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  KISS ME AFTER

  Kiss a Belle

  Book 1

  by

  Cecilia Gray

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  Meet Alice Belle—the Bossy Belle—used to getting her way. If anyone has to fall on the matrimonial sword it will be she and not her sisters. She has set her sights on the richest, most titled gentlemen in her acquaintance. The perfect man to make her father happy, leaving her beloved sisters free to marry whom they choose.

  Meet Robert Crawford—ringleader—used to masterminding his way. If anyone is going to marry Alice Belle, it is he. Never mind that he’s poor, without a title, and completely unsuitable for Alice in the eyes of her father. He loves her. Which makes him the perfect man to make her happy, whether she realizes it or not.

  * * *

  This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons living or dead, or places, events, or locales, is purely coincidental. The characters are products of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.

  Copyright © 2016 by Cecilia Gray

  Cover Design and Copyright by Okay Creations

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without express written consent from the author/publisher.

  Published by Gray Life, LLC

  READ. LEARN. LIVE. REPEAT.

  * * *

  Praise for Cecilia Gray’s Novels

  “Absorbing... refreshing... commendable.” —Kirkus Reviews

  “A compelling mix of action, drama and love.” —Kirkus Reviews (starred review)

  “Four Stars!” —San Francisco Book Review

  “Gray’s characters are so full of life, hope and dreams, it’s a pleasure to read about them.” —Schenni’s Book Nook

  “This series is definitely worth reading.” —A Whisper of Thoughts Reviews

  “Cecilia has a talent for instilling warmth and weight into her characters.”—Romancing the Book

  “Will have you captivated from beginning to end.” —Can’t Put It Down Reviews

  The Couldn’t-Have-Done-It-Without-You Page

  Veronica and her magic cabin

  A Disclaimer of Some Urgency

  Before you read this story, we must confess: one party has stolen a kiss from another. One should not presume the stealing of said kiss implies either party did not consent. However, said parties were not wed, engaged, or entertaining any particular arrangements that would necessitate or justify a kiss.

  Ergo, the kiss was stolen.

  We will endeavor to explain the circumstances surrounding and leading to this stolen kiss, as well as the subsequent effects. We have no intention of justifying this shocking behavior. We do hope, however, that there will be a measure of understanding as a result.

  After all, the parties have quite redeemed themselves.

  For the most part.

  Contents

  A Tale of Five Belles: A Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Epilogue

  Cecilia’s Booklist

  About Cecilia

  A Tale of Five Belles: A Prologue

  London 1801

  Bets were cast in every gaming hell in London upon the announcement that industrialist Dominic Belle and his wife Mary were again breeding.

  Four of these bets were easily won and, thus, paid very little.

  The first bet was on the sex of the child. After the joyful births of four daughters, only a fool threw away coin on the low odds of a male heir.

  The second bet was on the baby’s eye color. Each Belle had inherited her father’s gray eyes, the exact shade of a stormy London sky.

  The third bet was on the date of birth. Through divine coincidence, each Belle had been born on July 2, year after year, for the past four years. No odds were paid on a repeat.

  The fourth bet was on the child’s name. Dominic and his wife had named each child after not-too-distant relatives on either side of the family tree with a subsequent letter of the alphabet. This was not surprising. Dominic’s parcel-shipment service, with a reach rumored to put the British and Ottoman Empires to shame, owed its success to a patented alphabetized sorting system. Having already born an Alice, Bridget, Charlotte, and Dinah, Mary Belle’s next child was destined to be an Eleanor, or Emily, or Ellen, or Eugenia.

  With four wagers easily won, true winnings would be awarded to whoever guessed the outcome of the final bet: the Belle’s hair color.

  Alice’s ebony tresses were a sharp contrast to her pale skin. Her dark head was often seen in the middle of a circle of servants, whom she commanded with ease despite her young age.

  Bridget’s soft brunette curls were always set with a flower or ribbon, and she could often be found tucked into a corner amid a pile of books pilfered from the libraries of many a private London residence where her family had been invited. Not that Bridget could entirely read . . . yet. But she’d memorized every book after forcing the girls’ governess to read it to her over and over. It was never too early to be read to in Bridget’s good opinion.

  Charlotte’s shock of red hair had been a huge surprise—the man who had won that wager would enjoy his largesse for decades to come—while Dinah, finally, yielded her mother’s silky blond locks.

  Speculation ran rampant about the impending child, who would become one of the infamous Bayswater Belles. The Bayswater Belles were so nicknamed for two reasons, the first being their residence within the London borough of Bayswater. The second was a play on their last name to the children’s predicted inevitable ascent to diamonds of the first water—with the exception of the unfortunately chubby Charlotte, but why let that ruin a good moniker?

  As July 2 dawned, betting books were in a state of frenzy. The Belle household was in a state of joy and expectation as they not only prepared for a new addition to the family but celebrated the birthdays of the existing four girls turning four, three, two, and a year old, respectively.

