Regency Society

Afterword

‘So, Selwyn Luke John Arnold Hartingdon, future Lord Clarendon and one day heir to this old pile,’ the earl said, looking down at the child in the cot beside Roxanne’s bed. ‘How does it feel to be the first-born of a clever girl like your mama? I dare say you are pleased with yourself and will lead us all a merry dance one day.’

‘Grandfather,’ Roxanne scolded with a smile of affection. ‘He is but a day old and interested only in feeding and sleeping.’

‘He is my great-grandson and will take after his father and his great-grandfather,’ the earl replied with satisfaction. ‘He is going to be a fine big chap and will make us all proud of him. I dare say he might be the Prime Minister or a famous general if he chose.’

‘I think he may have some of Roxanne’s qualities,’ Luke said and raised his brows at her. ‘I certainly hope he has more sense than either of us ever had.’

‘Well, yes, of course—but he’s got my nose and his mouth is just like yours, Luke.’ The earl chuckled. ‘And I am an old fool clucking over him as if I’d never seen a babe before. Roxanne, I am proud of you, girl. I wanted to tell you that I love you and make sure you were well—but there never was such a beautiful child.’

‘Thank you, dearest Grandfather. I love you, too.’

‘Well, I’ll leave you together for a while—but you should let Roxanne rest, Luke. She needs to get her strength back.’

‘I shall do so in a moment, sir.’

Luke grinned as the door closed behind him. ‘I’ve never seen him look so happy and proud. Anyone would think the boy was his son.’

‘He loves us all,’ Roxanne said. ‘Are you proud of me, Luke? Are you pleased with your son?’

‘You know I am,’ he said and perched on the edge of her bed, reaching for her hand. ‘I am the happiest man alive—except perhaps for Grandfather. He looks younger and I begin to think he is an old fraud. He will live for years.’

‘His health is not good,’ Roxanne said and held his hand tighter, ‘but he is content and will have some time with us yet.’

‘Yes, I know.’ Luke bent his head and kissed her. ‘Now I must do as Grandfather bid me and leave you to rest. Beth will be here later and I know she will be eager to see you. Rest now and you will feel better when she arrives.’

‘I am perfectly well, you know,’ Roxanne said. ‘I shall rest, but only for a little time. Come and see me soon, my love.’

‘Of course. I have no intention of going anywhere else,’ he said, blew her a kiss and went out.

Roxanne lay back against her pillows, a smile on her lips as she closed her eyes and slept.

The Homeless Heiress

Anne Herries

Chapter One

Captain Richard Hernshaw paused, glanced back into the menacing darkness of the narrow alley behind him and frowned. He was being followed. The instinct he had acquired over several years working for the British government as a secret agent was on full alert. He knew that he had taken a risk by agreeing to meet his contact here in the rookery of these terrible slum streets, but the man would not dare to show his face elsewhere, for he was a rogue and perhaps worse. The meeting had gone well and Richard had what he’d come for, but, since leaving his contact, he had picked up a shadow. The question was—who was following him and why?

He needed to know the answer to that question, because of the papers he was carrying, which were important and could hold the answer to a mystery that he and other colleagues had been investigating in recent times. It was feared that an attempt on the lives of several prominent men in the government, even that of the Regent himself, was being prepared, and Richard believed that the names of the ringleaders were in the documents he carried inside his coat pocket. If the person following him knew that he had them, he might be in danger—of losing both the papers and his life.

Better to attack than be attacked! Richard turned the corner, and pressed his back against the wall, waiting for whoever it was to catch up with him. His suspicions were proved correct, for an instant later a small, dark shadow came hurtling round the corner. He stepped out, and grabbed the rascal’s arm, gripping it tightly.

‘Let me go!’ a voice cried in a tone halfway between anger and fear. ‘Watcha think yer doin’?’

‘That is exactly what I was about to ask you,’ Richard said, his gaze narrowing as he looked down at the rather grubby face of a street urchin. He smiled as he saw the indignant look in the youth’s eyes. ‘You have been following me for a while now, lad. I don’t like being followed unless I know why.’

The youth rubbed his hand under his nose and sniffed hard. ‘Weren’t doin’no ’arm, sir,’ he said defiantly. ‘Let me go or I’ll kick yer!’

