Kiss Me After

by Cecilia Gray

  Savage leaned forward, his humor gone. “Then you know you don’t have enough standing to marry any of them.”

  “Hackney,” Robert repeated firmly.

  Savage laughed. “You would think this was the regimen with the way you’ve taken to giving me orders.”

  “You’d think it was, given the way you’ve had difficulty following them.”

  “You’re damned lucky I’ve seen you ride in the war. You know I don’t let just any man take the handle to my girls. No whip,” he reminded Robert.

  “I would never.”

  “I know. It’s good to have you back in London, Crawford,” Savage sang over his shoulder as he let himself out so as to now draw attention to his departure.

  Robert took a deep breath and awaited Alice’s return. He ran his hands through his hair, then smoothed the front of his shirt. He wondered if he had anything stuck in his teeth from lunch. He’d eaten leftover mutton, and it was sometimes quite stringy. He glanced down at his boots. They were out of fashion, but sturdy and polished to a high sheen.

  When he’d accepted—nay begged—for the task of bringing Tom’s gifts to Lady Newton, he had hoped Alice would be here. And she was. But it had been a lark of a plan. He had not anticipated Lady Newton’s intervention, but had always been a man with an eye for opportunity.

  A noise from the top of the stairs caught his attention, and he looked up. He held his breath as Alice descended in a smart blue pelisse. She was taller than he remembered, if that were possible. Her smile brighter.

  She searched the foyer. “Viscount Savage is not joining us?”

  “He had to attend to an unexpected call.” He was happy to note she did not seem disappointed by Savage’s sudden disappearance. The same could not be said of most women of his acquaintance. “Shall we?”

  He longed to help her into the phaeton, but after a quick glance revealed no servant to assist, she hoisted herself up before he could make any attempt. He took the reins and guided the horses with a careful hand, prolonging their time together by going as slowly as possible. Plus, there was Savage to consider; the man’s usual good humor was in short supply when the health of his horses was in question.

  It was incumbent upon him to speak first, but what to say? Their correspondence gave him an intimacy he had no right to press upon her in person, And yet…what if she welcomed his familiarity? The thought was enough to tighten his fists on the reins. Good god, Savage would call him out for less.

  Robert couldn’t let the silence strain between them a moment longer. “Have you had opportunity to speak to your sister since her marriage?”

  “We’ve traded correspondence.” She glanced at him quickly but then kept her gaze steady ahead.

  Correspondence? Did she mean a subtle reference to their writings? He’d spent less time decoding intercepted battlefield messages than the every look and move of this woman.

  “My father expects me to keep an eye on Sera, of course, but she is also the matron now, whereas I . . .”

  He waited for her to finish the statement, but she bit her lip and looked off into the distance. “Yes, Miss Belle?” he prompted.

  She shook her head briskly and stared at the road. “Might I ask what business takes you to Bond Street?”

  He shouldn’t be disappointed. He had no reason to expect her to confide in him, and yet, the urge to know her, all of her, thrummed through him. Still, he had to respect her need for private thoughts. “Thread,” he said. “Floss, to be specific.”

  “That is an odd business for a gentleman.”

  “I have spent the past few years since the war in Leeds, visiting with my family and making the better acquaintance of my nieces and nephews. I confess that while there, I was eager to return to the diversions of London. And now that I am here . . .”

  “You miss your family. I understand completely.”

  “My sister-in-law’s latest letter indicated my nieces have been engaged in embroidery and were lamenting their dull collection of brown and blue flosses.” He had imagined their joy at seeing a bright yellow or red, and had taken to the idea, even if it meant forgoing a meal with his friends. He leaned forward conspiratorially. “I will deny it upon threat of death, but there is one niece in particular . . .”

  “A favorite!” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “I never believed my father when he swore he loved us equally. I always knew there had to be a favorite.”

  “You?” he asked.

  “Of course not. Sera. She is so beautiful they say the angels stop to watch her pass.” Her face fell. “She is also the one who has made him most proud by marrying.”

  He felt the urge to comfort her, to ease the faint lines of unease between her brows, but who was he to claim this privilege? Despite her attempt to maintain a polite conversation, they’d easily slipped into familiar banter, and he was loath to startle her back into civility. He was saved from ignoring his desire as the carriage rolled to a slow stop. Once they’d descended and stood on the cobbles, he waited awkwardly to see if she would invite him to join her on her errands.

  “I thank you,” Alice said. “I will be able to arrange transportation back to Bayswater when I am finished.”

  He should bid her good day and let her continue on her way, but instead he said, “Allow me to escort you to your first destination.”

  She led him to a ribbon shop, only a short distance from the thread shop he was intending to visit. There were so many types of ribbon. They were strung up on a beam, hundreds across, like a curtain. He approached a row of blue ribbons. A stormy sky. A dark-lilac tint. He wrapped his finger around a lovely sea blue, which was twice the price of the others for some reason.

  “It doesn’t quite match your eyes, does it?” she said.

  He grinned and released the ribbon. “This is not for me,” he said, “but for a lucky lady.”

