Kiss Me After

by Cecilia Gray

  “A ball!” Bridget sighed dreamily.

  Dinah rolled her eyes. “Just give her time.”

  “Don’t you remember,” Charlotte pressed as she took off her cloak, “how we all felt with Mother?”

  Alice’s throat clogged. She more than remembered her mother’s passing. In fact, she remembered it better than her sisters. While it may have seemed trite, she clung to this distinction—that she had known their mother for more time, had loved her longer—and in her most private thoughts, she believed she mourned her most deeply, as well.

  “Sera is only nineteen,” Dinah said, as if she herself were not merely twenty. “She’s young with plenty of life ahead of her. She’ll realize it soon enough.”

  “But she loved him so,” Bridget said, resting her chin in her cupped hands with a sigh. “Who would have thought it when they married?”

  None of them, certainly. A sixteen-year-old girl and a man twice her age? They had struck up a strange companionship. But love?

  “They weren’t in love,” Dinah scoffed.

  Alice cringed at the tone, although she herself held the same opinion.

  “They did love each other,” Charlotte said. “In their own way. Now she’s hurting, and we must help her.”

  “There’s no way to help.” Dinah shrugged, as if declaring an end to the conversation.

  “A ball would help,” Bridget insisted. “Sera is happiest when she is making others happy.”

  Dinah shook her head. “A ball and happiness are not correlated.”

  “They are for most girls,” Bridget said.

  “But we cannot think only of Sera.” Charlotte reached for a tea cake and took the whole of it between her lips. “Our brothers-in-law are also in mourning. They can’t very well have a ball in their home three months after the funeral of their father and brother. It is already quite shocking of us to proceed with our birthday celebration.”

  “At last, logic. Thank you, Charlotte.” Dinah nodded with approval. “Please say this is the end of all talk of a ball.”

  “No balls,” Alice agreed. “But we still must find a way to pull Sera from her bed. She cannot stay there all summer long.”

  “She intends to try,” Bridget said.

  “Then we shall try harder,” Alice said. She stood and walked to the window, looking out in the direction of town. An idea began to form in her mind. She had been struggling with how to present herself in the best light to Lord Savage, as well as encourage her sister’s well-being. How simple it now seemed that the best way to proceed was to engage both matters simultaneously. “The lines of berry bushes are heavy with fruit that should have been picked last week. The lake itself is close to being overrun,” she went on. “There are many needs in Woodbury, and the possibility of further neglect in this time of mourning is too great, the burden on the locals too much. There are needs to be met. And we will meet them.”

  Alice knew Sera would rise to the task, and Lord Savage would see Alice’s value to a man of his position.

  There were murmurs of agreement among her sisters.

  Alice sat down to make a list of helpful tasks they could engage in over the summer. Bridget begged off to take a bath. Charlotte went to the kitchen for a snack. After a few moments, Alice glanced up from her foolscap for the first time.

  Dinah stood in front of the desk, her arms crossed, her blond head cocked to the side. “When were you going to tell us about Lord Savage?”

  Alice’s hand slipped and her quill tore against the page. “Who told you—”

  “You did,” Dinah said. “When you flirted with him. At a funeral, of all places.”

  “It was hardly flirting.”

  “You can’t mean to pursue him.”

  Alice set the quill down and folded her hands. “I had intended, rather, for him to pursue me.”

  “Which, I suppose, will be rather more convenient now that his friends are at Woodbury.”

  It was convenient, and conveniently set up by Robert. She blushed at the thought of both he and Dinah so easily becoming entangled in her intentions. “What is inconvenient is that Father is on his way from London and has concluded his business with the Drummonds. If I do not become engaged soon, then he will set his sights on you.”

  “And I will just tell him no.”

  “Or on Sera or poor Charlotte, who do not have your temerity at present.”

  “You are the one lacking temerity at present.”

  Alice inhaled sharply at the insult. “Maybe I want to marry. Lord Savage is eminently attractive and rich.”