‘You would be sorry if you did,’ Richard replied. He hesitated, his hold slackening a little as he considered. A lad like this might be after his purse, but he was far from the sinister enemy he had imagined. A smile was beginning to tug at the corners of his mouth when the youth lunged at him, kicked him in the shins and wrenched free, setting off at a run back the way he had come. ‘Damn you!’

Richard realised instantly that he had been robbed. The boy’s hand had gone inside his jacket, removing the package he was carrying seconds before the toe of his boot connected with Richard’s leg and caused him to loosen his hold enough for the lad to break free. He felt a surge of annoyance—how could he have fallen for a trick like that?

Richard yelled and set off after the boy at once. He was angry that he had been so careless, but there had been something almost angelic in the boy’s face and he had been lulled into a sense of false security. Damned fool! It was the oldest trick in the book, using a boy to take your enemy off guard. He could see the lad ahead of him, running for all he was worth. He moved fast, but Richard was a match for him, his longer legs and superior strength making it inevitable that he would catch the boy. And then fortune stepped in. In his haste, the lad had not seen the rubbish on the pavement. As his foot touched the rotting filth left there by some careless trader, his heel slid and his legs suddenly went from under him, sending him tumbling into the gutter. He was getting to his feet when Richard arrived, clearly none the worse for his tumble.

‘Watcha want ter make me do that fer?’ he complained bitterly. ‘I ain’t done nuthin’, sir. Honest I ain’t.’

‘You stole something from me,’ Richard said, holding out his hand. ‘Give it back and don’t try another stunt like that or you will get a good hiding. Do you hear me?’ His strong hands hauled the youth to his feet. He gave him a little shake. ‘Did you hear what I said, boy?’

‘Me name’s Georgie,’ the lad said and sniffled. ‘I ain’t ’ad nuthin’ ter eat fer days. I only wanted a few coins. If yer hadn’t grabbed me, I wouldn’t ’ave done it.’

‘Indeed?’ Richard’s eyebrows rose as he looked at the lad. ‘Georgie, is it? Well, Georgie, had you asked I might have given you a shilling, but you deserve that I should hand you over to the law…’

The lad produced the package, holding it out to Richard, who took it and replaced it in his coat pocket. The seal was still intact. It would have meant little to anyone who did not have the code and was able to decipher it, but he could not be sure the lad was not working for someone.

‘Let me go, sir,’ Georgie said, putting on the wheedling tone again. ‘I swear I’ve never done nuthin’ like that afore and I’m hungry…’ He sniffed and wiped his nose on his sleeve. ‘I didn’t mean no ’arm…’

‘What you meant was to steal from me,’ Richard replied with a stern look. ‘But I have the packet back and, if you are truly hungry, I shall feed you.’

‘Give me a shilling, sir, and I’ll trouble you no more.’ Georgie’s hand shot out.

Richard was on the point of putting his hand into his pocket when something made him hesitate. There was something about the urchin that did not ring true, though for the moment he could not place it.

‘I’ll not give you money,’ he said. ‘But I shall feed you. We’ll go to an inn I know. Not here. I don’t trust the service in these drinking dens. I’ll take you somewhere we can both enjoy a meal.’

The lad hesitated and for a moment Richard thought he would try to run away, but then he shrugged his shoulders. ‘All right, if that’s what yer want, sir.’

‘Come with me then,’ Richard said, taking hold of his arm. ‘And don’t try to run away, Georgie—no funny tricks, do you hear? This package is important to me, but it would be of no use to you. Try stealing from me again and I shall not be as forgiving next time.’

‘Don’t go on about it,’ the lad said, glaring at him. ‘And you’re hurting my arm. I shan’t run orf. I give yer my word.’

There was a touch of unconscious pride about the lad then that alerted Richard’s suspicions. Somehow he was certain that Georgie—if that was his name—was not an ordinary street urchin. There was more here than met the eye. He slackened his hold of the lad’s arm a little, but made sure it was sufficient to bind him to him as they left the last of the mean streets behind. The lighting here was better, and, glancing at the boy’s profile, Richard knew that his suspicions were right. Just what had he discovered here? If he knew anything at all, this lad had not been born to these poor streets of the London slum. Was he a runaway from school or a tyrant father? He was almost certain that the accent was a sham, for it had slipped once or twice. Just what was Georgie up to?

‘Where do you go to school?’ he asked.

‘Don’t go,’ the lad replied. ‘Ain’t never bin, sir.’

