A Stolen Kiss
Victorian Love Series
M.A. Nichols
Copyright © 2020 by M.A. Nichols
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the copyright owner.
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
www.ma-nichols.com
Books by M.A. Nichols
Regency Love Series
Flame and Ember
A True Gentleman
The Shameless Flirt
Honor and Redemption
Victorian Love Series
A Stolen Kiss
The Honorable Choice
The Villainy Consultant Series
Geoffrey P. Ward’s Guide to Villainy
Geoffrey P. Ward’s Guide to Questing
Magic Slippers: A Novella
The Shadow Army Trilogy
Smoke and Shadow
Blood Magic
A Dark Destiny
Chapter 1
Spring 1848
London
Not a single person was looking at Lily Kingsley. She knew this with absolute certainty, for her eyes were turning about the ballroom with more frequency than the dancers, and nary a person noticed her. Yet an anxious tickle along her spine warned her she was on display.
Ludicrous. No one was watching.
Pressing a hand to her stomach, Lily took in a calming breath and attempted to look as though nothing were amiss. And if everything went as planned, nothing would be.
“My dear, you look positively faint,” said Mrs. Pratt, giving Lily a start.
Lily tried her utmost to infuse confidence into her smile. “I arrived in London a mere fortnight ago, yet I am already worn to threads.”
Mrs. Pratt took Lily by the arm and gave her a motherly smile. “You must forgive your aunt for being overbearing. She never had the opportunity to present a daughter to society, and I suspect she adores having you in her care this Season. She mounted quite the battle when I petitioned to act as your chaperone for the evening.”
“You have my thanks, Mrs. Pratt,” said Lily with a grin. “It is nice to spend an evening with so many familiar faces from home. I know so little of my aunt’s set, and it does me good to be among friends. Though I do apologize for the added burden. You have your hands quite full with the festivities, and I do not wish to add to your burden. I am of an age where a chaperone is becoming unnecessary.”
“Nonsense, my dear,” said Mrs. Pratt with a shake of her head. “You could never be a burden—except when you spout such rubbish. You speak as though you are an old maid, but you are far from it.”
Lily knew better than to say such things; to even hint at her prospective spinster status brought naught but a flurry of denials and platitudes about the marital bliss others were certain she would find. True, nine and twenty was not yet an old maid, but it was nowhere near the vicinity of the other mademoiselles. Surely, that should secure her a single evening to do as she wished.
And Lily knew precisely what that was.
Another flutter took hold of her, and Lily pressed a hand to her stomach once more, taking a quiet breath to calm the flurry of nerves. The mere thought of what was to come filled her with giddy delight, but the audacity of her plan was difficult to ignore, so Lily was stuck swinging between anticipation and dread.
The Pratt’s ballroom was hardly more than a drawing room, though what it lacked in size, it made up for in beauty. The parquet floor was laid out in an elaborate pattern and fastidiously polished so it reflected the candlelight, and the walls were painted a soft green that reminded Lily of the fields around her home; the rich color was quite striking next to the white plaster scrollwork adorning it. Truly, it was a lovely room, but at present, Lily was focused on its occupants.
Her eyes leapt from person to person, scouring the crowd for the gentleman who occupied her thoughts.
“Have you spied Mr. Farson?” Lily’s throat tightened, strangling the words to a near squeak, but she fought through it.
“No, though I was told he would come and bid farewell before he leaves for his ship. I do hope he will make an appearance.” With a sigh, Mrs. Pratt shook her head. “I will miss having that dear boy in the neighborhood. To think of leaving this beautiful country for the wilds of Canada. And after such a brief sampling of all the Season has to offer. It’s a shame he cannot delay his departure and spend a few weeks here in London.”
Hiding a smile behind her fan, Lily wondered how Mr. Farson would react to being called a “boy.” Though younger than Lily by a couple of years, someone of his stature could hardly be called that.
Dropping her fan once more, Lily replied, “It was not as though he was given a choice in the matter. That inheritance was a gift from heaven. Not many young men can boast of having such a fine property and living dropped in their laps.”