  “And completely ill suited to you. He is not the kind of man to be bossed around.”

  Alice raised her brow. “Who is to say I would be inclined to marry a man who is easily bossed around?”

  “Sometimes I think you believe Father is right to make us marry,” Dinah said, her voice softening.

  “He is, in a way. Mother did say those things that night. She did make him promise that we would marry well, that we would marry lords. Just because you don’t remember—”

  “I don’t remember that night, and I don’t remember her,” Dinah said. “But I’ve heard enough stories from you and from Bridget. I’ve read enough of Mother’s correspondence to Father when they were engaged. You cannot hold her wishes for us down to a remark seemingly made in jest. I don’t believe she would have wanted this burden for any of us.”

  Alice set her gaze on her list and took two deep inhalations through her nose. “There are many things we all want to be different, Dinah. At least have the decency to care about the wants of others before your own.”

  By the time she glanced up, Dinah had gone.

  It took a few moments before the tension left Alice’s shoulders and fists, before she could let go of the anxiety she felt whenever someone questioned her father’s love for her mother or his intentions toward her. Who could blame her father, after all? Her mother had made the request; she’d heard it with her own ears and even wondered about it at the time. Without her mother here to retract, what else was her father to do?

  Alice returned to the task at hand, writing faster and faster as more ideas came to mind.

  * * *

  Robert accepted the glass of whiskey from the estate manager as he took a seat in the back of the room. He waited as Benjamin and Graham signed documents and discussed the urgent issues of the property.

  “Two of the tenant crofts need their roofs replaced.” The estate manager scanned a sheet of paper, not glancing up. “The farms could use extra hands to gather the first crop of blueberries and plant the next, as most are preoccupied with the oat harvest. The parishioners have started a sewing circle to mend the clothes of some of the needier residents, but they could use more thread—any supplies, really. The locals also have not felt comfortable fishing since the passing of the late duke and your brother, rest their souls, so the trout is overstocked. The lake is also overdue for a dam to divert the fish toward deeper water, as I’m sure you’re aware. You can read the rest, but these are the most pressing.”

  He slid the page across the desk. Benjamin reached out and studied the sheet.

  “If it’s too soon, Your Grace—”

  “It’s not,” Benjamin said quickly. He looked down at the document and shook his head, as if not yet comfortable being referred to by his new title.

  Robert had used the title upon greeting his friend, but he had shut his eyes tight. Robert took care to call him by his given name after that.

  “Would you give us a moment?” Robert asked.

  “Of course.” The estate manager rose from his chair and left the office.

  Benjamin and Graham studied each other over the page.

  “If only it were this easy for Lady Rivington,” Benjamin said. “If only we had a list of ways to fix her.”

  “She’s still not said a word?” Robert asked.

  Graham pinched his nose, closed his eyes, and rubbed hard. “I don’t know how we can help her.”

 
; “I believe the answer is in your hands,” Robert said.

  They both glanced at their hands, turned them palm to back. Seated as they were, nearly facing each other, they were almost a mirror image. They both had dark hair, although Benjamin wore his neater, and brown eyes, although Graham’s were more easily accused of being full of humor. Benjamin had better posture whereas Graham tended to lounge. Still, in other ways they were often like twins—only a year part and closer to each other than they had been to their other brothers.

  “I didn’t mean literally in your hands,” Robert said apologetically. He lowered his gaze to the page, then back. “How did Lady Rivington spend her time prior to the tragedy?”

  The answer spilled from them in unison. “Charity.”

  “Precisely. Idleness has never come naturally to the Belles. Unfortunately, I believe that with mourning customs as they are, she may feel herself at a loss as to how to behave and what activities she may engage in while still honoring her husband’s memory.”

  “No one would fault her for the care of Woodbury,” Benjamin said.

  Graham nodded thoughtfully. “We will have to engage her sisters in the plan.”

