A Stolen Kiss (Victorian Love Book 1)

by M. A. Nichols

  “Lily.”

  “I still have not given you permission to address me so informally,” she replied, though the tartness behind her words was destroyed by the broken manner in which she spoke them.

  “Yes, but it made you stop,” he said, pressing his handkerchief into her hand.

  Keeping her back to the gentleman, Lily stared at the linen, as though she had never seen one before. She snapped out of her daze and dabbed at her cheeks with it.

  “Thank you, sir.”

  There was silence for a moment as she sniffled and mopped at her tears. When he finally spoke, it was a phrase Lily had never thought to hear from him.

  “I apologize.”

  Two little words, but they were startling. Glancing over her shoulder, Lily watched him with a furrowed brow, her breath hitching with the remnants of her tears.

  Mr. Hatcher’s teeth were not gnashing over the pain he had caused nor was he prostrate before her, but his gaze was sincere. Somehow, that was more powerful than any passionate display of remorse. Though she couldn’t help but wish for a little more groveling, Lily suspected that Mr. Hatcher was not a man to speak such words lightly.

  Mr. Hatcher’s expression tightened, and he grumbled, “You needn’t look so shocked. I am fully capable of apologizing when I have caused offense.”

  “You did not apologize the other times.”

  Mr. Hatcher held her gaze, and though others may not recognize the shift of emotion in there, Lily saw the subtle clench of his jaw, and even a hint of hurt in his eyes. Or at least, she believed it was hurt. It wasn’t an emotion she’d thought to see from Mr. Hatcher, but it was there.

  Nodding at her to move along, Mr. Hatcher said not another word, merely waited for her to continue on their way. But Lily did not move.

  “Have I hurt you, Mr. Hatcher?”

  He nodded for her to begin walking, but when she refused, he sighed. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

  “It is not ridiculous if it is the truth.”

  “I am not a fragile thing so easily broken,” he replied before prodding her to move, but Lily held firm. After a moment of staring at him, Mr. Hatcher finally tacked on, “And I am not the villain you paint me to be.”

  The accusation brought a flicker of defensive anger to life in Lily’s chest, but reason gave way before her mouth got the better of her. She did not care for his implications, but neither did she wish to prove Mr. Hatcher right by immediately attacking him.

  And when given a moment to reflect, Lily’s instincts whispered that this was no little thing for him—no matter how casually he spoke the words. She had caused him pain, and that did not sit well with her. But before Lily could address the issue, the gentleman began walking, leaving her to follow after him, and Lily suspected that he preferred to leave the topic alone.

  Their footsteps came together, matching each other pace for pace. Lily clutched Mr. Hatcher’s handkerchief, and she tucked it into her reticule. They passed under the line of trees in silence, and Lily struggled to know what to do.

  “It appears the peace between us could not last five minutes. That does not bode well for any future felicity between us.” Lily had meant it as a jest, but her voice remained unsteady.

  Her statement was met with silence, and Lily thought Mr. Hatcher did not intend to engage with her. Right when she despaired of him fully, he spoke.

  “Then we will just try again. I do not intend to surrender so easily.”

  The words were simple, but his tone was not. Lily wished she understood the gentleman better, for she could not decipher his thoughts from those two sentences. It was earnest and determined, with some underlying emotion Lily could not identify.

  Mr. Hatcher stopped them again, and Lily turned to face him. His eyes were a shade of rich blue, and they held her gaze with an intensity that had a weight all its own, pushing against her. “I do apologize for what I said. Too often, I see others pacify their conscience by assisting the poor and needy in the most useless ways.”

  Lily opened her mouth to speak, but Mr. Hatcher raised a staying hand.

  “It was wrong of me to judge you by that standard,” he said. He took a step closer, his eyes never leaving hers, and a low warmth simmered in Lily’s heart. “You are too kind-hearted to do something so thoughtless, and I should not have assumed otherwise.”

