His Forbidden Debutante
Read His Forbidden Debutante Online
Authors: Anabelle Bryant
The dance she never dared to dream of…
One year after a carriage accident killed her parents and left her seriously injured, Lavinia Montgomery has finally learnt to walk again – just in time to make her societal debut. Yet while the beautiful debutante’s body may have healed, she hides a broken heart.
Before her injury, Lavinia had exchanged letters with a man she knew to be the love of her life – despite never having set eyes on him. But when she feared she’d be crippled for life, she made the heart-rending decision to let him go…
Randolph James Caulfield, Earl of Penwick, is betrothed, but cannot forget the words he once received from a woman whose name he knew, but who he never had the chance to meet. So when, at a ball, his dance partner is introduced, he can’t believe his luck. One thing is certain: if this really
is
his debutante, he won’t lose her a second time…
Three Regency Rogues
To Love a Wicked Scoundrel
Duke of Darkness
The Midnight Rake
Regency Charms
Defying the Earl
Undone By His Kiss
Society’s Most Scandalous Viscount
His Forbidden Debutante
Anabelle Bryant
A
NABELLE
B
RYANT
began reading at age three and never stopped. Her passion for reading soon turned into a passion for writing and an author was born. Happy to grab her suitcase if it ensures a new adventure, Anabelle finds endless inspiration in travel; especially imaginary jaunts into romantic Regency England, a far cry from her home in New Jersey. Instead, her clever characters live out her daydreams because really, who wouldn’t want to dance with a handsome duke or kiss a wicked earl?
Though teaching keeps her grounded, photography, running, and writing counterbalance her wanderlust. Often found with her nose in a book, Anabelle has earned her Master’s Degree and is pursuing her Doctorate Degree in education. She proudly owns her addiction to French fries and stationery supplies, as well as her frightening ineptitude with technology. A firm believer in romance, Anabelle knows sometimes life doesn’t provide a happily ever after, but her novels always do. She enjoys talking with her fans. Visit her website at
AnabelleBryant.com
.
The final book in a series carries with it expectation and emotion. Readers want a satisfying completion to the journey and as much as I’ve enjoyed writing the Regency Charms series, I’m emotional to see it end and pleased I’ve accomplished all this story needs to be. I’m a little in love with the hero. I hope you find him equally as romantic.
Thank you readers – for spending time with my characters, for emailing, messaging and letting me know how much you like this series and most of all, for loving books and historical romance!
Thank you to my fabulous editors, Clio and Nicky. Your insight is brilliant.
Happy Reading!
It is said that the right pair of shoes can help you conquer the world…
This book is dedicated to anyone who battles fear -- Fear of the unknown, fear of letting go of the past, fear of love and most of all, fear of finding their happily ever after. The first step is the hardest but from there it’s just a matter of walking on.
Contents
‘Over ‘ere.’ Hawkins’ impatient words broke across the night air, a well-timed command to mingle with the felonious commerce abounding in the King Street rookery. Southampton was a far cry from London but distance did little to dampen the prosperity of prostitutes, street sellers and thieves. Hawkins, no exception, an adept smuggler in particular, waited for an answer.
‘Aye.’ Gulliver’s blunt reply joined the darkness beneath a dilapidated awning, the wood rotted away to leave a skeletal frame of exposed gutter and drain, a discernible landmark in the moonlight even for a low-cunning simpleton like Gulliver Booth, a petty criminal with unremarkable intelligence.
‘‘Ave you got the ready?’ Hawkins retreated until his shoulders brushed the dirt-besmeared bricks of the squalid lodging house in guarantee his identity remained cloaked. Gulliver knew him from past business, but while uppers would dare not make eye contact with the seedy sort found in the rookery, the inhabitants who lined the decaying foundations and blind alleys possessed the innate ability to observe all with a flick of the eyes. Information was sold for coin, no loyalty existed. Aware he could meld no further, Hawkins watched Gulliver pull a face as if his question had insulted the thief’s reputation.
‘O’course, Gov, ‘ere it is.’ A shadow of an arm thrust a pale paper forward, the moonlight a poor lamp to judge whether or not the content proved authentic: detailed instructions to their next smuggling operation. As with most thieves, time was the enemy, and Hawkins had no choice but to trust his associate. The notion soured his stomach like loathsome rot; still he pushed the paper into his pocket and whistled his dismissal, the sharp sound common among the noisy colony of illicit dwellers.
Then the two men parted, the plan begun.
Lavinia Montgomery paused in front of the rectangular pier glass, keen focus at her feet where her maid tied the delicate ankle ribbons of the slippers in question before moving aside to provide a clear reflection. Lavinia angled her right foot with a sigh of sublime satisfaction. ‘Thank you, Dinah.’ Smiling at her maid, she glanced over her shoulder to confer with Esme, her friend and fellow conspirator in fashion, at least within the walls of Lott’s Majestic Shoe Shop. The ladies frequented the establishment often and were tended with the most preferential service, which elevated the experience from delightful to grand, and ensured they would visit again soon.