  “Ah, who might that be?” Alice took a step so they were side by side. She ran her fingers across the ribbons as though they were piano keys. “Your mother would owe me correspondence on the matter, I believe, as you cannot marry without my consent, if I recall correctly.”

  He grinned at the second reference to their letters, and in the space of the afternoon!

  She avoided his gaze as she added, “I do not pretend to be up-to-date on the latest on-dit, but I would have assumed my sisters would have kept me informed if your affections were engaged.”

  “I would never want you to doubt your sisters’ commitment to the latest gossip. The lady in question is the niece I spoke of in the carriage,” he confessed.

  “Floss and ribbon? The luckiest of nieces. Is she young?”

  “Ten years old. And a half, she’d be sure to tell you.”

  “The half makes all the difference, I assure you. Tell me more of your niece. What is her name?”

  “Her name is Roberta. My brother lost a bet and I bade him name his next child after me. I would never have enforced the wager, but they had fallen in love with the idea. She has butterscotch curls, a cheeky smile. So for her, a ribbon.”

  “I am determined to assist.”

  She had a particular voice, he noticed—calm yet commanding.

  Alice snatched up three blue ribbons, then moved to the row of reds and palmed two more, then a pink.

  He nearly winced as he mentally calculated the increasing cost.

  “This will get her through the spring,” Alice said. “But then what will she do in the autumn?” Her gaze shot to the hanging green ribbons.

  He followed her, bemused by the intense concentration of her furrowed brow. He’d seen less focus from military intelligence officers.

  “Would you say her hair is that color? What did you call it?” Alice inclined her head toward a young girl holding her mother’s hand and gazing in awe at bolts of rose satin.

  “Butterscotch. But I believe the locks of that young girl bear a closer resemblance to toffee.”

  “Your proclivity for describing hair color with food is impre
ssive. Tell me, am I the strongest of coffees?”

  “Too bitter,” he said, and before he could think better of it, “You’re licorice.”

  “Is licorice not bitter?”

  “It is not to everyone’s taste,” he admitted, “and some may be dissuaded by its appearance, but not me. Licorice is one of my favorite treats.”

  “And yourself?” she stammered. “What treat are you?”

  He felt the breathlessness of her words shake him. “I couldn’t possibly speak to my own appearance. What vanity you could accuse me of, then…”

  “Hmm.” She squinted and cocked her head to the right, studying him.

  He stood still under her perusal. She took her examination of him seriously, and he began to feel her gaze like a caress. It swept across his brow and against his neck. Alice Belle was more than just a dependable and reliable woman, more than a charming correspondent. She had as many shades within her as the wall of ribbons behind them and he knew with very little effort he’d find himself bound by them all.

  She reached out, as though she intended to touch his hair. He leaned into her hand, a bit surprised. He must have shocked her, too, because she pulled back.

  “Corn,” she said finally.

  “Corn?” he sputtered.

  “You were hoping for something more romantic? Lemon cake, perhaps? Yes, you seem to prefer sweets. Do you eat many? They are not very good for your health. You should really limit yourself to the occasional indulgence.”

  “I’m afraid I’m unable to indulge very often.”

  “You favor discipline?”

  “Economy.” He ran his hand behind his neck and glanced at his boots. He wasn’t very often ashamed of his financial state. He had more than many he had served with, and it seemed a great folly to be ungrateful for having enough but not extra.

  Alice cleared her throat uncomfortably, and their eyes met over a barrel of buttons. He cringed, awaiting her look of sympathy—or worst yet, judgment—although he would not believe her character capable of the latter.

  Instead, she smiled at him and shook the handful of ribbons. “Never mind all these colors. It does a girl good to have a look that is more consistent. A signature look, if you will. It speaks to strength of character. She will set trends! Sea blue does go best with butterscotch.”

  She handed him the length and returned the rest to their places.

  He wrapped the silk ribbon around his finger, then pulled the spool off. “Thank you for your assistance—”

  “Advice,” she quickly amended. “Expert advice. It’s the least I could provide my indentured servant.”

  He stayed by her side as she selected and paid for her aunt’s ribbons. Once she left the store, he reached for an identical ribbon to the one she had selected for Roberta so he had two pieces. He paid for both and sent one to his niece. The other, the one Alice had twirled through her fingers and given him, he’d place between the pages of a book that sat ready by his bedside.

  * * *

  A.,

  I have received word that my niece adores the ribbon and that its color is, I quote, perfection.

  Your grateful indentured servant,

  R.

  * * *

  R.,

  They do say one’s taste in ribbon is a reflection of one’s spirit. I shall let you decide.

  Sincerely,

  A.

  Chapter Three

  Inaugural Belle birthday crush

  July 2, 1817

  Woodbury, England

  Alice’s gaze met Robert’s over a small throng of lords and ladies engaged in tittering conversation in the Woodbury ballroom, where a fete was being held in honor of the Belle sisters’ birthdays. A look of recognition flashed across his features, and he strode toward her purposefully.

  She felt the urge to touch up her hair and check her teeth to make sure there were no remnants of the goat cheese nibble in which she had indulged. She forced herself to stand still, though, and took quick sips from her cup of punch as she waited breathlessly for him to reach her. The thudding of her heartbeat drowned out the pianoforte and the nearby conversation that she had just been thinking resembled the quacking of ducks by the pond.