  “Not to worry,” Robert said. “We can count on Miss Belle for that.”

  * * *

  July 1, 1820

  Woodbury, England

  Lord Savage arrived amid the blackberry picking, the day before the Belle sisters’ birthdays. Robert had spent the morning up to his ankles in dirt, his shirtsleeves rolled to his forearms like a common laborer. Sweat streaked his face and back, and blackberry juice stained the tips of his fingers like a fine Burgundy wine. The sun had just begun its descent from the apex of the sky when his friend galloped into the fields atop his horse like some hero out of a romantic novel.

  He grimaced as heads lifted to watch Savage’s arrival, as eager as gophers popping up from the fields. Alice’s head was among the throng.

  Her hair was plastered to her neck, and the shiny redness of her cheeks indicated she’d had sun, having discarded her bonnet an hour ago. Such things were considered very unladylike to those of the ton, but when they’d passed in the orchard earlier, he had wanted to suck the blackberry stains off her fingers. He’d kept walking with nothing but a terse nod at the strained discomfort of his intentions.

  Now he wished he’d stayed closer.

  Savage slowed his steed to a trot and, having met Robert’s eyes, made his way toward him. Savage leaped off his horse and handed the reins to a well-trained stable boy who had come forward to take the steed. Savage rested his forehead against the horse’s nose, stroked it, and murmured to it before allowing the beast to be taken. He turned back to Robert, his gaze shifting to the others who were still behind. He spotted Lady Rivington, her wide-brimmed hat covering her face and pale hair, and nodded in approval at the sight of her being seemingly conscious and reasonably engaged.

  “So your plan has worked,” Savage noted.

  “When have my plans not proved successful?” Robert asked.

  Savage grinned and pulled Robert into a hug, which Robert returned. After pulling away, the viscount shrugged off his fine coat and tossed it over a nearby stone. “I await my orders, sir.”

  Alice walked up beside him, then, smiling invitingly. “Don’t you want to change into something more suited to labor?”

  “I’m afraid that all my clothing is of this caliber.”

  “It’s a wonder how you sleep at night,” she jested.

  “Restlessly and rarely alone.”

  “That’s enough,” Robert cut in as the younger Belles arrived.

  After a series of greetings, they returned with their half-full baskets of berries to the brambles in the orchard to join the staff to finish the picking.

  Alice remained by his side, leaning toward him in the heat. “Your plan worked. He came.”

  “My plans always work.” He seemed to be reminding people of this a lot lately, although the person who needed the most reminding was himself. He cast a glance at Alice’s profile. He was certain her cheeks were red from the sun, not from Savage’s arrival, and yet he couldn’t help but wonder if he’d underestimated his friend’s appeal. Even Dinah was not immune to sparing a glance in Savage’s direction. Perhaps Alice was not as immune as Robert had hoped. Was he expecting too much of her?

  She tsked and covered his hand with her own. He stilled under the touch.

  “You’re being far too rough,” she chastised. “You’re yanking the fruit, but if you just rest your fingers against the stem like so . . .” Alice’s fingers traced soft lines against the sides of his hand, and she turned it palm up. She exerted a gentle pressure on his fingers. The blackberry popped off the stem and rolled into his cupped palm. “See?” She smiled, drew back her arm, and resumed filling her basket.

  He mimicked her suggestion, and again and again, the fruit fell right into his hands, eager for harvest.

  “Perhaps Lord Savage will need help, as well,” she murmured. Before he could protest, she had sashayed away, basket tucked in the crook of her elbow, toward her unsuspecting target.

  He fought the urge to follow. He was a gentleman and not given to brutish acts of jealousy. Still, he felt an irrational desire to pluck Alice up, throw her over his shoulder, and carry her off. Never mind that she would find the very action detestable. Even he found it so. Alice was a woman who knew her own mind; she did not need to be dragged off against her better judgment.

