Page 3 of To Steal a Kiss

“Look at you,” Matilda said, frowning and shaking her head. “Why has no gentleman snatched you up? You’re perfectly lovely.”

Alice glanced up at Matilda to see sincerity in her eyes.

“You’re like a lovely porcelain doll, fragile and perfect.”

Alice grimaced. Her father had often described her thus, thinking it a grand compliment, as Matilda obviously did. Alice didn’t want to be fragile and breakable, though. The idea that she needed protecting and shielding from the harsh realities of life was something she came across from every quarter. If a gentleman ever approached her, it was this that drew them. She was petite and slender, waiflike, a description she’d heard all too often. Yet her inability to speak to people she didn’t know, let alone men, and her annoyance at being treated like a child, soon had them giving up and moving on to more convivial company.

No one realised there was a fire burning in her heart, fuelled by frustration and the desire for more, even when her wretched nerves would not allow her to speak her mind. She’d inherited her red hair from her grandmother, a woman of grand passions and determination. Why hadn’t Alice inherited more than just her fiery locks? Why couldn’t she have had inherited the spark that had driven the woman on and made her rather a scandalous creature, known for her sparkling wit and a string of much younger lovers? Alice wished she’d known her, but she’d died when Alice was a baby.

She snorted at the idea that such a description could ever be levelled at her. No doubt she’d end up like her great aunt, Agatha. A faded little creature who spoke in a whisper, smelled strongly of peppermint, and was forever searching for her handkerchief.

Please, God, no.

Alice’s mother always refused to speak about her outrageous parent, her lips thinning and a look of deep displeasure in her eyes when the subject arose. Mrs Dowding was a stickler for propriety and had instilled her daughter with an unhealthy terror of doing anything she ought not. Yet her grandmother’s portrait hung in one of the lesser used guest rooms, gathering dust, and Alice often went to look at it… perhaps in the hope the woman would lend her courage.

“Come home with me,” Matilda said, giving Alice a conspiratorial grin. “We’ll discuss what you’re to wear for the ball. I have an idea how you should wear your hair. Those tiny little curls make you look about twelve. I’ll have my maid try it and you can see what you think.”

With a soft laugh, Alice agreed. It would make little difference. No amount of primping ever gave her the nerve to speak up and make herself heard, but there was little point in trying to thwart Matilda once her mind was made up. She was a force of nature. So, with a nod of agreement, she allowed her friend to redirect the carriage and they headed off to Matilda’s home.

Chapter 2

My dear Lucia,

Do you think Alice has the nerve to go through with it? I do hope so. If ever a girl needed an admirer to boost her confidence….

My wretched brother had better do the job.

―Excerpt of a letter from Miss Matilda Hunt to Senorita Lucia de Feria.

The evening of the 13th June 1814. Half Moon Street, Mayfair, London.

Once Alice had departed, Matilda stared into the empty hearth and rather wished there was a fire burning there. It was so much easier to think when there was a merry fire to focus one’s attention on. Midsummer was not the time to be heating the already stuffy room, however. Her brother’s home was an elegant space, the entire house decorated with taste and in the height of fashion, no expense spared. Matilda had seen to that.

The walls of the room were a delicate robin’s egg blue, and heavy silken grey-blue curtains fell in lavish drapes at the large windows that looked out onto an elegant and fashionable street. A richly patterned rug in golden tones covered the polished wood floor, the warm colours bringing a softer feel to the cool blues and accentuating the many gilt frames of the artworks that festooned the walls. All the most modern furniture designs by the most sought-after makers were arranged about the stylish room.

Above the fireplace was an impressive gilded bronze and black marble French clock with a large putto holding a bird. The clock struck both the hour and the half hour, and Matilda had come to resent it more every day. She felt the sweet-faced putto was measuring out her life chime by chime. Perhaps she would replace it. Nate wouldn’t care, despite the fact the thing had cost an unholy fortune.

Her brother was always on at her to spend his money, encouraging her to buy new dresses, jewellery, whatever she desired. They both knew why that was, but Matilda let it go without comment. She didn’t take advantage of his generosity, but neither did she feel any compunction about spending when she wanted to. He owed her that much.

He owed her a great deal.

She moved to the window, turning the latches and pushing the sash to let a welcome breeze flutter into the room. Movement farther along the road caught her eye, and she noticed the glossy carriage belonging to her brother coming along the street.

Thank goodness.

As the owner of one of the city’s most exclusive and notorious gaming clubs, Nathaniel Hunt kept rather unsociable hours. Usually he was away all night and slept most of the day. He had said he’d be home early this evening, but what Nate said and what Nate did were not always compatible.

She had plans for her brother, however, and she would ensure he played along. No matter what he said. If a bit of blackmail was required to achieve her ends… so be it.

Poor, sweet Alice. Such a little mouse of a girl. If she wasn’t very careful, she’d find herself married to the odious Mr Bindley. Alice had pointed the man out to Matilda a few weeks back and Matilda’s heart had clenched. She had a sixth sense about men, and her instincts told her Bindley was a snivelling little rat, the kind to bully those over whom he had power.

Little Alice wouldn’t stand a chance.

Well, her own future might be in ruins, but Matilda was damned if she’d let Alice make a bad marriage. The girl just needed confidence, that was all. The kind of confidence she might gain from hearing a handsome man tell her she was lovely, desirable, that he was inflamed by her. A man like Matilda’s brother, for example. For Alice was lovely, and she did not understand the power that could give her, if she could only believe in herself.

Matilda had no illusions. Nate would refuse. He’d rage about the idea, and become utterly furious, and then Matilda would remind him of what he owed, and he would capitulate. His guilt weighed heavy, and it was for this reason she never used it against him.

To do so now was underhanded, she knew, but she had never played the card before, nor would she do so now if it wasn’t something she felt so strongly about. Why, she didn’t know. Only that Alice’s happiness had become important to her. All her friends’ happiness. The Peculiar Ladies had become a refuge, a focus in her life which seemed already so full of regrets. Matilda would not see her friends regret as she did. They deserved better. They’d get better, if she had anything to do with it. She would guide and nurture and advise them the best she could. She would see them all married and happy, and then perhaps her life would feel less empty.