  Family and staff ran amok through the halls. Amid clearing the half-eaten mutton, picking up the pieces of shattered china that peppered the Persian rug (an unfortunate side effect of Mary Belle announcing the sudden onset of labor), dashing about to boil water, and chasing after the doctor, the kitchen maids, ladies’ maids, and driver hoped their own bets would pay off. They had placed money on the child’s hair being blessed with multiple streaks of color, or coming out bald, or resetting the cycle of hair colors with Alice’s sleek ebony.

  When the doctor finally arrived, four-year-old Alice promptly directed him to her mother’s bedchamber. Dinah, who had been sleeping peacefully on the cushion of the window seat, was roused and tossed from the room, along with her sisters and father, as the birthing screams began.

  Though they had been instructed by the doctor to wait in the parlor, Dominic had chosen to stay in the hall just outside the door to his wife’s room. His children were in a circle at his feet as he blew out calming breaths, shifting his weight from one leg to the other.

  The eldest Belle fretted to soothe her sisters’ agitation. Charlotte had taken to tugging and pulling at her skirt, which had grown tight around her waist, so Alice let out the zipper. Bridget sat with her elbows on her knees and mewled repeatedly for a story. She only hushed at Alice’s instruction. Dinah cried in fits, as if she could exhaust her infant body back to sleep. A well-timed placem
ent of Alice’s hand on her brow calmed her cries. Unfortunately, that left no one to calm Alice. “Is Mama all right?” Alice asked. “She sounds upset.”

  “Your mother sounded upset the last few times, too. It’s nothing to worry about.” Dominic pulled off his spectacles, wiped them clean, and set them back on his nose.

  “Even with me?”

  “Even with you, Pumpkin.”

  “Shouldn’t Charlotte be the pumpkin?” Alice asked, offended. “On account of her hair color and round shape?”

  Dominic Belle swallowed a laugh and stared at his children. He would never have believed it. Four daughters—soon to be five—each smart, bright, and lovely and in her own state of impatience, or indifference in Dinah’s case, to meet their sibling. He could only imagine how precocious and perfect the next child would be. He wiped and rewiped his spectacles, dealing as best he could with his curious and anxious daughters as they speculated and waited.

  As the hours passed, Dominic had slid down the wall and was now snoring softly, his head nodding and his girls slumped against him. They were all sound asleep by the time the clock struck the quarter hour just before midnight. The sharp shrieks of a newborn baby woke them all.

  They five of them hurried to Mary’s bedchamber, and upon entering, Alice marched right up to the bed, hefting Dinah up in her arms to she could better see their new sister over the edge of the mattress, while Bridget and Charlotte hid behind their father’s legs,

  Propped up in bed, Mary Belle held a pale, naked, and rather wet baby with the same wide gray eyes as her sisters and ethereal white hair. Not the brittle white of the elderly but the soft, shining white of an angel’s wings. No one would be the victor tonight—at least not in regards to the wagers—but still, there was a child! A lovely girl, as expected.

  “What is her name?” the doctor asked in a failed attempt at nonchalance. He had laid a boastful hundred pounds on his favored selection the week before. He looked to Dominic, who tried to speak but coughed instead, as a joyful tear slid down his cheek.

  “Seraphina,” Mary Belle announced, looking back down at her baby.

  All of London must have sighed at the inevitable loss of funds.

  Dominic sat next to his wife on the bed, urging Alice to scoot aside. “A fitting name. She looks like a cherub.”

  “That she does. Our own little seraph.” Mary gazed lovingly at the child, who had not cried since her initial scream at her first appearance on this earth. Instead, she peered curiously up at her mother. “We are making paupers of all the gambling dens in London, you know.”

  The physician sighed in disgruntled agreement at the prospect of his lost money, yet even he was stirred by the cozy picture the Belle family presented as they gathered in a circle around their new addition. They made their own warmth, abetting the crackling flames from the fireplace. The physician slipped out unseen to help himself to a celebratory libation from the kitchen. It was as much tradition to a Belle birth as the family’s private celebration after the delivery.

  “Five daughters,” Dominic said with a shake of his head. He was a man who knew how to count, and had done so with his daughters before, and yet it was as if he was realizing the sum of them for the first time. “Five! What a responsibility.”

  “Until they are their husbands’ responsibilities,” Mary agreed.

  Dominic wiped the sweat from his wife’s brow with a chortle.

  “That is our only task now,” Mary said. “To see them happy and married. And not just married to any old fool as I was.” She cast him a teasing smile.

  Dominic nodded in assent. “A fool I am, but lucky in love and fortune.”

  “Look at them,” Mary said with a contented sigh as she gazed at her girls. “Nothing but the best for them. Promise me. The prince himself would be suitable.”

  “Not that ninny,” Dominic said.

  Mary laughed. “A duke, at least. Promise me, Husband, that you’ll make duchesses of our daughters.”

  “I swear it.” He mockingly stood and bowed. “Duchesses for daughters.”

  Even now Bridget had wandered into the corner to study the dusty spines of a pile of books. Charlotte and Dinah were engaged in a tug of war over Charlotte’s red hair. Sera could only stare at their mother as her features scrunched and her eyes squinted.