“Of course,” said Mrs. Pratt, patting Lily’s hand with a smile. “I would never begrudge him such a blessing, but it is difficult to see so many of your generation leaving Bristow. The world is changing too rapidly for my tastes, and I am becoming quite the curmudgeon.”
Lily laughed as she was meant to and squeezed the sweet lady’s arm, though it saddened her to feel how frail Mrs. Pratt had become over the years. She was by no means derelict, but time was changing her as well as their beloved country home.
“But you will say something when Mr. Farson arrives?” asked Lily, feeling quite proud that her tone had remained moderate—even if she had to clear her throat before continuing. “It is quite fortuitous that he decided to visit London one final time as I had not the opportunity to say farewell before I left Bristow.”
Mrs. Pratt straightened and turned a thoughtful eye on Lily. “You are rather keen to see him.”
The tone insinuated far more than her words, and Lily’s face blazed bright red, her eyes darting away from Mrs. Pratt as she fumbled to salvage the conversation.
“Mr. Farson is a fine gentleman, but he is merely a childhood friend, and I wish to bid him farewell as it is unlikely that our paths will cross again in this life.”
Those words were truthful enough that Lily felt only a tiny tinge of guilt at omitting the rest of it. The thought of anyone other than Mr. Farson discovering her plan was enough to set Lily’s cheeks heating once more as her stomach twisted in knots. If only he had responded to her note, then she might be at ease. As is, she was left to flounder in the dark.
Lily knew he had received her missive. Of that, she was certain. But where did he stand on her proposition? Certainly, it was an odd request to write to a gentleman and beg him to bestow her first kiss, but she hoped it was not a repulsive one. Convention claimed that a man needed little enticement to agree to such tokens, but then again, young ladies rarely resorted to begging for one.
“Dear, you look a little peaked,” said Mrs. Pratt, her brows drawing together. “Do you need to lie down? Your mother and aunt would never forgive me if your health took a turn while under my care.”
Lilly shook her head and ran a hand over her teal skirts. “No, Mrs. Pratt. I assure you I am well. Merely a little flustered. I have too much of my mother’s temperament to be fully at ease in crowds.”
Mrs. Pratt nodded. “And no doubt you prefer to be on the dance floor as well. I have never seen anyone who enjoys dancing as much as your mother. It is always a pleasure to see, for she is so light on her feet.”
Smile frozen in place, Lily knew not how to respon
d to that gross misjudgment. Not about Mama, of course. Mrs. Simon Kingsley was notoriously fond of dancing and exceptionally light on her feet. But for all that Lily had inherited many of her parents’ talents, dancing was not one of them; a fact that was common knowledge in Bristow.
Reaching for the dance card hanging from Lily’s wrist, Mrs. Pratt glanced at the conspicuously empty spaces.
“Oh, dear,” murmured Mrs. Pratt, glancing between the card and Lily. “I have monopolized you and not given the gentlemen ample space to claim their dances.”
Lily bit back a laugh; they both knew the lady’s presence had naught to do with the absent dance partners.
Mrs. Pratt raised a hand to someone across the ballroom, and Lily followed the lady’s gaze and connected with Mr. Pratt, who was conversing with a young (and likely eligible) gentleman. The fellow nodded at his wife and motioned for his victim to follow him. Lily’s cheeks burned even brighter and no amount of fanning set them to rights. Her eyes searched for an escape, though she knew there was no avoiding her fate.
“My dear Mrs. Pratt,” said her husband as they drew closer. “I was speaking with Mr. Wimpole, and he was asking after our sweet Miss Kingsley.”
Lily’s mouth went dry. Poor Mr. Wimpole feigned a smile, but she knew this dance far better than the waltz; he was no more a willing participant than she. After all, it was a host’s duty to ensure that all young ladies secured dance partners—by whatever means necessary.
