.” He paused and looked up, as if searching his thoughts. “I just remembered, Cheltham. I'm sorry I must leave to meet her now. She is expecting me."

  "By all means.” It's becoming closer to being a reality-she will be mine!

  Raphael saluted him and left. The Viscount watched him dash off, and he smiled. Miss Moore would be proud of me for tonight.

  They had strolled along the Docks to the south of the River. There in dank corners passed over by developers, slums such at St Giles and Seven Dials existed. He and Raphael had encountered many destitute people with hopeless, hollow eyes. The crime-fighting pair stopped a rape tonight.

  The Viscount rubbed his fists, feeling quite excellent at having torn the man off of a poor, half-starved, large-eyed lass just trying to make her way to the hole in the wall in which she lived. Lord Cheltham had shown her attacker what it felt like to be a victim. The girl thanked him three times, while nervously glancing at her felled attacker, and then she ran off. Raphael had stood ten feet away, arms crossed over his chest, nodding, with deep pride making his face light up. A delight the Viscount had never known before intoxicated him. The rewards for helping others were beyond imagination. He'd made a difference, and he knew it.

  * * * *

  The next morning Cheltham's noble friend, the Earl, Lord Hawksworth, paid him a call. He had a newspaper in his hand and casually dropped it on the table before the Viscount. Lord Cheltham put down his steaming, rich, delicious cup of coffee and smiled. He knew his story had made the papers, for he had already read the article.

  Smooth contentment melted inside of him like butter left out in the sun. He rather appreciated being relieved of the guilt he carried after the incident with his sister five years before, culpability that made him feel like a cad.

  "Cheltham, it seems we now have two crime fighters, wearing masks. Imagine that!” He took a seat across from his old friend.

  Lord Cheltham smiled. “Would you care for some coffee, my friend?” Hawksworth shook his head, and Cheltham waved his hand at an approaching maid. She retreated.

  "I have to wonder why they would constantly risk their lives. Strangers do not care a bit for them!"

  "Perhaps that is not the point.” Cheltham enjoyed the honorable sense of selflessness resting quietly in his heart.

  The Earl glanced at him. “You do not think that they do it out of concern for their fellow citizens?” He tapped his fingers over the newspaper article.

  "Oh, I would wager they do,” Lord Cheltham said. “I just don't believe they require their gratitude or love in return.” He sat back in his chair, crossing his arms.

  "How virtuous.” Hawksworth chuckled. “They are nobler than us who hold titles, would you not say? What iron
y!” He mocked.

  He did not really mean that.

  Lord Cheltham watched his friend carefully, leaning back in his seat, searching for a sign of suspicion towards him in his friend's eyes. None existed.

  His secret was safe. However, Hawksworth mocked two men helping others for no reward.

  "It could be, Hawksworth,” he said, slightly vexed, “that they do it for the adventure. It would be quite entertaining to jump over short walls at breakneck speed, and chase down a thief with a short blade in your hand, to turn dark corners, not knowing if a pistol will pop up in your face, saving the day, looking for hubbubs."

  Hawksworth laughed. “I am obliged to believe that those men would be safer just being involved with carriage races!” He dusted off the shoulder of his fine dark jacket with patrician self-assurance.

  The Viscount grinned and leaned forward. He lifted his china-cup to his lips and savored the fine brew. Gently, and with well-bred concision, he placed it back on its matching saucer.

  "There's more mystery involved with this, Hawksworth. I imagine these two fellows sometimes have to track down the perpetrator following a line of clues."

  The Earl raised one brow and picked up the gold-topped cane that he had rested against the table.

  "You sound as if you have inside information. Tell me, do you?” He gave the Viscount a look of keen interest.

  Lord Cheltham shrugged. “No. There is no way I could understand the motivations of ruffians.” He consciously added a tinge of boredom to his voice.

  The Earl considered him for a long moment, and then his lip curled into a smirk. He scoffed. “Of course not.” A light chuckle fell from his lips. “About more pleasant issues—your party is soon. The beauty is going to be here."

  Lord Cheltham noted the change of expression in his friend's eyes to one of admiration. He disguised his annoyance with a serious voice.

  "I'm going to marry her, I promise you.” The statement was spoken with absolute knowledge.

  "You seem sure about that, Cheltham. The parson's mousetrap,” he grinned and grasped the top of his cane.

  "I adore her.” He rested his temple against his fingers.

  "You are known to her?"

  A stream of impatience rippled through him when he thought of how his association with her was not as close as he wanted it to be. “Only vaguely. I am well acquainted with one of her confidants, her guard. I paid him for good information."

  Hawksworth grinned. “Really?"

  "I think him a pleasant little lad.” He touched the handle of his cup, absentmindedly.

  "Will he be attending as her guard?"

  "No. He has personal business to attend to."

  He did not say that he knew Raphael would not fit in with his noble crowd of friends. Something shifted within the Viscount's awareness. He stood and walked with Hawksworth out of the room and chuckled lightly, greatly pleased at the transformation that was occurring within him. A bit of snobbery had exited his body, like airing out a room.

  He tried to conjure up higher-ranking dominance over Raphael, as he passed the fine paintings hanging on the walls of his home, but he couldn't. He pictured the spirited boy, standing near the Docks with proud little fists resting on his hips, and the Viscount couldn't suppress an acute sense of gratitude at making his acquaintance. His life had improved greatly since knowing the boy, and his attitude had changed. He found himself smiling more often. His angry parents would never approve, and neither would his friends. Drowning in his thoughts, he barely noticed as Hawksworth nodded and walked out the door.

  * * * *

  Leafy glanced into the mirror as Honora combed out her hair.

  "You are so lovely, Leafy, and so talented."