  Yet again, his words were brief but spoken with a determined focus that brought such meaning to those few words. Earnest and honest. Mr. Hatcher may be a man of few words, but he used them well.

  “May we begin again?” Mr. Hatcher hesitated, his gaze finally breaking from hers with a faint grimace as he added, “Again?”

  Who was this man? There were strong aspects of his personality that gave Lily pause, yet there were glimpses of something beneath that hard exterior that had her wondering what she might find if she dug deeper. This did not alter her plans to rid herself of her unsolicited fiancé but furthering their acquaintance mightn’t be a terrible thing.

  “Yes, Mr. Hatcher,” she said. “And I apologize for getting a tad…emotional. Though your opinion did sting, it was not cause for becoming so discomposed.”

  “No,” he said, his brow drawing together as his eyes captured hers once more in its stormy gaze. “Never apologize for caring so deeply. It is not a shameful thing.”

  Something about Mr. Hatcher seemed so dour, as though he rarely smiled or found joy in the world around him. His demeanor was hard and austere, like a boulder in a stream as the world flowed around it. Immovable.

  Still, there was a warmth to his eyes that belied that cold, aloof manner. As though during their short acquaintance, he had come to admire her. Though that was not quite the right word. Lily scoured her thoughts for how to quantify the emotions filling Mr. Hatcher’s gaze, but she could not nor could she understand why it filled her heart with a warmth that made the cool, damp spring day feel quite pleasant.

  Lily did not know what to say in response, so she simply nodded. Mr. Hatcher turned to continue their journey, but he paused, offering his free arm to her. And Lily stared at it. It was not as though she was ignorant of its meaning, but she had never known a gentleman to offer one to her who was not a relative.

  It was a small gesture, and rather unimportant to those viewing it from the outside. However, to Lily, it was something more. It was intimate. Some might think her ridiculous for putting so much meaning to such a simple thing, but one did not simply stroll along on a gentleman’s arm. It had meaning. It signified a deeper relationship than that of acquaintances or friends.

  Of course, it made sense that Mr. Hatcher would do so. They were “engaged,” after all. But there was something in his expression that made her believe it was no small thing for him, either.

  Looping her arm through his, Lily wondered what to do with that hand. It was a silly thing to worry about, but letting it rest against his arm felt too forward. Other than holding a hand during the odd dance, Lily had hardly touched a man before. It was only an arm, but it left her flustered and discomposed.

  She was such a ninny! It was only an escort. Lily had done far more intimate things with the fellow, but rather than comfort her, that thought made her blush all the more. This was nothing to get so bothered about, but the stance brought them close together and his legs brushed her skirts as they continued along the path.

  Their first few steps were awkward. They bumped into each other, and Lily thought it preferable to have her arm free. But then their paces matched step-by-step, and the pair found a rhythm that blended together.

  Chapter 12

  The park was mostly unoccupied. Those of the lower classes had long ago begun their work, and those of the elite hadn’t stirred from their houses. It was not empty but as close to it as one could find in the middle of London.

  The birds and insects were dormant, for though the rain had not made an appearance today, it was thick in the air, promising a downpour later. Only the sounds of the pair’s footsteps broke the silence. It w
as quite peaceful, even if the sodden world was far too gray to be deemed beautiful.

  Mr. Hatcher was quiet beside her, though it was not an empty silence. There were thoughts aplenty in his head; he simply did not share them. Lily wondered what occupied his attention so thoroughly, and the more she thought, the more she realized just how little she knew the fellow at her side.

  “Do you have any hobbies?” she asked, for that seemed as good a topic as any to broach. It was better than strolling along in silence.

  His head turned to look at her with a puzzled frown. “Hobbies?”

  Lily fought back a laugh; his tone sounded so surprised that she couldn’t help herself. “You look as though that is a positively mad question to ask, but I assure you it is quite a natural one. I cannot be the only one who has asked you.”

  Mr. Hatcher’s eyes slid back to their path, and he gave a vague huff. “In all honesty, you may be.”