  Alice, however, absorbed every word from her parents. She knew it would be up to her to fulfill her parents’ wishes and marry a duke. It was always up to her.

  Over the next few minutes, calm was restored to the Belle home. A nursemaid swaddled Sera Belle as she was introduced to her sisters with varying reactions—from Alice’s hug and Bridget’s awe to Charlotte’s kiss and Dinah’s wrinkled nose.

  A low growl from her stomach summoned Alice’s mind back to food. She remembered that in the chaos, their birthday cake had gone untouched, so she returned to the dining room. It still stood in the center of the table, its frosting weeping from the heat and length of the day. Despite their cook’s best efforts to the contrary, Alice was no stranger to the kitchen. She procured a small knife from the prep table where their cook sliced and diced vegetables. Using the seat of the dining table as a step stool, she managed to reach the cake and cut two lopsided slices, one of which she brought to her mother’s bedside.

  “Thank you, my dear.” Her mother tousled her hair. “I can always count on you to take care of everything.”

  Blushing with pleasure at the compliment, Alice clutched her plate to her chest and ate the other slice while following the nursemaid to ensure she put Seraphina to bed.

  Business went on as usual, which was why no one noticed—since there had been no pain or hemorrhaging or a word of complaint—that at twenty-two past midnight, Mary Belle had died, the cake untouched on its plate by her hip.

  The next few weeks were a blur for the Bayswater Belles, but not for Dominic. He had planned his wife’s funeral with the pomp and circumstance afforded royalty, and he had sat through the affair with a grim face, his daughters at his side. He was holding on to but one purpose: to give Mary Belle her dying wish.

  Chapter One

  Sera Belle’s wedding day

  February 14, 1817

  Woodbury, England

  “Miss Belle, the flower wagon overturned on the way to the parish—”

  “Your attention is needed in the kitchen, Miss Belle. We had an accident with—”

  “Will you advise us on the placement of—”

  Alice Belle hurried past the butler, the kitchen maid, and the footman. As she passed each one, she issued an apology and an assurance that she would return to answer their questions. It was her youngest sister’s wedding day, and it was her duty to ensure everything went smoothly.

  “Alice! Aliiiiice!”

  The staff winced with understanding as her father’s bellows echoed through the house. Dominic Belle had not become known as “the fastest man in the world”—a compliment referring to his shipment empire—by being patient.

  Alice made her way to the west wing of Woodbury Hall. She wasn’t familiar with this section of the estate. Her family had visited Woodbury on a half dozen occasions since Sera’s engagement to the Duke of Rivington’s son, but His Grace had always placed them in the east wing, which was reserved for guests. Now that the wedding day was here, however, her family had been moved into the west wing, reserved for family, where the rest of the Abernathys resided.

  “Aliiiiice! By God!”

  She followed her father’s voice. He bellowed from an unfamiliar hall, one floor down from her own. It was lined with gold-framed paintings of lush, illuminated bowls of ripe fruit set before opulent tapestries, and his voice echoed through the corridor so he seemed in front of her and behind her simultaneously. She spun around. A passing lady’s maid, upon seeing Alice’s furrowed brow, helpfully pointed out her father’s room.

  “Alice, blast it, where are you?” he called.

  She burst through the door and wiped at the fine, but still very unlady
like, sheen of sweat developing at her brow. “I’m here, Father.”

  Dominic Belle stood in front of his dresser and grunted. “Finally.” He pointed to his neck, specifically at the complicated knot pressing against his throat. “My damned valet is trying to suffocate me.”

  Alice searched the room. Her gaze passed over a stately bed and adjoining water closet and wardrobe, but no valet. She assumed the man had escaped, wisely, with his life and pride intact. She approached her father, reaching up to fix the bundled white linen.

  “Stop fidgeting. And no more yelling,” she told him. “In a house this old, it carries.”

  “I know it carries. Why else do you think I was yelling?”

  She tugged at the knot, knowing it would tighten around his neck just a tad. “Then watch your language. No taking the Lord’s name in vain on Sera’s wedding day.”

  He grimaced behind his round, rimless glasses. “It’s tight as a horse’s—”

  Alice slapped her father’s shaking hands away as he tried to help. “I’m loosening it.”

  “I should sack the man.”

  “Your new valet probably did exactly as you asked.” She pulled at the knot, not bothering to mention that his past valet and the one before that had also likely done exactly as her father had requested. The valet was never the problem; it was her father, his exacting standards, and his very idea of perfection to which no one could measure up. Least of all herself.

  “There, can you breathe now?”

  With a grateful grunt, Dominic turned and studied his reflection in the glass. He smoothed his hands over his bald head and pushed his eyeglasses up the bridge of his nose. “A man must present respectably for his daughter’s wedding, especially when it is the first wedding.”

  Alice met his stare in the looking glass. His gray eyes mirrored her own. They were those of all her sisters, too. Given how differently she and her sisters presented in hair color and size, it was comforting to be bonded by such a feature. It also meant one always knew how another was feeling, as they could read one another’s emotions as easily as their own simply by looking one another in the eyes.