  Upon seeing the pout of her little sister's lips in the reflection, Leafy turned to look at her. “Do not be jealous, Honora. You are the more graceful, ladylike of the two of us. I am a restless hoyden."

  Honora grinned. “True, but only half the time."

  "And, I would not be able to practice that which makes me happy without you.” She reached and grasped Honora's hand for a second. My darling sister, you are so gracious. “You are indispensable to me.” Leafy stood up and put her arms around her. “I am so grateful you are my sister. Continue to help me, Honora, for I need it. Shall I buy you a diamond necklace?"

  "With pink diamonds?” Light crossed her features.

  Relief smiled and shrugged.

  "If you find our uncle's diamond Leafy—"

  "I will return it to him. It means too much to him,” she said firmly.

  "It would mean plenty to me, to wear it around, as if I were the special one."

  "You are special, Honora, and beautiful. I fancy that my prince, as you have called him, has noble friends. If attention is what you want, then perhaps you will meet a suitor at the party. Then you can prance about in fine fashion, on the arm of a nobleman.” She took a few steps, exaggerating a very proper gait, and spun around to face her sister.

  "Do you really believe so, Leafy?” she said in hushed excitement, blushing as if she believed her sister's promise.

  "Yes,” she said, lifting her chin in confidence, placing her hands on her hips. “But then I will lose my best friend, sister and superb make-up artist.” He will take you far away from me, and I will have much less time on the streets because it will take me forever to prepare by myself. She sighed.

  "I will visit you often,” Honora assured.

  "It will not be the same. But do not misinterpret me,” Leafy added, opening her palms in gesture. “I will be happy for you, once you find your Mr. Wonderful.” She placed her hand on Honora's arm, smiling.

  Honora covered her sister's with her own hand. “Mr. Wonderful, yes, I can hope."

  "I love you, Honora.” Fierce loyalty burned in her heart. Encompassing gratitude colored her soul as she gazed upon her best friend.

  "I love you, too."

  Moments later, a note was delivered to their door. It was addressed to Relief. She picked up the folded notepaper and opened it. It was from Lord Cheltham. She smiled. Her heart danced, and she imagined him touching her face with tenderness, leaning to kiss her.

  "What does it say, Leafy?” Honora bounced like an impatient child.

  Leafy let a light chuckle fall from her lips. “It says that Lord Cheltham anticipates my arrival in all eagerness. That he is moved by my charm and left breathless by my beauty.” She pressed the letter to her chest.

  "One cannot but believe that he's in love. He is all-a-mort when you only cast a glance his way.” She touched Leafy's shoulder. “Ah, how fortunate you are to be loved that way!” She giggled, her jealousy ringing with true happiness for her big sister.

  "I doubt it. Men use those words to achieve their desired ends.” She smirked, hoping to hear her sister argue this point. My prince must be different. He must.

  "We could find out, Leafy."

  Curiosity tingled through her, knowing that Honora was capable of some very strange things. “What do you have in mind?"

  "I'm the makeup genius, remember?"

  "Ah, I see where this is leading. I'm going to play the part of Daniel tonight,” Leafy said. She looked over at the armoire on the other side of the richly carpeted room.

  Honora nodded and crossed over to the boxes of men's clothes resting, covered by the wardrobe.

  "Most of these male clothes are for an adolescent street lad, but we were wise enough to...” She dug in a box. “I found it, the expensive suit!"

  * * * *

  The Viscount welcomed an unexpected visitor, a gentleman with long sideburns bearing a gift. Crinkles adorned the man's stern blue eyes at the corners.

  He looks like Relief, but years older! He must be closely related to her. I wonder how he received that scar on his chin.

  The stranger sported the clothes of a rich man. A double-breasted tail coat with turned-back cuffs and a matching high collar of velvet rested on his frame with precision and grace. His white waist
coat, shirt and cravat fairly glowed with wealth. Light-colored pantaloons rounded out his costume.

  The upper-class fellow bowed. “My lord, I am Daniel Moore, oldest brother of Miss Moore, and Miss Honora.” His voice rang with sophistication, but he was clearly American.

  He was probably schooled here or in Paris.

  Lord Cheltham couldn't have been more surprised to see him standing here at the threshold of his home.

  Wonderful! Perhaps he is here to consider if I am worthy of his sister's hand. Progress!

  Lord Cheltham led him to the drawing room with a long table. His visitor surprised him by sitting on the side, a little close. An American custom.

  "My lord, might we share this exquisite wine while we visit?"

  Lord Cheltham stood and took the bottle from his hands.

  "So you are Miss Moore's brother, Daniel?"

  "I am. Our family friend, Raphael, has mentioned that you have serious intentions concerning my sister."

  Lord Cheltham smiled. “Indeed, I do.” He fetched some glasses from a cabinet against the far wall and brought them back to the table.

  "Understand, my lord, I would not normally bring wine on an occasion such as this, but it's from the family stock. We used to be dealers."

  That explains that. “You appear to be a man who wishes to talk.” He poured the crimson liquid into the glasses, sat, and saluted Daniel before sipping his wine. Daniel followed suit.

  "Yes. I would wish to know you a bit. I hear you've been to New York?"

  "Yes, Mr. Moore. I spent a few years in America, though very little of that time in New York. My family and I ... thought it best that I ... widen my horizons."

  Daniel leaned forward in his seat. “Did you not tour the continent?"

  "If you refer to Europe..."

  "Yes."

  "Then, no. I mean, it was originally intended that I go, as men of my class usually do.” He chuckled. Painful memories washed over him. “However, I'm a bit of a, well..."

  Daniel studied him. “Go on. If you wish to wed my sister, then I insist on perfect honesty."

  Lord Cheltham sighed. “I do not wish to be judged harshly."

  "I am an American, sir. We see things somewhat differently on our side of the Atlantic. Tell me what's on your mind.” He sipped his wine.