  She’d thought of Mr. Robert Crawford often since they’d last seen each other, and in the most inappropriate times. Once it happened during a church service in which the minister mentioned their indentured servitude to God, and she’d smiled.

  Dinah had leaned over to tell her, “That grin is a sure sign you are not listening to this earth-shattering lecture on the folly of leaving the flock.”

  She’d been sure lightning was going to strike her at that moment. She wouldn’t be surprise if it struck her now. She had no business continuing their correspondence. But oh, just one more flirtation. She wanted one more opportunity to enjoy the way his hair curled under his ears. It was her birthday after all.

  “I believe happy returns of the day are in order,” Robert said as he approached her.

  “Five happy returns,” she said. “I share the same birthdate as my four sisters.”

  “Five birthdays on the same date,” he said. “How efficient of your parents.”

  “And economical,” she said. “Five birthdays. One cake.”

  “I believe we’ve established I am a proponent of economy.”

  Alice’s breath hitched. He must have been referring to her embarrassing faux pas of nearly rendering him penniless at the ribbon shop. He said it good-naturedly enough, but she wondered if she should apologize. She opened her mouth to do so, but something in his face stopped her.

  He was not a man who would be pitied, and in truth, she did not pity him. He was a man in good health with a nice family who loved him, and he had the means to support himself in a comfortable fashion. As far as she knew, those blessings were better than most. While she certainly did not oversee her father’s business, she had seen enough of his workers to understand that her position and that of her peers was lofty, indeed.

  She was saved from a considerably awkward silence by Sera, who Alice had not realized had been stealthily moving toward her until she felt Sera’s fingers tickling her beneath her arm. “Stop, stop,” she squealed as she fended off Sera’s hands.

  Sera giggled and clapped. “I had you.”

  “That you did.” She stared down at her sister. She still seemed so young. It seemed improbable to Alice that not only was Sera married but she was now considered a society matron and was often asked to act as patroness for the debut of new girls into Society.

  While Alice was the elder sister, Sera was the more mature by Society’s standards. It was hard to remember when she saw Sera tickling someone or stealing an extra slice of cake, but Sera had been the one to shoulder the burden of marriage, to placate their father, who had seemed at peace at her wedding for the first time since their mother’s death.

  Alice had tried to imagine what her mother would have said on the occasion, but had then reminded herself that if her mother had been present, there would have been no need for said occasion.

  “We’re ready to begin the game of Keep the Crown for the younger children,” Sera said. “Won’t you join us? You too, Mr. Crawford? Do you favor the game?”

  “You couldn’t keep me from it,” Robert managed with a straight face.

  Alice bit the inside of her cheek to refrain from laughing.

  He raised a brow at her.

  She shrugged. “I cannot, in good conscience, encourage bad puns.”

  “I cannot, in good conscience, let the opportunities pass me by.”

  “It seems we are at an impasse,” she said with a sigh.

  Sera’s brow furrowed in confusion as she looked back and forth between them. “Are you being funny? I don’t understand the joke.”

  They broke eye contact, and Alice kissed the top of Sera’s head. “We’re simply being silly.”

  “But you’ll join us?” Sera confirmed. “It’s more fun with someone as tall as you.”

>   Alice’s insides went cold at the reminder of her masculine height.

  “Ah, but what will happen when someone as tall as I am pit against you?” Robert said, looming up so as to tower over both of them.

  “It won’t matter,” Sera said confidently. “Dinah is the best tactician in the game and Alice is the best commander.”

  “Of that, I have no doubt,” he said, smiling at her warmly. “I would follow her into battle any day.”

  She felt a blush and almost looked away. But she was being shy again. There was no need to be shy around Mr. Robert Crawford. He was a pauper with no title, she kept reminding herself, and therefore, would never earn her father’s approval for marriage—assuming he was interested in marrying her, which he probably was not. A man of his good humor and good looks probably had numerous options from which to choose. Never mind the pang beneath her breastbone at the thought . . .

  Once he married, they would have to stop writing letters. Not that there was anything untoward about the letters. But they could not continue. She would have to find other diversions, other people to keep her interest.

  You must find your own home to manage. The echo of her father’s wishes rang in her mind.

  Alice refused to be melancholy on her own birthday. “Do you have something to serve as the blindfold?”

  Sera snapped her fingers. “My ribbons! I’ll be back.” She set off, the curls of her platinum hair swinging as she ran.

  Alice’s dimples dug into her cheeks at her sister’s carefree outburst. Perhaps some good would come of her father’s obsession with titled marriages. Yet, she could not help but feel that Sera had been inordinately lucky in her husband.

  Robert inclined his head. “I have a confession that I must make before we engage in battle, in case one of us does not survive the ordeal.”

  She blushed while she briefly imagined what it could be. The heat traveled farther down, settling beneath her chemisette. She wasn’t prone to fits like this. Bridget was the romantic sister. She tugged at the lace circling her neck. “Shall I summon a priest?”