He was not telling the truth; Richard’s instinct never lied. His curiosity deepened. The boy was clearly very young, and, despite what he had done, Richard felt it his duty to try to help him if it were possible. He knew only too well to what depths of degradation some unfortunates were forced to sink in these stinking alleys. A grim expression dwelled briefly in his eyes as he remembered. He would not think of that now! It was behind him. He had buried himself deep in his work to forget and he would not allow that past tragedy to haunt him.

The lights of a respectable inn were just ahead of them, a lantern shedding a bright yellow glow over the pavement. More lanterns lit the archway that led behind to the inn yard, but Richard headed for the main door. He felt Georgie’s hesitation, the slight resistance, and looked down.

‘There’s nothing to fear here, Georgie. You may not be used to such places, but we shall be served, never fear.’

‘I ain’t frightened,’ the lad replied. ‘You don’t need ter hang on to me any longer. I shan’t run away. I ain’t frightened of yer no more. Besides, I’m starving!’

‘Well, they serve decent food here,’ Richard replied. He glanced at the lad’s face as they went inside. Now he could see the delicate profile and the pale complexion. Georgie was very slight and he found it difficult to assess his age. At first he had thought him a child of perhaps twelve or thirteen. His height was below Richard’s shoulder and he had felt the thinness of the lad’s body as he held him after he slipped on the rubbish. Looking at his face in the light, he thought now that the lad must be older—fifteen, perhaps.

‘Yes, sir?’ The host came bustling up to them, a smile on his face that dimmed somewhat as he saw the boy. ‘Captain Hernshaw, isn’t it? I believe I’ve had the honour of serving you before, sir?’

‘On a couple of occasions,’ Richard replied easily, ignoring the host’s expression. ‘You serve excellent chops, landlord, and a good pie. My young friend here is hungry and so am I. We shall have the best of whatever you have on offer this evening.’

‘Yes, sir. Would you be wanting the parlour, sir?’

Richard hesitated. He sensed tension in his companion and wondered what the lad could be thinking. ‘Yes, Goodridge. We shall have the parlour, if you will spare it to us.’

‘Just as you wish, sir. Will you want wine or ale?’

‘You may bring me some wine,’ Richard said. ‘Do you have any cordial that you might prepare for the boy? He is my groom’s lad and he has been helping me with the horses. I am afraid he has got himself into something of a state.’

‘Ah.’ The innkeeper nodded as he was enlightened, relief in his eyes. ‘Boys will be boys, sir.’

Georgie eyed him resentfully as they went into the private parlour, but said nothing until the innkeeper had left, shutting the door behind him.

‘Whatcha want ter say that fer?’

‘I thought it best to concoct some tale lest our host imagined something for himself. I do not wish to acquire a reputation for molesting young boys.’ Richard smiled wryly. ‘In case you had some such suspicion yourself, you may rest easy that my tastes do not lie in that direction.’

‘Oh…’ Georgie’s dark eyes studied his face for a moment, searching, all too wise and yet naïve at the same time. ‘I didn’t think it. I’ve met that sort afore and you ain’t. I’ll vouch for it if he turns up rough.’

‘Thank you,’ Richard said, a note of sarcasm in his voice. ‘If I need your help, I shall ask for it.’

‘No need to be so superior,’ Georgie said. ‘I was just offering…’

‘Thank you,’ Richard replied, a slight smile on his lips. Something in Georgie’s manner at that moment had confirmed what he had been thinking for a while now. This was no street urchin! He wasn’t sure why Georgie had tried to steal from him or why he was living rough, as he clearly was from his appearance. There was dirt on the delicate features and the lad’s clothes were disgusting. He smelled unpleasant! ‘I think we should call a truce, don’t you—just for long enough to eat our supper.’

Georgie didn’t answer but went to the fire, standing in front of it and holding his hands to the flames. He rubbed them together, shivering as if he had just realised how cold it was outside, but he did not speak. He continued to look into the flames when the door opened, admitting the innkeeper’s wife and a maid with two large trays filled with plates of food.

‘Come and eat, boy,’ Richard said. ‘This food smells delicious.’

The lad turned, stood looking at the food for a moment and then came to the table. He sat down on the bench, reaching for a plate of lamb chops. He took one and began to eat it with his fingers, tearing at the tender meat with his teeth—very white teeth for a street urchin, Richard noticed! He ate that chop and reached for another, demolishing that in much the same way, and licking the fat from his fingers—slender, delicate fingers.