  He felt something squish in his hand and realized he’d gone back to yanking the fruit too hard and the blackberry had popped against his skin. He let it drop to the ground and resumed his work. Maybe he needed to find a task better suited to his temper. Like chopping wood.

  But it was his own fault Savage was here, and he had to remind himself that he had a greater plan at work.

  At least they had won the small battle to rouse Lady Rivington from bed. She hadn’t said much since their arrival, but she had woken and eaten and taken to visiting the village and assisting where she was needed, with Benjamin and Graham by her side.

  While her family had more than enough funds to see her settled, Benjamin and Graham had also taken it upon themselves to ensure she was well taken care of as an Abernathy. They were considering a dowager home for her closer to the coast, although no one had broached the subject. There was still time, and it was too soon.

  Besides, they still had to make it through tomorrow, the discreet birthday party they had planned for the sisters. The locals had been invited to the daytime activities that would take place outside. While everyone was officially still in mourning, it was eagerly looked upon as a break from the dark mood that had gripped them all, a way to transition back to regular activity.

  Robert’s basket finally reached capacity, and he walked it over to the area where the Woodbury cook had set up. Berries were being separated into those that would be sold fresh, those that would be jammed, and a few that would be fermented into wine.

  He set down the basket and took the opportunity to run his hands beneath the water at the pump. The purple juice ran off his hands, revealing the flesh beneath. His shirt was ruined. Unlike Savage, he wasn’t able to replace his shirt every time a woman saw fit to rip one off in a fit of passion, so he would have his laundered and starched until it was as good as new again.

  A moment later, he was joined at the pump by Charlotte. Her hands were also stained, as were her cheeks and chin. She must have eaten some of the berries. The juice had even dyed the tips of her red hair to a dark purple.

  “I see what you’re doing,” she said as she rubbed her hands together under the water as it gushed from the spout. “And I appreciate it.”

  He kept his expression placid. The entire Belle family was far too smart for their own good, but he had behaved no differently toward Alice than in the past—certainly nothing that would merit such a remark from Charlotte.

  “Whatever you think I’ve done, I’m sure it is nothing.”

  “That
is not nothing.” Charlotte nodded toward Sera. Her sister’s angelic head was inclined over a young girl, no more than five years of age, as she demonstrated how to pick the berries without snagging their clothes or skin on brambles.

  “Ah, that. Yes.” He leaned back on his heels and set his hands on his hips. His muscles ached from labor the way they never had while training for sports or battle or even the occasional pugilistic sparring with Christian. “While I’m happy to contribute in any way to your sister’s recovery, the credit is not mine.”

  “I’m sure very little in our family occurs without the intervention of you or Alice.” Her eyes darted to Savage, then lowered as she shook water droplets from her hands.

  He wondered if his regard for Alice was as obvious as Charlotte’s for the viscount.

  And if Robert’s own quest was as hopeless.

  Savage paid Charlotte the attention he never gave others because there was no risk with her. There was no chance of anyone misunderstanding his intentions. Men like Savage never ended up with women like Charlotte. As a result, he was sometimes friendlier than he should have been.

  This earned Charlotte Robert’s sympathy. The question was whether Alice felt the same.

  “It was kind of Lord Savage to travel all this way,” he said as he watched Charlotte’s expression.

  She wrung out her hands on a washcloth hanging over the copper piping that ran into the underground well. “Lord Savage has often proven himself a great friend to the Abernathys. I know my sister values his acquaintance.”

  “He values your family, as well. He’s told me on many occasions of his regard.”

  Her gray eyes cut sharply to him, and for a moment she did not seem vulnerable. “While I appreciate his sentiments, I hope your conversations offer you far more entertaining fodder than his regard for my family.”

  She gave a quick bow and turned away. She selected an empty basket and made her way back to the blackberry bushes. He had to admit, he had not expected Charlotte’s spine to hold such mettle. Apparently her feelings for Savage ran deeper and surer than even he had thought, and she was not open to letting her feelings be used by the likes of the rake.