Mr. Pratt went through the proper introductions, and the pair gave the appropriate bow and curtsy, though Lily could not think of what to say to the fellow. An apology for being conscripted into this farce was foremost on her thoughts, but it would not do to draw attention to their situation as the Pratts likely thought they were being quite subtle.
“That is a fetching gown, Miss Kingsley,” said Mr. Wimpole.
Nodding, Lily glanced at the teal silk and ignored her heart as it dropped low in her chest. Not that she disliked the compliment, but it was a familiar refrain. The gentlemen felt obliged to give some bit of flattery, but honor dictated that they speak the truth. So, her dress was lovely. Her coiffure was elegantly styled. Her jewelry was dazzling. But such descriptors were never applied to the lady herself.
With a few polite words, Mr. Wimpole led her onto the dance floor, and Lily wished the Pratts had chosen a more robust gentleman to press into service. Though she knew many young ladies found his lanky frame quite attractive, standing next to this stick of a man made her feel all the plumper.
They took their places facing each other, and Mr. Wimpole smiled at her, though it was more commiserating than warm.
“Do you live in London?” asked Lily, grasping the first topic that popped into her head.
“No, I hail from Derbyshire,” came the quick reply.
Lily smiled. “That is lovely country and quite possibly my favorite place to visit.”
Mr. Wimpole gave her a responding grin. “I whole-heartedly agree. My heart will always belong to Derbyshire.”
The first notes of the song began, calling the dancers to their places, and Lily tensed; this was a quadrille and a quick one at that. Others may enjoy such lively dances, but it required moves that only amplified Lily’s gracelessness. Dancers slipped around each other, ducking under raised hands and passing through tight spaces that fit their average frames, whereas Lily nudged and squeezed her way through the steps, bumping and colliding with anyone unfortunate enough to be nearby.
No one was watching her.
The others were more interested in their steps and partners to care about her, but knowing it was irrational did not keep Lily from feeling as though the others were watching and laughing at the great ape of a lady pretending to dance. Years of receiving comments about her ungainly size—both in good-natured jests and cruelly-minded mockery—had left Lily in no doubt that everyone noticed it and had some opinion on the matter.
“My family has visited the area several times, and I never tire of wandering the peaks,” said Lily as she and Mr. Wimpole came together for a few steps.
With each pass, she continued to speak of her travels through that area, giving her tongue free rein as Mr. Wimpole’s smile grew more brittle; though he kept his eyes trained on her and the steps, his gaze became unfocused. It was an expression Lily knew well; his mind was elsewhere.
“…it was one of the most delicious things I have ever tasted,” she said, her words coming at a quicker clip. “It was heavenly, and I cannot get enough of them. I described it to my family’s cook, and she replicated it passably, but it couldn’t compare to a proper Bakewell pudding.”
Mr. Wimpole gave a vague nod as his eyes drifted to the other dancers.
“Have you traveled much?” she asked.
“Some, but I prefer to remain at home.” He spoke readily enough, but his tone was as disinterested as his expression.
“I find new places thrilling,” she said. “My parents are currently touring the Continent with my uncle and aunt, and I had thought to join them but decided to visit my Uncle Nicholas in London instead.”
Even as she recognized that she ought to remain silent and leave him be, Lily’s mouth continued to move, searching for the perfect subject that would engage him once more. The situation was not helped by the next dance, which was slow enough that the conversational distance between the pair grew. Though his behavior was mannerly, Lily sensed the boredom he attempted to hide.
Her partner gave all the proper compliments and comments as their set came to its close but left with all possible haste, leaving Lily deflated. Though gentlemen likely felt they were being inconspicuous, she had seen enough of their retreating forms to be in no doubt as to her lack of enticements. Perhaps he would not have disappeared so hastily if she had found a better topic or flattered him.
Lily had no romantic interest in Mr. Wimpole, but his rejection pained her. It was unbearable to be treated like nothing more than a task to complete before he was free to do as he pleased; an unwanted price to pay to please the ball’s host. Lily’s breaths grew shallow as she clenched her jaw against the ridiculous tears prickling in her eyes; she would not add to the misery of the evening by crying. This was naught but a bit of foolish pride.