  Her brows shot upright. “I cannot believe that. Surely, you have some acquaintance or friend who has posed that question before.”

  “Believe what you will, but I do not have many who I can count as friends, and generally, my acquaintances only care about what advice I can give them concerning investments and finances.”

  But before Lily could respond to that surprising declaration, Mr. Hatcher continued, “But to answer your question, growing my business has not allowed me much time for hobbies in the past few years, but I do enjoy sewing.”

  Lily nearly tripped over her own feet at that declaration. “I do not know many gentlemen who would admit that.”

  Mr. Hatcher shrugged as though it was of no importance to him. “It was a necessary skill in the navy, and one that I enjoy.”

  “You were in the navy?”

  “Until I was four and twenty.” He paused, and Lily glanced at him. Then he added. “I served with my business partner, Mr. Silas Byrnes, and we left together to open a shipping business. In the nine years since, we’ve expanded into other ventures as well.”

  “You have done very well for yourself, especially considering the present state of the economy,” said Lily.

  Mr. Hatcher glanced at her, his brows raised, though he did not voice the question written in his expression.

  “I have accounts in the newspapers, and I have heard my father and Uncle Ambrose speaking about such matters,” she said, then added, “And I have the evidence of my own eyes. It seems as though there is never enough done to help the growing number of poor. With the Corn Laws repealed, I had hoped that things might improve, but I fear the Great Famine has taken too much of a toll on the country with no end in sight.”

  Mr. Hatcher blinked at her as though she had been speaking Latin, which did terrible things to the goodwill she’d felt towards the fellow.

  “Believe it or not, Mr. Hatcher, but there are plenty of ladies who have an interest in the world around them and keep abreast of current events,” she grumbled.

  Walking at his side as she was, Lily could not fully see his face, but there was that same flash of emotion she’d seen during their last quarrel, and a sliver of guilt pricked her heart.

  Mr. Hatcher stared down the road. “Even most gentlemen I know are not so well informed and most begrudge the repeal of those laws that had kept their coffers full at the expense of the less fortunate.”

  That sickening feeling spread, pressing on Lily’s chest, as she realized she had misjudged the situation. “I apologize for being abrupt, Mr. Hatcher. It appears I was too hasty in judging your meaning and took offense.”

  “I would hope for better common ground with my future wife than a tendency to judge too hastily, but I suppose it is something.”

  The statement was spoken with a dry wit, but it was said with wit all the same, and it elicited a laugh from Lily. “That is a dreadful beginning. But we both should learn to give each other the benefit of the doubt before assuming the worst.”

  There was a hint of a smile playing at the edge of his mouth. Though she only saw his profile, Lily swore it was there. But he gave a solemn nod that belied any humor she thought she read on his face.

  “Do you miss the sea?” she asked.

  “Not in the slightest.”

  Lily glanced at him. “I grew up listening to stories of my Uncle Graham’s life in the navy, and it sounded like quite the adventure. Surely, to see all those exotic lands was thrilling.”

  Mr. Hatcher halted in his steps, pulling Lily to a stop beside him. Turning enough to face her, he looked as sour and unhappy as she had ever seen him. “Men like your uncle romanticize naval life, but it is a brutal thing.”

  “Every profession has its drawbacks, but—”

  “It is a life of blood and death,” he said. Holding her gaze in that intense manner of his, Mr. Hatcher leaned closer. “Even if you never see battle, life aboard a ship is filled with scurvy and floggings. I’ve seen sadists given command of ships and their men beaten for the slightest infraction. Before I left home, my parents filled my head with romantic notions of the grand adventures I’d have and the many lands I’d see, but the reality of naval life was little better than hell on earth with my life placed in the hands of a man who thought of his crew as slaves.”

  Lily couldn’t breathe. Or more accurately, she couldn’t let herself breathe. The pains in her heart grew with each of his words and doubled at the haunted look hiding in his gaze. Though he had not enumerated his wounds, Lily suspected they were numerous. Likely more than he realized. But she didn’t wish to be overtaken by the emotion yet again.