‘I adore them. They’re perfect.’ Lavinia – Livie to her friends – slanted the heel and examined the orchid silk where swirls of pristine embroidery patterned a miniature fleur-de-lis in black satin thread. ‘I’ve never seen such clever design. I must have them.’
‘You claimed the very same last Tuesday when you tried the brown cordwain half-boots and then again on Thursday when you purchased the ivory silk slippers with satin rosettes,’ Esme reminded her with melodic amusement.
‘I did, I know. At that time, I’d never seen such fine detail, but these…’ – she wiggled her toe in a flurry to emphasise her declaration – ‘…are too exquisite to ignore.’
With a nod, Dinah scrambled to gather the box, deftly intercepted by Mr Horne, the shoemaker and shopkeeper, who beamed with a perceptive glint in his eyes in anticipation of the expensive purchase.
Esme sidled closer, her whispered comment for Livie’s ear only. ‘You own nearly seventy pair.’
The note of alarm in her friend’s voice provoked Livie’s quick smile. ‘Bite your tongue – that’s a barefaced exaggeration. Last time I counted I had fifty-two and no more.’
‘When was the last time you counted? I’d wager it’s been some time. Boxing Day, perhaps?’
‘Don’t trifle with details, Esme. No one enjoys the company of a know-it-all.’ With a dismissive swish of skirts, Livie bent to untie the ribbons and return the coveted shoes to the box. She had every intention of bringing them home, her friend’s disapproval dismissed as easily as she righted her spectacles. ‘Besides, if I knew the exact number of pairs, it would be proof I didn’t have nearly enough.’
‘Your sister will not be pleased. Wilhelmina will insist the last thing you need is another set of slippers. She already complains you have too many, which you do.’ Esme’s provocative objection rose with emphatic declaration.
‘You’re supposed to be my ally. Have I ever commented on your obsession with earbobs? Even once?’ She pinned her friend with an accusatory stare and tapped a fingertip against the elegant gold swirl dangling from Esme’s left lobe before gathering her reticule from a nearby chair. ‘My sister has no eye for fashion, wrapped tightly in a blanket of practicality. How easily she forgets she’s married to an earl and can afford the most opulent wardrobe.’
‘Especially when you remind her so often. I suppose she reflects on your past more than the present.’ The conversation took a decided turn.
‘Oh, I do as well. Be assured.’ Livie glanced at her feet as her teeth hemmed across her lower lip in contemplation of a dozen serious thoughts in the expanse of one exhale. ‘How could I not?’ The question needed no answer, the emotion in her voice adequate explanation. ‘I spent over a year staring at my feet, willing them to support my legs and cooperate so I might walk again, relearn to dance and ride, and experience life without pain. I’ve made every promise and said every prayer, if only to secure my future and stand strong as a debutante. I’ll forever reward my feet with new shoes. It’s the least I can do to repay the debt.’ She paused and managed half a smile. ‘I shall celebrate my accomplishment with silks and satins, ribbons and gemstones. So much time has already been wasted.’
‘I agree. You’ve worked inordinately hard to land on your feet. Shoes and boots are a fitting resolution.’ Disarmed, Esme strove to restore the convivial mood. ‘Don’t forget your sister is planning for you the grandest come-out London has ever seen. Imagine the slippers you’ll wear that evening.’
‘You make a fine point. Wilhelmina is a wonderful sister.’ There was no denying how much their lives had improved since her sister’s marriage and, deep in her heart, Livie knew Wilhelmina’s concerns were rooted in love. She held her brother-in-law in high esteem as well, but at times, when she sought to assert herself and begin life again, she experienced a fair amount of conflict between loyalty to family and loyalty to self. She moved towards the shopkeeper’s counter, her petite maid hovering in the background at the ready to accept the package. ‘Besides, I won’t purchase another pair after these. At least not for a good long time.’
Esme’s unconvinced giggle chased the words. ‘Now we need to devote our attention to a more important problem – smuggling the shoes into Kirby Park and up into your bedchamber.’
Livie canted her head towards Dinah, a quiet shadow to their conversation. ‘I have that matter under control, although storage has become an issue of late.’
‘Again?’ Esme dared another giggle. ‘With every trunk and closet in your bedchamber filled to near overflowing, you must have advanced your collection to the bathtub, or perhaps you’ve removed a few floorboards and stacked boxes beneath the planks in the sitting room. Do tell. Wherever have you hidden your secret obsession?’
Livie rolled her eyes in dramatic response. ‘Of course it’s not as bad as all that, but the shelves in my dressing room are brimming over and I’ve packed tight the space below my mattress. It has been a challenge.’ Her face expressed pure muddlement. ‘I suppose I could stack a few boxes under the architrave soffit near the window seat.’
‘Truly?’ Esme hardly completed the word before a jingle of the bell at the door drew their attention across the otherwise empty shop. ‘It would appear you are managing, then…’ The end of her sentence trailed off.