“There you are,” said Mrs. Pratt, and Lily held in a cringe, reminding herself that she adored the lady.
If not for the hope of Mr. Farson’s imminent arrival, Lily would have run for the nearest carriage.
“Mr. Wimpole appeared to be enjoying himself,” said Mrs. Pratt. There was such a look of honesty in her eyes that Lily’s heart warmed even further to the dear lady. Any unbiased observer would have seen how uninterested Mr. Wimpole had been, but Mrs. Pratt could not countenance that a young man would find Lily unacceptable.
Lily merely smiled in response, for any words would be a dishonest agreement or a truthful rejection, which would upset the kind-hearted lady.
“I do appreciate your assistance, Mrs. Pratt,” said Lily, giving the most honest answer she could. “However, I am quite content to sit the next set out. I enjoy watching the dancing far more than doing so myself.”
Mrs. Pratt took Lily’s arm again and shook her head. “Nonsense. Every young lady longs to spend her evenings dancing with handsome gentlemen.”
Yet another sign of Lily’s shortcomings. No young lady would reject the opportunity to dance, and no young lady would petition a gentleman to bestow a kiss.
“In all honesty, I prefer to watch.”
Mrs. Pratt opened her mouth to protest, so Lily shifted the conversation.
“Have you spied Mr. Farson?”
“I do believe he arrived not long ago,” said Mrs. Pratt.
Lily’s heart squeezed in her chest. Her note had said to meet during the fourth quadrille, and it could be no coincidence that Mr. Farson appeared at that precise time.
Writing that letter had taken all her courage, but Mr. Farson fit the bill too perfectly to ignore. A friendly sort of man who would not bandy
her audacious request about, but not close enough to her family to maintain ties once he left for Canada. If the evening proved an embarrassment, none but Mr. Farson would know, and she would never see him again.
Another such opportunity was unlikely to present itself, and Lily would live her life devoid of that most basic experience. Every lady should know what it is like to be kissed. Shouldn’t they?
Her pulse then thumped a rapid staccato that was at odds with the languid music filling the ballroom. Drawing in her lips, Lily bit on them to keep them from trembling, though she could not tell if it was in anticipation or fear. Both were equally present.
Mrs. Pratt raised a hand to call to her husband again. “There are some excellent bachelors in attendance who are clamoring to make your acquaintance. In fact, there is a business associate of Mr. Pratt’s who would be a perfect match for you. I do not see him at present, but I will have Mr. Pratt hunt him down.”
“Do not trouble yourself,” said Lily with a shake of her head as she grasped for any excuse to release her from the next dance. “I feel a little faint at present.”
Mrs. Pratt’s eyes widened, and Lily hurried to calm her.
“I am well enough, but I would like a few moments of quiet to gather my strength. Might I rest in your library?”
Patting Lily’s hand, Mrs. Prat nodded. “Of course, my dear. Anything you need. Let me have Mr. Pratt escort you—”
“I assure you that is unnecessary. I am well enough. Merely fatigued. I know my way and do not need assistance. And you and Mr. Pratt are occupied. I would hate to pull you away from your guests.”
Mrs. Pratt patted Lily’s cheek. “You are a dear. I will never understand why you haven’t been snatched up. Men are utter fools.”
That wasn’t the first time she’d heard one of the matrons bemoan her lonely state, and Lily still had no response for such statements. So, she smiled and squeezed Mrs. Pratt’s free hand before turning towards the ballroom doors.
Though she had assured Mrs. Pratt she was in fine health, Lily felt a touch light-headed at the prospect of what was to come. Weaving through the crowd, her eyes were fixed on the doorway, her breath coming in quick bursts as she drew nearer. Lily banished the harried thoughts that whispered for her to retreat. Mr. Farson knew her intentions, and his precipitous timing was a silent acceptance of her offer; she would not abandon her plans now.
A Stolen Kiss (Victorian Love Book 1) Page 1