  Try as she might, Lily could not stem all the tears, and she felt them pricking at her eyes. “How old were you when you joined?”

  “Almost ten.”

  Lily knew there were younger men at sea than that, but the thought of any child that young being thrust into such a brutal world filled her with such despair.

  “I do not need your pity,” he grumbled, turning to walk, and it was Lily’s turn to stop him.

  “It is not pity I feel,” said Lily, forcing him to meet her eye with the same ferocity with which he held hers. “Pity is a shallow thing. It’s a pat on the head with a few trite words of comfort. And what I feel is anything but that. My heart breaks for the little boy who had to face such difficulties, and I wish I could’ve shielded him from such suffering. I feel that pain as if it were my own, regardless of your objections. I cannot help it.”

  *

  There was no good to be found in bemoaning the past, and Jack did not understand why she made such a to-do about it. But though he felt an inkling of embarrassment, it was touching to see her dander raised on his behalf. Not that she cared for him precisely, but Lily sympathized with any child who was so mistreated. He’d never known anyone who loved so deeply and quickly as his Lily.

  The lady seemed to need an acknowledgment, so Jack gave her another nod, and they fell into step once more; a perfect synchronicity that was like they had been fashioned for one another, though that was far too soppy a thought for Jack to entertain without laughing at himself.

  Lily remained silent, and Jack sensed her thoughts were focused on his ridiculous confession. He wished she would forget his words. Plenty of people believed the fairy tales about the grand adventure that was the sea and waxed poetic about the freedom found aboard a ship, but hearing Lily speak such nonsense had demanded a response. Why had he said so much? Jack believed in being truthful, but there was nothing to be gained from bringing his history to light.

  What good did it do to tell her of the scars marking his back? Or that the fingers on his right hand refused to straighten properly after a particularly violent row with one of his shipmates? Of the seamen who died not from an enemy’s attack but the deprivations meted on them by their captain? Of the nightmares that plagued him on restless nights? Lily should not be tainted by such things.

  “I learned to sew for my benefit,” he said. It was a silly topic to return to, but it was better than allowing the previous one to linger among them. “Th
ere weren’t seamstresses aboard ship, so I did my own mending. I have no interest in embroidery and am only passable at making clothes, but I enjoy stitching things together. Eventually, I took on other sailors’ mending as well and earned extra income from that. I became the ship’s tailor.”

  It was a ridiculous speech, and Jack had no idea what possessed him to expound so thoroughly on the subject, but as the sadness in Lily’s expression cleared with each word, he found more coming to his lips. Besides, it was an innocuous topic.

  “That’s a clever use of your skill,” said Lily. “But I have to admit that I detest sewing in all its forms. To do it well takes far too much precision, and I fear I have not the temperament to master it.”

  The lady drifted off into silence once more, and Jack scoured his thoughts for something that might draw her back into conversation.

  “And you are musical?” he blurted, grasping on the first topic that popped into his head.

  “Yes,” she replied, and though Jack did not turn to see her expression, he heard the smile in her tone. “I sing and play the pianoforte, though I am better at the former than the latter. I adore music.”

  There was a brightness to Lily when she spoke that colored her words, infusing them with a sentiment that could not be ignored. As though that love she felt consumed so much of her that even her voice was laden with it.

  “I have often wished there was some way to bottle music so that I might carry it around with me always,” she said.

  “As a singer, you bring your instrument with you,” Jack pointed out, and that elicited a laugh from Lily.

  “Could you imagine how people would react if I were to burst out into song as though my life were an opera?”

  Jack could imagine it, and that silly image brought a smile to his face as well.

  “Even if I were to limit myself to moments when I was alone, it would not be the same. Not quite,” she said with a shake of her head. “While I enjoy playing and singing, it is not like listening to a professional. For the most part, I do not care for London, but the city offers so many concerts and balls that I am blessed to listen to music played by those who are far more talented than myself almost every night.”