Anne Herries - An Innocent Debutante in Hanover Square

‘I do not believe it would be a good thing for you to dance with Lord Coleridge too often,’ Mrs Henderson said, coming up to her.

‘He is a perfect gentleman, Helene, and well liked—but you must not set your heart on him. He mixes in circles that we shall scarcely enter, my dear.’

‘I am very certain he would not do for me, Mama,’ Helene replied primly, though a little voice at the back of her mind told her that she was not telling the whole truth.

She did like Lord Coleridge, more than she was prepared to admit, but of course it would not do at all. He was a member of the aristocracy—and she had vowed long ago that she would never give her heart to anyone who might break it as her mama’s had been broken.

Anne Herrieslives in Cambridgeshire, where she is fond of watching wildlife and spoils the birds and squirrels that are frequent visitors to her garden. Anne loves to write about the beauty of nature, and sometimes puts a little into her books—although they are mostly about love and romance. She writes for her own enjoyment, and to give pleasure to her readers. She is a winner of the Romantic Novelists’ Association Romance Prize.

Recent novels by the same author:

MARRYING CAPTAIN JACK

THE UNKNOWN HEIR

THE HOMELESS HEIRESS

THE RAKE’S REBELLIOUS LADY

A COUNTRY MISS IN HANOVER SQUARE *

* A Season in Town trilogy

And in the Regency series The Steepwood Scandal:

LORD RAVENSDEN’S MARRIAGE

COUNTERFEIT EARL

And in The Hellfire Mysteries:

AN IMPROPER COMPANION

A WEALTHY WIDOW

A WORTHY GENTLEMAN

MILLS & BOON ®

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Author Note

This is the second in my A Season in Town mini-series. Amelia Royston has invited Helene to stay with her for the season. Helene knows that she must marry well, and she is very attracted to Lord Coleridge, but she does not think he could possibly be interested in a girl like her. However, it seems that someone is bent on causing him harm, perhaps taking his life, and Helene is instrumental in preventing one such attack. Can she and Max discover who is behind these attempts, and can they find happiness together?

Amelia is feeling a little low, because it seems that Gerard has forgotten her and the love they once shared. She will have to settle for living alone and inviting her friends to stay, because she could not contemplate marrying anyone else.

Book Three is Amelia and Gerard’s tale. I hope you will enjoy these stories, and I thank all my readers for their continued support. Please keep writing to me at linda@ lindasole.co.uk

‘Oh, no, you don’t!’ Max Coleridge said as the urchin attempted to pluck a kerchief from the pocket of his companion. His hand shot out, grasping the dirty boy around his wrist with a grip of iron. ‘That is thieving, my lad, and it will land you in prison. You will end with your neck stretched at the nubbing cheat if you continue this way.’

‘Let me go, guv,’ the boy whined. ‘I ain’t done nuffin’ bad, honest I ain’t—but I ain’t had nuffin’ ter eat fer a week!’

‘Indeed?’ Max’s right eyebrow arched. ‘Should I believe you, I wonder? And what should I do with you supposing that I do?’

‘Let the ruffian go and be done with it,’ Sir Roger Cole advised. ‘I dare say he deserves to be handed over to the beadle, but it requires far too much effort.’

‘Your trouble, my friend, is that you are too lazy,’ Max replied with a smile that robbed his words of any offence. ‘No, I shall not let the boy go—he would simply rob someone else and eventually he will die in prison or at the rope’s end.’ His grasp tightened about the lad’s arm. ‘Tell me your name, lad. I shall take you home and tell your father to keep you off the streets.’

‘Me name’s Arthur,’ the boy muttered sullenly. ‘I ain’t got no home nor no farvver or muvver neivver. Ain’t got no one. Let me go like the gent said, sir. I won’t trouble you no more.’

‘No family at all?’ Arthur shook his head and Max sighed. ‘Unfortunately, if I let you go, you would trouble my conscience far more than you imagine. I shall take you with me. You are going to school, Arthur—whether you like it or not.’

‘School? Wot’s that?’ Arthur asked and wiped his running nose on his sleeve. He eyed the large man suspiciously. ‘You ain’t one o’ them queer nabs, are yer?’

‘I am certainly not,’ Max denied with a wry smile. ‘If you are hungry, you will like school—you will be fed three times a day, if you behave yourself.’

‘Food fer nuffin’?’Arthur stared at him suspiciously. ‘Wot’s the catch, guv?’ As to be a catch. No one does nuffin’ fer nuffin’…’

‘No, I dare say they do not where you come from,’ Max said. ‘In return, you will have to give up a life of crime—and grime—and learn a trade…’

‘I ain’t goin’ up no chimneys!’

‘Good grief, I should hope not,’ Max said. ‘You might like to be a carpenter or a groom, perhaps—or even a politician?’

‘You shouldn’t put ideas into the boy’s head, Coleridge,’ Sir Roger said. ‘A politician, indeed!’

‘He could not do much worse than those we have in power at the moment,’ Max replied wryly. ‘But I would advise an honest trade—perhaps a baker?’

‘I like cake,’ Arthur said, his eyes suddenly bright. ‘I pinched some orf a baker’s stall once on the market.’

‘There you are, then,’ Max said, hiding his smile. ‘The future looms brighter already, Arthur—a baker you shall be.’

‘You are mad, quite mad,’ Sir Roger said and grinned. ‘It is hardly surprising that you are not married, my dear fellow. I do not know whether any sensible woman would have you.’

‘I dare say she wouldn’t if she knew my habit of picking up boys from the streets,’ Max replied and smiled at his friend. ‘Excuse me, I have a rather dirty ruffian to scrub before I present him to someone who will teach him a few manners…’ He neatly avoided a kick from the struggling urchin. ‘I should give up if I were you, Arthur. I could always change my mind and hand you over to the constable, and then you might never eat cake again.’

Helene eyed the chimney-sweep wrathfully, one hand on the shoulder of the small boy at her side. Her eyes just now were the colour of wet slate, her normally generous mouth pulled tight in an expression of disgust.

‘You will go and you will leave Ned with me,’ she said, her voice strong and fearless despite the knots tying themselves in her stomach as she faced the great brute of a man she had caught beating his climbing boy. ‘You are lucky that I do not call the magistrate and have you arrested for cruelty. This child is too ill to do his work.’

‘Lazy ingrate that’s what he be,’ the sweep muttered. His hands were ingrained with soot, his face streaked with it. He had a fearful scar on one cheek and he squinted with his left eye. He was scowling so fiercely that Helene’s courage might have deserted her had she not seen the scars on a previous climbing-boy’s back. Jeb had died of his injuries. She was determined that it would not happen to Ned. ‘I bought the brat from the workhouse. He belongs to me—and that’s the law. You can’t take him from me, miss.’